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Old 10-12-2008, 12:00 AM
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Chaptero Uno People...oh.
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Old 10-12-2008, 03:54 AM
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The sun was lowering into the western sky. The day had been laborious, and surprisingly humid. Though fall was in full swing, he had been sweating profusely, quickly ridding himself of his water supply. His canteens on his web belt, his canteens on his rucksack. All nearly empty.

His rifle, though light by many standards, was just another large, unwieldy piece of dead weight. Had it not housed the small spears that protect his life, he would have thrown it to the wayside already. His helmet hung high on his head, the chin strap still tight to his chin, however. Whether or not he was fatigued, the soldier was still a soldier, and knew that his helmet was there for a reason(or at least he was told so).

He moved slowly down the road at a snail's pace. Moving quicker would only let him die tired. At least if he was slow, the soldier could see who would be putting the round into him. A light breeze had set in during the early evening, gray skies overtaking the pale sun. All around, the leaves had begun to fall from the browning trees. The woods were darkening more by every minute, and the soldier had lost his way early on. He was still trying to find some sort of landmark that he could identify on the map, however, for the past three days, the soldier had been caught in the forest, dodging the enemy.

It had been five days since his platoon, part of a larger unit hierarchy, was hit along a roadside at the edge of a small village. Hours later, the soldier found himself running, trying to get around the enemy, and get back to his company. This was completely unsuccessful, as he had now finally realized, and he could be anywhere. Only time would tell, he pondered as he trudged down the fire break of the woods.
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Old 11-01-2008, 12:29 AM
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The Soldier couldn't walk anymore, at least not for a few minutes anyway. He finally stopped in his tracks, plopping down behind a burned out hulk of a civilian sedan, taking no mind to the charred body nearby. Taking off his ruck, the Soldier noted at how badly sweat soaked the pack was. He grimaced in pain, groaning lowly as he worked out the kinks in his back.

He took a few steps over to a dug out area of ground. He was in a sunken part of the road, the sides of it higher on each side. Washouts and overgrowth were all along the dirt walls, he saw, providing plenty of concealment. The map he had in his hands had not been updated since the ambushes, but they still made for a good guide to getting out of this hell. He traced his finger along the road he was on. A small village was marked as being a good 5 kilometers away, 6 grids or so north.

He sighed to himself as he brought his feet in, and knees up to help stretch his hip flexing muscles. He looked at his boots, the black leather long since polished or brushed. His BDUs were sweaty, and oily, small blood stains here and there as well. All this aside, the man looked at the weapon in his lap. The M4 was far from unkempt. It was his life, the only sustaining thing that kept his heart beating from day to day. Its vital action parts were kept lubed, and dirt free.

He adjusted the tactical sling about his neck and shoulders before taking a long awaited drink from his canteen. He remembered it was running low, so he maintained conservative with his water.
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Old 11-12-2008, 05:26 PM
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he carefully tucked the map into the breast pocket of his uniform and then reached into a outside pocket on his rucksack and removed a rag. It was a piece of an old t-shirt, brown, wrinkled and filthy. He wiped the sweat from his face. The rag was now streaked with dark traces of green and black camouflage paint. To him these lines where like lost roads on an ancient map. He crumpled the rag into a ball and returned it to the pocket of the rucksack. As he stooped to return it. He glanced at the blackened face staring at him grimly, its head turned back looking over its shoulder at him. One twisted arm clutching the half open door and the other arm was limply resting on the remains of the melted dashboard. Its black skeletal fingers outstretched as if pointing the way to the village. Like a silent watchman, it remained motionless. It looked strangely fake to him, as if it had never been a living person. Almost like a scarecrow that mimicked life itself. The soldier continued to look at if for a moment before pulling the map back out of his breast pocket. His head was throbbing from dehydration his muscles tightening from there brief rest. The soldier had been too concerned with getting back to his platoon to realize that his stomach was growling. He felt utterly depleted. He looked to his side and saw leaves gently being blown about by the cool wind. The evening was closing the sun sat low in the sky. The soldier squatted lightly as he shouldered his rucksack. He stood and made small adjustments to the buckles. As walked away from the wreck of the burned out sedan. The soldier pushed his rifle forward he felt the tension of the tactical sling. He continued put one foot in front of the other as he moved slowly down the sunken road. He looked back over his shoulder at the charred watchman who was doing the same. Looking back, but pointing him forward. The soldier considered the irony that he was inadvertently copying a dead man. He couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before he suffered the same fate. But Unlike the watchman the soldier was still alive. He knew he had to keep moving for night was falling fast and soon it would be too dark to read his map without using a light which would easily give away his position. He continued north with increased vigor trying to make up for the snails pace he had been reduced too. He felt better as he walked away from the wreck. The soldier patted his vest feeling the heft of the loaded magazines sheltered within there pouches as he walked toward the village. He hoped that the watchman would be the only thing he met on the road that night as he continued on.
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Old 12-23-2008, 07:08 AM
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The grade of the road began to raise slightly as he made it to within three hundred yards of the small village. In the late fall haze of evening, the soldier could see a few buildings higher than one story peeking over the majority of still intact roofs there. There were no lights evident on the outskirts, and not a sound stirred from within the village. A cool wind blew in his hot, dry face as he took a knee behind a large pile of trash, debris, and any other odd and end someone from a bygone time had cleared from the area and stacked there.

Looking back into the woods behind him, the soldier could barely see into the treeline now that the light was just about gone except for the peaceful colors of purple and orange the sun had been dancing through the October clouds overhead. The soldier slowly sat down on a charred cinder block, and teetered with fatigue as he inspected his boots. They're still on my feet, and that is all that really matters at this point, he mused.

As he fumbled with a stray boot lace, movement caught the Soldier's eye. From his right, back toward the tree line, about two hundred yards away, he saw the figures. Two grayish colored uniforms moving tactically-slowly and methodically-toward the village. As they neared to within less than one hundred yards, he realized they were both shorter, and smaller in stature than a regular sized man.

The soldier slowly repositioned himself so that his back was completely toward the treeline, allowing him a better view of the two unusual soldier-like individuals a few dozen yards away. After a few tense moments of them moving even closer to his position, the soldier finally saw, from beneath the two combat helmets atop their heads, long locks of brown and dark blond hair complementing the faces of two gorgeous European looking, female troops. He made a sly grin that was quickly and instinctively squashed by a cautious scowl. In these times especially, anyone, even a supermodel of sorts, could be the enemy.

For the moment, the soldier didn't move; he instead laid very still, observing the two girls as they stopped near a similar pile of debris nearby, and began picking through it.

Last edited by bigehauser; 12-26-2008 at 09:56 AM.
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Old 12-31-2008, 09:42 AM
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The soldier, content to wait and watch for a few moments, wondered if the safety of being alone was worth the loneliness that went with that safety. He had made the decision to risk it and make himself known to the two women, when he noticed more movement nearby.
The two men, stealthily approaching the two women, were easily recognised by the soldier as Russian. The fatigues and weapons gave away thier nationality to him as readily as any identity card. The women, oblivious to the newcomers, continued to rummage through the debris. Suddenly, one of the Russian soldiers raised thier weapons, and said something in Polish to the scavenging girls.
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"It's in russian it say's "front towards enem......."
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