The Days After (Game Topic)

Darius: Even through all the shit going on, there was still a radio working through the gunfire. Darius, not being able to do much but sit on his ass and pray to whatever deity keeps him from bleeding out, listened to the UGW's address. As soon as the declaration of war had been made, Darius started to grin. Garrett was still nearby. "Garrett.." Darius coughed. "When we get out of here. Set up a meeting with Nathan Weston." Darius managed to speak before going into a fit of coughing.

Tyson: "Inspirational speeches and officialization of a war that's already on it's feet. Casualties on both sides before the war has even begun back in the desks of politicians. Foreseeable catastrophic events, and we can't see that we've already been through one apocalypse; and have been recovering for nineteen decades. How far will this set us back?

We're all in the middle of this. Fuck, where will our lives take us next?"

If the fight is at a waiting period, try to inquire about anything you can do to help in the meantime. Clean up shells, shovel snow, et cetera.

Garrett: "Alright brother, now do as the medic said and shut up before your mouth becomes the death of you" I managed to get a half hearted chuckle out. For a moment I get that feeling I always get when me and Darius are in a bad fix. Like we're two kids lost in a bad part of town. Well to be honest I've had that feeling the moment we entered that truck. I toss him my water canteen for a drink.

No End In Sight

26 December, 2215

Day 345 of the Resource War

It's hard to believe it's been almost a year since it happened. I can remember the day like it was yesterday...

For 345 days, we've been in close combat in Bakken, what used to be an oasis in the hostile badlands of the Midwest. Constant gunfire flies, airplanes constantly fly over...

The war never sleeps...and it never relents.

In July, the NET finally closed the front around Bakken, completely surrounding the city and trapping any soldiers left inside. In February at full force, 8,500 UGW soldiers were in this city, giving the NET the boot it needed.

By August, after the ring closed, 3,800 were left, we lost more than half our number in only a month. We couldn't be reinforced en masse.

Now at the end of December, there are only 700 of us left in the city. The elements are against us, starvation is against us, and we're surrounded by enemies and short on friends.

Chance of survival: 1 in 5.

Occasionally, an airplane will fly over, hopefully dropping equipment and supplies to the right people, sometimes dropping in brave volunteers to a completely hostile area to reinforce what's left, most of the time though it just drops to the enemy, equipment and manpower alike.

1 in 5 comes to mind.

We only have control of a small part of the city now, an enclave in the near center. We buy time while the NET sends more troops, tanks, and artillery to the front every day.

For a lot of us in the city, there's no hope left. We knew what we were getting into though when we signed on to this work.

Well, maybe not all of us knew.

The radio always speaks to us. Every day it tells us that help is coming, that the city will be retaken...

We have no reason to believe that. The same message gets old when it's played every day for four months.

For a lot of us, there is no hope left.

And there is no end in sight...

Apocalypse, Jagdgeschwader

Desmond, Corsican and Durant sat in the ruins of a concrete structure, sitting on the fringe of Western territory in Bakken. They were scouting the perimeter of the secure area, looking for NET scouts or signs of the enemy advancing. In the distance, a utility aircraft flew over, what they called C330s; improved old world C130s. It dropped what appeared to be manpower this time. More poor souls that would probably drop straight into an enemy patrol or even an enemy outpost; it happened all too often.

"Did you guys see that?" Durant pointed towards the parachutes, "They dropped reinforcements this time,"

"Desmond, do you want to try and get some of them? They dropped kind of far from friendlies," said Corsican,

Desmond thought about it, they could get some, but nowhere near all of them. Hopefully another patrol may find the others and help them as well, "Let's get 'em, they won't last long in an unknown environment."

In all, ten or so soldiers dropped spread out about a mile. The closest was probably a few blocks away, and those few blocks were bound to be filled with hostiles given their luck. They had to move fast.

"Go across to the school, I'll cover your rear," said Desmond. Corsican and Durant sprinted across to the inside of a broken school while Desmond covered them. He picked up the pace with them and entered the building. Keeping quiet they moved slowly, checking around every corner very carefully before proceeding. The NET pretty consistently sent scouts to patrol the fringes and prod for weaknesses in the defense, so it was an active threat to be concerned about.

"Durant, take point and head up the steps, I'll cover your six," said Desmond. They were headed to the roof of this building which connected to several other buildings. They could then climb down the stair wells of one of them and head to the landing site.

"Going up the ladder," announced Durant,

"No shots yet," stated Corsican, "That's always a good sign,"

"None of them have been spotted yet," Desmond climbed up the ladder, letting his rifle fall to his waist, "Let's pick up the pace, get going faster. We don't have much time."

They climbed down the stairwell of the next building, cautious the entire time, but trying to move quickly to get to the friendly troops in time. Consequence to the conditions, most soldier who survived this long inside the ring hardly slept. They were up almost all night and up all day; most soldiers were in this constant mode of just barely living because of it. The ring was a nightmare that never ceased, and everyone just wanted to wake up. They pitied the troopers that volunteered to drop into this place. It was the definition of a one-way trip.

"Desmond," Durant stopped in the lobby of the building, "Down the street south, NET troopers. What do you want to do?"

"Let's not open fire until we find some friendlies. We'll just attract attention if we start a fight."

Desmond, Corsican and Durant again moved across the street. The sun just coming up helped them be stealthy if they hid in the shadows, although still their white overcoats tended to not blend into anything other than snow itself. The other con of arctic warfare was that both sides wore white arctic overcoats and to say the least it was difficult to distinguish friend from foe sometimes. Both sides also wore helmets which were both designed off the fair new in 1980 PASGT helmet, so helmets were also difficult to distinguish . It was easier in the summer when the NET wore green long coats and the UGW wore tan long coats, then it was like to soldiers fighting to the death. Quite literally of course.

Rounds started to fly, the sound of an M14 firing fully automatic. The team picked up the pace and cut through some alleys to find an ally firing from behind a destroyed car at the NET patrol they'd just spotted. Going without saying, the team opened up on the hostiles. Corsican dropped one trooper and the small patrol retreated. Quickly, they headed over to their ally, a woman who looked cold, scared and nervous.

"I almost shot you guys!" said the paratrooper,

"It's a good thing you didn't, we're friendly," said Durant,

"On your feet and follow me, we're headed back to the enclave," explained Desmond, the team picked themselves up and moved fast. They'd make another run for some other paratroopers later, but they needed to leave that area now. If there were other hostiles in the area, they definitely heard the shots and they'd be heading towards there.

********

Destroyer

The morning arrived like any other. Clark woke up in his rented room thirty miles from the frontline in a town aptly dubbed 'Frontline'. Since Bakken became an unusable pile of rubble almost a year ago. All local commerce from the UGW in this area was done in Frontline. Appropriate given the circumstances.

Most buildings in this town were either makeshift buildings or shanties, but some were solid buildings. The motel Clark was staying in was a one story wooden building with seven rooms all side by side, much better housing than most around here.

Why he was here? Clark had been getting on in years, but still he wanted to help out in any way he could. His new employer was a man named Darius Ico, who managed his stockades out of the small town against other NET tycoons like Durov and Wooten. The sideline war to the actual one was that of espionage, subterfuge, and subtlety, fought by mercenaries and the like against other mercenaries. Of course, it'd been long since he parted ways with Krieger, the young man who tried his hand at being a revolutionary. Where he was, he didn't know. But he had hoped he enjoyed his work.

********

Back at North Point, Boddz sits in one of the smaller mess halls with his crew pointing out things on the strategic map.

"As you can see we've got them clearly enclosed in to a small pocket. Time and the elements are clrealy pitted against any UGW forces cut off in that hell, and their morale is probably plumeting. Now any obvious surface route is probably a bottlenecked shooting range, not to mention rigged with IEDS. However, I have reason to belive that bakkens old sewer systems haven't been too extensively damaged by the fighting...any thoughts guys?"

Boddz looked up from his map the other officers.

Mboddz

December 26, 2215

North Point, North Dakota

0600. North Point was already at work. Operatives scanning strategic maps of the region, planning counter attacks to OFSA harassment, scanning the enclave in Bakken for weaknesses, more hit and run behind enemy lines, but with air superiority belonging to the UGW, helicopters were damn near out of the picture. Lieutenant Boddz stood in a low lit room with Reznor and George, assigned as one of a few teams to come up with plans on how to continue to whittle down UGW defenses and finally claim control of the city. An important strategic asset denied its use by their mere presence.

"The enclave continues to get smaller and smaller as time goes by," said Boddz, comparing two scout reports of controlled territory, one current and one a month old, "Obviously, time and the elements are against them. Morale is no doubt low, but anyone still left in there is hardened and dangerous. They lay waste to conscripts that we send."

"We've been there," said Reznor, "They're good fighters, they're entrenched well and they're bent on surviving that's for sure."

"Like you said," commented George, "Anyone who's survived that long is a badass,"

"Surface routes when they can help it are choke points and minefields. It's not easy getting anything in. They're using our equipment salvaged off dead friendlies, so it's no shortage," replied Boddz,

"Not to mention air superiority means they can drop what they want in there without much problem," said Reznor,

"Air force has been dropping ordinance when they can, but it really hasn't been enough. Western CAP prevents a lot of attacks from happening," Boddz paused and put out his cigarette, "Anyone have any ideas on how to get people in?"

The idea floated around in Reznor and George's head for a moment, until George came up with something, "We could use the sewer systems, they're probably not too damaged,"

"That's what I was thinking,"

"How'd we know where to come out though?" asked Reznor, "We could accidentally just pop up into an enemy camp and not know it. We're flying blind,"

"One operative managed to get a report of encampments in the area, but also mentioned that they move from time to time."

"How'd he get in there?" asked George,

"Masqueraded as a Western trooper,"

"Is he still in there?"

"I presume he's dead, we haven't heard from him in weeks."

"We're back at square one," sighed Reznor,

"Any other plans?" asked Lieutenant Boddz

"It's difficult," said Reznor, "If we masquerade as Western troops, they'll catch on sooner or later. Direct access is possible, but not recommended..."

"How did you guys get in?"

"Went at night,"

"Same here, that's the only time I had a chance,"

"I like the sewer idea," said George, "If we went at night, got into good enough positions...silenced rifles...be careful with our shots, we could harass the enemy and not be noticed if we're careful enough."

"What are we supposed to do? Kill off the entire population inside with sniper rifles?" complained Reznor, "I don't like it, it's not safe,"

"Everything is extremely dangerous in this place," said Boddz, "It's why they're calling on us,"

"We'll get killed though! Just throw what we can at it from all directions, they'll get overwhelmed eventually,"

"We don't have the resources, most of that is being used holding the ring in place. Professional soldiers are put on the frontline, conscripts and the like are mostly put in to occupy the city."

"And conscripts are again, no match for the professional soldiers holding that enclave," said George,

"We just need to think outside the box..."

********

Krieger/ Heath: Krieger sighs as he remembers the fight back at the railyard and how he got split up from his newfound friend clark. "i could use the old mans help now", he says under his breath as he adjusts his NET uniform. half of the plan is complete he thinks this second half is going to take awhile. In the years worth he has been able to accomplish the task of completing basic training and getting himself assigned to the POW camp that Naomi was sent to and convincing people his name was Heath wright. now it was going to take every fiber in his being to provide an escape route for them.

Tyson: When in considerable distance of the area you met the paratrooper, where your voices would be unheard by the enemy: inquire about UGW news & intelligence. Whilst keeping your pace with the group.

"So, what's going on outside of Bakken? Other than what the radio broadcasts tell us; reassurance of rescue."

Westhybrid & Ztron

Sunshine shone through the blinds of the window. Darius sat at his desk talking to a UGW bureaucrat about renewing his contracts when Garrett walked in with coffee for both of them. He clumsily opened the door while trying not to spill their coffee and Darius pointed to the seat in front of his desk offering it while talking.

"I need to get through to Foregin Marketing, this is Darius Ico, head of Ico Corporation from North Mexico?"

"Trying to renew your contracts?" asked Garrett quietly, trying not to speak over the phone accidentally, Darius rolled his eyes at how pointless it seemed. He just kept getting transferred from bureaucrat to bureaucrat.

"Hello? Yes this is Darius Ico of Ico Corporation, I need to speak to someone about renewing my contracts with the UGW. They're government contracts, yes, I need to get through to someone in Boise, not Reno. No, not Reno, I'm a military supplier, Ico Corporation, maybe you've heard of it? I supply 20% of small arms to your damn military! How have you not heard of me? How about you save me some time and put me on the phone with the Chancellor himself? Yes, I'm joking!" Darius hung up the rotary phone and took a drag from his cigarette, he seemed annoyed, every year when he had to renew his contracts it was always sitting on the phone going from bureaucrat to bureaucrat trying to finally talk to someone that could help him.

"Same story?" asked Garrett,

"God, it never ends. It's always the same crap 'Oh, well that's not my department, let me turn you to someone else' or 'Oh, well I'll need to put you through to this person before you can talk to this person', I swear, sometimes it just makes me want to pull my hair out. It's easier to pull teeth than work with the government. It's just like 'Put me through to someone who can help me already damn it and let's save everyone some time', you know?"

"Can't escape the red tape no matter where you go, huh?"

"No, you really can't. Not even out here," Darius took another drag of his cigarette, "So, what's up with you?"

"Oh, just the same stuff. I have to tell you, maybe you should get into this liquor business, it's a gold mine out here,"

"You tell me this, what? Twenty times a day or something?"

"And I'll keep telling you until you come to your senses and do it. Don't have to deal with government as much as you do,"

"Garrett, there's a reason why I head the business and make more, but I'll leave that up to your tiny brain's interpretation."

"Whatever you say," said Garrett,

Every year, Darius had to go through the annoying process of renewing his government contracts with the UGW. His business was almost just a word of good faith from the UGW to North Mexico and that from buying and selling to each other, they'd make nice with each. It was always a good tactical decision anyways to not upset your neighbors. After all, they were your neighbors. In any case, Ico Corporation was a caravan chain which had multiple chapters from Phoenix to others like San Diego and Reno. Certain chapters specialized in different trades, for instance, the Reno chapter specialized in small arms, and the San Diego chapter specialized in equipment for fishing. Phoenix chapter was a general supply chapter and specialized in home appliances like coffee makers or ice boxes, refrigerators, but also in spare parts for vehicles and furniture like chairs or coffee tables. Variety was the spice of success, and setting up your factory to manufacture one type of material, like steel or wood, allowed you to diversify. He supplied around 20% of small arms through a government contract to the UGW, which was more than any other single company did in the UGW when it came to small arms. He alone supplied 1/5 of weapons, whereas seven other companies managed the other 80% (to be fair, they also supplied other things.)

The fact though that he was able to procure such a deal with a foreign nation was nothing short of a miracle. While the Sovereign, UGW and North Mexico enjoy they alliances, they weren't trusting of each other. Business done with other nations was usually small with few exceptions. (The 20% weapon contract, and from 2105 to 2197, 85% of the UGW's oil came from Alaska. Now only 8% of it does.)

Garrett shook himself, "Wow, it is cold here, what is it? Like five or ten degrees outside?"

"I don't know, let's check," Darius opened one of the blinds for a moment, bending one just enough to peep through, "It is...four degrees right now,"

"I don't know what it is with this place, but it has such extreme winters..."

"I hear in Alaska they have days when it gets to thirty or forty below,"

"Really?"

"Really. I tell you what, that's unbearable."

"So are you going to try calling Boise again?"

Darius looked at the rotary phone, "I really don't even want to deal with it to be honest,"

"Who says work would be fun?" said Garrett with a smirk,

"I'll work on it later, I'm more focused on getting sleep right now. It hasn't been good for me the last couple of nights."

"Why is that?" asked Garrett,

"Do you not have ears? You can hear the damn war going off even thirty miles away out here,"

"It's because it's just flatlands the entire way. It carries for miles."

"Obviously," said Darius sarcastically, "Honestly man, it's like you don't get it sometimes,"

"I got it, I'm just making coversation,"

"Well, if that's the case then," Darius took another drag and put out his cigarette in the ashtray on his desk, "So I got this new heavy hitter,"

"Who?"

"It's this older guy, he's like sixty or something. He was a soldier, remember that one guy who picked my ass up in Bakken when this first started?"

"You mean when you got your ass handed to you?"

"We don't talk about that," Darius said fast, quickly changing the subject, "Anyway, he came to me asking for work. I guess because we're merchants for his country, it gives him purpose to get things done for us,"

"Well isn't that noble," said Garrett,

"I thought so. What's the harm in it anyway?"

"Is he actually good?"

"I remember seeing him at work in Bakken and he was outperforming all of us, despite being twice our age. Needless to say, it wasn't a hard decision."

"Well, it's your money, not mine. I'd personally like someone a little bit younger, maybe not forty years past retirement, but you know, that's just me."

"How about this, when you can do half the work he can, I'll talk to you, heh?"

"Screw you," said Garrett sarcastically, he stood up out of the chair, "I've got to go and get things ready for the morning, I'll talk to you later,"

"Yeah, take care," Darius picked up the phone again and turned the dial."

********

Apocalypse, Jagdgeschwader

Desmond, Corsican, Durant and the paratrooper cleared the roads and ran back to friendly territory, ducking between collapsed walls and going through holes only just large enough to fit a person through. They crawled out from underneath the structure one by one and out of hostile territory, they took a breath, sitting up against a car in the cold snow. The trooper sat down, Durant and Corsican sitting down around her, while Desmond stood and leaned on his weapon like a cane.

"What's your name trooper?" asked Durant, the frozen wind freezing her hair along with Desmond and Corsican's facial hair,

"Allison Silva," said the trooper, stretching her fingers and rubbing her hands together,

"I have a sister named Allison in the military, you look a little bit like her," examined Desmond,

"Do I?" she said a bit flattered

"You do, she's a very good looking woman," said Desmond, "So anyway, what happened with you?"

"I dropped with the rest of my squad, but obviously we were separated when we landed,"

"We saw that," said Corsican, "Haven't heard much shooting besides our own just now, so maybe there's some hope, but don't push your luck,"

"We knew what we were signing on for," said Silva, "They told us it was likely a one way trip."

"Did they force you?" asked Durant,

"No, it was voluntary,"

Desmond shook his head, "You're either a damn fool or extremely brave," he digressed, "But we're glad to have you here nonetheless."

The group moved a little in place to try and not melt the snow. If you melted the snow, it went onto your clothes, then it froze on your clothes, it was the last thing you needed. Corsican rolled up a snowball and tossed it around a little, catching it just to keep his mind busy.

"So," asked Corsican, "How are things on the frontline? Outside this place? They like to broadcast this message saying they're coming to rescue us, but we stopped believing it a long time ago."

"You're asking the wrong person soldier, I just point and shoot," replied Silva, "But they've definitely been trying to break through the ring. They keep constant pressure on the NET and it's working, but as soon as they gain ground they just come back and counter attack successfully. It's a real juggling act out there, but I have no reason to believe they don't intend to recapture the city."

"So, nothing new," said Desmond disappointed, "That's what any reinforcement just tells us."

The group was solemnly silent. It'd been a long time since the troopers inside expected to leave the city alive, and even longer since they'd lost hope. Inside the enclave, you found probably some of the most miserable and forlorn people you'd ever seen. It didn't matter who you were, it got to everyone eventually, even the strongest will could be compromised by no end in sight.

********

Clark: Stretch, then suit up for work. Make sure your ASP is secure in your shoulder holster. Head out to work, remembering to lock your door on the way out. Take note of any significant landmarks in Frontline.

Darius: The phone continued to ring over and over, causing Darius to sigh and rest his head on his desk. He almost completely gave up trying to reach the UGW when he heard a click on the other end of the phone line.

"UGW Foreign Marketing, Boise Division. How can I help you?" a woman's voice said, on the other end of the line.

Darius slammed his desk and stood up straight. "There is a God." Darius said jokingly.

"Darius Ico, Ico Caravans Corporation. I need to renegotiate my contract to 22% Small Arms sales. And to compensate for the extra 2%, I have a gift for your soldiers in Bakkan. A new shipment of SMAW shoulder-launched artillery with HEDP rockets, and a crate of Barrett M82's. Everything already prepped for an air drop, provided the deal goes through." Darius said, waiting for a response.

Silence, for a short while. "We can't make a decision right now. We'll call you back." the woman said, then hanging up.

Outside the hallway of Darius's office, a deskchair goes flying out of the office door, smashing into a large picture of Darius shaking hands with a UGW politician.

Hunter: "Team, do an ammo check and check the area for Civvies." Hearing the affirmations of his teammates, the group moves further away from the Railyard. Hunter wipes both the front and rear lenses of his scope mounted on his M14, he then closes the rear and front lens hoods and slings the rifle on his back.

He grabs his radio, clicks it to the UGW channel and brings it to his mouth, "This is Staff Sergeant Hunter, any units in the vicinity of the Railyard? Over." Stowing his Radio, he finds a discarded drinks can on the floor and considers trying to attach it to his M14 or his M9 to act as a makeshift suppressor. Remembering that only worked in old world movies, he kicked the can to the side of the road and continued the search for Civilians.

KGBOOM wrote:Hunter: "Team, do an ammo check and check the area for Civvies." Hearing the affirmations of his teammates, the group moves further away from the Railyard. Hunter wipes both the front and rear lenses of his scope mounted on his M14, he then closes the rear and front lens hoods and slings the rifle on his back.

He grabs his radio, clicks it to the UGW channel and brings it to his mouth, "This is Staff Sergeant Hunter, any units in the vicinity of the Railyard? Over." Stowing his Radio, he finds a discarded drinks can on the floor and considers trying to attach it to his M14 or his M9 to act as a makeshift suppressor. Remembering that only worked in old world movies, he kicked the can to the side of the road and continued the search for Civilians.

Spoiler:

KGBoom

"OK Roger, as soon as we do this we need to haul ass as fast as possible out of here," said Hunter,

"Launcher is ready, just do it when you need to," replied Roger,

Hunter and Roger Blackwell, two troopers trapped in the city were deep in enemy territory. Occasionally, the troops from the enclave sent soldiers out from the 'safe' area to harass the enemy in the city. In this case, Hunter and Blackwell were about two kilometers from friendly territory harassing armor just arriving into the city. Armor was seldom given to the occupation in the city in favor of the actual frontline, so it was easy to almost eliminate it as a threat if you could deal with it quickly. They sat with a Carl Gustav recoilless rifle, which troopers called the 'Drainpipe' and waited for a NET M48 tank to roll up.

"The waiting is insufferable," said Roger,

"He'll be coming into view here in just a moment,"

"There's a lot of troops down there, we'll need to use the element of surprise to get the hell out of here once you fire. Don't miss,"

"Oh, well I was going to miss but now that you mention it..."

"Smartass,"

"I've got this handled," said Hunter, "Don't worry,"

An M48 column appeared into view. Four tanks made things different, because he would probably be spotted at best after he fired, so he waited for an opportune shot. Roger and he sat in a broken building about 100 meters away from the target, elevated in the 2nd floor of the building. Hunter had been using a Carl Gustav all winter to destroy tanks, so he was certain in his abilities.

"Clear the blast zone," said Hunter just loud enough for Roger to hear, he fired and the projectile went flying down the battlefield. Hitting a tank, but he wasn't sure if he knocked it out. Not willing to find out, he and Roger ran fast, because soon after a shell from one of the tanks hit the building, and then the other two did. It knocked them to the ground, and the floor underneath them fell out. Then another shell hit the building.

"That was four, you definitely didn't take it out,"

"JUST GET OUT OF HERE!"

********

DJDimitri, Snowwolf, Cloakey

The frontier was a place where countries could throw someone away they didn't want, whenever they wanted to. It applied to any nation actually. The NET preferred the deep south, the UGW liked the Rocky Mountains. North Mexico preferred the rainforests of Central America. The New Islands sent them to the Falkland Islands, and The Sovereign sent them to a facility somewhere in the arctic circle, point being, your prisoners were trash that society didn't want. Prisoners of war weren't the exception.

In eastern South Dakota, a facility named "The Gate" housed prisoners of war from all over. Tribals, rebels, captured UGW soldiers and traitors all alike were sent to a few facilities scattered throughout frontier area mainly to work themselves to death, but sometimes other things. Slave masters came through pretty often and recruited from these fields, of course only the behaved residents actually had a chance of being bought. It wasn't a NET specific deal either; all North American nations used prisoners as slave labor. A prisoner having rights was akin to a fish being able to fly. It didn't make sense and didn't happen. These prisoners didn't usually have sentences that ended without said prisoners dying. Very few ever experienced freedom again, and if they did it was either because God was on their side or they were extremely lucky.

"Prisoners!" ordered Cloake, "Event...rest!" Event rest was a guard order to cease all work and stand in line in NET facilities. All of the prisoners ran into two columns and stood still.

Claoke turned to his guards, "Atten...tion!" the guards stood straight in a line, hands at their sides, "Parade...rest!" then the guards put their hands behind their backs and put their left legs to the side, widening their stances.

Durov came into the yard, escorted by two guards. Durov was a master slave trader and a slaver master. He coordinated and organized 90% of the slave labor in the NET share of the Bakken Oil Field and because of it was one of the more reputable men in the nation. He commonly did business in The Gate since his work hours caused many workers to tire and be rotated constantly. He may not have been military, but his reputation garnered him respect among some officers, but with some it garnered him spite. The commander of The Gate, Colonel Geoff Renner, had a favorable opinion of him.

Cloake walked beside Durov, "It's good to see you again Mr. Durov,"

"Ah, the pleasure is mine. This camp does make good workers for the oil fields,"

"That it does, are you here on business or pleasure?"

"Business as always Sergeant," said Durov respectfully, "While I do respect the work you do here I would never wish it upon myself I don't not envy you in that respect,"

"You and me both," Cloake turned to one of his troopers, "Wright, please show Mr. Durov around, the rest of you, at ease,"

"Sir," said Private Wright, he walked over to Durov ahead of his personal guards, "Is there anything I can point you to, sir?"

"Nothing in particular, but any significant workers this time around?"

"A few strong workers who have performed well on the diet here,"

"That's good," Durov knew that workers here only ate beef stew for their meals. If you could be strong on that, you'd be strong on the worker diet, which was government regulated.

They walked the yard looking at groups of workers standing straight. Every now and again, a worker would collapse and a guard would pick them up, to which they'd stand straight again. This place place was a death sentence. Nobody wanted to be sent here. If nothing else needed to be done, the workers dug holes in the frozen dirt, which were used to bury groups of prisoners who died. They literally dug their own graves.

"This woman looks strong," Durov stopped at a red haired woman, "Is she for sale?"

Wright took notice and quickly dissuaded him, "She's a new arrival, sir, not marked for sale yet, we haven't determined whether she fares the work well or not,"

"Ah, well, alright then," said Durov, the woman gave Wright a gesture of thanks and he returned the favor.

"There are quite strong tribal men over here,"

"I've never preferred them, savage men are loyal to no one and completely insane,"

They would spend the next hour or so scouting out new workers, and a few were brought and sold. Durov had completed another visit and the NET gained from the business. It was back to work though after it was all said and done. Back to the back breaking labor of The Gate, and at 2000, the new shift came on. Wright wondered how long he could continue this work, but not only that, he wondered how he could get his spouse back and out of the camp. Krieger had taken up the name 'Heath Wright' and falsified documents to get back into the military and get assigned to the POW camp. It worked. By chance he was assigned to the POW camp as a starting assignment, but he also knew that guards were rotated out on frontlines eventually. He wouldn't have long to act. It was the first step in his plan that he knew was probably a one way trip, to get his girlfriend out of the camps and back into freedom. How the rest would work, he wish he knew.

********

Hunter: He pulled out his 'clacker' and hit the trigger, detonating a small package of explosives he had buried in the side of the road. No self respecting soldier walks into a fight without a 'Plan B'. The explosives, rather than being anti tank or personnel explosives, erupted into a cloud of smoke. "Roger, let's go. We have them blind, we can either haul ass back to friendly territory or get to a secondary position and try to hit them again. I vote for the former, we could set up an ambush if we play it right" He slid the Carl Gustav onto the holder on his back "Fuckin' Drainpipe, I'd be leaving you here if there was only one tank."

The cover of the smoke managed to cover them just enough to get out of sight of the column and into friendly territory. Taking cover by a wall, Hunter looks at his broken radio. "Black, get on the horn to any UGW units, try and get a RV with someone." He kneels down and unhooks his Drainpipe, pulls the breach open and begins to load in another HEDP round. "Oh and while you're at it, try and find out why there were FOUR tanks instead of one." He lifted the Drainpipe and starts to scan the way they came for the tank column

as "Wright" walks around doing his job he focuses on trying to memorize structures and guard shift times.

Dimitri walks his new product to some vehicles that are set up for transporting slaves to their last homes.
"Attention!" Dimitri hollered watching his pick of two older men a teenage boy and two sisters. He felt a ting of pleasure watching the fear of being whipped or resold morph the slaves to an upright military line.
"Yes master!" they shouted in unison
He smiled as the trucks were waiting and his security was at his back.
"You are the freshest product I have purchased at a high risk." he breathed a sigh at the word risk.
"You will be taken to my oil fields to work day in and out. Pay will be based on the production of your sectors. As government regulation requires you receive two bathroom breaks, twenty minutes of lunch, and I am regretfulto say you may receive twelve hours of leisure time a week as appointed by my sister whom is also in charge of you. Do not be fooled though, I have final say on what happens to each one of you." He had been seeping up and down the line giving his orientation speech giving hints of calmness to the group.

He stopped in front ofthe sisters. "You two I have selected personally. Although you do not have the strength to stay on your beef diet in the camps. I have been told you make ideal motherly figures and therefore will be set up with my sister Luna in farming buildings as long as you are fertile." As he finished one of the older men collapsed to his feet. As the security lifted his club to punishthe slave Dimitri stopped him. "This one is free. He needs his rest if he doesn't want to fail in the field. Besides I like it when they kiss my feet." he punctuated his words by pressing his foot on the man. " Get in the truck and take your comrade with you!"

The others quickly dragged the poor man to the truck. After security locked them in Dimitri waved at the men." I will meet you at the fields shortly for inspection." the saluted and started moving the new product to the Durov fields.

Dimitri couldn't take his mind off of the red head in the lineup. He figured he better go back and check with that private abou reconsidering a sales agreement.

Cloake

Sergeant Cloake watched with the gate guards Durov's opening speech. It was always the same, a power streak to his head. In Cloake's opinion, he didn't like him. He didn't like his business but he also knew that these were bad people and that this entire operation was for the greater good. In life, you never got everything you wanted, so you had to make the most of the bad situations because everything was bad.

"...I have been told you make ideal motherly figures and therefore will be set up with my sister Luna in farming buildings as long as you are fertile," said Durov to the prisoner women in the distance,

"Fertile?" asked a guard, "Does he mean like sexually?"

An older man fell to the ground, and one of his guards moved to hit him with his rifle before Durov stopped him, "That's no way to treat your workers," said Cloake,

"We do that to these people all the time," said a guard, "What's the difference with him?"

"We do that because they have no purpose, and they're scum. But recruiting them for work is giving them purpose. I've seen what he does with his workers, he'll beat them when they devote everything to work and pass out from exhaustion. Torture is for sadists and thugs. It has no place in interrogation or motivation and it only makes your victim resent you."

"Again, what's the difference?"

"We aren't looking for assistance and we aren't looking for information. Not only that, when a man dies here, we do him a favor,"

Cloake walked off to his second in command, a corporal who was sitting outside a prisoner bunkhouse smoking with another guard. Corporal Modina and Private Ulrich respectfully. Cloake had watched Wright's demeanor and was tipped off to it. Wright was a new transfer, only about two weeks old, and several other times he'd seen him act suspiciously. Modina regularly watched the prisoners, so he'd be the man to inform.

"Modina," said Cloake, hand on the strap to his L1A1 slung on his back.

"Sergeant," replied Modina, blowing smoke out of his mouth,

"I want you to keep an eye on Wright, OK?"

"What should I look for?"

"He directed Durov away from a prisoner that was OK for sale and release, then he signaled the prisoner,"

"Which one?" asked Modina,

"Prisoner 6-2-7," said Cloake, "That red haired one. I've noticed sly gestures between the two since he got here two weeks ago. So tell me about anything you see, but don't say anything to him.
Understand?"

"Understood Sergeant,"

"Good to hear, don't smoke the day away either, get back to work soon,"

"Yes, Sergeant,"

Cloake was in charge of a yard of prisoners, along with his squad of fifteen guards. One thing that Colonel Renner wanted to emphasize was that the nature of the camp wasn't something everyone agreed with, but for the most part did. There had been cases ever since the concept of POW camps in the NET where guards either sympathized with prisoners and tried to help them in various ways, such as extra rations, prisoners were favored over others, and even escape attempts. Guards caught doing this were punished severely, and sometimes lethally. In that respect, Cloake also had to take notice of any guards acting in violation to facility code and act accordingly.

********

KGBoom

Falling out of the building, Hunter and Blackwell ran as fast as they could to try and cover a significant amount of distance before the next set of buildings. They had a few yards to run through, which they'd be exposed in unless they had other plans. Hunter pulled a detonator from his coat and triggered it, detonating a small amount of explosives on the road buried underneath rubble. With hope it'd blind their pursuers.

"We have them blind, we can either haul ass back to friendly territory or get to a secondary position and try to hit them again. I vote for the former, we could set up an ambu-why are you still running?!"

"TANKS HAVE THERMAL IMAGING!" yelled Blackwell, the co-ax machine guns from the M48s fired at 700 RPM, injuring Blackwell and hitting Hunter a few times, wounding him critically. A smoke screen would've worked against infantry, but Hunter had forgotten that all main battle tanks come with thermal imaging systems, which albeit they emit a loud clicking sound that can be heard many meters away, are very effective. The two soldiers both hit by armor played dead on the ground. Hopefully the armor would assume they were killed. Hunter's recoilless rifle came off his back, the strap chafing against his neck and the launcher on his head. It was uncomfortable, but a small price to pay if the troopers assumed they were already done.

********

"Well we could base our actions with in the enclave depending on what the threat level is. If its too hot to even set up positions inside the fucking cessepool, we can just detonate explosives on the tops of the sewers...you know, right under encampments of course. But, if we hit a damn good opportunity here guys..."

Boddz looked up from the map to the rest of the men with a serious tone.

"We should get some more men in reserve for this operation. If we actually manage to disorganize that pocket for a decent enough time, we might actually be able to do some follow up attacks and effectively cripple this little fiasco"

Hunter: They waited for the tank column to pass, once 100% sure they were gone they slowly made their way to cover in the form of of a blitzed building (the only thing left of this building is 4 chest high walls). Hunter reached into his knapsack and pulled out a morphine syrette and some gauze. He injected the morphine into his veins and split the gauze into three, wrapping it around his left shin (Where the first bullet hit), his left forearm (second) and right clavicle (basically where it connects to the shoulder blade). "Fuck, my radio has been blasted in by one of the rounds, Black. Get on the horn to command, call for an evac or something, and check your fucking wound I don't want you bleeding out on me." He checked his knapsack to see if the tank's co-ax had damaged anything in the fray and alas most of the equipment was shot to shit, one particular piece of equipment (a spare hinged breach for the CG) had just stopped a bullet from piercing his back and therefore, either his spine or one of his lungs. His back still hurt like fuck but the morphine had dulled the pain just enough.

Hunter readjusted the Recoilless rifle and the strap, then he loaded a red smoke round into it.
Black pulled his radio out "Command, the mission was a no go, we are not equipped to take out four tanks, we are W.I.A and need an evac. Hunter is going to pop red smoke at our primary location, then he will pop blue at our current location once you are in sight, Blackwell out"

Hunter hefted the drainpipe onto his left shoulder and launched the red smoke canister at the ruined building they once occupied. He then slid a blue canister into the launcher and they waited.

Mboddz

"We need to come up with something, it's non-negotiable," said Lieutenant Boddz, "Any ideas?"

The team was silent again until Reznor came up with an idea, "What if we used the sewers to get in, put explosives in certain areas, see what we could do? Maybe wreck some camps?"

"Took the words out of my head," said Boddz, "You guys are on a roll,"

"I don't like that," said George, "How are we supposed to sneak into the camps guys, again, these aren't idiot conscript soldiers who can't even wipe their own ass, they're badasses if they've lived this long. Survival of the fittest has made sure of that. Bullets don't bounce off of our skin."

"If every now and again a camp explodes, killing a few troopers and destroying supply caches, that could weaken them enough to stage assaults with regular troops. They're short on supplies as it is with the situation. Nothing gets in except for the occasional C330."

"If we wanted to do that," explained George, "We could just send howitzer fire into that place day in and day out. Wouldn't be hard and we have the ordinance for it," George thought for a moment, "Why don't we do that?"

"Because damn near all of those assets are devoted to the frontline. Not only that it doesn't help that their damn air force keeps blowing them up," Boddz sighed and tried to think up another plan. If this was easy, it wouldn't be dealt with a long time ago, but that's what their people were for. Solving hard problems. They'd find a way, it would just be difficult.

"We should get more operatives, obviously the three of us can't do much. If we actually manage to disorganize that pocket for a decent enough time, we might actually be able to do some follow up attacks and effectively cripple this little fiasco,"

"I'll inform Descateaux that we'll need more assets," offered Reznor,

"Actually, no, not yet," said Boddz, "I'll try and think of something else, just give me time. In the meantime, you guys can relax. You'll need it anyways,"

One thing was for sure; that both sides completely underestimated each other in this conflict when it started and both were feeling it now.

********

Jagdgeschwader, Apocalypse, Manguydude

Hours passed and soon enough it was the next day. Days seemed so long, yet they seemed short as the days passed sometimes without even thinking about it. It was an experienced that couldn't be explained with words, only personally. When they could, troopers made fires inside buildings inside makeshift firepits to keep warm at night when it could get to the negatives. The last few winters and summers in North Dakota had been extremely cold for the records which didn't do anyone good in conflict.

It was now 2242. The waning crescent moon shone in the sky bright, making the snow glow. Inside a gutted two story concrete building, a circle of troopers sat around a campfire. Rovanel, Desmond, Durant, Corsican and Silva warmed themselves in the negative temperatures.

"I'll get another log for the fire," said Durant, picking herself up and walking outside. Another asset that was dropped every now and again was firewood. It was essential for these cold nights, and the troopers didn't care about smoke giving away positions. They'd been there for months, if the NET wanted to bombard them with artillery, they could do so anytime they wanted.

About thirty troopers in total sat in the derelict building on the 1st and 2nd floors, relaxing on anything from window sills to thin strips of concrete supported only by a lone piece of steel rebar. Some gathered in the corners, and some sat around the fire. When they were first trapped, these conditions worked to break their hopes of survival, but anymore it was an accepted fact of life.

"So..." said Silva, adjusting herself, "What's your guys' stories?"

Rovanel knelt from his sitting position, "Depends on who you want to tell you," Rovanel pointed to Corsican, "He's the slave,"

Corsican gave him a dirty look, then went back to warming himself.

"He's the orphan turned parent," said Rovanel pointing to Desmond. Desmond scowled at the description.

"She's the little girl who does anything her daddy tells her to," Rovanel described Durant, "And I'm the normal kid, or as normal as it gets around here. Which do you want to hear?"

"Do you mind telling me about yourself?" Silva asked Corsican,

********

Spoiler:

Tyson: @ Silva: "If I told you it's none of your business, I'd be right. But facts showing that you all may be the people I die with; I don't want the last memory of me being the unwilling Alaskan turned UGW soldier, to anyone.

It's been a long journey, I'm surprised I've made it this far.

I was born in 2200, Whitehorse, Yukon. Nine years after my birth, the most peaceful nine years I have ever lived: Government authorities obliterated a slave movement, The Road, that had been creating a financial foundation throughout eleven years of pooling. Eleven years of sweat & blood, to be destroyed by government authorities, they took everything they had ever given us for working under them, and everything that had ever belonged to us back.

My parents were part of that movement. My participation, and all the other children's, was a bit more implied.

It took them three days to discover every little establishment that was involved with The Road. Three days of unrelenting screaming, abuse, and gunfire. They captured who they could, for iconic reasons. The base that my family was hiding in, along with the Hirvasojas and the Reeds, was found second to last. Myself, Gunnar Hirvasoja, and Carson Reed were the three children from those three families. We were forever traumatized the moment they tied the rope on our hands.

The children from every family, about eleven or twelve I would say. Were positioned away from the execution zone, but that didn't stop us from turning our heads and watching our parent's heads dismembered.

The older children, that included Myself, Gunnar, and Carson, with a total of six children were brought to interrogation rooms after that. They asked us questions mainly to try and discover if there was anything left of The Road, but there wasn't.

Now that I think of it, I don't know what happened to the younger children.

The government gifted us two options: to be included back into the slave work force, or to be enlisted into government authority forces. Of course some of us had the "If you can't beat them, join them.","We'll stab em' in the back someday." mentalities. But we all contemplated for awhile, could we really join the people that killed our parents? Apparently so. Exempting Carson, he was the only child who refused. I don't know what he's up to now, for all I know he's re-birthing The Road.

All the other older children served as Junior authorities, some career sub-categories remained between us all. But Gunnar and myself were able to serve together. One day, we were tasked with some espionage work for the UGW by the TAS, and we were driven to that frontier encampment, with the howitzers.

That's where we got ourselves involved with this war, where we got ourselves into work we never asked for.

Satisfied?"

Continue warming yourself near the campfire.

Apocalypse, Jagdgeschwader


Corsican rubbed his hands together again, "If I told you it's none of your business, I'd be right. But facts showing that you all may be the people I die with; I don't want the last memory of me being the unwilling Alaskan turned UGW soldier, to anyone."

He thought for a moment, "It's been a long journey, I'm surprised I've made it this far,

I was born in 2200, Whitehorse, Yukon. Nine years after my birth, the most peaceful nine years I have ever lived: Government authorities obliterated a slave movement, The Road, that had been creating a financial foundation throughout eleven years of pooling. Eleven years of sweat & blood, to be destroyed by government authorities, they took everything they had ever given us for working under them, and everything that had ever belonged to us back."

He looked at Silva, "My parents were part of that movement. My participation, and all the other children's, was a bit more implied.

It took them three days to discover every little establishment that was involved with The Road. With my knowledge of the government now, it's ignorant to assume that they only found out about it then. They probably knew about it ever since it was started. But anyways, three days of unrelenting screaming, abuse, and gunfire. They captured who they could, for iconic reasons. The base that my family was hiding in, along with the Hirvasojas and the Reeds, was found second to last. Myself, Gunnar Hirvasoja, and Carson Reed were the three children from those three families. We were forever traumatized the moment they tied the rope on our hands.

The children from every family, about eleven or twelve I would say. Were positioned away from the firing line, but that didn't stop us from turning our heads and watching our parents be shot to death.

The older children, that included Myself, Gunnar, and Carson, with a total of six children were brought to interrogation rooms after that. They asked us questions mainly to try and discover if there was anything left of The Road, but there wasn't."

Corsican thought for a moment, "Now that I think of it, I don't know what happened to the younger children."

But he got back on topic, "The government gifted us two options: to be included back into the slave work force, or to be enlisted into government authority forces. Of course some of us had the 'If you can't beat them, join them.','We'll stab em' in the back someday' mentalities. But we all contemplated for awhile, could we really join the people that killed our parents? Apparently so. Exempting Carson, he was the only child who refused. I don't know what he's up to now, for all I know he's re-birthing The Road. After a while though, you just go with what happened. I'm not avenging my parents' deaths anytime soon, or at all. But anyways, all the other older children served as Junior authorities, some career sub-categories remained between us all. But Gunnar and myself were able to serve together. One day, we were tasked with some espionage work for the UGW by the TAS, and we were driven to a base on the frontlines then with artillery pieces. McKennel, or Mc...something I can't remember now."

"Who's Gunnar?" asked Silva,

"His old friend," said Desmond,

Corsican's voice turned a little more somber, "He's dead now,"

"Dead? I'm sorry," said Silva,

"Ah, don't be. We lose people every day to the NET. It's a fact of life out here,"

"We've lost a lot of friends," explained Desmond, "It's best not to get close to anyone out here,"

"Yeah," said Silva, "I know that much,"

"That's where we got ourselves involved with this war, where we got ourselves into work we never asked for," continued Corsican, "I don't get the small pleasure of fighting for my country to make things right against a great enemy. Not that I'd want to for my land anyway since it never did me any good. Satisfied?"

Corsican put on his gloves he found in a pocket in his great coat. These temperatures were enough to make your skin freeze it seemed.

"You shouldn't be so resentful of your country, they almost did you a favor and knocked you out of indentured servitude," commented Silva,

"Are you serious right now?" said Corsican angrily, "Are you serious? They killed my family, my friends, forced me into a battlefield which I didn't want any part of, and I should thank them?!"

"Think of it logically, if you kept working in indentured servitude, you'd never get out of it. You'd be devoted for life. You can't be devoted to life as a soldier, at least not combat wise anyway. Eventually, if you survive, you'll be free at the end of this. They did you a favor in a morbid sense,"

"Doesn't bring anyone back," replied Corsican, "And I don't plan on surviving this fight, I lost hope a long time ago, Corporal,"

The group continued to warm themselves a bit. Out of the sky a fireball erupted, contrasting heavily against the night sky. It caught the attention of the troopers, but they seemed to disregard after a few seconds. It was a fighter, of what origin who knew. Didn't really matter to the troopers.

"So what about you?" Silva asked Desmond, "What's your story?"

Desmond looked at Silva with an angry expression. It surprised Silva a little bit, who was just trying to make conversation, and Desmond took one last drag of his cigarette before throwing it into the fire. He was angry though because that was the last one. Nicotine did little to keep him calm, but it was better than nothing.

"Did I offend?" asked Silva,

"Nah he's just one of the angriest people you'll ever meet," said Rovanel, "He doesn't like talking to anyone really,"

Desmond got up and tapped her on the shoulder, "I'll tell you later," and he went down into the basement of the building where troopers slept. Sleep was one thing everyone didn't have much of around here, and Desmond was also insomniac, couple that with nightmares and night terrors and you made a man who'd sooner yell at everyone to put things at a distance than talk.

********

Boddz sat alone in the room for an additonal hour, scanning the map. He had watched what was supposed to be a quick and decisive conquest, turn into a heavy weight slugging match which was bogging down both sides. This clusterfuck needed a conclusion, and fast.

"Wait...I've got an idea."

Swiftly getting to work, Boddz began writing down detailed guidelines for a top tier cloak and dagger campaign. It would involve heavy collaberation between the NI4 and the top officers of the other NET armed forces officers. After an additional hour, Boddz jumped up and ran down the hall to his higher ups with a folder titled Operation El Dorado

OCC: will send jag details

Kiwi, Meatshield

"Cipher you need to land this damn thing fast, we're losing altitude!"

"I don't give a shit if tower says I'm not cleared for landing, this bird won't survive another five minutes in the sky!"

"Try one minute!"

The Phantom limped as engine one wavered, flaring every now and again. The plane was listing heavily to the left, barely above stall speed and holding. They flew over parked Phantoms at Sundown, with many pilots coming out of their barracks to watch. They'd survived an encounter with a UGW ace. A pilot only referred to by NET pilots as "Satan's Chariot".

"What the hell is this?" asked Westfall, coming out of his quarters

"Morrison and John are about to land their plane," said a pilot,

"That thing won't make another hundred feet!" The aircraft's nose was high in the air and the left wing was listing heavily with engine one out and only firing occasionally.

"I'm going to hook it left and head for that taxiway," said Cipher, "Help me turn the plane."

The Phantom had lost the right aileron which made the aircraft incredibly unresponsive with one aileron being tasked to turn it. Another control surface damaged was the left elevator which was jammed. The aircraft was filled with 20mm rounds in the wings and control surfaces. By luck alone, Satan's Chariot ran out of ammunition firing at them and as a salute of respect, flew up next to Cipher and Cowboy and rocked his wings before breaking off.

"He's going to crash that damn thing," said a pilot on the ground,

"Oh my God..."

Morrison tried to focus while buzzers rang and alarms squealed. He was using flaps to counter act the wrecked elevator, deploying them strategically to raise and lower the aircraft. He tried lowering the landing gear, but all except for the front wheel were jammed. Tower warned him that the landing gear jammed and he corrected for it. It was time to crash land.

"I'm going to try and put it down softly," said Morrison,

"First sign of trouble, eject, don't hesitate," replied John

"I know!"

The plane was only a few miles per hour from dropping out of the sky completely. It was extremely difficult to keep it level above the airfield but when it counted, they delivered. The Phantom hit a little hard, but skidded on the dirt for about three hundred feet before completely coming to a stop. The plane had been through a lot when Morrison and John exited out of it. It was almost as if the thing just wanted to fall into pieces on the runway sitting idle.

*********

Tyson: @ Silva: "We've all got our demons, Silva. Desmond chooses to deny his, to cast a sense of illusionary security. Where he seems to believe that secluding the unmentionable moments in his lifetime from others, may convince himself to deny those scenarios ever existed, and therefore that they ever impacted him.

Well, that being my perspective alone. If any of that were credible I'm sure he would've broken his mind into multiple fragmented personalities by now; or he has the combined will of every soldier involved in this war.

I feel forty winks coming on, Desmond had the right idea."

Retire to the basement to get some sleep.