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Post by Lunapocalypse on Oct 27, 2010 9:07:02 GMT -5
[Entering from Apartment Complex]
Cold vapor settled on the still blades of the Blackhawk. Surrounding the steel bird wrestled a sea of walking cadavers; hardly a single bit of green was visible. None of the infected moaned, none of them had reason to yet; all bumping into each other redirecting paths and remaining stuck to the confines of the oval like cattle due to their own primal minds. Up high on one of the billboards read 'Michael Warren Stadium'. A sports entertainment complex able to house up to 15'000 people. With the swarm of undead you could estimate pretty close to that number being filled.
Neither Patrick nor Aya skimped on soaking up attention upon entrance to the suburb of Ennerdale. Already working on pulling away as many carriers as possible from however many survivors there might be in the stadium, and perhaps draw them away from the chopper as well.
"I've never been in the stadium before," Aya shouted down to Patrick, "Not much of the sports type," she felt inclined to add, "Any idea where the survivors and marines might have holed up? Hopefully they'll come out once they realize helps arrived, but I dunno. I don't know what the expect," churning through another mob of infected outside the entrance to the stadium.
"Down there," she pointed. It was a murky side entrance to the complex, one lousy door dropped into a huge white cascade wall. There was no kidding that they could fit the Styker in through to the playing grounds; perhaps a bit of deliberation to slam it through the glass front entrances, but there wasn't a lot more they could do with it after that, not to mention they would be surrounded quickly.
Hopping off of the sleeping armor, Aya plucked the heads of a couple of stray carriers lingering to close to the entrance with her P90. She booted the door open, firearm reporting near immediately once through the frame dropping zombies that filled the hallway.
Stopping at the first intersection, checking all directions, "You got a strategy in mind?" she looked at Patrick candidly while still keeping the body of her P90 pressed against her cheek.
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Post by Shotgun Yell on Nov 2, 2010 1:35:46 GMT -5
Patrick had forgotten how fun it was to plough through hordes of the undead, in an almost entirely impenetrable fortress on wheels. Bits and pieces of unlucky road kill ended up plastered on the front of the Stryker, and there was even an almost untouched skull crammed into the slat armour. Truly the vehicle was a sight to behold as he brought it to a halt not thirty feet from the entrance to the Stadium, carefully bringing it as close to the white wash wall as he felt was possible. When the engine was off, he lowered the ramp and dismounted before re-sealing it and following after Aya, who’d already entered gate 1.
Taking up a defensive position beside her as she stopped and observed the crossroads of the massive hall, he trained the M249’s sights on the entrance they’d just entered through as his mind searched for answers. The executive booths seemed like the most sensible idea, given that they had a great view of the entire field, and only one entrance inside. Hell, if they wanted to, it wouldn’t be hard to setup a couple fast ropes leading out of the window.
“I’m thinking the executive booths; you know the ones that run all around the stadium? Probably on like, the third or fourth floor,” Suddenly a loud gunshots rang out through the stadium’s halls, and Patrick could feel a knot starting up in the pit of his stomach as he recognized the .50 BMG report. “We’re not the only ones after the Marines either,” So the duo started off down the rows of food stops and t-shirt stands, until finally reaching the first staircase they found. It was massive, and ran both upstairs and downstairs, one leading towards the nose bleeds and the other towards the rich seats. It wasn’t until they got eyes on the flight leading up that they noticed the downed marine laying dormant on the stairs, and they stopped just in time, for a .50 caliber round ripped loudly into the staircase beside the body, kicking up a ton of dirt and sending Patrick diving backwards.
“Take cover!” He yelled as more .50 caliber bullets rained down on their position, presumably through the wide doorway which led out into the stadium, directly across the hall from the staircase. Shouldering his M249 as he regained his composure, Patrick popped up over the hot dog vendor he’d taken cover behind and shot off a short burst through the entrance at the chairs, before disengaging and peeling out to the other side of the hall. As he reached the wall, a sudden explosion rocked the small ‘Jim’s Weenies’ stand, as .50 caliber bullet tore through the propane tank and sparked on its way out the back. Shrapnel shot off in every direction and Patrick threw up his arms at the last millisecond defensively to cover his face, but was miraculously unscathed in the fiery explosion. He ran his hands over his body to make sure, before turning towards Aya and making sure she was fine.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Nov 5, 2010 6:57:34 GMT -5
Aya hadn't quite expected to run into the individual who had fired off the shot from earlier so soon. As much as she hated to admit, she was grateful the dead marine's body had been there; it was all the warning she had for the impending shot. The light shining down the staircase flooded anything at the entrance to the stadium, creating that dastardly almighty illumination effect. She scrambled out of the way so as not to be taken out by Patrick's evasion, already on spotting a place to pull back to after he suggested reaching a secure position.
As much as the girl wanted something solid to hide behind she made an effort just to hide herself, the .50 would chew through anything; sliding under a t-shirt merch stand kicking the sheet draping over it up, it floated back down to obscure her position. Crawling forwards in case a round was plotted on an estimate of her position, Aya rolled over onto her back to see Pat leave his cover and cross the hall releasing a few rounds back down wind.
Then his cover exploded. Barely seeing it for herself, there was a pop of the gas igniting and then all sound stopped. Slightly disoriented from the boom, the rest of Aya's senses picked up the slack from her hearing. The side of her stomach stung; it had already occurred to her that a piece of metal had gashed past her rib cage. It was long enough so that the elasticity of her skin pulled the cut open further; it was shallow though, finding there was no bleeding as she put her hand to the wound.
Rolling back over and crawling away from the t-shirt stand, Aya crossed the hall once she deemed it a safe enough distance from the entrance to the bleachers and doubled back, "See where it's coming from?" she hissed over, kneeling down. As prominent as the dead marine were, "Do you think it's one of the marines or a survivor?" neither of them could safely poke their heads out; as soon as the gunner spotted even a hair he or she would take a shot at the wall and whatever was behind it. Aya herself was a little distracted from the sting of her cut, seething as the fabric of her shirt brushed past it from moving about.
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Post by Shotgun Yell on Nov 8, 2010 12:21:52 GMT -5
As his hearing returned and buzzed to life, Patrick found himself slumped up against the wall he’d reached only seconds before the explosion. Aya was beside him, asking a number f questions about the shooter, all of which he couldn’t give a definite answer to so simply shook his head. A small flash of when he popped up behind the hot dog stand and ran off gave him a bit of an idea of where the shooter was located, but he or she could’ve easily moved since then. One thing he did know was it wasn’t a marine.
“No, it’s not a marine, they wouldn’t have been issued such a heavy weapon for this mission, since they’ve been on the move since yesterday morning,” Immediately his thoughts drifted from the location of the shooter to the safety of his unknown comrades and the people under their care. “I’ve got an idea. If we can get that f**ker to relocate when we want him to, then that can probably give us enough time to hustle up those stairs and find the marines,” His eyes wandered over her loadout. “Think you can get in a close shot if I distract him?” It was risky, not only because he was putting his own welfare on the line, but also Aya’s, as she’d have to get into a position where she could shoot the shooter, and everyone knows if you can see the enemy, the enemy can see you.
“I can lay down a bit of suppressive fire, but it’s not going to be long cause I don’t want to have my gun hammered by a fifty cal bullet,” The fact the bullet would not only tear through his gun, but also through Patrick himself was left out of the discussion, as he figured she was well aware of the fact, given her extensive knowledge of gunpowder and gunpowder accessories. As a final note he handed her the roll of bandages that he still had in his drop leg pouch, along with an airplane sized shooter of vodka for cleaning her wound.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Nov 9, 2010 7:02:39 GMT -5
[OoC: Ftr. Never been in a baseball stadium, when I describe the environment I'm going entirely by what I can see from outside pictures. So just, ah, bare with me.]
"Close enough shot?" poking her tongue out in a panting fashion, "Well I never thought you'd ask," her hand clasped the upper grip of her Springfield and pulled it out from behind herself, resting the stock on her thigh, "But I could probably do you one better," praising her skills while taking the gauze and alcohol, unscrewing the cap, "At the very least I can keep him occupied until you've found the survivors. The pessimist in me can't help but figure there could be more than one shooter out there. If there's only one though, it'll be a ton'a'fun-" she growled a little as the vodka ran over her wound; the last third of the shot the girl downed herself; calm those nerves.
"I'll need to get right out there, hopefully get a decent vantage before he can pop a shot off," Aya held herself up against the wall with her shoulders while wrapping the bandage around her stomach, "I reckon about 3 seconds of cover should be enough. After that kick back and wait until I radio through when you can move," tying a neat knot and tucking it under the wrapping, "Right,"
Springfield in arms, "Now," stepping around Patrick, dashing out the door and to the right. The one glimpse she caught of the field was jaw dropping; a sea of undead all surrounding a lone whirlybird. She had to focus, one second was already up; the last two she had to spare were spent searching for any fragment of where the shooter might be.
Obstacles were in her path though; carriers mulled around the seats and walkways slowing Aya down. She spotted her exit five odd metres away, a narrow stair set leading up to the next realm of seats; Patrick had stopped firing what felt like aeons ago. The teen felt the optics burning into her neck, a multiplier racking up of how many times she should be dead by now. She couldn't wait to hear the report, dropping to her knees and sliding the last two metres to the stair set.
The infected she had just past exploded, head and neck vaporised; Then a second later Aya heard the proper report. The bullet had reached her before she could even hear any evidence of it; a harrowing thought. She made it into the narrow confines of the stairs regardless, feeling slightly more comfortable.
She guessed the shooter would assume she still didn't know where he was; which were more or less correct. Keeping low and crawling up the stairs; all he had was her last known position, that would be enough to live by.
Scrambling behind the rows of chairs, stopping now and again to peek between the thin gaps. A glint, "Gatcha," the opposite corner of the stadium, perfect angle for the perfect view; but sunlight ends up being your worst nightmare. Aya popped her head up, Springfield wedged between a gap between chairs; she didn't wait to get a good bead, she would be close enough.
As she fired a wave of dread washed over her, the seconds Aya had spend looking through her optics made it clear that the shooter didn't have a rifle but a bulky monocular. The spotter picked up and scampered off down the stairwell behind him; Aya stumbled out of panic nearly falling into a seat behind her. A deranged fear that all she were about to experience was sudden blackness.
Another glint higher up, 'He doesn't have a shot on me yet!' the girl dived to her immediate left hitting the ground hard, her chin scraped violently against the concrete, the feeling of her jaw crunching penetrating her skull; the seat which had been behind her was torn to shreds flinging plastic debris into the air like confetti. Cradling her chin with her left hand, Springfield trailing behind her in her right; her vision fish eyed as she aimed for the booze bar further down the walkway.
Sliding on her ass over the counter, more concerned about her head being intact rather than how much her butt would hurt after dropping off over the other size. Aya figured the sharpshooter took one last ditch effort to get a shot in as bottles of liqueur shattered over her head. She was clear, for now.
Hands shaking, "Pat, move now," panting hard, "There's two of them, I've got the spotter relocating and the shooter currently has his eyes on me. It's only a matter of time before his second set of eyes reposition though so don't try to run the whole gauntlet," she looked for a safe way out of her tight spot, "Watch out on your way up as well, carriers are all over the place,"
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Nov 12, 2010 5:34:03 GMT -5
[OoC: Might not be the best idea to join this RP. Shottie has duties back where he is and can't post that often, so we don't update as much.]
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Post by Shotgun Yell on Nov 12, 2010 12:37:43 GMT -5
[OOC: Yeah, sorry for the long wait. Been busy with Remembrance day and all that jazz.]
“Covering fire!” Patrick yelled out, his voice uncharacteristically loud just like it was when he was in the service. A command voice, they called it, and he’d well and truly mastered it. However the call was unanswered, and wholly unnecessary as he popped out of cover and laid waste with his M249. The glimpses he got of where the bullets landed during that brief three second excursion were goretastic as the 5.56 rounds slammed into undead bodies and tore them to shreds. Behind them in the stands, chairs and cement shredded under the heavy barrage, but then just as fast as it had started the call was ended and an answer received.
The sound of the fifty was immense as its heavy round tore off a head sized chunk of the concrete wall beside Patrick, and he shuffled away from the edge, knowing all too well that the round could easily punch right through the edge and spiral into its target. Hell, he’d even done that a few times, when pesky little contacts thought they were being clever by ducking into cover, only to find out seconds later that the cover may as well have been a sheet of paper as they bled out on the ground beside it. There was a quieter report, yet still very distinct and Patrick recognized it immediately as Aya’s springfield bolt action.
He sighed a great sigh of relief and let his LMG hang carefully off his chest. It was over, he thought, and now all they had to do was find the marines and exfil them, along with the survivors they brought with them. But alas it was not quite over. The fifty sounded off once more. This time was different though, this time he felt his heart sink in his chest, as the pictures of fifty caliber victims flashed through his mind, and a picture of Aya without a head came into focus one piece at a time. It wasn’t until Aya’s voice came out over the radio that the sinking feeling stopped and he rose up to his feet double time as she told him to move. Move now.
Without really thinking too much about what was being said on the radio he bolt for the staircase and took it by the two’s. Fifty caliber reports filled the air for what seemed like eternity before they ended as the shooter finally had to reload. There were no bullet impacts around him, so he figured Aya had probably ****ed the marksmen off by shooting at his spotter, and was now paying a heavy toll in lead and gunpowder. On the third level, Patrick found the stairs ended and took up cover in the exact same place he had downstairs, and eyed his surroundings carefully. There wasn’t much in the way of zombies, not up here, but there were plenty of signs that there had been, as bodies sporadically appeared on the freshly buffered floor, their blood barely staining anything indicating they hadn’t been here long.
“I’m on the third floor, lots of dead walkers up here, gonna keep movin and see what I find. Wait out till I tell you to move, over,” With that he turned and jetted in the opposite direction down the tunnel. Pat figured the same trick wouldn’t work twice, and he had an idea for another trick but he had to find the right place to…jackpot. Coming up on a sign labeled ‘Employee’s only’, he brought his boot hard on the lock and found it give way easily, exposing a small office type area loaded with electronic surveillance equipment, only it was the security office.
This little pretty was the source of the pyrotechnics that the team’s wound set up before games, and thus was the perfect distraction to allow Aya to move, and for Patrick himself to get a bead on the shooter. More fifty rounds called into the abyss as the shooter started unloading on Aya again, obviously distraught enough to put himself at risk. This and many other thoughts rifled through the soldier’s mind as he scanned the electronics and got to work.
Seconds later he was back outside the office, and hit the PTT button on his radio to talk to Aya. “Holdin up? Good. Move on my mark, and hit him where it hurts, over,” Taking up a position at one of the tunnels leading to the stands again, he readied his machine gun and waited for the fireworks.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Nov 13, 2010 8:03:39 GMT -5
"Under-rstood," Aya's voice wavered as she shook, a second .50 punching through the counter right beside her shoulder; wood chips and splinters fanning out like a piece of ply being speed fed through a grinder and blown out a funnel. It was a big enough hole for Aya to look through; not the brightest idea. The muzzle flash was all the warning she'd been given; drop to a 1000fps and you would notice the round perhaps a centimetre or two from the bridge of the girl's nose. The floor cabinet in front of her exploded with vodka and beer showering out from the destruction drenching Aya with the liquid. She shuffled over on her butt in time for the next round to punch through, and again; she was slowly running out of space but held fast for Patrick's mark. Light and noise filled the stadium, 'The hell's going on?' Aya had been wrought with curiosity. It faded fast once she realized the shooter had ceased shooting, bouncing onto her feet and sliding back over the counter. Fireworks blasted off around the field; she would have radio'd a thanks had she not been paying so much attention to where she saw the muzzle flash. The same spot sparkled, the optics glint picking up all of the fireworks light; he was still trying to gun her down. She had to make a stand, force him to back off. Skidding to a halt, Aya aimed and fired watching through the scope as the shooter stood up and skedaddled, "DSR 50," Aya noted. He had six shots total, would probably reload once he had relocated. On the other hand his spotter would likely already have a new vantage point. A blast of pyrotechnics at the far corner of the stadium caught her eye; it was a progressive flare, one after the other firing all the way along the row Aya stood on, "Good enough," she muttered, 'Need to hide before I reengage,' turning and running away from the flares popping out, watching over her shoulder now and again to see which firing pot they were up to. Passing a pot sitting next to the staircase leading up, Aya turned and ascended to the next level. As she turned the pot fired a flare blinding any vision for a quarter of a second. In anyone elses eyes Aya would have vanished into thin air; it was obvious she had taken the stairs but the moments confusion and the spotter losing their bead on her meant scales tip in favorable favors. Crawling between rows of chairs, "Cheers for the assist," Aya cackled a little as the fireworks started to round up, "Got some sweet smoke coverage too," she commented as she rolled onto her back, watching the grey after burn of the fireworks blow in her direction, carried by the wind, "Shooter's probably relocated by now. Dunno where the spotter is. Give me a tick and I'll wrap this up,"It was uncomfortable, but it was necessary. Her legs and torso ran flush with the rows of chairs, while the upper half of her body was at a 90 degree angle from it aiming haphazardly in the faintest gap between the two chairs in front of her. It was claustrophobic. As a sharpshooter you had to deal with that sort of discomfort. Drinking copious amounts of coffee, p*ssing into a jar... Aya hadn't quite gotten that far yet, but it always paid off. ____________________________________________________________________ He was smart. Kneeling beside a soft drink stall, the umbrella held up on one corner of it provided both camouflage with the shade and windage with the flapping shadow cast at his feet. Panning across the field; the shooter spotted beautiful bronze hair held by a breeze, reminding him of someone special back home. Then the youthful features of the girl and a glint of her scope. A flash. The last moment of his vision caught his optics shattering before everything drew blank. ____________________________________________________________________ Aya pulled away from her Springfield. Her tight composure making the evasive move near impossible. She had hit a nerve and paid heavily for it; the shooter's hand squeezed the trigger in a final act and the round slammed into her own optics. The scope peeled back like a banana while blowing off of its rail. A piece of metal scraped over Aya's right eye while the round dug into the concrete beside her drastically increasing the trauma. She realized she was screaming once her ears stopped buzzing. It felt like someone had stuck pins through her eye lids. Trying as best as possible to tone the shriek down to a controlled groan; Aya took her hand away from her eye opening it slowly. It felt bloodshot and swollen, a bit of red from her wound made it into her vision too. Felt better keeping it closed anyway; somehow the concept of punching a block of ice into the socket seemed pleasing to her, "Shooter's down, Pat. Working on the spotter now,"Aya looked down at her Springfield. Scopeless, "Aw man. That's gonna be a hassle of a realignment," she moaned while peeling some bandage off from her stomach and wrapping it around her head, just enough to hold blood from running into her eye. During her wail the spotter had procured the shooter's DSR, that much was obvious when Aya noticed it was missing from his person while heading over to pick it up herself. She would have been able to finish the job easily with or without sights brandishing a rifle like that, "Eyes peeled. Spotter has the .50," she warned while crouching beside the soft drink stand. The flock of horde down in the field were moving oddly. Standing a little to get a better view; a large group were breaking off in pursuit. Trailing where they were heading and Aya could just make out the figure of a human. The third appendage probably being the DSR, "Hello..." she backed away from the rail and took place among the chairs, placing one foot for stability on the chair in front of her. Aya flicked the Springfield's retro sights up, aimed, took a deep breath in while tracking the Spotters movement and fired. A couple of seconds past before he lurched in his movement and dropped like a sack of sh*t. The carriers trailing him finally catching up and beginning to feed. Aya squeezed the radio, "It's done. Go find those survivors... I'll be clearing infected from the extraction point," she pocketed the radio, sighing before making her way down to the field.
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Post by Shotgun Yell on Nov 23, 2010 14:26:58 GMT -5
(OOC: x.x)
Pat didn’t have to wait long for the fireworks to go off, and once they did the view was exemplary. He’d chanced a glance out the side of the tunnel and was rewarded by a cascade of multi-coloured explosions, something he’d long since forgotten the sight of, as there was really nothing worth celebrating, at least in Patrick’s opinion, for the last couple of years. However, as soon as he’d chanced the glance, he relocated and shuffled down the long tunnel in pursuit of the marine’s and their cargo. As Aya fought tooth and nail against the fifty, Patrick was charging headlong down rows of fast food places. When she took her shoot, he slammed into a doorway labeled ‘Boxes’ and continued hard down the now carpeted hallway. There were dozens of doors he passed before finally coming upon a partially open one and stopping just outside it. No doubt whoever was inside had heard his gear banging around like it was.
“Friendlies coming through, friendlies coming through,” He yelled, and waited a few seconds before pressing the door open. It was swiftly closed shut though by a rough kick, and Patrick heard from the other side “Hang on there, it’s tripped,” And breathed a sigh of relief. To his horror however, there was another sigh behind him, a much throatier one. Diving at the last second he, spun hard in the air and landed harder when he hit the carpet, revealing the fleshy pink coating of a crouch assassin resting on the roof, tongue retracting from where it’d punctured the wall. Without thinking too hard about it, Pat opened up with the M249 without even shouldering the weapon and watched the bursts of drywall surround the beast, with the rounds that hit home rifling through the thin skin and oozing congealed blood by the buckets.
With a shattering howl, it dropped from the roof in a bundle and lay still on the ground where it had fallen, allowing Patrick the chance at a sigh of relief before he felt a sick wet twisting on his arm, and was dragged backwards at an impossible speed. In that split second the pinko commie bastard had ripped Patrick’s right arm straight of the socket, and once it had dragged Pat the five or six feet to itself, the beast started wailing on Patrick with its monstrous claws. Against his vest they proved a tough match and Patrick could do nothing but watch in horror as his vest pouched tore off in different directions and spilled their contents all along the floor.
Gunshots rang out in the tight confines of the hall and Patrick realized the tearing had stopped, and looked up in time to see a pale white marine stepping towards him, M16A4 clutched in a death grip between his hands. “You okay there pal?” He asked in a shaky voice and received no reply as the Captain checked over his chest with careful hands and realized his vest was torn right through. No marks remained on him though, and he couldn’t help but realize that one second more and he’d have been an ex-survivor.
“Thanks soldier, wanna help me up?” He extended a hand up and was met by the soldier’s who heaved the broken man onto his feet and got a firsthand look at his limp right arm and shredded tac vest. Together, the pair retreated back into the luxurious box office and slammed the door behind them. Smashed glass covered everything in the room, and blood seemed to be a close second. Three dead bodies lay near the center of the room, one marine and two survivors, presumably from the sharpshooter who Patrick now realized had ceased firing.
The message from Aya had been lost in the fight with the lickers along with Patrick’s radio. Remembering the radio frequency, he asked to borrow the radio of the marine who’d saved him, and once he had it, dropped to a knee and clenched it behind the knee he wasn’t kneeling on. With his good hand, he reprogrammed the third channel, knowing it was probably not used, and once he had their frequency programmed he pulled it to his face.
“Aya, I’ve got the marine’s and survivors. There’s not a whole lot of them here,” This in an of itself was a new realization to the soldier as he eyed the twenty or so occupants. One pilot, six marines, and thirteen survivors, one who was in a critical state on a stretcher in the corner of the room. “We’ve also got a critical here, and one pilot. Wanna get started on clearing a path to the chopper? Over,”
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Nov 26, 2010 0:39:01 GMT -5
"Yeah," Aya bounced down the stairs to the front row seats like a prancing fox, "Already on it. Reckon you could get some marines down her quick to help out? Maybe order a few off to keep an eye on the rest of the stadium and double check no more black ops guys are hanging around."
Before setting up at the front row Aya quickly stepped down to the player benches going over all of the items baseball related; titanium bat, towels, eskies filled with water bottles. Finally at the other end she procured what she was searching for, holding it in the air and facing the zombie horde surrounding the chopper. Stabbing her thumb into the rubber ball, the air horn pierced the atmosphere surrounding the stadium. Aya felt all of the attention tangent towards her like a harrier suddenly nosediving. She moved out into the field a little more, trolling with the horn making the most annoying patterns of noise while disconnecting her satchel charges and placing them one by one along the field in front of her front row seats.
Turning on her heel, back facing the infected cluster now shambling towards her while giving the horn one last, long drag and tossing it to the side. She climbed to the $100 seats, unhitching her firearms one by one and resting them in between chairs. Aya kept her Heavy SCAR primed, taking place at the hand rail looking over the player bench and the field ahead.
A counter popped up in her mind as she aimed down her irons at the first zombie, ticking upwards when she began dispatching them one by one.
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Post by Shotgun Yell on Dec 6, 2010 22:34:15 GMT -5
(OOC: I’m on the verge of getting my computer fixed. Ordered a new mobo and cpu, buying a better case, and having the hard drive wiped. Hopefully we’ll get to daily and possibly even more posts within the coming weeks. Terribly sorry for the delays.)
“Yeah, I’ll send a couple down, over and out,” Pat released the PTT button and tossed the handheld back at the marine he’d procured it from, before gripping the bicep of his disjointed arm firmly. “Alright boys…who likes ice cream?” With incredible endurance, Patrick slammed his arm back into place, his face contorting to reflect the effort and a tight grunt escaping his lips as he seemingly slipped on his feet and dropped to one padded knee. One civilian, a young male had raised his hand with a look of confusion, contrasting with his bloodied Sears suit that was maybe a size too tight on the larger man. Pat shook his head with a sigh.
“Sir, I’m not sure who you are, or why you’re here, but I’d like it if you explained it to us,”
“Patrick Koppel, Captain, Us Army, 1st Mountain Division. Retired. Long walks on the beach. We don’t have time for this! I need two marines to get down to the choppers and assist my partner, I’ll move everyone else for extract. Any takers?” Without much hesitation, the pale faced Marine and another, much more flushed and eager looking soldier raised their hands and disappeared out the door after receiving their orders. Hitting the stairs as fast as possible, they reached Aya in a little under a minute, huffing like wild animals and half their loaded clips expended.
Meanwhile back up at the skybock, the former captain was busy assigning duties to the remaining men. The pilots had Mp5’s, and most of the survivors had weapons, mostly melee sadly. In an attempt to make things fair, the two strongest looking individuals with melee weapons were tasked with hauling the stretcher and following everyone else. The others would follow Patrick, who’d be at the front of the messy formation along with the pilots.
“Kill and move on if you have to people, we don’t have room for hesitancy, it WILL get you killed,” And without further adieu he crashed through the doorway and made his way to the stairwell. Leaving a pilot at the top to cover the stretcher bearers, he and the other pilot led the rest of the survivors to the second floor, where Patrick once again left a pilot, and then headed to the first floor. Gunshots were heard periodically, but for the most part the stairs went smoothly aside from one of the survivors tripping on an untied shoelace and hitting the floor face first.
It’s all in the preparation.
On the first floor, Patrick waited for everyone to be accounted for and then move the massive group to one of the long tunnels and hunkered down as explosions and gunfire rang out on the field. There were still a good number of zombies between them and the choppers, but they’d just have to go when it cleared a bit more. No biggie.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Dec 6, 2010 23:27:55 GMT -5
)(OoC: sounds good. I still have studies for the next couple of weeks so daily will have to wait until Christmas time. But once I'm free I'll have plenty more time on my hands.)(
Every zombie in the field turned their head as one, like a legion, all following the blaring air horn. She had enough of their attention; any more still lingering around the chopper would quickly be redirected by the gunshots she fired off. The girl executed carriers as if she were performing breaststroke in a lap pool, breathing in between each bullet for half a second. Aya maintained a pace, half a minute to empty a magazine; she would need to keep it if she was going alone on the extermination.
Then Patrick radioed that he was sending two marines down. Extra firepower; Aya was happy about that. It was easy to tell when they were about to reach her what with footsteps like elephants. She wanted to hand out directions but there were too many zombies for that to matter, just aim for the carrier closest; once they thinned them out then they could be organized about it. She reloaded, box mag clattering to the concrete.
From the height the three of them stood at it was easy to see the horde as a whole and their position on the field. Aya freed up the foregrip to grab her radio and transmit, speaking between shots, "Patrick... we're pulling the carriers away from the chopper... try and get repositioned at the field opposite us... there might be a few stragglers... but the majority of the horde should be far away enough for you all... to get to the chopper safely..." she released her radio to pick up the slack; her drop in rate of fire had allowed several zombies to get closer than in preference to where Aya and the marines stood.
The ammo for the scar had been expended; the chocolate haired girl rested the rifle against the railing and reached back for her 556 giving the charging handle a tug.
'Last mag!'
Aya looked over to see the marine firing his final packet of ammunition. She slipped a 556 mag out of its pouch while whistling, tossing it over to the marine. He caught it, keeping it in his left hand while holding the foregrip of his rifle. She checked the other marine; he seemed to have a couple of pouches full left over.
'Erosion' was what Aya liked to call it. A mob of a 1000 plus carriers and you slowly whittle away at it, like wind and water against sand and stone. It only takes time.
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Post by Shotgun Yell on Dec 7, 2010 0:53:37 GMT -5
From the tunnel Patrick could see the number of zombies was increasing, and realized to his horror that Aya and the two marines were on their side, and the group had a lot of ground to cover. Hitting the ground hard the group moved on at Patrick’s pace, who kept it going at a light jog in order for the group to maintain together, and so the stretcher bearers wouldn’t unexpectedly drop their vital package. By the time they’d reached the other side of the stadium, things weren’t looking too great for the two marines and Aya. Around them the horde had grown in mass and was absolutely pulsating with undead life as hands reached out to grasp at their teasers, only to drop to the ground along with their beheaded bodies.
Once again at the entrance of a tunnel, Patrick started down it with the marines in the front alongside him and the pilot as well. Behind them came the survivors, all of whom he’d instructed to be as silent as possible as they boarded the aircraft. At the very rear was the final marine, who was covering their flank. At the chopper the five at the front slipped into the black beast as if they’d just arrived at home, with the three marines taking seats on the side of the chopper, Patrick grabbing the minigun, and the pilot slipping into the cockpit. Almost as if on cue the civilians boarded and made a hell of a lot of noise as they fought to get inside. “OPENING FIRE! CLEAR THE AREA!” The casual marine screamed at the top of his lungs, and followed it with the roar of the minigun as he sprayed the mess of walkers before him, the marines alongside him following suit.
Now, Pat may not have been a genius, but he knew when enough is enough, and there were definitely too many people on the damn plane. Handing over the gun to one of the marines, he told him to keep up the fire and watch the friendlies, before meeting up with the last marine who was just reaching the helicopter as Patrick dismounted. “Jesus boss, sure is a s***show,” He practically yelled, and the officer simply nodded. “Clear this helo for take-off! I want all thirteen survivors on board, and all the marines to form a defensive perimeter! Got it?!” With a nod and a look like he was planning on saluting, the marine rounded the plan as the rotors started up and pulled the marines off the helo as the minigun continued to open up on the horde. There were very few left, and Pat pulled him away from the gun before climbing back into the helicopter to check on the pilot.
“Good to go?”
“This is a lot of people sir,”
“Thirteen, you should be good to go,”
“Okay, we’ll see…” And the rotors started to whir.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Dec 10, 2010 2:54:02 GMT -5
Three armed personnel wasn't enough. Aya and the two marines had to take steps backwards from the railing as arms began to claw up at them, "Aim for the carriers at the back!" the girl barked, "If you take them down at the front you'll only be giving them a ramp up to our position. Both of you keep an eye on the stairs leading up from the pitch as well," they could still keep it going, just a little longer and a call from Patrick that they were raring to go and they could get the hell away from the horde.
Down to her SMG now. The Kriss made it faster for Aya to dispatch zombies with the redirected recoil; the shear distance of metres from their heads also aimed to please her accuracy. With targets dropping faster however, Aya also felt her ammo count drooping just as quickly; swapping magazines like candy.
"I'm out!"
The marine to Aya's left dropped his M4A1 and drew his Beretta continuing to dispatch the horde in front of them. Deterioration in both the marines performance was beginning to occur. Only just escaping having your head blown off by an enigmatic sniper and then having a hundred plus zombies grabbing at your feet, their psychological trauma was beginning to build to the point where Aya could rely on them much further.
"Ah! H-hey!"
A lapse in judgment had the marine to Aya's right let a stream of zombies up the right hand side staircase; the flow had made it reach the point of lost control as he panicked trying to lock onto the shambling heads, "C'mon! Climb over the chairs!" Aya called, discharging the last couple of rounds from her SMG before power bombing it into the closest infected face and turning to scamper up the chairs.
They had all stopped shooting and now the zombies had made it upon them; if there was anything undead could seem to do equally as well as humans it was climb the hell over ankle high obstacles. Aya bounced over chairs fluidly, trying to maintain a balance and pattern. The marine on her left stumbled while lifting a foot over the plastic seats, yelping. Aya turned, a zombie trying to heave all of its weight on top of the downed marine. The soldier put his hand out to stop the assault but the infected fielder from second base only took that as an invitation for entree sinking its teeth into his palm.
The marines heart would be pounding, blood might have already circulated all the way around his body, but it was worth a shot. Aya had already been moving before the zombie went to take a bite, unsheathing her combat blades from her waist. The blade in her left hand was crammed into the undead cranium, while the blade in her right severed the marines bitten palm at the wrist.
Holding both the blades in one hand and dragging the marine from his other intact palm, Aya raced across the backs of the chairs like stepping stones; disregarding the bumpy ride the marine may or may not have been having, "Getup!" she shouted amongst his cries of agony, not moving anywhere a fast as she wanted to.
Reaching the back wall of the front block of chairs, the second marine had already climbed up and was ready to assist in hauling the handless marine up to safety, Aya pushed the soldier up at his boots. Without looking, Aya took a leap straight up holding out her hand; the marine clasped hold throwing her over the railing, little concern of the rough landing but Aya preferred it over being zombie food.
Aya and the second marine helped the handless soldier to his feet, gritting his teeth and moaning from the fire lit at the end of his arm, "Take him around to the other side of the stadium, both of you get to the chopper!" she ordered. Already infected were climbing up the stairs to the level they were on, they wouldn't be safe for much longer. Sheathing her two blades and drawing her sidearms, Aya trailed behind the marines while dispatching the carriers that followed behind.
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Post by Shotgun Yell on Dec 13, 2010 1:08:08 GMT -5
The minigun chugged out a steady rhythm, with the marines rifles lending a hand to the symphony in the form of a delightful melody, and Patrick just watched and listened from the inside of the backhawk’s cockpit. At a much accelerated pace now the horde was dwindling, but Aya and the two marine’s alongside her were in some heavy contact, and the people in the chopper could only watch in horror as the walker descended upon the team. From the cockpit there was a clear view of a marine who’d followed, and the pilot along with Pat watched in horror as one second the marine had a hand, and the next it was gone.
“Open that damned door!” Shouted the mountaineer, and quickly the pilot popped open his door, just in time for Patrick to lay down a couple carefully aimed shots at the walkers closest to Aya and the marines, catching one right in the back of the neck as the team fled into the tunnels. “Too f**king close,” He muttered, and lowered his weapon so the Pilot could shut his door. As the team disappeared, the carefully contained minigun fire exploded around the entrance to the tunnel, cutting down as many walkers as stood there, and although it may not have technically killed all of them, the confetti of limbs and fatty chunks showed off its effectiveness.
“There’s zombies coming from behind us!” Yelled a survivor just as a female one shrieked out in horror. Immediately one of the marines started forcing his way to the other side, and with little time to spare Patrick kicked open the co-pilots seat and opened fire on the approaching walkers. Like the minigun, his machine gun was more like a meat grinder than a scalpel, but the captain did his best and neutralized a few just in time as the marine reached the right side of the aircraft, and started finishing off the rest of em. In the distance, at the end of the tunnel three figures burst around the side and Pat shouted out at the top of his lungs.
“Hold your fire!”
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