headquarters
06-08-2014, 04:29 PM
Outside Eureka 13th. August 2020 1600 hrs + 16 C
The men of 1.plt 1st coy 1. 1bn. 1st. San Simeon Special Assault Brigade - "The Figthing Greys" had done their job as promised. Once again they had gone out, crossed into no mans land ad conducted a complex operation with lots of moving parts - and prevailed. Their number almost the same as before setting out. Their steely eyes still searching the dense line of trees at either side of the road as their armed trucks approached friendly lines. Just hours to go to mission accomplished. Extra vigilant. Thats what that meant. Nobody wanted to go out just before you got in.
In the back of the truck the motley crew of passengers were reclining in various degrees of comfort. The young Pain was settled against the crates of rations for cover and held his automatics in his hands crossed in his lap. With his deathshead kevlar mask on it was hard to determine wether or not he was sleeping or just sitting motionless. No one felt it opportune to find out though. Startling a sleeping Painist with guns in his hand seemed detremental to your health.
IronMan was very much awake - vividly sharing his story of his hand to hand cage fights to the death with the incedoulus SSAB troopers in their grey combat uniforms. His rapid hand movementrs and stabs with the hairbrush he was stroking his long shiny hair with all the while, stabs that were underlining important points in the tale. The man knew how to entertain an audience , even over the roar of the biodiesel engine.
The FieldMarshall chatted pleasantly with a couple of off duty veterans about a funny anecdote form the 1. battle of Barstow in 2014. The men roared with laughter as he delivered the punchline:
" Thats no duck you are holding, Padre. But please dont stop what you are doing just because of that!"
Always a winner that one. No funny stories form the Hawaii campaign though. He knew at least some of the men had fought there along side him in PacGovs futile attempt to stem the MilGov invasion. Well. It was stemmed. In a fashion.
The country was still in violent anarchy and chatoic disarray. So I guess MilGov didnt achieve anything in that department. He had of course lost almost everything himself in the process seeing as the state of the country was just that. Almost everything. His thoughts wandered absently to the ones still waiting for him. His comfortably appointed rooms. His wife. His children. The memory of Ottavios face shone through with his sombre eyes locked in his as they shook hands and said their dampened good-byes. He on his way home to their own. Ottavio at the mercy of his captors, a hostage. Collateral someone would say to keep it businesslike the bloody work of subjugating people. The men were still chuckeleing at t he thought of the Padre fumbling about in the night in the trench. Himself? He didnt feel the humour of it now. A cold feeling seeped through him. He cast his eyes away and lost his gaze in the dense canopy of seqoia in the distance.
Grease paid no heed to the chatty traveling companions. His mind was on the imminent return to friendly lines. Once the trucks came to a halt and the Williscorp. company men had done their debriefing he would be out on the street with a shitload of riches. He had ammo and guns too now. A man of means. Who would have thought. His mind wandered across his options. A never-ending bender in a classy cathouse until he was worn out. A smile crossed his face. An investment in a nice house and hiring a nice housekeeper to get back on his feet and recuperate . He sighed pleasantly Starting a business - wearing a suit with nice prewar shoes every day and sitting be hid a desk. His smile turned to a frown. Being bored behind his desk and going home to his house to the admonishing from his housekeeper about his dirty shoes. Reading letters from the council about regulations. Turning a profit. He exhaled sharply. Yeah. Going home. He couldn't wait.
Inside the kevlar mask the young Pain was dreaming. He dreamt that his father had been captured and killed in an enemy stronghold and that he was left in charge of the Pain legacy. Division and strife and defeat in battle followed and he was driven out of the old heartland and forced in to existing as a nothing more then a petty chief who had to turn mercenary to make ends meet. He shuddered in his sleep and clenched his fists. The grips of his automatics dug in to his hand and he came to. He blinked once or twice against the light and looked around. The nearby troopers withdrew a few feet - warily as he shrugged and twitched awake. He was on the truck. He looked around on his companions. It had been no dream.
"Doc" Johnson was fidgeting on his seat eager to see everything on the way to the town. He couldn't wait to get back. A nice house with a steady supply of rations from a well filled larder that was his only ambition now. Safe. Warm. Uneventful. If it got boring he could always take a shift at the hospital. Being in a city guarded by an army - that was the way to live out the apocalypse. He began to dream up all the different courses he would eat and the hot baths he would take. Safety, security and comfort. He is eyes misted over at the thought.
The column slowed down as it came out of a long turn. Ahead was a checkpoint with a Paintek M3 halftrack training its 40mm AA-gun on them s they drew closer.The column stopped and died the engines as per protocol. Drives got out as well as one man for each truck to secure the immediate vicinity. The platoon leader walked over to the cp to exchange passwords.
Silence fell on the travelers and their escort. The tweeting of birds was suddenly there in the absence of diesel engine roar. The sun shone pleasantly through the leaf canopy now.
The wind rustled the leaves softly. It carried a thick scent of salt and woodsmoke on it. The smoke from 5 000 chimneys and campfires. The scent of sea and salt and almost inaudible something else- the sound of 20 000 people living, striving, bickering,working and surviving. Somewhere ahead.
Eureka.
more to come
The men of 1.plt 1st coy 1. 1bn. 1st. San Simeon Special Assault Brigade - "The Figthing Greys" had done their job as promised. Once again they had gone out, crossed into no mans land ad conducted a complex operation with lots of moving parts - and prevailed. Their number almost the same as before setting out. Their steely eyes still searching the dense line of trees at either side of the road as their armed trucks approached friendly lines. Just hours to go to mission accomplished. Extra vigilant. Thats what that meant. Nobody wanted to go out just before you got in.
In the back of the truck the motley crew of passengers were reclining in various degrees of comfort. The young Pain was settled against the crates of rations for cover and held his automatics in his hands crossed in his lap. With his deathshead kevlar mask on it was hard to determine wether or not he was sleeping or just sitting motionless. No one felt it opportune to find out though. Startling a sleeping Painist with guns in his hand seemed detremental to your health.
IronMan was very much awake - vividly sharing his story of his hand to hand cage fights to the death with the incedoulus SSAB troopers in their grey combat uniforms. His rapid hand movementrs and stabs with the hairbrush he was stroking his long shiny hair with all the while, stabs that were underlining important points in the tale. The man knew how to entertain an audience , even over the roar of the biodiesel engine.
The FieldMarshall chatted pleasantly with a couple of off duty veterans about a funny anecdote form the 1. battle of Barstow in 2014. The men roared with laughter as he delivered the punchline:
" Thats no duck you are holding, Padre. But please dont stop what you are doing just because of that!"
Always a winner that one. No funny stories form the Hawaii campaign though. He knew at least some of the men had fought there along side him in PacGovs futile attempt to stem the MilGov invasion. Well. It was stemmed. In a fashion.
The country was still in violent anarchy and chatoic disarray. So I guess MilGov didnt achieve anything in that department. He had of course lost almost everything himself in the process seeing as the state of the country was just that. Almost everything. His thoughts wandered absently to the ones still waiting for him. His comfortably appointed rooms. His wife. His children. The memory of Ottavios face shone through with his sombre eyes locked in his as they shook hands and said their dampened good-byes. He on his way home to their own. Ottavio at the mercy of his captors, a hostage. Collateral someone would say to keep it businesslike the bloody work of subjugating people. The men were still chuckeleing at t he thought of the Padre fumbling about in the night in the trench. Himself? He didnt feel the humour of it now. A cold feeling seeped through him. He cast his eyes away and lost his gaze in the dense canopy of seqoia in the distance.
Grease paid no heed to the chatty traveling companions. His mind was on the imminent return to friendly lines. Once the trucks came to a halt and the Williscorp. company men had done their debriefing he would be out on the street with a shitload of riches. He had ammo and guns too now. A man of means. Who would have thought. His mind wandered across his options. A never-ending bender in a classy cathouse until he was worn out. A smile crossed his face. An investment in a nice house and hiring a nice housekeeper to get back on his feet and recuperate . He sighed pleasantly Starting a business - wearing a suit with nice prewar shoes every day and sitting be hid a desk. His smile turned to a frown. Being bored behind his desk and going home to his house to the admonishing from his housekeeper about his dirty shoes. Reading letters from the council about regulations. Turning a profit. He exhaled sharply. Yeah. Going home. He couldn't wait.
Inside the kevlar mask the young Pain was dreaming. He dreamt that his father had been captured and killed in an enemy stronghold and that he was left in charge of the Pain legacy. Division and strife and defeat in battle followed and he was driven out of the old heartland and forced in to existing as a nothing more then a petty chief who had to turn mercenary to make ends meet. He shuddered in his sleep and clenched his fists. The grips of his automatics dug in to his hand and he came to. He blinked once or twice against the light and looked around. The nearby troopers withdrew a few feet - warily as he shrugged and twitched awake. He was on the truck. He looked around on his companions. It had been no dream.
"Doc" Johnson was fidgeting on his seat eager to see everything on the way to the town. He couldn't wait to get back. A nice house with a steady supply of rations from a well filled larder that was his only ambition now. Safe. Warm. Uneventful. If it got boring he could always take a shift at the hospital. Being in a city guarded by an army - that was the way to live out the apocalypse. He began to dream up all the different courses he would eat and the hot baths he would take. Safety, security and comfort. He is eyes misted over at the thought.
The column slowed down as it came out of a long turn. Ahead was a checkpoint with a Paintek M3 halftrack training its 40mm AA-gun on them s they drew closer.The column stopped and died the engines as per protocol. Drives got out as well as one man for each truck to secure the immediate vicinity. The platoon leader walked over to the cp to exchange passwords.
Silence fell on the travelers and their escort. The tweeting of birds was suddenly there in the absence of diesel engine roar. The sun shone pleasantly through the leaf canopy now.
The wind rustled the leaves softly. It carried a thick scent of salt and woodsmoke on it. The smoke from 5 000 chimneys and campfires. The scent of sea and salt and almost inaudible something else- the sound of 20 000 people living, striving, bickering,working and surviving. Somewhere ahead.
Eureka.
more to come