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Post by Lunapocalypse on Dec 13, 2010 1:43:23 GMT -5
Breaking back out into the broad daylight, Aya gave both the marines a shove shouting, "Go! Go!" a trail of infected following them up the tunnel. She turned, galloping backwards while double tapping both her sidearms at whichever carrier came first in the group. She was multitasking too much to keep a count on both pistols remaining rounds, both containing a different amount of bullets as well; once both clicked dry she turned back around and legged it towards the chopper, "Get it in the air!" the less time they took to gain altitude once she got on board the better.
On the walls emerged a pack of Lickers, darker in the tone of muscle colour and much maintaining a stupid amount of reflex. Aya and the marines had the luck of running into their nest while barreling down one of the corridors, lucky to escape with a mob of infected on their tail at the same time. Aya clicked a M67 off of her harness and pulled the pin, pegging it back in the direction of the undead mob and Lickers. Red vapor and body parts careened through the air after a harsh thump emitted from where the grenade landed.
[OoC: Modifications made after this part]
"Keep'em off the whirlybird until it's well into the air," Aya ordered once she reached the UH-60, finally having an opportunity to reload her pistols. The balance between the marines and the Lickers seemed even; they had just enough firepower to fend off the speedy suckers from making it across the field. They quickly became more strategic, fanning out to make management more hectic.
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Post by Shotgun Yell on Dec 21, 2010 11:33:18 GMT -5
Putting a simple rotation into the mix of the miniguns chaotic killing capacity did wonders, and Pat couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer amount of bullets the weapon spat out as he heaved it around in every direction. It was a short lived victory for the war hardened soldier however, as he soon had to abandon the monstrous beast, what with friendlies so close to the gun itself and made sure it was inaccessible by the survivors before dismounting.
“Dismount!” Came the call as he took a few steps from the black hawk, kneeled, and started in on the pink fleshy beasts that were descending upon the helicopter. Around him small arms opened up, with the marines who had been empty taking the time to grab spare ammunition from a number of boxes inside the black hawk, and taking the liberty to shut the sliding doors closed as well. When all of the men were clear, Patrick gave the thumbs up to the pilot and felt a sudden surge of air as the rotors above the team sped up, and only gave a passive glance as it rose.
“Hit the lickers! They’re-” Almost as if on cue a tongue shot out from the horde of zombies and shot straight into the tail of the helicopter, embedding itself in the metal obviously attempting to stop the bird’s sudden flight. It wasn’t long after that the tongue was torn by a barrage of gunfire from a few marines, as the rest concentrated their efforts on the horde. When the chopper was clear, Patrick laid into the walkers with his final box mag, signaling to the marines that it was time to move.
“Fire and maneuver! Go, go, go!” He shouted incase it wasn’t clear enough, and held his ground as the others dropped back a few meters, before shouting they were covering him and allowing him to break backwards and take up position behind. This would continue until they were inside the tunnel Aya and her marines had only recently been fighting within, chunks of concrete blasted from the walls by the maddening minigun.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Dec 22, 2010 21:24:33 GMT -5
Heading the return towards the inside area of the stadium, Aya let Patrick and the marines do the majority of the shooting as her firearm count didn't exactly consist of anything with major stopping power, instead blasting away whatever came back up through the tunnel. The group passed over the small dent she had made in the concrete earlier with her grenade marking the descent into the shadows.
The bronze haired girl's eyes adjusted in time to spot the Licker which had bounced around the corner, its tongue spitting out and the end wrapping around her left wrist forcing her to lose the grip on her sidearm in that hand. Aya aimed to disconnect with her other pistol only to hear the resounding click of an empty magazine, "Right'o," the girl replied with a heave, dropping her second side arm while wrapping her right arm in the tongue.
A fierce tug of war started while Aya wrapped more and more of the length around her arms, the Licker dragging her down the tunnel more and more with each pull but unable to do much else. Her shoes skidded, grinding rock as she made her way towards the mutant meeting it at its maw with all of its tongue wound up on display.
Lashing out, the Licker swiped with what room it had, Aya narrowly dodging the attack before countering by wrapping the monsters tongue around its arm as she stepped to the side leaving it in a very precarious position. Pulling the limb further and further into a dead zone, Aya stepped up onto its back, putting her left knee into the back of its neck. Finally she wrapped the tongue once more around the Licker's head and, with a bit of a struggle and a couple of tugs, broke the mutant's spine causing it to go limp.
Aya dropped the mouth extension into a heap, flicking her arms to remove some of the beasts saliva feeling modestly grossed by the aftermath of the predicament.
Back to her scopeless Springfield the girl continued into the recess of the stadium, hooking right to head in the direction of the gate the Stryker was waiting at.
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Post by Shotgun Yell on Jan 10, 2011 0:52:09 GMT -5
The sound of the firearms as they rattled off rounds was terrifying loud in the wide, concrete tunnel as the team blasted their way forward. No one dared stop, even to aim for a second as the horde of walkers descended upon them like a pack of rats on scraps. And basically that’s what they had become. With the chopper’s evac and subsequent disappearance all of the herd’s focus had dropped onto the unlucky remainder, their pulsing hearts a delicious entrée for the hideous creatures; their fire like bait on a fishing line.
But even with the noise, Patrick still picked up Aya’s voice as she exclaimed the disparity of her situation with an anti-climactic ‘Right-o’. He chanced a glance and full on stopped when he realized what he was seeing, but before he could do anything to help the young girl she was fiercely engaged in a wrestling match with the pink fleshy creature, still the soldier dropped to his knee and called out ‘Hold!’. Immediately the marines dropped their sprint and skidded into kneels, their guns still bucking with explosions, although aimed in the only other direction the tunnel afforded.
With a precision Pat hadn’t thought he’d ever be able to pull off, he managed to keep the walkers from reaching their astonishingly resilient foe, and when Aya had dispatched of the licker the two started down the hall at a dead sprint. Passing the marines, it appeared everyone was on their last desperate life, and all turned their attention to the path ahead, which for the most part was clear.
“Left!” Shouted Patrick as one of the marine’s overshot him and broke right past the exit, his adrenaline seemingly pumping so intensely that he cared for nothing more than running. As he stopped to turn however, a feisty walker practically fell from the shadows and grasped for the baby faced soldier, but was thankfully stopped by the long blade of Patrick’s UKSF as he embedded it right in the eye socket of the unholy beast.
“GO!” He screamed, lickers appearing all around them, their tongues darting out and catching unsuspecting walkers by surprise. Almost unbelievably the survivors were unharmed as they entered the exit tunnel, and bolted for the door, but the lickers had formed in numbers behind them, and it seemed like the final hurrah for the group.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Jan 10, 2011 1:18:18 GMT -5
Choosing the undeniable flight over fight Aya was nearly at the point of gaining altitude, striding on the balls of her feet. She was well ahead of the group of marines ready to carve a path for them if any further hostilities popped up. Light could be seen around the next corner, the pale grey of a smoke blotted sky. The glass framed doors came into view, the ivory girl politely firing a shot from her hip with the Springfield and crashing through the glass of the doors entirely.
The Stryker was now in view, sitting, waiting for them. Aya dodged the rear entrance to the vehicle entirely instead climbing on top of the vehicle like a monkey on steroids and making for the main gun hatch. Behind her bolstering towards the entrance gate where Patrick and the marines while directly behind them, crawling along the walls and ceiling came the deadly pack of Lickers; tongues flailing.
The marines broke through the threshold, a couple pushing the doors open while another leaped through the hole Aya had originally made. The massive turret of the Stryker rotated towards the gate, aiming poised just above the entrance doors. The rear ramp hatch of the Stryker could be heard opening as one of the marines operated it, the rest either turning to fire down at the Lickers or keep an eye on the rest of the area around the armored vehicle. "C'mon, Patrick!" Aya screamed, the mutants so close to being on his tail.
Once the casual marine bolstered out of the doors Aya counted down from three, waiting until the Lickers hit the sweet spot, and firing the main cannon of the Styker. The shell collided with the top of the entrance blasting away brick and mortar, scratching and crunching rebar as the entrance collapsed all around the Lickers; metal rods stabbing through one while another was crushed entirely by a chunk of concrete. The destruction continued for a moment longer as smaller pieces of debris rattled down from the higher levels until finally the rumbling ended. It was safe to say they had made one hell of a home run. Aya held her fists over her head in victory.
"Now!" she dropped down to the inside of the Stryker to address all of the marines and Patrick, commended on his survivalism by a couple of the marines as he joined them, "How about we get the hell of out this 'burb and back to the apartment HQ for an ice cold beer!" a cheer following albeit the remark received strange from a 17 year old girl, she pulled herself back up the hatch upside down, "You got the helm Pat. There must be some decent record in the tape deck to celebrate," her heartbeat still racing frantically. They freaking earned their stuff for the hotel.
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Post by Shotgun Yell on Jan 10, 2011 4:17:31 GMT -5
With an explosion so loud it woke up god himself, and a blast so powerful it made the marines (and Patrick’s) heart skip a beat, the stryker flat out annihilated the pursuing lickers, and not a moment too soon as Patrick panted desperately for breath. “Don’t think…I’ve ran that…fast in years!” He spoke briefly between inhales, and found the other marines to be in a similar situation. Meanwhile Aya dropped down from the gun hatch of the stryker and eyed her crew carefully. All of whom were sitting on the two benches attached to the walls, their helmets barely clearing the top of the stryker itself.
"How about we get the hell of out this 'burb and back to the apartment HQ for an ice cold beer!" She said, and the marines burst into oorahs and Patrick continued to catch his breath. When he realized he was to drive, the mountaineer put on a massive grin and clambered through the mess of people to the drivers seat, where he got comfortable and pulled out his iPod. “We’re lucky this is a newer model, it’s got a goddamn iPod dock and everything!” Soon James Hetfields voice flooded into the cabin of the APC, it’s passengers roaring a loud approval as Patrick gunned it back to the Apartments.
- Leaving the Stadium. -
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Post by Big Boss, Lord of Light on May 4, 2012 22:56:45 GMT -5
The General's troops were loving the carnage before them.
While moving towards their target location, the soldiers took the opportunity to use their suppressive techniques. Using suppressed weaponry, the infected were easily dispatched by the soldiers with concentrated fire. Brezhnev remarked the movement of the infected as being slow....without intent or function. It appeared to him that those who became these shambling vestiges of life became mere shells. Only the outside of them were humans....in a sense. Inside, the brain was acting on sight, smell, limited hearing in order to feast upon the flesh of those not like them.
Brezhnev himself was enjoying the journey as well. It had been almost ten years since he had seen the combat of an actual warzone....and this city of the dead was the place for men such as himself. All around the sounds of screams, gunfire, sirens filled the air.....the moans of the infected, followed by the wind. This was his destiny. This was to be his finest hour, by which all the remainder of his life would be compared to. This would be the General's once in a lifetime chance to become the warrior once again. To fire upon enemies that outnumber him and his forces so greatly that they do not have enough bullets for them all.
Without speaking, the General, his men, and Hammond approached the stadium the group stopped. The General knew that their trip had been too easy....too efficient. Before the group, standing it's ground outside of the stadium was a massive creature. It was humanoid in structure. It's flesh was a pale, near green tone. It's body was covered by a massive trench coat. The bald creature stared forward with it's soulless eyes into the darkening sky. The General motioned for the troops to take refuge behind a nearby selection of overturned buses.
"Umbrella BOW.....Tyrant Class.....mass produced variety...." Brezhnev reported to the troops. "You have been prepped in their designs.....you have been informed of their purpose...." he then turned to Hammond. "Have you been prepped? Do you understand what our mission here is, Mr. Marlboro?"
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on May 4, 2012 23:59:23 GMT -5
There it was in all of it’s bold glory. The diabolical machine of human tissue and pure death was standing mere yards away without so much as moving a muscle. There was a reason behind this very means of non movement but Hammond at this point was not completely sure what that reason was. The machine of a man was expressionless and well built, much like a tank in appearance. It would seem as though it had some sort of purpose and it was not completely activated to dismantle the troops before it. The trench coat etched markings that were fashioned in a Umbrella Format not familiar to either Marlboro or the General. The eyes were a pearl white at best and the jaw line was mutated slightly to give the effect that the mouth had been seared shut. Giant mittens of hands were enlarged far beyond that of any human anatomy-wise and resembled a stone-like appeal much like boulders swaying below the waistline. The legs and feet were almost as un-proportioned as the hands and furthermore gave the behemoth the appearance of a walking tank. But, as stated before… the creature did not attempt to make a move at this very point and time. It was as if it was calculating the assault… waiting for something to change before making a move.
“ I am afraid not, General…” Hammond would look to seek refuge with the rest of the troops as he piloted through the mass data compiled on his hand-held. A series of files were flipped through at a alarming rate before it came to a open file with a simple attachment. Hammond then spoke in a low tone of voice as if not to want to test the creatures intelligence, “ According to this file, distance is the key to conflict with this particular- wait - something is wrong. The version depicted here does not match up to what is out there. In lay-mans terms, I say that we take this thing down hard and fast. Chances are that it already has a head count on what it’s opposition is and furthermore… it most likely has basic motivations, such as primal rage and beastly strength.”
The creature still refused to move as its eyes had now followed the group of people that were tucked away behind the turned busses. Luckily for the group it had meant they had time to prepare themselves.
Then things got a little awkward.
From the direct left came a large series of explosive rounds fired directly from above in scattered blasts. The explosives appearing to be spiked tipped mines that were being launched into the air and positioned all around the busses and adorning lovely blinking red lights. Each mine pelted the hard concrete with a thud and enough force crack the sediment below into chips. Blink. Blink. The mines then began to give off the all to familiar tick noise that any man that was familiar with auto’s would understand. These mines were not auto’s though, they had just been launched by hand from somewhere in the immediate area. The blinking had that effect of making a comfortable man uncomfortable and a formable man more fierce. They were everywhere, and from the looks of it. The group had fallen dead in the sights of something or someone capable of using Hammonds on damn weaponry against him.
It’s a trap.
“ We may have a teeny problem, General,” Hammonds calm demeanor seemed to never shift to a more primal sense that it should have at that point. Instead, he simply motioned to the mines, “ Those ‘mines’ are known as Temper Spots. So long as they do not read body heat that exceeds primary standards they will not exploded. But, should the victim panic, assume a adrenaline filled state, or otherwise get close to it… you might as well call us well done on this little walk about.”
Although the mines were the first thing to be laid, the next thing to happen would be the single red-dot sight that hovered across the right temple of Mr. Marlboro. The red dot sight did not stay for long and seemed to flicker momentarily as if the shot itself was being charged. Mr. Marlboro had seemed to have never notice it yet moved closer to the squad propped against the over-turned bus back first. A man such as the General would have noticed it immediately and would have most likely noticed the man in a gas mask and jet black combat armor that was lining up the shot from the top of the entrance of the stadium. The assailant would indeed have had to have been highly trained not to have taken such a risky shot so blindly. Another glance in that direction would also reveal two more figure dressed in similar attire that wear carrying highly automatic weaponry that were trained professionally toward the area of effect. Hammond was unaware of all but the Tyrant at this point and time and the data that he held in his hand which he palmed through vigorously. [/size]
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Post by Big Boss, Lord of Light on May 6, 2012 23:19:16 GMT -5
"Indeed." Brezhnev replied to Hammond's remark that they had walked into a trap, especially with these 'Temper Spots'. It was then that he noticed a red dot on Hammond's temple. With a quick snap of his attention, weapon drawn and ready, the General saw a group of high tech soldiers donned in black body armor and gas masks moving about the stadium entrance roof top. Grunting, Brezhnev took position back into cover and looked at his men.
"We fight....they die." he whispered. "No matter the cost....understood?"
"Serving the Union." the men whispered back, almost in a religious tone. With that, the soldiers began to span out from cover. They moved away, their steps not interlacing with each other, moving in a side stepping motion. To an onlooker who was not in the know, it would appear that these men were moving in a crab like formation. To the trained eye, it would be standard Spetsnaz combat maneuvers. The team moved away, not breathing heavily, not even caring that in the next few moments, their lives may be over. All that mattered to them was the possibility that they would die serving the cause of the restoration of an era where they were given the proper recognition of their skills, their talent, all of which dealt with being death dealers.
Brezhnev turned to Hammond, weapon at the ready. The General had no emotion in his eyes, no real desire to live or die in this one single moment. He knew what the parameters of his mission were. Being a man of honor, he felt that he should inform the man before him of at least part of his briefing.
"If mission success is at question," he started. "All data regarding our mission is to be liquidated. Nothing can fall into unknown hands. We leave no messages, journals, notes, or anything of the like. Is this understood?"
The soldiers had moved into firing positions all about the front of the stadium, all out of range of the Tyrant, all within range of the entrance. Weapons were held at the ready as the men took aim. All they needed now was Brezhnev's signal to engage.
"This will end one of two ways for us," Brezhnev continued. "Victory or death....there is no middle ground, Mr. Marlboro."
With that said, the General activated his com link and spoke one word.
"Fox."
It was moments such as these that one would reflect back on their life. Brezhnev thought back to the fools in Moscow who had branded him as the scapegoat for the failure of the occupation of the Afghans. His men had fought and died in the sand while the helicopters were swatted out of the sky by the West's weapons of destruction. Stingers missiles supplied by Washington through back door weapons dealers broke the back bone of the Soviet fighting force by striking down the Hind gunships which ravaged the land. What he would not give for such a weapon at a time such as this. What he would not do for a Hind right now.
He thought of Red Tiger....how she was still searching for her proper place in the Union. How she tried her best to prove herself, but still he looked at her only as being his niece, his only kin left. He cannot say blood kin, due to the fact that he never knew his blood family. Born on the war torn streets of Stalingrad, he never got the privilege to know his bird mother or father. His father was Stalin. His mother was Russia herself....the grand Soviet Union at the height of her power.
Brezhnev turned and faced the enemy, weapon at the ready.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on May 7, 2012 1:13:37 GMT -5
Envious. Mr. Marlboro felt a feeling that he had not felt in quite a while. A man that pretty much was at his peak and capable of raining supreme hellfire from above was not fully capable of driving his own forces the way these men moved. Brainwashing? Mr. Marlboro was certain that one would think such a thing, but no. Marlboro understood what these men were willing to die for just from what the past had shown. Soviet Soldiers were a different breed of man. These men acted like machines and moved with a fluid grace to their Commanders beckoning call. Each one spoke in unison and moved accordingly without question to a simple rousing chant. That one statement was that signaled the alignment of said men to act accordingly to the environment as well. Nimble and with grace, the movements were laden with silk and acted out as if it were a ballet of some sort. Arms were at the ready. Marlboro was sure that it would only take either a action or yet another signal from the General to get the ball rolling. The question was simple. The answer complex. But at this point, in the middle of a minefield, did Marlboro really have a choice but to trust these troops and get on with the assist? Yes, Marlboro always has a choice. He may envy these men and their tactics, but every last one of them were expendable except for the General… as of now.
The Tyrant was the standard T-103 from the looks of things. The trench coat that it had adorn was nothing more than a mere Power Limiter that any mass produce monstrosity such as itself would be wearing. A couple differences that were not noticed before was the fact that it did not move at all, save the heave of it’s breath as of now and the wandering eyes. One would seem to think that activation was required for it to do so. That one that would think that would be absolutely correct…
“ Greetings again Mister Hammond Marlboro, my apologies on the short notice of our speaking… We’ve been rather… oh dear…” the voice of the stranger from earlier spoke up once more, sounding a bit more chipper behind the garbled reception, “ It would seem as though that shipment that was sent was intercepted somehow, we are working out the kinks in our network as we speak. Have you witnessed the number of hostiles on the stadium arches? Of course you haven’t, you are too preoccupied with those Union fellows undying resolve? Am I right? Or perhaps the fact that the enemy has gained access to YOUR toys and is quite possibly using them as we speak? That could create quite the messy little tid-bit don’t you agree? The irony of being killed by your own toys. Seems a lot of that has been going around. Nevertheless, those men on that roof-top must be neutralized and that TYRANT must go as unharmed as possible. How can I say this… it has had a attitude adjustment? We cannot really disclose it‘s purpose, just take our word. What do you have to lose at this point, eh?”
Hammond Marlboro sighed heavily in a to keep from reaching a annoyed manner as the voice spoke into his ear bud directly, he was certain that the person speaking on the other end was somehow ’Watching’ the way things were playing out through security footage or something of that nature. Hammond then spoke to the General with a straight to the point series of words, “ SOURCE says that we have hostiles that have secured our shipment and have use of OUR weapons and materials. No full estimated count of exactly how many, and apparently that big bloke in the open there is inactive and awaiting some other purpose. Apparently, he’s on our side as of now. The mercenaries in the Stadium… not so much. As far as living and dying goes, General… This entire city will burn before we die today.”
The veteran mercenaries that combed the stadium arches had scopes and sights locked, prime, postured and ready. It had seemed that the way the battlefield had set up was becoming more like a Mexican Stand-Off rather than a shoot-out at the OK Corral. These men were patient to watch the movement of the unknown enemy that had just moved into position to flank them. Careful eyes now watching through the gas masks to assess the situation and not make a fatal mistake that could lose more of their squad. These were the men atop the stadium, the remnants of those that had been led astray during the initial rioting. The team forced to kill civilians and military alike for the sake of a contract. These men had just had a gift from GOD himself drop from the sky and they did not plan on giving it up lightly. The unknown troops that were once positioned behind the bus and wavering around the mines that were laid had to die. They could not risk more infected getting close to what little they had left.
A signal came from the one that stood the tallest, and with that signal came a single shot into the air from the second automatic weapon holder, a warning shot none the less. Just a reminder that those on top of the arches did not wish for conflict or to waste ammunition, but wanted the Union Troops to back off their grounds.
Mr. Marlboro took full advantage of the staggering tension that was surely building and the ’warning shot’ altogether and positioned his own weapon around the corner of the flipped bus with a calm presence formed. Cold eyes met a sick, twisted smirk in a display that would soon turn what could have been a peaceful situation… into a bloodbath. The same calm nature causing him to pull the trigger of the Thirty Eight that was held for semi-defensive purposes with skilled marksmanship and shoot a electrical grid core power transformer that was positioned a few yards away. The reason being that the transformer fell short of both parties, and would cause enough of a distraction to act as a diversion for his movement to much less hostile ground. Also, he was near positive that the Union Troops would take full advantage of the diversion to execute what they saw and assess the situation further.
The three men with masks would begin the process of returning fire without warning… Hammond would leave it up to the General to put them down and proceed to collect the much needed gear.
A backfire to that event would have been one that Mr. Marlboro should have noted from the beginning of the stand-off. The staggering infected would be drawn in. One or two at first, and then possibly in droves later. Out the corner of his eye he noticed one, previously what seemed to have been a college student from the looks of the clothing choice. Eyes were sunken and skin was pale as the moon itself, a blood feast painted across the boys mouth. The motion was not like in the movies when you thought of zombies, had Mr. Marlboro not been semi-briefed… he would never had known the difference other than the fact that some kid was playing a prank… a bad one at that. Minus the sickening, clammy look of him, he did not look much like Infected at all. That was until he drew close enough for Mr. Marlboro to witness the intestines of this particular being dragging across the ground. Perhaps he was looking to fill the stomach that was no longer there. Marlboro kept a straight face in sight of the morbid humor of the situation and then noticed a flock of different batches of undead begin rising from parked cars and the ground alike. [/size]
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Post by Big Boss, Lord of Light on May 14, 2012 11:35:29 GMT -5
The gunfire rattled through the silence. The Russians opened fire only at exposed figures as they ran back and forth in the entry way and the roof of the entry way. Their shots went forth with deadly accuracy at the 'toy' soldiers before them. They knew nothing of commitment. They knew nothing of honor. They knew nothing of the sense of duty, even when the risks outweigh the potential benefits. Return fire was quick and dirty from the mercenaries. They gave away their ammunition in droves. While the Russians fired in quick, controlled, ammo saving bursts, the mercenaries fired as if they had the ammo to burn, which could quite possibly be the case. While the Russians had managed to drop four of the mercenaries with their initial volley, the mercenaries had perforated only one of the Russians.
Seeing one of his men fall to the mercenaries caused a burst of anger to flare up in his eyes. He brought up his rifle and aimed it forward. He took aim at a single mercenary as he ran from one end of the top of the entry way. The General fired one shot, only one, right at the young man's gas mask. The bullet penetrated the mask, dropping the figure like a ton of bricks. Brezhnev then took aim towards another figure. He was about to fire once again when the moans filled the air, over powering the rattle of automatic gunfire.
"Hold fire....cover." he said into his head set, as he took cover and looked behind them. Their battle had drawn an army of the infected. They were swarming towards them, arms outstretched, hands clenching and releasing at the hope of grasping fresh meat. The sight of this army of the undead gave Brezhnev an idea. Why continue expending precious ammunition? Why not let the mercenaries take on the undead for a while?
"Take refuge. Button up!" he ordered into his head set.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on May 14, 2012 20:55:23 GMT -5
Blood poured onto the scene from the mercenaries gas mask like college kids to a keg party. The thick wavering smell of fluid life pouring from the limp body seemed to add a sort of scent to the air. That scent was practically screaming, ’Here I am Zombie Freaks, eat me.’ In the oblige of the freshly spilled blood, the infected suddenly broke into a frenzy. The staggering undead now broke into a sprint or extremely fast shuffle as quick as their body would allow them. There was nothing else in their path now besides the newly dead body positioned at the arch-way. Hollow eyes followed the zone like hawks and gore ridden bodies now briskly made it a point to form a raid. The scent was the leader and primal instinct was the cause. The infected were now easily beginning to overrun the stadium doors and making proper use of the shattered ticket counters for entry. No amount of ammo they had could save the mercenaries now as they gladly pumped round after round into the infected. The moaning and gasping soon made the battle cry of the zombies more intense. The point being that the General had just fed a group of survivors to a horde of Zombies without so much as batting a eye.
Mr. Hammond Marlboro had never witnessed something so mindless in his entire life. All of these people were once normal human beings that carried out day to day life. Now they were little more than mindless eating machines hell bent on the next meal. Mr. Marlboro complied to the notion issued from the General and stuck close to him.
Mr. Marlboro soon spoke as the undead continued to stagger all around the debris of what was previously the usual environment. His voice was a near whisper and aimed to The General, “ Those infected just mindlessly ransacked the stadium. Fortunate to not be devoured, but unfortunate to have the entrance-” It was then that he paused and noticed something. His words then followed smoothly, “ Scaffolds, General. It seems that some sort of maintenance was being run before the outbreak occurred. Those mindless oafs are storming the main gates. We should take advantage of this and make our way into the stadium. We can decide what our plan is once we get a better grip on the situation.”
Hammond Marlboro was not a military strategist, but the man had a point. On the direct left side of the stadium was a series of ladders and scaffolding that ran the entire length of the stadium wall. That same wall had entrance-ways that would allow the team to effectively scout the stadium without going directly into ground zero of the zombie attack. A few scattered undead may tend to linger around the area, but nothing that a little close quarters combat couldn’t handle without alerting the others of the presence. The scaffolding seemed a bit weathered, though, as if it had been there for quite some time.
“ I am ready to move when you are.” [/size]
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Post by Big Boss, Lord of Light on May 16, 2012 20:30:20 GMT -5
Brezhnev watched reverently as the infected marched up the stadium steps, not even flinching at the peppering of automatic rifle fire that rattled from above and in front of them. These were the perfect answer to an enemy who did not know when they were beat. Send them in....much like the Spetsnaz....clean up....capture....repackage....wash, rinse, repeat.
"We shall wait...a bit longer....let our mercenary friends get good and panicked....then," Brezhnev leaned back away from his view as he began to reload his expended magazine. "Then we march to victory."
Brezhnev took this moment, this break if you will, and decided it was time to see if he could get some information out of this Hammond.
"Tell me, you sell weapons across the globe, yes? Why help us in our mission? What is your gain other than money?" Brezhnev asked, as he put the now full magazine back into the pouch of his vest. "What is it you fight for, Mr. Marlboro? My men....we fight for our ideals....our Rodina.....you....you are a mystery....I see only monetary gain for you in the end....or death....and that cannot be it.
"There has to be something more....something beyond the bounds of normal men. You seek something....don't you.....a thrill....a sense of purpose when the risks are high. You want to play the great game of life....you make every hand an 'all in' bet....if that is the case....then I can promise you shall not be entirely bored in this venture....but if it is just the money.....just the profit of it all....." Brezhnev shook his head.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on May 16, 2012 23:24:36 GMT -5
The sheer look upon Hammond Marlboro’s face was that of a man that felt no absolute purpose. Why was he here of all places? Technology? Compounds? Unlimited Power? These things could be acquired without being on the forefront of a total freaking apocalypse taking place. Instead, it was not his being here that he questioned the most. The question was who was pulling the strings behind the scenes? Who was the master that controlled the puppets? His facial expression showed a ghostly visage of the man that he was battling the man that he was slowly becoming. Death. Destruction. Faith. Faith in the system that had gotten him as far as he had gotten was slowly dwindling away. There was nothing more than complete hatred for the system forming. The expression affected his voice, a stern sort of Caribbean English forming in place of the dry version, “ There is no monetary gain from any of this General. I am here merely to support your efforts and gain information for a third party. I have a sneaking suspicion that the hand that is guiding us will be the same hand that will try to stab us in the back.”
Marlboro was the type of man to realize a screw job when he saw one. His words were calculated, “ Greed, Sir. Greed is what drives these imbeciles to hide the truth at any cost. As of now, all other units will most likely be expendable. Umbrella has lost control completely of the situation and is most likely systematically getting screwed one by one. Power is something that we must acquire in the mean time to have some leverage. If we want our HAND to play ball, we certainly need something tilting in our favor. Any suggestions as to what that may be?”
As Marlboro spoke, the gunfire from above ceased while paving way to a large amount of hellish screaming. One of the men that was left stand was fending off Zombies with a succession of punches and kicks. The style and format looked highly trained, his noteworth manuever being to grasp hold of the undead and then calculate the body on hundred and ninety degrees before throwing it into a group of it’s own kind. A couple defensive strikes mixed with another toss was all that the man could execute before lunging toward the railing of the archway. The horde of six infected sprawled out forward, one grasping his shoulder and attempting to dig fangs into the Kevlar material. The man fought back with a shoulder block before extending his palm forward to create a high impact palm strike to the beasts chest. It seemed that no matter how hard the man fought back, he was losing. The sight of red came on the final lunge as blood sprayed into the air like a fountain. The words of the yelping howl were, “ Motherfuc*ers bit me. You want to play games, mon ami? We can play games. Vous voulez un repas salauds? Vous aurez besoin d'obtenir un peu plus près, j'ai un cadeau pour vous de l'enfer. Venez sur enculés. Obtenez une partie de cette.” Then followed the all to familiar sound of a grenade pin being released one after another, “Je viens à vous Jésus-Christ à bras ouverts et l'esprit ouvert. Sur ce monde je ne pouvais pas se reposer mais je Ciel je me tiendrai à côté de Yous.”
With the last bit of religious banter, the enivitable happened in the sense of the man exploding into a barrage of pieces. With that explosion came another series of explosions to follow as the archway of the stadium lit up with bursts of grenade precussion. The dead would be caught in the area of effect and their staggering style would be halted permanently. One mans sacrifice wiped out the six invaders. There were no more survivors in the archways and now due to the massive shift of cement and material that rained below, there was a large number of viral carrier casualties as well. Through one kamikaze motive, the French speaking survivor managed to blow the top portion of the stadium that overlooked the main entrance to hell. But, it did not end there. The shockwaves had finished only to breed more that vibrated down the main street of the city. Hellfire ravaged the main concourse a bit away and the remains of the undead seemed to litter the sky for a short while. A fail safe. The rubble that was left over was nearly impossible to pass and the littered vehicles were surely unsafe to tread near. One mans actions had literally changed the battlefield for better or worse.
“ That bastard just blocked the only route to the ‘next’ drop-point, General,” Marlboro shook his head multiple times, “ We should most likely see what explosives were left over from the drop. It seems as though the satchel charges came in handy after all. Enough for a ****ed off Frenchman to level the only means of- Wait a second. The lower levels of the Stadium lead to the Metro- Correct? Once we load up on whatever we can haul, we will be capable of seeking refuge underground long enough to make our way in that direction. All of it connects, or is this map display faulty?”
The air would now be filled with dust-like smoke that was hard to swallow. Rubble littered the landscape but the dead that moved around outside now had no agenda other than those that clawed away at the rubble that block all the fresh corpses. Marlboro took it all in and was marveled by what his weaponry had just accomplished. The field test had not gone according to plan in the least, but now it proved that they were quite useful in actual combat of this caliber. The charges had done exactly what the French had planned, the Zombies that moved along the roadside were now no more. Along with the road itself, of course my horse.
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Post by Big Boss, Lord of Light on May 18, 2012 22:03:20 GMT -5
Shifting balance? Now that was something that Brezhnev specialized in.
"Don't think that I am entirely without means, Mr. Marlboro." Brezhnev said dryly. "What you have in the latest and greatest in high technology....I can make up for with sheer numbers of old, reliable weapons and soldiers." He looked out as the zombies continued their work.
"All that it takes, sir, to shift paradigm into one direction or another is simply enough resources to start a fire. Nurture that fire....fan it's flames every so often.....pretty soon it shall become self generating. With that fire, we aim at those who scorned us....those who meddled in our affairs....." Brezhnev began to think back, to Afghanistan. The Americans had given weapons and equipment through so many back market weapons dealers....possibly even the man before him had lent a hand in that endeavor. How many comrades had he seen killed thanks to the Americans giving out missile launchers with guidance systems.
"We shall burn, sir....we shall fan the flames of hatred into such a fashion that the Inquisition shall look as if it were a mere ink blot in the annals of history." Brezhnev growled. Then the explosion rang out. Bodies of charred and burning zombies littered the street in front of the stadium....and now rubble blocked the entrance. So much for the easy route.
"I like a challenge...." Brezhnev chuckled, as he put his hand to his radio. "Some one make note of the bravery of that man." He listened as Marlboro grunted about the loss of ease in the mission at hand. No matter...where one window was bashed in, one could simple take out the wall and gain entry.
"Yes, the metro can be an means of movement...but I would not advise it....if it is one thing I am certain of, fighting in an enclosed space is a horrible idea. Limits enemy and friendly movements to either forward or back....and the last time soldiers of the Red Army did such tactics....millions died for a worthless city....." Brezhnev cut himself off a bit as he began to think. Wasn't that what he was doing right now? Fighting in a city that was a lost cause simply because it was a place to fight? Fighting was the only thing, the only thing he and his men had left in this world. There would never be another parade, another award ceremony for himself or his men. They fought for the mere hope....hope that one day Russia would return to it's senses. He activated his radio.
"Assault team, prepare to gain entry into the building. Sweep, clear, search, destroy. We are not giving quarter to enemy personnel. We will be securing weapons and technology that Mr. Marlboro has had sent to this location. We move in five."
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