The Days After (Game Topic)

Boddz quickly picked up his rifle and scrambled down the same flight of stairs he had used to ascend the building. Once he reached the second floor, he set himself up in a similar positon in one of the rooms; taking mind not to sit in the hallway for risk of overexposing his sides.

The UGW troopers had stacked up against an alley way by now and were most likely attempting to stablize or at least comfort their stricken comrade. They probably hadn't percieved exactly where the shot had come from, but they definately knew from what direction and relative angle. He could get one more shot out...anything more would be pushing it. Suddenly, the lead UGW trooper shot his upper torso around the corner and began laying down fire on the third floor of the building. Boddz tried to ignore that the fire was landing almost exactly where he had been about two minutes prior. As the trooper lay down suppresive, two more began rapidly sprinting across the street towards another alley; one that lead straight to the apartment block. Boddz felt sweat begin to form on his brow and his pulse quicken. They were beginning to get a good idea where he was, and it wouldn't be long before his building was surrounded/crawling with the remains of that squad.

Instinctively, the NI4 agent raised his rifle and fired at one of the running troopers. Because the shot had been so quickly alligned, the round went low of the mans chest and slammed in to his thigh. There was a sickening crunch of bone breaking and the man falling to the ground screaming as Boddz stood up and began to leave the complex. Return fire from the western prey began to pour through the window Boddz had just been standing in front of.

"Ok time to get the hell out of dodge man." The agent thought to himself as he ran towards the back exit of the complex.

Cloakey, Snowwolf

New Year's Eve. Cloake and his squad had duty that night on D block, a block of tribals and other miscreants. Cloake himself was asleep at the front desk, having worked 18 hour days for the past four days, his entire team was exhausted. Shortages on the front had sent guards to the frontline early, with other teams being tasked to take up the slack. It was a large prison, sometimes things got ugly.

Granted, Krieger was ready. This was the night it was going to happen. The block was ready, and the others would be willing if they were released. He had his plan, and now it was time to act on it. With Cloake asleep at the front desk, Krieger was able to leave the block without him noticing being assigned to the door with him. He kept his hand on his utility knife and entered C block, the block this would start at, and pulled it out. The man at the desk here was also asleep, and he moved behind him and took the situation in for about a minute. This was almost unbearable to do, but he had to. It had to go through...

He took the knife and stabbed the man in the neck, waking him up immediately and causing him to choke. He then took it again and stabbed him in the heart, this time killing him. Krieger ran down to the cells and threw the master lock on the cells, opening up one series, running to the next, and the next, down every hallway. Guards were overpowered by the sudden influx of prisoners, and gunfire erupted from the catwalks firing down at the prisoners. Krieger fired at the guards on the catwalks and cleared them out, then ran out the door. A few prisoners took the guards' weapons and ran out as well. The prison break had started.

He couldn't stay though. He looked like a guard, and the prisoners would attempt to kill him as well. Naomi wouldn't but this was also part of the plan. They'd meet elsewhere and get out, right now, the prison was about to explode.

Krieger ran by some other guards, firing back blindly at the prisoners to make it look real. His plan was to meet her behind G block and then he’ll put her into a truck and drive out with her. Once he was able to get out, they’d change their appearances as best they could, adopt different names and get to the New Islands. It was expected to be anywhere from a month to six month trip, navigating the broken roads and finally getting to Cuba.

It would be much easier for him to get there than her. Naomi stood out already with her red hair, but the sirens were already blaring. Other blocks were being overwhelmed by the prisoners, but it would be short lived. NET troops were firing at anything that was moving practically.

“All blocks, lockdown, LOCKDOWN! Lethal force authorized! Any prisoners found out of their cells will be summarily executed! RETURN TO YOUR CELLS IMMEDIATELY!” ordered Colonel Renner over the loudspeakers.

Krieger kept his pace, running past guards who were firing their battle rifles into the crowds, dropping prisoners easily. He contemplated whether or not to fire at them, but he knew that if he was witnessed by anyone killing guards, he would be immediately shot. Dying was not a part of the plan, except by the majority of the block, so he continued to move. He entered F block and threw the master locks on these cells as well, with no guards inside to oppose him, and ran back out getting around prisoners. Two hundred more targets was more than enough to swamp the guard force here, but the guards were obliterating crowds of unarmed men and women by the second. G block was just next door and he moved behind it to look for Naomi, who was hiding between two dumpsters. They greeted each other happily and hugged each other.

“Oh my God, thank you!” said Naomi, “Thank you,”

“It’s not over yet, I have to get you to a truck. We need to get out of here,” Krieger put his hand to her face, “We’ll be OK,”

“I trust you,” she said softly, “Do what you need to. This needs to mean something to those who di-”

A gunshot sounded loud, like that of an L1A1. Naomi became limp in Krieger’s arms and he turned to his right to see his NCO. Cloake had found them, rifle up.

“NO!” Krieger fired his rifle full auto, missing rounds, and Cloake went to cover.

“Did I strike a nerve?” called Cloake from cover,

“You son of a bitch! What did she ever do to you?!!”

“I knew you and her had something going on! You started this entire riot didn’t you?!”

“You won’t survive this you bastard! You WON’T WIN!”

“This isn’t a damn movie Wright!” yelled Cloake, he fired a few times around the corner. “You’re not going to win just because you’ve got a girl! You’re not the hero of this story!”

“I got her into this. I had to save her!”

“I remember when I found her cowering in a tent! I raided her village, I burned her home down!” Cloake tried to get Krieger to act stupidly, “I knew she wouldn’t do well in the prisons, personally
I’m not a fan of rape, but I can’t stop the inevitable!”

“Shut up!”

“They tore that pussy up EVERY night!”

“Shut up!”

“She cried like the little bitch she is! She tried being something she wasn’t and it bit her in the ass!”

Krieger again fired automatically. Emotion overwhelmed him and he didn’t even know what to think.

“Is it working?” instigated Cloake, “You’re her man, do something about it!”

Krieger tried to keep his emotions in check. This wasn’t the way to anything, that’s what Clark had taught him, but he couldn’t help it. There was nothing he could do to contain his anger. Krieger came back out around the corner, reloaded and hip fired automatically at the corner Cloake was at.
It was ineffective though, his emotions were so fired right now that he could hardly think straight and it proved fatal. Cloake turned the corner when the fire stopped and shot him once, twice, three times in the chest. Krieger fell to the ground bloody, barely holding on to his life.

Cloake walked up to him and said lowly to Krieger’s face, “Sit down. It’ll all be over soon.”

Cloake walked away and reloaded his rifle, but with one last piece of strength Krieger pulled his handgun from the holster, a Browning Hi-Power, and fired once, twice, again, and again, and again. Five shots before Cloake also fell to the ground, dead before he hit it. Krieger looked to the night sky, a shining moon looking at him, next to him, his love. Of all the ways to go out, this wasn’t the worst.

“You sit down you son of a bitch…” said Mordecai Krieger with his last breath.

********

Kiwi, Meatshield

John kept throwing flares while Morrison maneuvered to avoid gunfire. The Shrike was on them and wouldn’t let go, not easily, but then the combatant flew upwards and away from the Phantom, giving the pilots ample time to maneuver.

The key to being successful in dogfighting was to be quick and decisive. Prolonged fights were to be avoided by all means. It also helped if you were out of the way of the plane’s forward facing radar. That meant you could sneak up on the enemy and get the first shot in. Many kills that Morrison and John had made were done that way, by surprise, because their Phantom was not an aircraft to compete with the more modern Shrikes and Linebackers. Like in any fight though, it also helped to be creative.

“He’s flying up!” said John, “He’s flying high-he’s not on us anymore!”

Morrison pulled to the right and then up to counter the Shrike. The Shrike had more than enough power from when he was leisurely pulling through turns to keep the climb and have enough power to react, but the Phantom didn’t. Morrison had been pulling hard turns to avoid the Shrike which bled his speed considerably. When he pulled upwards, the powerful J79 engines couldn’t keep the 60,000lb plane on the attack, and he stalled. Morrison countered before the stall became too serious and dove again, but the Shrike was still on his tail. John threw flares repeatedly but this time around the Shrike went for guns. It landed many shots into engine one and flared it out as well as the left wing before pulling off of the attack.

“Engine one is out!” called Morrison, “Turning off the fuel!”

“We’re smoking back here!”

“I’ve got a fire in that engine. I’ll see what I can do!”

Engine one burst into flames, visibly the exhaust was now a roaring inferno while engine two still put out. The first thing to do was to turn the jet around and head east closer to friendly territory. If he could, he didn’t want to have to bail out over enemy occupied land so Morrison carefully turned the aircraft, losing altitude the entire way while his radio went nuts.

“Eric! Eric your engine is exploding, you need to get out of that thing!”

“That engine is going to explode! Bail out or you’re going to go with it! Get out!”

“Eric! Can you hear me?! BAIL OUT!”

Turning the plane with one engine and half of a wing was difficult and the adjustments he had to constantly make turned the aircraft into a frisbee. It started to flatspin heading northeast while the rest of his wing flew back home. They talked to him the entire time, but he could hardly hear them. Instead he tried to talk to John, who was in the back pinned against the canopy.

“We need to get out of this thing Cipher!” said John, pinned into the wall,

“We’ll ride it as long as we can! We’re dead if we parachute down there! We won’t survive!”

“Engine temperature is skyrocketing! It’s going to spread to the fuel tanks, we’ll turn into a fireball if we don’t get out!”

“Just trust me, I know, OK? We need to stay in this thing it’s our only ride out!”

“Oh God…you’re pushing it…”

“Just hold a little longer girl,” Morrison said to his plane, “You can do it…”

Engine one’s condition was destabilizing fast. At this rate, they had about one minute, maybe, before the engine fire spread to a fuel tank and detonated. If it detonated, best case scenario, the rear of the aircraft would split from the front and the canopy would fall to the earth. Worst case scenario, other fuel tanks and possibly the weapons on board would detonate as well and the largest piece of scrap would probably be the size of a softball.

“We need to get out!”

“Just a few more seconds…”

“ERIC!”

“Ejecting!”

The canopy blasted off and flew back. They braced as hard as they could for the ejection, but neither were able to sit straight up. John broke his arm immediately upon ejecting, but otherwise it was good given the circumstances. They cleared the aircraft, fell out of their seats and the parachutes opened. Now it was a 20,000 foot drift down to the earth, hopefully into friendly territory, luck permitting.

********

Dimitri: (On the phone) He did what! I told that bastard how much she was worth and he went ahead and killed my trophy! This shit is getting out of hand quick. If I'm supposed to be the next guy taking charge of the west how am I going to do that without proper funds! You know how much she was worth in the ice region! You know what! It's fine... all these NET soldiers are just holding me back anyway. If I am to make something of this world for my sister I need to dump the army guys... I need my private army back up.... Ok just come back and you can have your reward with your family this time. Oh one more thing, what's the number for the Merc group I need to hire all of them.

(Good whay to get the new snowwolf back in no?)

DJDemitri wrote:Dimitri: (On the phone) He did what! I told that bastard how much she was worth and he went ahead and killed my trophy! This shit is getting out of hand quick. If I'm supposed to be the next guy taking charge of the west how am I going to do that without proper funds! You know how much she was worth in the ice region! You know what! It's fine... all these NET soldiers are just holding me back anyway. If I am to make something of this world for my sister I need to dump the army guys... I need my private army back up.... Ok just come back and you can have your reward with your family this time. Oh one more thing, what's the number for the Merc group I need to hire all of them.

(Good whay to get the new snowwolf back in no?)

I'm not accepting anymore leaders of organizations. I've already got three of them and don't need anymore.

FoundDa Kiwi wrote:

Spoiler:

Spoiler:

KGBoom, Jagdgeschwader, Apocalypse

Inside a basement of a broken building in the center of the enclave was the medical wing. Here, the most seriously injured troopers were treated and got their second chance at survival. None ever left the enclave, but care in the wing gave you a 45% better chance than sitting it out. It wasn't optimal, but you had to always hope for the best.

The latest entry was Hunter. He was found a day after he left bloody and weak from crawling for hours upon hours. Three rounds from a NET tank's co-axial machine gun made sure he wouldn't be walking for a while while his friend wasn't so lucky. Hunter was under Desmond's command as part of his platoon and the objective Hunter set off on was requested by him personally. He felt obligated to see him in the hospital, but he also wondered how Hunter made about three rookie mistakes in a matter of seconds.

Desmond stood in the middle of the room, rifle in hand until a trooper came to get him. A man wearing a bandana tapped him on the shoulder and he made he way down to Lieutenant Grant, who by this point was only in charge of Desmond because he kept turning down Grant's promotions to Lieutenant.

Archer Grant was inside a netted tent, talking on radios to troopers in the field and coordinating efforts with other NCOs. Normally Desmond helped him with this, but on this day someone else was filling him in. Officers still serve on the front from time to time.

"James," said Grant, offering his hand,

Desmond moved his rifle to his other hand, "Archer, what's going on?"

"Squads we've been sending into the buffer zone about a klick east from here are getting harassed by some sniper who is hunting our guys."

"A hunter?"

"Yes," said Grant, "Been the same area all day. He moves a lot though and the survivors say that this guy is definitely a pro. Do me one and take some guys, see what's up OK? Don't take chances, be very careful,"

"That's what the scope is for,"

"Thanks," said Grant as he returned to his radio work, Desmond walked out, "I owe you one!"

"More than one!" yelled Desmond back as he walked outside

In his hand was a NET R700, chambered in .338 Winchester like they all are. 11 years of service gave you more than enough time to become experienced with any weapon, and actual snipers being in short supply, often UGW snipers in the enclave were just soldiers with scoped rifles. Normally, scoped M14s were used as sniper rifles, but with supply lines shot anyway, captured weapons had to do. Besides, NET rifles had more punch to them. Nothing left someone more...open...than a .338 Winchester Magnum.

He was amateur at best with it, but that was more than most around here. Desmond picked up Durant, Silva, Corsican and two other troopers, Seferino Morales and Matt Crowe. They moved outside the protected walls of the enclave and settled down into a collapsed building to be informed.

"Alright," started Desmond, "First off, I'm glad you all agreed on such short notice,"

"We get a choice?" asked Corsican,

"No," clarified Desmond, "But it makes it easier. Anyway, we've got a hunter who's been harassing patrols around the buffer zone. This bastard has already killed three guys and injured two. It's time to return the favor."

"What do you want us to do Sergeant?" asked Crowe,

"This guy needs to catch a bullet. If you guys are fast enough on the ground and lure him out for long enough, I can tag him."

"Sounds like a suicide mission," said Silva,

"We all know the stakes. Either he goes free and kills more, or he gets silenced and there's one less threat."

"Where do you need us?" asked Corsican,

"Let's get into the buffer zone first, then we'll talk."

The team moved slowly and cautiously into the buffer zone. Desmond was going to take every precaution he could against this guy and he didn't want a suicide mission. Everyone needed to make it back on this, they couldn't afford to lose soldiers anymore. Through rubble and waste, they creeped, the squad consistently scanned the buildings and other high areas for the man.

********

Morrison: As the Shrike flies over head as your drift down to earth, give that fucker the finger.

"FUCK YOU, YOU UGW PIECE OF SHIT. YOU KNOW HOW MANY REQUISITIONS FORMS I'M GOING TO HAVE TO FILL OUT NOW!?"

Hunter: Thinking back, he should have requisitioned White Phosphorus Charges instead of plain C4 with smoke, that would have blocked the Tank's thermal imaging and he wouldn't have to explain to his superiors and Black's family why he made such a stupid mistake. One thing was certain.
He isn't going on another assignment for a while.

POST IN THE OFF TOPIC THREAD.

Spoiler:

DJDimitri

Dimitri slammed the door on his truck and walked over to the workers’ barracks. He was furious over his conversation with Renner. A prison break had occurred and almost 400 prisoners were killed, his trophy included. He was so interested in her because of the slave cartels in the Midwest he dealt with from time to time. One particular slavemaster was always particularly interested in rare finds and willing to pay fortunes, at one point paying over $12000 for one unique slave.

The workers’ barracks was where his sister worked. There he bred slaves underground to send to various slave cartels in the Midwest and Canada, a rather lucrative business. Officially, the practice was highly illegal but things could slide out in the West much easier than in country. Dimitri walked into the barracks and opened a hatch with four locks down into the breeding rooms where Luna also worked as a supervisor. She made sure that the slave womens’ turmoil was as little as possible, but it did little. No woman would submit to the work willingly.

The wailing and crying of slave women filled the room, but Dimitri ignored it. He was angry, he needed to vent to his sister.

“Luna!” The call went unheeded, “Luna!”

“What is it, Dimitri?”

“That girl is dead!”

Luna stopped for a moment, “What?”

“That one woman I wanted, she’s dead! Killed by the NET in a prison riot!”

Luna was uninterested, “Fantastic, find another,”

“Do you not understand how serious this is? She could’ve pulled in massive profit!”

Luna turned away from Dimitri to go back into the room to comfort the woman. She didn’t particularly care for his problems with finding slaves to be raped. In fact, there was little she liked about this work besides talking with the other women. Some, she even considered friends.

“Luna, this is a problem!”

“Really? You couldn’t get another girl to sell, it’s a problem? Because last I checked there’s no shortage of women around here.”

“What’s with you?” asked Dimitri,

“I’ve got a woman in that room back there,” Luna pointed to the curtain, “Who is crying her eyes out because of how many times she’s been humiliated by the men here. I’ve got another woman who is bleeding out of her genitals because one man was an animal with her, I get to council endless amounts of women day in and day out who want to sit in a corner and hope that they die because of what they go through, rotting from social diseases which are destroying them from the inside!”

“They’re slaves, Luna, they’re worth nothing.”

“Really Dimitri? Because their emotions are real, and their turmoil is unending. Not only that, they seem to be worth a lot to you seeing as how you’re all pissed off that you couldn’t get another one to sell.”

“No more worthy than cattle. God, you’re impossible some days. I’ll be in my office, I need to make some calls.”

“Yeah…have a nice talk.”

Dimitri went to his office and sat down, taking his revolver out of the holster and putting it on the table. He spun the rotary phone on his desk and turned on the lamp to get light in the room. Dimitri was fed up with military ‘incompetence’ and while legally he had to work with the military, he was going to work with mercenaries to get what he needed. Government soldiers came with too many strings attached and while mercenaries were illegal in the NET, they were efficient if you used the right ones.

Out in the West, you could pull a lot of strings.

********

Jagdgeschwader, Apocalypse

"Durant, get across, I've got you covered," said Desmond, laying prone on the ground and scanning the buildings with his R700. Durant ran across the street holding her belt and threw herself onto the wall across the way. Corsican followed, then Silva, then Crowe and Morales.

Desmond ran being covered by Silva and stacked up on the wall as well. So far they'd be out for an hour looking for this guy, never letting their guards down. It was exhausting running around in a kill zone when you knew there was a guy waiting to tag someone, anyone in the shadows. Not only that, survivors said this guy was definitely a pro. He may as well just run if he felt like he was outmatched, which wouldn't be good, then they'd have to hunt him further.

Desmond followed by his squad moved up again, crawling through the rubble of another broken building. On the end side of it was a wall that jutted out and the team used it for cover. They stacked up on Desmond, first Silva, then Corsican, then Morales, Durant and Crowe. Desmond turned his aim around the corner and peeked for a moment, but saw nothing and retracted. He looked to Silva who was fiddling with her hair.

"What are you doing?" asked Desmond,

"Hair's coming undone," said Silva, "Don't want to deal with it later when we're getting shot at,"

"Hopefully I see him first,"

Another peek around and it looked clear. Desmond ran across the street alone and then heard nothing but a deafeningly loud crack of a bullet which brought him to the ground, but he quickly picked himself up and ran to the other side. Corsican turned the corner and fired full automatic into the building he thought it came from and then turned back behind cover to reload, giving Desmond time to get across. Nothing was hit on him, it was just a dangerously close round.

Mboddz

"Shit," the NI4 operative racked the bolt and loaded another round, bringing the rifle to bare again and waited for the sniper to pull his head out.

Jagdgeschwader

Desmond knew where the man was, on the third floor of a building on the farthest window to the left. He took a deep breath to get his composure after his near death experience and talked to his squad.

"He's waiting for me! Not you guys! On my mark, suppress him!" Desmond took one last breath and called it, "Mark!"

The squad stacked as best they could on top of each other and put automatic .308 fire downrange. After a split second, Desmond rounded the corner and aimed. The man was in his sight, but the round didn't land. This was quick reacting if there was it.

Mboddz

Rounds flew into the room and if they hadn't suppressed him, that shot would've landed clean right into him. Boddz stepped it up. This wasn't like usual, this was a dual.

"Six on one," he said to himself, "They're going to need some more guys,"

Boddz changed his position.

Jagdgeschwader, Apocalypse

"I'm going to head to that building behind us!" yelled Desmond,

"What do you want us to do?" asked Corsican,

"Just keep your heads down! Fire if you can, but this guy is mine!"

Desmond took a route out of sight of the Hunter and moved into another apartment building down the road which would offer equal ground and cover. The .338 Winchester was a big round, when he fired, the recoil rocked the firer back and the muzzle climbed considerably. It made up though in that if anyone was hit by this, they didn't stand a chance. That round would drop a moose in one hit.

He knocked the door down and ran up the steps. He would get on the 2nd floor this time around, but if that other sniper was smart, he'd also change positions. That was in the description anyway, so it was expected. Whether or not he'd be in the building still was something else, but this was a start. He wasn't expecting Desmond to change position.

Or maybe he was...

Mboddz

Boddz brought the rifle to bare and watched from his new position. This soldier was giving him a moment of pause, but no matter. A worthy enemy defeated only brought better reputation to his name. He halfway expected him to change positions, some troopers knew about it, some didn't. He looked around for places where he would go if he were in the enemy's position and saw the apartment building directly opposite him. He scanned the windows for the enemy sniper starting from the top floors down. 4th floor seemed clear...3rd floor seemed clear...2nd floor was clear until...

Boddz ducked quickly a dodged another round. He saw if only for a moment the hostile, placing the chevron perfectly onto himself. This was a very good combatant he deemed; very experienced and very dangerous. Boddz changed windows and took a quick shot at him.

Jagdgeschwader

Desmond recoiled and hid behind the wall, the wall exploding inward in a millisecond. His team down on the ground again fired at the hostile, and Desmond took this opportunity to take another shot. He fired, and the hostile fired back, neither one ever gaining enough time to line the shot up perfectly, always resulting in a miss. He took this time to reload his rifle, one round at a time and close the bolt.

Five minutes of near miss sniping ensued. Both soldiers were so nervous and jumpy that one slight move on the other side of the scope caused the other to fire and the other to react. The soldiers would react to each other before they even fired, and by the time they did, they'd already ducked out of the way. Adrenaline rushes kept them extremely alert, almost to superhuman speed, but eventually, the fighting stopped. Not wanting to be flanked, the hostile sniper egressed and left the area. Desmond had failed to neutralize him, but in all honesty he was glad to just have made it alive.

He walked back down the stairs and his team met him. Desmond slid against the wall onto the ground to sit, out of sight of the sniper if he was still present, and again took a deep breath.

"Are you OK, Desmond?" asked Corsican,

"That..." Desmond caught his breath, "I never want to do that again..."

"Seemed intense!" said Crowe, "I can't imagine what that was like!"

"God...I'm exhausted," again, Desmond tried to catch his breath.

Durant looked to the others, "Grant's not going to be happy when we tell him we didn't get him,"

"After what we just went through," explained Silva, "I think he'll make an exception."

Mboddz

Boddz was exhausted as well. That wasn't the worst fight he'd ever been in, but it was definitely up on the top ten. After egressing and retreating a few blocks, he sat down and relaxed for a moment. All morning he'd been picking off troopers, but he'd never gotten such a close fight out of another trooper. He never even paid attention to the enemy squad on the ground, they were so afraid to poke their heads out they only shot at him three times in the entire engagement.

This was enough for today though. It was time to get back to friendly territory and report back. If it was allowed, he was done for the day.

********

Jagdgeschwader, Apocalypse

The group returned to the enclave, having failed their objective. There weren’t any casualties, which is always a plus, but having failed the objective, they didn’t prevent further casualties. At least that’s how Desmond saw it. A thirty minute walk back they reentered friendly territory and were again allowed to be at ease.

They met with Grant, who was sitting underneath the netting on brake smoking. He saw the group and greeted them. Desmond saluted Grant, but Grant set it aside.

“How’d it go?”

“Bad,” said Desmond, “We didn’t take him down, he’s still out there.”

“Yeah, because you decided to take him on yourself! We could’ve backed you up Desmond!” explained Corsican,

“What do you mean?” asked Grant,

“I made a bad call,” said Desmond, “It’s my fault,”

“We could’ve got up behind him Desmond, taken him out!”

“It was too dangerous, you guys would’ve gotten hurt!”

“We’re in this fight together Desmond,” assured Corsican, “We’ve got your back, if we can do something, we should!”

Desmond was sunken. It was one of the more serious failures he’d suffered in his career. He generally wasn’t used to losing, but when he did, it hurt. Seemed like that was all there was now to him. A lot of losing.

“You guys mind if I talk to James alone?” asked Grant,

The troopers looked at each other, “Come on guys,” said Durant,

Grant escorted Desmond over to a few chairs and offered him a seat. They sat down and warmed their hands around a fire, laying their weapons against a nearby wall. In these cold temperatures, fires were mandatory and by this point, nobody cared if their positions were given.

“What’s troubling you?” asked Grant,

“I made a bad call, now people are going to die because of it,”

“Tell me what happened,”

“I told my squad to stay down while I dealt with the hunter myself. I got into a long firefight with them, but they stayed down like I told them to. I think Tyson was right though, they could’ve taken him out if I didn’t let fear cloud my judgment.”

“Why did you tell them to stay down?”

“You didn’t see this guy Archer,” Desmond’s eyes widened, “He was nuts, crazy good, they don’t get much better than this.”

“How so?”

“We were landing shots inches away from each other with only seconds of reaction time, sometimes fractions of seconds, from two hundred feet away. If I let my squad engage him, it’s possible I would’ve lost some of them.”

“You didn’t want to risk your squad’s lives on something you thought you had handled?”

Desmond raised his head, “Yeah, I thought I had it.”

“Now you’re worried someone else will die?”

Desmond shook his head this time, “I did the right thing. We don’t need any more casualties.”

Grant stood up and picked up his M14, “No, we don’t need anymore,” Grant put his hand on Desmond’s shoulder, “You did the right thing, James,”

“I just want it to be over,”

“It may be soon,” said Grant, but that was different than usual,

“Wait, what?”

“Mendoza is going to strike the south in an armored assault. He’s going to try and retake the city and push the fronts back.”

"Is that really true?"

"There's whispers of it, I'm just telling you where the wind is blowing, I don't know if it'll go through."

That was new. It sounded optimistic, but this place could use a little of hope and optimism, it was something in very short supply. If reinforcements were on the way, if they could survive long enough to see it, they just may survive this ordeal after all.

********

Kiwi, Meatshield

The two pilots drifted down to earth. Their comrades were flying back to base, but the Shrike buzzed both of them just to spite them. Morrison was furious that he'd been shot down. He'd been shot up before, he'd been injured, he'd cheated death, but he'd never been shot down. This was an insult to him, this was unacceptable.

"FUCK YOU!" yelled Morrison deaf in the cold atmosphere, "FUCK YOU AND THE HORSE YOU RODE IN ON!"

20,000 feet down to the surface was a long drift down. For John, it was agonizing the entire time with his broken arm. When he ejected, his arm caught under the frame for the canopy and snapped his radius, as well as hyper extending his elbow. He tried talking to Morrison, but it fell on deaf ears. It was hard to talk up here, so both stayed quiet. Ten minutes of drifting landed them both within a hundred feet of each other in unknown territory. In the south, there was no real front unlike in the central areas. Stray patrols may have shot at each other, but it wasn't very reinforced like the real fight.

Morrison landed and collapsed on the ground. His landing was hard, but other than some bruising he was fine. He started over towards John's parachute and jogged. He had an idea that John was injured as he heard him scream when they ejected.

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