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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on May 19, 2012 22:11:42 GMT -5
Mr. Marlboro simply shook his head to everything that spouted from The General’s mouth. Marlboro was without a shadow of a doubt impressed with the sense of purpose that the man in front of him showed to his cause. No matter the circumstance or the obstacles that were thrown forward, The General never faulted once. Marlboro nodded his head in agreement while his words seemed to have a little more life than usual, a thick English/Caribbean dialect present, “ I agree. But, from what I’ve seen of the notes that have been handed down thus far General, this is war. The Bio-Organic Weapons are being used like machine guns and yes, a few of them would look to have been spraying rounds needlessly unarmed… but the truth of the matter is that anything that has been released has been released with purpose. Three Divisions have three different agendas. Ours… Sir… ours is the most intriguing, yet simple of all.”
A large chime rang through as the Data Pad then was in all ears mode, “ Well spoken, Mr. Marlboro and greetings General Brezhnev. This is Command Alpha Green. We were over burdened to say the least, but now that your squad is so close to the first package, we figured it was time to shed some light on the situation. Inside each one of the supply drops that were sent is a Sonic Transmitter. Each one of these Anti-Ballistic Devices are camouflaged to represent nothing more than a mere everyday object. Once your men ready themselves with the supplies from each drop, make sure that Mr. Marlboro has appropriate cover to enter his numbers into the hidden access panel. The devices should only take roughly two to five minutes a piece and once they are armed, store them off the beaten path. Their purpose will make a bit more sense in the future. After the Stadium is secure through the use of the ABD present, we will provide Air-Support to a designated drop point outside of the next location. We were informed that you and your team operate well under grueling pressure so we do not expect to be let down. We will not lie to you, General Brezhnev, if we so much as THINK that you or a team member is deviating from task, we will be forced to pull the plug on this operation and terminate whatever standing you have.” [/b] Marlboro was not amused, his voice was cold and stern, “ There was no talk of ABDs, Command. Setting up Military Grade Defensives within City Limits is against The United States Government’s rules and regulations. Special Forces would be on our ass quicker that a fly to scat if we so much as activate one.”“ You will mind your tongue, Marlboro. The United States Special Forces have already engaged in skirmishes all over Raccoon City with all forces including their own. As of now, The United States has been deemed a enemy to the all movement. Remaining out of their view is no longer necessary to the completion of this mission. Engage only when there is no option other than that. We figured that a little blast from the past may make revenge a little more sweet. You will set the ABDs, if Special Forces interfere… neutralize them,”[/b] the voice on the other end spoke with a absolute nature, “ We want to make sure that the chaos of this situation is used to your full advantage Gentlemen.”[/b] Gunfire erupted from the near far, small arms fire from the sound of it and it’s location seemed a few blocks down. The small arms fire was then replaced by full automatic hardware that pierced the ambience of moaning and groaning. Minor explosions followed by larger ones painted the picture of urban warfare. Urban warfare that was without a shadow of a doubt not too far away. Dust and debris were settling around the entrance to the stadium as Marlboro looked at The General with a painted grin, “ All we have is choice to decide our outcome, fine Sir.”[/size][/blockquote]
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Post by Big Boss, Lord of Light on May 20, 2012 15:25:06 GMT -5
Brezhnev grunted at the orders from this so called 'Command Alpha Green'. He would play their game, follow their rules to a point. He had always found that the closer you can get to a person, the less effort you would have to put in shoving the blade through their throats.
"We cover you as you set this ABDs....Special Forces intervention.....orders to kill American military personnel on sight..." he chuckled slightly at that last bit. "What more could I want."
It was then that the gunfire erupted from a nearby location. Apparently a group were fighting against the undead and mutants as well. The small arms fire changed into more powerful automatic gunfire. The General's troops paid no mind to the gunfire, only noting it their minds as they continued to begin their sweep of the stadium. They were prepping to create an improvised entrance into the building by means of removal of a wall with small, low yield, explosives.
"Our outcome, Mr. Marlboro?" Brezhnev asked, as the section of the wall came down, creating a new entrance into the building. "Choice is an illusion created by those who give out opiates to the masses....we simply continue doing what we know as truth. It is truth that men react to force. It is truth that he who uses the greatest force is the most respected. And it is truth, Mr. Marlboro, that a defining quality of man is that when faced with his own extinction, he will do whatever is necessary to survive."
With that said, Brezhnev brought up his rifle and joined with his men in the entry into the stadium. The Spetsnaz Soldiers activated light enhancing goggles to help in seeing in the darkened room. The General, lacking the goggles, stayed in the rear, keeping his eyes open for movement.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on May 20, 2012 19:36:39 GMT -5
Where most would likely nod in agreement due to the fact of shutting another’s ideals up, Hammond Marlboro simply bowed his head twice in respect to the words that flowed freely. There was no pause and no warped realities to what The General had just spoken. For once, what the man had said, unlike many others, had some sort of meaning dwelling behind it. The majority of it was not some sort of propaganda brain washing speech, no, this was without a doubt what the man believed. Mr. Marlboro was guilty as charged in regards to the ‘opiates to the masses.’ There were no TRUE soldiers in a conference room, there were no heroes in which to praise or even worship, his kind started the wars and The Generals died for the outlying cause of it all. In reality, Marlboro did not see The General dying any time soon.
“ If your men react to force as well, I believe we all are about to get one hell of a reaction shortly,” Marlboro pause for a second before lifting his side-arm into firing position, that feeling of something in the near future going to happen took grip of him. A brief pause led to a valiant thump from below that was then followed by another from the sky. Marlboro would follow up with a simple word that was shouted out at the top of his lungs, “ Incoming!”
As if to be on cue with the current train of mishaps and misfortunes, the sky had generally struck out… thus plucking a unidentified mass of charred metal and fried components and thrusting it head first into the side of the building. The aircraft was the remains of what seemed to be a Surveillance Aircraft, lightweight and single jet thrust engine. The charred metal blasted into fragmentations all around before finally making a resting place permanently in the direct side of the structure. Evidentially, the bypassing camera was caught by another sort of surveillance team and brought down with some form of anti-aircraft device. Evidence of a small impact of a RPG to the bottom fuel reserve was present, the impact being much larger than the damage that a bullet or minor explosion would produce. The surveillance plan in general bore one itsy bitsy teeny weeny thing that cause Hammond to arch his eyebrow, the scarred remains of the candy-caned version of the Umbrella Logo. This plane had apparently been gathering air to surface information and was abruptly cut down.
It all kinda went down like this, the plane spiraled from the blackening sky above after the second thump echoed harshly across the landscape… the night and ambience of moans and gunfire soon shattered by the may-day sirens of the unidentified object. In the rapid descent of said object, Marlboro had noticed it out the corner of his eye and then calculated the point of impact some yards away in a near superhuman manner. A quick hand motion followed by the jolt of his own reaction placed him back first on the ground as a large piece of shrapnel spun out of control over the group. As if to continue to be a nightmare, the same piece of shrapnel hovered across the ground while plowing through the incoming wall. A large shrieking sound stopped the blade while impaling it soundly in the cement wall ahead. The plan on the other hand had collided with the opposing outside wall, large amounts of the remainder of fuel pouring across the landscape and setting fire shortly thereafter by a spark of flame. The extremely volatile liquid vapor combination burned hotter than anything that Hammond had ever felt before. The plus side of this was that nothing would dare venture in, the negative was… there was no turning back.
Shortly after the collision of the aircraft, Marlboro would lay back first on the ground with a vague expression painted across his features. His voice followed in a not so amused manner, “ … And now they are throwing freaking planes at us…” [/size]
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Post by Big Boss, Lord of Light on May 24, 2012 19:55:42 GMT -5
The plane crashing into their exit had startled the General. It was something unexpected but not totally unplanned for. Having their retreat cut off had it's bonuses and risks. On one side, there would be less risk of having an unknown entity coming in behind them. On the down side, if they ran into a force that was greater than they could deal with, then this stadium was going to become the tomb of his men.
"Check your corners." Brezhnev breathed, as he looked back to Marlboro.
"Keep the chatter down..." he whispered. He then went back with his men to continue their sweep. Even though the environment had changed, that did not mean that the mission had.
The soldiers moved no less than five feet apart from each other as they began to search the cluttered, debris filled stadium floor. From outside, they could make out screams and reports of weapons fire, but inside, inside it was nearly a ghost town. The soldiers must have fallen back to some position inside the stadium or had pulled out completely from what Brezhnev could see. The floor was littered with spent bullet casings. It was then that they made their presence known. The undead moved in on the Russians, their moans filling the air.
"Form rank! Target the enemies head! Short, controlled bursts!" Brezhnev ordered.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on May 24, 2012 22:25:16 GMT -5
The dark and dismal approach of the formally deceased seemed to lull over the area with a certain impeding doom. The feeling was most certainly one that someone suffering from post traumatic stress disorder would feel when curled in a ball and rocking back and forth. The case of rocking back and forth was not placed into motion, nor was any other action for that matter as Hammond Marlboro rose to his feet. The motion was slow and drawn out, his eyes never leaving what remained of the possessed corpses. Men, Women, and Children all seemed to march in a unified motion with a liquid grace. The putrid smell of death now lacing the particularly crude setting of a prime denominational means. The dead were moving. Ammo was scarce as of now. They were trapped against something that just fell out of the freaking sky. Nothing seemed to matter other than the progression of the undead upon their location, Hammond was no hero, he had never claimed to be.
The abrupt command of the General seemed to ring throughout Hammonds ears and his lifeless expression changed to a brief smirk. The current weapon in hand would never suit the use that Mr. Marlboro needed with the growing threat of the Zed Horde, so he chose to improvise a bit. From beneath his waistcoat came a miniature pry-bar, the dwarf cousin of the crowbar primarily used for… well… prying. This unique item was acquired mainly for the drab nature of needing to break into office or desk or two, but he had absolutely no idea that he would need it for something like this. Once the weapon was ready and in hand, his eyes made their way to The General before motioning to the smoldering… not aflame… heap of debris that had blocked their path.
It was most evident that the secondary tank had expelled the majority of fuel during the original attack on the object, but the primary tank still held fast to the sealed cap that kept the precious fluid inside. A slight tilt of the wrecked debris would make certain that the liquid would pour across the ground without trouble. The river of liquid would most likely be a ’secret weapon’ that the group could not afford to pass up at this point and time. The clock was ticking, the undead were moving in and if a move wasn’t to be made soon… they would die without a SINGLE motion being carried out in regards to the mission. Of course, the releasing of the gas would most likely make the navigation of this side of the Stadium highly dangerous, but both The General and Mr. Marlboro most likely thought on their feet and could pull it off.
“ If I may, Sir. We seemed to be at a ARC as far as data goes. I know what these things can DO, and YOU know how to KILL them,” Mr. Marlboro moved the pry-bar in a swaying action as he spoke while motioning toward the gas canister on the wreckage, “ Do you think a IMMENSE amount of flame would stop them?”
Mr. Marlboro was making it certain that his idea had passed through his head, but he was not EXACTLY sure how to carry it out in TEAM formation. Clearly, The General knew his men forward and back and knew exactly what they were capable of… but the ratio of ammo versus undead were slim. It was either… abandon major conflict as much as possible or burn these freaking zeds alive with Holy Fire that fell from the sky. Holy fire that FELL FROM THE SKY! Marlboro was ready for anything that the General had decided to do at this point. A head count showed, A BUNCH of staggering idiots… no current militia other then their tight knit group… and a massive piece of wreckage with holy fire in the gas reserves.
Marlboro held out the pry-bar as if to offer it to The Generals decision. [/size]
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Post by Big Boss, Lord of Light on May 29, 2012 21:31:41 GMT -5
The General eyed the fuel containers that Hammond had pointed out. Fire did have a cleansing property to itself. It could possibly give them some sort of edge over the corpses, but then again, he had seen these zombies set ablaze and continue walking for several meters before falling to the flames. Then again, ammunition reserves were dwindling. The potential benefits outweighed the possible risks in the General's mind.
"Mr. Marlboro, if you would be so kind as to do the honors..." Brezhnev said, motioning at the gas canister. "It's your party....light the candles on the cake."
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on Jun 2, 2012 22:14:15 GMT -5
What seemed like hours passed in mere seconds as Marlboro stared forward with coffee black eyes. The miniature crowbar held steadfast and forward as it pointed toward one of the troopers. The General had spoken, and with that the crowbar then retracted closer to the wielder. Surveying of the wreckage was to take place, followed by a minor nod of the head in acceptance to what must be done. This was the only way.
The wreckage smelt of ash, copper wiring, and sulfur. Thick bellowing waves of pollution poured from multiple crevices and cracks to add emphasis to the scene at hand. Minor sparks of spent electronics painted the picture of mild danger. Destruction had taken place just a minute before and now… hellfire would be introduced to the legion of undead that had stormed the grounds prior to entry. All that had to be done was peeling back the cap and letting physics take it’s toll.
One. Two. Three. Hammond Marlboro swung the crowbar three times in succession, each hit gaining in speed and impact each time. The third swing gave off a PING that sparked a fountain of flowing fuel… the fuel pouring in a stream to the point of location. A fan out effect took place, fuel covering further distances in a spanning motion. Fuel covering the feet of the undead and trekking along to further points of interest. Smooth fuel, that in nature would prove to be the most vicious weapon that had been used thus far. Despite the best wishes and efforts, Marlboro had a growing suspision that it may not be enough. The hope that the aircraft may have been carrying a full load in the reserve tank was cut short by the drip that not exited the hole. Drip. Drip. Drip.
“ General, the fuel isn’t going to be enough to cook all of these bastards. Perhaps we should use the flame as diversion at best,” Marlboro wiped the sweat from his brow as he lit his last cigarette of the trip. The box that had held the cigarettes casually falling to the ground with a minor thud. A gold plated lighter with smooth waves etched into it was removed from his jacket pocket, calmly lighting the tip of the cancerous stick. A slow ember burned with a gentle inhale. Inhale was followed by a puff of smoke exhaled from the lungs. The lighter was then placed back into his pocket as his eyes jolted toward the group of outfitted men, “ Once we sack these undead we can secured a drop point to deliver a Sentry Vehicle to our location. This walking bit is really starting to chaff my ass.”
Marlboro pointed towards what would seemed to have once been the CENTER of the field ahead. His head shook from side to side, “ You guys have anything hot enough to burn this fuel, eh?”
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Post by Big Boss, Lord of Light on Jun 3, 2012 3:13:57 GMT -5
"A small advantage is better than no advantage." Brezhnev replied. Marlboro continued with a remark of all the movement being a bit too much for him.
"If you aren't up to the physical aspect, Mr. Marlboro..." Brezhnev said briskly, as he raised his rifle and dropped three of the closest zombies. "Then stand clear of the work." His men followed suit, thinning the incoming ranks of the undead. However, even with their efforts, it seemed that they would not have the ammunition to successfully clear out the area to make it a haven for themselves.
There was a hardness to Hammond, that was not to be denied. However, he was not a soldier. He did not seem to be one who had to do without. The General had a bit of respect for the man, but that was not to say he would abandon the man if he got in the way of his goals. If Hammond had lived in the great Motherland, then maybe the man would have had a seat on the Politburo. Maybe he would have had to take orders directly from this man...this suit...this behind the scenes man.
When asked whether or not they had something to ignite the gas with, the soldiers gave a look at each other as they each produced a signal flare.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on Jun 10, 2012 23:25:25 GMT -5
Marlboro watched as The Generals mouth moved with his line of words ever so present. He could not argue the fact that he loved how outspoken the Russian was, but he was certainly a liar if he said at that point and time that killing him did not pass through thought at least once. Marlboro managed to work out a grin to hide the massive amount of dread that was trying to surface from within. The man was all about discipline and respect, he had managed to be coined as the ’Brain’ of many Syndicates and even a few Corporate Organizations. But one thing that Hammond Marlboro was not afraid of was enjoying the bloodlust in the thick of conflict, he was not short of combat training these days either. The smile continued to be worn without hesitation or his true intentions of that matter even remotely shining through.
“ Beggars can’t be choosers it seems,” Marlboro stepped forward briefly while allowing the flare to fit into the palm of his hand. The brush of the device onto the rigid concrete on the wall popped the cap and released the mild dancing sparks. Marlboro gave a brief hand motion and worked his way into a sprint toward the far left guard wall. His momentum caused a long jump that cleared the short wall and placed him opposite side of it. During that little display, the flare had managed to be launched from his grip and settle directly at the source of the spill. One bullet would not have been enough, through the growing heat of the flare it slowly began to spark a ignition throughout the fuel. When the flame finally breathed of hellish life, Marlboro spoke up with, “ Fire in the hole.”
The flame danced in a fluid stream of destruction as it began to engulf the dead that attempted to treaded. Extreme heat mixed with the short burst of oxygen to the already exposed skin of these creatures began to cook them from the outside in. Fleshy material popped and oozed from them as the clothing they wore began to burn away and soon the fleshy exterior was soon to follow. The dead were flash frying in a barbeque specifically engineered to drop the masses to the ground. They staggered and crawled but eventually the majority of them fell victim with a brief exhale of demonic presence. Those that managed to stagger away from the flame simply rushed the defensive lines set in place.
Marlboro raised his side arm with precision and skill. Each pause between the rotation of the barrel and the click of the hammer slid the aim to another location. In a matter of a few seconds, he was out… his .38 Special discarded into the tuck of his pants. Two undead managed to breach his position and charge him head-on. A quick motion was met as his frame dropped to a better vantage point. One had managed to latch onto his shoulder with a bony grip, positioning itself arched over the frame of the man. Marlboro used the leverage of the situation to launch his body upright. The mommentum of the creature was the downfall that it carried. A simple thrust upward from the squatting position sent the attacker sliding over Marlboro’s shoulders and crashing to the ground below. The second attack had approached from his rear, but was instantly met with the full force rotation of his hell. A snap and crackle rocked the second creatures skull with enough impact to drop a horse… or so it would have seemed. The second attacker left it’s feet as it flew sideways and smashed it’s fragile head into the wall with a soft ’clunk’ as Marlboro finished the rotation of the roundhouse.
The first attacker had regained composure and charged once more. Marlboro had simply sidestepped and would quickly withdrawal his combat knife from the confines of his jacket. The movement performed next placed the blade firmly in the lower portion of the wanders skull. Red crimson fluid poured from the side of it’s head during exit. Marlboro simply tried to maintain his stance and keep a closed defense as the undead collapsed to the ground for the time being… if not permanently. [/size]
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Post by Big Boss, Lord of Light on Jun 12, 2012 1:31:40 GMT -5
Brezhnev stood by his men as the flames engulfed the huddled zombies, but sure enough, the fire was not enough to stop the oncoming onslaught of the undead. The soldiers knew their orders. There would be little time to change magazines. Fall back as they fired, hold off the undead with the ammo in their weapons. Once their rifles ran dry, they would draw handguns. Once their handguns were empty, hand to hand combat. Each man dreaded the up close attacks that were certain to be coming. They each knew the punishment for a single scratch from these creatures. With their rifles switched to semi-automatic, the Russians engaged their targets.
Moving and shooting, the Russians gave no battle cry, no words uttered. Each man fired and switched targets. While most of their shots dropped zombies, as the battle continued on, their aim got sloppy. What were once clear, clean headshots were becoming off center. They were hitting cheek, neck, and heart. Brezhnev himself had wasted four shots to drop a single zombie before finally dropping it to the ground with a shot directly in it's forehead. As his rifle ran dry, the General discarded the AN94 and drew a Makrov 9mm and a scout knife. With his knife in hand, Brezhnev took aim at the incoming zombies and fired.
The soldiers ran out of ammo quickly. They switched just as their commander had. The small arms clattered forth at the zombies as they continued backward. As they moved back, they discovered a secondary group of zombies further in the stadium, which were much closer than their primary targets. One of the soldiers had his arm bitten as he aimed his handgun out at the group before him. Before he had a chance to cry out in pain, another trooper stabbed his knife into the skull of his former comrade.
"Grenades! Deploy!" Brezhnev ordered, as he holstered his sidearm, his hand now reaching for a fragmentation grenade on his vest. He knew the likelyhood that they would kill a zombie with the grenade blasts were unlikely, but at least the explosions would help in slowing down the enemy advance. Each of the remaining soldiers threw a single grenade at the front line of the advancing dead and continued on their retreat. **************************************************************************************** One day earlier:
"Impartiality in battle, comrades," Brezhnev said to the gathered troops. "That is the key to victory. With this outbreak, you must understand that the people you may be facing may have been just minutes ago your very own comrades. Impartial must be our battle cry. Here, we shall stand....they, the enemy, shall die!"
"Horah!" the gathered soldiers shouted in agreement.
"We will be outnumbered, three to one. The firefights will ignite the sky. The choice is now, comrades. Fight with me, prime your guns, wet your blades. We will shall face this challenge together. The time for the reckoning of the evils of the capitalists is now!" Brezhnev spat as he moved back and forth before the men. "Our fury will be dealt in spades, we shall strike fast, and take down this cursed city! Our moment of glory thrives on this! But, until then....rest....get your sleep....for it may be the last day of quiet you shall have. Dismissed."
As the men left from the briefing, Brezhenv called over Col. Leylushenko, his second in command.
"Dimitri...is it fair....fair to bring them to a fight that we cannot win outright?" Brezhnev asked as he watched the men outside on the grounds. "Is this fear I have for them my last remaining sin, comrade? Can I tamp this feeling down and lead them all the same? Am I a fool? Am I the leader that they need, a vengeful man seeking restoration of the glory he remembers? A cog in the machine?"
"None have turned away, comrade General." Leylushenko replied. "Dispite the possibility that tomorrow they will be dead. Supplant these thoughts of failure....with thoughts of strategy instead."
"Indeed....none have ran off to join up with either the Russian Federation or with some mockery of a PMC. They believe we can succeed...they need for us to succeed."
"Comrade General?"
"Failure will merely mean their deaths, comarde." Brezhnev said, turned to Leylushenko. "And failure would mean death, a death while in combat. A most honorable death.....one that soldiers such as us thrive for. Men such as us cannot simply die of old age....and we cannot commit suicide. Their must be something more.....more....something greater than either time or ourselves ending us. And this outbreak....these infections are just the thing we need as a people."
Leylushenko stared on with a puzzled look.
"You see....with these zombies, these monsters, we fight a war that is above and beyond the bounds of nations against nations....we fight not for a flag against them....we fight not for capitalism or communism....it is something deeper.....we fight....we fight to exist! To secure our very right to continue on this Earth, comrade Colonel! We are earning our right to either die of old age.....or die trying to prove our worth."
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on Jun 12, 2012 21:17:29 GMT -5
It all fell into place with the inevitable sounds of falling casings. A series of clicking a popping suddenly filled the air as the murmured sounds of dry pistons howled restlessly. The undead horde was either dying or absorbing round after round from the looks of it. Four had broken Marlboro’s line once more and each one was brutally executed by the small arms knife that he held. Blood poured across the pavement and managed to stick to his jacket in blotches. A jacket in which he quickly discarded to the ground moments after a zed managed to bleed out all over him. The Russians were busy with the direct line of fire and he was simply protecting himself in the process of the rampage. A few stray shots managed to knock some of the flesh off the facial features of his attackers and the knife had done with rest without hesitation. The undying truth was simple, though Hammond Marlboro was quick on his feet he was not completely cut out for soldiering.
It was then that Marlboro had received the news of the fragmentation party that was about to take place. The soft clank of the pulled pins left a eerie opening of near silence. Marlboro waited for the bombardment to take place while biding his time in a somewhat tizzy of a predicament. The same damn zed from earlier latched onto his foot, holding him in direct fire of the shrapnel that was bound to make its way back to him. He shook his foot twice out of instinct as he watched the single minded creature attempt to make a small snack out of his ankle. His foot snapped free on the third shake allowing the broadside of his shoe to make fatal contact with the side of the cannibals head. The bones snapped but seemed to give far much more play than that of a ordinary human cranium- no this damn thing was already decomposing at a alarming rate. With the new addition of brain matter now plastered to his foot, he simply groaned as he fled into a back to the wall bracing position against the concrete barrier.
Marlboro slammed his back against the barrier as he stared down at the remains of the undead beneath his feet. No movement permitted from any of them save a few twitches and jolts indicating the shutdown of the brain through mild spasms. He half wondered if the integrity of the concrete stadium lead way that surrounded the main field would hold up against further explosions.
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Post by Big Boss, Lord of Light on Jun 17, 2012 9:33:04 GMT -5
As the Russians continued on their retreat, Brezhnev noticed something that could quite possibly turn the tide of the retreat into their favor and in the same stroke, possibly seal them inside this structure. Several of the support beams for the ceiling were looking beaten, almost at the point of toppling down. Behind them, Brezhnev noticed that they were nearing the entrance to one of the sporting areas, it looked like a baseball field. The great American past time almost screamed for an open air field....no roof. While out on the field there were zombies as well, there were no where near as many as there were before the group right now.
"Fallback, to the field! Deploy secondary frag!" Brezhnev ordered. Hopefully the resounding explosions would cause the ceiling to fall atop of the undead before them. The draw back would be that they would have cut themselves off from this direction, however on the plus side, a great deal of zombies would be exterminated.
Brezhnev looked over at Hammond. He remarked to himself at how well for a civilian the man was doing. While it was clear the man was no true warrior, it was no doubt that the man was a survivor. Sometimes it took more than training, conditioning, and weaponry to be equipped to tangle with life or death situations. It requires the drive to do what is necessary to ensure the continuation of your being. Hammond was displaying that drive. He had that sense of mind that would make sure that he would not die in this city of the dead and dying.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on Jul 6, 2012 19:17:29 GMT -5
Phase Two of Operation Red Tide: SILENT SILENCE
The stadium had been claimed as the new staging grounds for the remainder of the Operation: Red Tide in Raccoon City. Marlboro took the time to coordinate a decent amount of additional firepower to be flown in via Cargo Chopper. The Cargo Chopper was never intended to make a debut at The Raccoon Stadium, but rather was to land in a secluded sector right outside of the Arklay Mountains to conduct a business deal with some Freedom Fighters. All things considered the Pilot did not seem too thrilled to be making his arrival into direct conflict. The estimated time of arrival was twenty-two minutes and some odd seconds, though Marlboro had a sneaking suspicion that the Chopper would never clear the airspace at all. The Chopper was said to be loaded with additional small arms firepower ranging from Modified Russian AK-47’s, Israeli Uzis, Israeli Tavor Assault Rifles, Israeli Fitted Corner-shot Platforms and then on to the most important bit of ordinance according to the buyer - two RPG-7’s with Thirteen Rounds placed in a crew lock-box cache. All these weapons were pretty much wrapped up with a pretty pink ribbon and begging to be used by the Group of Russian Elites. Ammo caches and additional Flexible Urban Siege Armor were stowed neatly into the back cargo area of the Chopper. Marlboro had already set the delivery to be dropped in prior to the incident should the need for them ever arrive with his conflict in South America. These weapons were not paid for because the deal never went down. Chances were that the contractor that wanted him to carry out the mission at hand would be paying far more than any wannabe Libertarian.
The stadium had grown rather quiet over the next few minutes as Marlboro tampered with the Pulse Shield Device. Echo range was set into full motion as the battery charge on the quick start drained completely for two minutes and then reached full life shortly after. A thin blue field of translucent energy sprung from the machine as a turbine-like mechanism spun radically in short, high-speed rotations. The faster the turbine spun the larger the Pulse Field grew, and for a length of seven seconds all electronic devices had hiccupped and failed to work. Everything returned to normal as soon as the shield reached full potential and a green light shown brightly on the status box. A low electronic hum vibrated from the machine and a cheery melody played in regards to six high noted beeps. The field was working perfectly fine and all that was required was for Marlboro to contact the ’Commander.’
“ Your precious field is up,” Marlboro spoke into the communications device as he surveyed the area once more form hostile activity.
There was no answer from the other end other than scrambled airwaves. Dead air and static seemed to be the only two things that Marlboro could make of it followed by a lengthy beep.
Marlboro seemed a bit agitated by the failure of the machinery and thus immediately ceased the communications with a flick of his index finger. His facial expression was attempted to be hidden, but he failed gloriously as he turned to The General, “ I have arranged for a weapons shipment to be relocated here. Our communications seem to be down, so we are going to have to keep a eye to the sky the old fashioned way. Do your men still have those signal flares?”
In the background, the firefights that had errupted from blocks away were now joined by the unearthly sounds of a incredible beast. A vicious roar echoed throughout the night sky as the repetitive sounds of shot after shot were drowned by roar after roar. Soon a explosion that mimicked that of a fuel tanker bursting into flames filled the sky with a vengeance some blocks away in the opposite direction. A woman’s scream filled the air and then everything was followed by silence. The city had become a damned War Zone with The Russians and Marlboro being thrown smack dab in the middle of the conflict. United States Special Forces were lurking from checkpoint to checkpoint and Umbrella Forces were most likely not too far behind them. Furious beasts of fiction prowled the darkest corners while the undead shuffled through the streets. Rioting humans and undead had left the city in a total wreck as it was, but now that heavy fire was being issued- navigation could become next to impossible. The grounds and the sky were unsafe as of now and it would only be a matter of time before they would be forced to fight against all odds once more. They had a mission to accomplish, and to fail said mission would cost them their lives and the lives of everyone that would manage to survive the hordes of hellish beasts unleashed upon them.
Not soon after Marlboro had asked the question, another pack of nuisances managed to trot along and make themselves known. They resembled that of Dobermans with rotting features and glowing red eyes. Imagine the mange mixed with a series case of flesh eating virus and you have the general appearance of what Umbrella had come to label the BOW named: Cerberus. Each one of the five vicious dogs seemed to move with tactical grace as they began to circle from different corners of the field. A low grumbled growl emitting from each saliva filled mouth filled with multiple razor sharp teeth. They were well built even for a Cerberus and seemed to be the version that was specifically designed for use as a BOW. Much like the ones that were first recorded at the Spencer Estate. They never barked or advanced, rather- they waited for the Russians or Marlboro to make the first move. The chances are that they will attack or alert others if a move was made against them.
Marlboro could not help to think that their appearance was not absolutely by chance. Something was wrong and he smelled betrayal on behalf of the one who had employed them.
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Post by Big Boss, Lord of Light on Jul 31, 2012 0:36:16 GMT -5
Rearmed, refitted, and resupplied, the remaining Spetsnaz turned to their commander and gave salutes. Brezhnev returned the gesture in turn. He had taken for himself a fresh rifle, four spare magazines, and a refilling of his fragmentation grenades. Thankfully, Hammond had been on the money about the resupply being available. As the man worked, Brezhnev and his troops conferred with each other. Some of the men had taken a hold of some heavier ordinance, specifically the rocket propelled grenade launchers. As the two men dived up the ammunition, Brezhnev began to give out orders to the troops.
"When we re-engage the city, remember that Hammond is priority. His survival is ours." Brezhnev spoke these words slowly to his men. "He is our lifeline...but we are in turn his. We are symbiotic in this venture, gentlemen...we need each other in order for our collective goals to be accomplished."
"Ready to serve, Comrade General." the senior officer replied stiffly.
"Good. Together, we shall achieve greatness....challenge this, and we shall die and not be remembered by anyone or anything." Brezhnev continued. "There was one Napoleon, one Washington, one Lenin, and one me."
After he had finished giving his orders to his men, he went over to Hammond, who had apparently been trying to communicate with his 'Superiors'. The man questioned as to whether or not Brezhnev's troops had left over signal flares.
"Of course." Brezhnev answered, as he took the three flares he had on himself and handed them over to Hammond. "If you need more, take them from my men."
"Comrade General!"
Brezhnev turned his attention to one of the Spetsnaz soldiers, Major Gradenko.
"Message from Union HQ; additional supplies can be procured at the Police Department."
"I see...." Brezhnev replied. He turned back to Marlboro and the remainder of the troops.
"Mr. Hammond, I will be leading a team into the city to gather additional munitions and weapons for our cache." He motioned to four of the soldiers.
"These men will guard you while we are collecting these supplies. If any problems should come up, you can reach me on our standard radio frequencies..."
With that, Brezhnev and four of his commandos went out into the city once again.
*Brezhnev is now at the RPD*
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