The Days After (Game Topic)

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Mendoza, Anderson, Davis



The room was dimly lit around by a few lamps, but shone brightly in the center, displaying a map of the Bakken region, a tactical map, of the latest situation in the area. Many things had been scribbled on it as notes for the officers and many different emblems denoted who and what was moving in and out of the region, where reinforcements were arriving through what avenues, where infantry were stationed, where armor was sitting, and current UGWAF patrols. In the building only five miles from the 'frontline' were three UGW officers. General Augustus Mendoza, commander of the expeditionary force, Colonel Ronald Anderson, in charge of the 366th Fighter Wing, and Colonel West Davis, in charge of the Brigade Combat Teams of 4th Infantry Division.

"So, my one question is, are we ready?" asked General Mendoza,

"Ready for war?" answered Colonel Anderson, "Honestly, impossible to say, we've never fought an enemy of similar size, structure and ability. Can't really tell which way it will go,"

"I can pull our BCTs forward to the frontline if you need them, General," said Colonel Davis, Mendoza looked to him,

"You haven't put our BCTs forward yet?"

"I was holding them in reserve to surprise the enemy if things go south, to surprise them"

"Anderson over here has been flying his AV8s every damn day and you're hoping to surprise the enemy?"

"I don't believe they think we don't possess armor, but it'd be a good one-two punch if we had to fall back, or rather if we held the line long enough, we could strike back with a counter punch."

"I respect the thinking Colonel," said Mendoza, "But we need those units up in the front, station them there within the week,"

"I'll get on it,"

"What do you want the 366th to do for you?" asked Anderson,

"Keep flying sorties, what's come of it currently?"

"My patrols have spotted forward air fields here, here and here," said Anderson pointing to various spots on the map behind the NET line, "They've been flying CAP out of these two, and they possess the aircraft able to do SEAD out of this one, Phantom IIs and the like."

"What about us?"

"I have A10 Thunderbolts en route from the homeland for that purpose, but I'll be honest, there's a whole ten of them and they won't last long if a heavy weight slugging match especially if you want them to go behind the lines and wreck things, as they're intended to do. I may repurpose some AV8Bs for that task,"

"Well," said Mendoza, "I'm trusting you on this Anderson," Mendoza turned to Anderson and Davis, "You people know your roles, let's get started. Also, everyone cut your leave times to Bakken. I'm going to send troopers to garrison our side of it but MPs have been telling me of far too much trouble coming out of that place. When it hits the fan, I don't want the locals stirred up against us."

"Sir," said Anderson saluting,

"Sir," said Davis saluting,

"Dismissed," announced Mendoza, saluting back

********

The road was bumpy, but almost paved in a sense from all of the convoys that rolled in from the frontier bases in droves. Three M939 trucks drove the main road to their current airfield, designated "Sundance" carrying pilots and the like. These specific pilots though were Wild Weasels, a name taken in respect from the pilots of old who used to do their work. Flying F4 Phantom IIs and a variety of other ground attack aircraft (though not nearly in as much number) their work was to go somewhere, destroy as many targets of opportunity as possible and return to base. Flying a Phantom II though was just to sweeten the deal, it could break Mach 2 on afterburner and was a tough aircraft that could take the punishment and dish it back five fold. Not as worthy as the Falcons against aircraft, that was never a problem seeing as no pilot had ever actually gotten into a fight against aircraft.

Once they arrived on base, they quickly drove to the hangars and disembarked. Having just moved to this new base, things needed to get set up, but more importantly, somebody needed to fly a little and scare off any locals who may want to harass them. That particular job was tasked to two pilots of similar name and similar work. Captain Eric "Cipher" Morrison, and Lieutenant Eric "Cowboy" John. They hopped out the back of the 5t Truck and went to go find their airplane, an F4 Phantom II, E model.

"Alright, let's go find our bird," said Morrison,

"Should probably check in with the tower, they may know where our bird is," replied John,

The two pilots ran down to the tower. The airfield was in a controlled chaos of sorts. Many people working on fueling aircraft, arming them, clearing spots for parking and making the airfield. The control tower itself was right now just a tall wooden tower with radio equipment inside of it, rudimentary, but it's just how things are on the frontlines. Kiss concrete runways and hangars away and meet your new friends dirt runway and net hangars.

"Hey, does anyone know where we can find our aircraft? Were due in the sky in like...30 minutes here," asked Morrison to anyone in the control tower,

"Let me see, I have an inventory here, what are your names?" asked the tower operator.

"Captain Eric Morrison and Lieutenant Eric John, our aircraft's serial is 1175872, an F4E Phantom II,"

"OK...let's see...here," said the tower operator as he thumbed through a binder, "11758...7...2?"

"Yes," replied both pilots,

"Your aircraft was just flown in an hour ago, it should be over on the Northeast side of the strip, although the numeration for the hangars right now is all messed up, hopefully you know your own plane,"

"Thanks," said John,

The two pilots left the tower by sliding down the ladder and ran over to the Northeast side of the airstrip. After a short run, they came to their aircraft, which was easy to distinguish by, who would've thought, the serial number painted above the engine intake but also the aircraft's shark mouth painted on the nose. While a lot of Phantom's also had that design (It was a Wild Weasel thing) their Phantom had an error in the shark mouth, which was that one of the teeth on the bottom was painted poorly and bulged a bit. It helped identify it anyway in situations like these.

Arriving at the aircraft, the first thing needed to be done was to test the control surfaces by moving them manually, checking the integrity of the aircraft and the fuel. Already adorned in their G-suits, they climbed into the aircraft which was recently fueled and loaded with standard armaments. Their mission was to fly loud and fly low to scare off any potential raiders or bandits that may make an opportunity out of seizing a small airfield. The locals here generally resented both side's military presence, so if they could, military installations were a prime target if the task wasn't suicidal.

"Alright, let's do it," said Morrison, sitting in the front, the pilot seat with John sitting in the rear as the WSO. The engines spun to life and they sat for a few minutes as the engines warmed up. Morrison now tested the control surfaces by actually controlling them with the control stick, to which, they were responsive. The instruments read fine and like that, they were about ready to taxi to the runway.

"This is White Flight, permission for takeoff on the runway," said John,

"Permission granted White Flight, show 'em who's boss," replied the tower,



Once in the air, they would fly a pre-planned course only about two hundred feet off the ground around known raider settlements to intimidate and hopefully completely scare off any troublemakers. Full afterburner on the runway, the engines spit black smoke out the back and the airplane flew off and away.

"That will never get old," said the man operating the radio in the tower to another traffic controller,

"No, it won't get old," said the traffic controller with a smile,


********

In Bakken, the men in a squad of eight took leave in Bakken's red light district, drinking and buying sex as any unmarried man, and some married men, do when they're given leave from the like of combat with raiders. Two of the men sat at the same table, drinking and eyeing the two new female troopers in the squad. Replacements for two of their comrades killed recently.

"Golan," said James, "What do you think of the new blood?" pointing to the new troopers, taking his shot of whiskey.

"I'll tell you what I think," said Golan, pointing to the blonde, "I'm thinking I'm going to get in on that,"

"Yeah, well keep it in your pants bro, I can't cover you every time you want to get it in. Grant's going to be on your ass if he finds about any of this shit again," asserted James, "And my ass too now that I think about it,"

"That's what I've got you for!" said Golan reassuringly, drinking the last of his liquor and going off to the female troopers,

Rather clumsily walking, Golan managed to get over to the two women sitting at the bar while James watched what happened. The two women took notice of him coming though and turned their attention to him, quickly thinking, Golan said the first thing that came to mind.

"Well hello there tits, legs and ass!"

Well...maybe it wasn't the right thing to say,

The blonde trooper stood up out of her seat and punched him in the mouth as hard as she could, which actually, was pretty hard for a woman. Golan was a big guy though, standing at least eight inches taller than the woman and only stumbled when he was hit. The tavern took notice of the scuffle and the female trooper just eyed Golan while he eyed her back. He had half a mind to punch her right back, but at that point he realized it was probably too late for that move. James in the meantime just grimaced and felt a little bad for Golan, because that honestly looked like it hurt.

"Alright," said Golan, "Maybe that wasn't the right thing to say-"

The blonde trooper again hit Golan, this time a kidney shot, then slamming his head down on to the bar itself attempting to pin him down.

"OK, bitch that's it!" yelled Golan as he elbowed the woman in the cheek, knocking her down on the ground, and he knelt beside her, "I'm going back to my seat now, and I suggest you do the same, understand new blood?"

Again, the trooper just eyed him, but both parties went back to their seats. Golan sitting back down, and the trooper sitting back down at the bar.

"She's obviously a lesbian," said James sarcastically,

"Yeah, definitely," said Golan playing along, "Talk about a bitch,"

The blonde trooper left though and the other female trooper came up to James and Golan. A rather tall woman, Caucasian with black hair. She motioned to sit with them, and they approved, so James put a seat out for her.

"Well I don't agree with her at all, I think you're kind of handsome," said the trooper,

"Lady, no offense, but Rovanel over here," said James pointing to Golan, "Just knocked your friend on her ass and you don't have a problem with that?"

"Well, he did make a pretty rude first impression..."

"That's just the alcohol talking!" interrupted Golan,

"...but I don't think it warrants a punch in the mouth,"

"Do you have a name trooper?" asked James, "I'm aware you were coming but not while we were on leave,"

"Private First Class Courtney Durant," said Durant introducing herself, "The other is Norton, Jenny Norton,"

"So, just off the top of my mind, quick question, was that girl really lesbian?" asked Golan,

"Actually yeah, she is," said Durant, "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess," said James, sipping his drink,

"Oh," Durant pushed in her chair, "Well, anyway, if you're feeling lonely," she tapped Golan on the cheek with her hand, "You know where to find me,"

"Private," I said,

"What?"

"Listen here and listen good, get into a relationship with any active servicemen, you're asking for trouble,"

Durant was insulted, "And you were fine letting him try that?"

"Because I knew he wouldn't be successful, and the few times he has he's started problems, I know you're going to get to him because his dick is about ready to put a hole in his pants as it is,"

"Way to read me like a book," said Golan laughing it off,

"Who are you anyway?" asked Durant with a disgusted look on her face,

"Your Staff Sergeant new blood," said James, "Now enjoy your leave while you have it, we've got work tomorrow,"

"Yes, Staff Sergeant,"

Durant left the tavern, while Golan and James went back to their rounds. James had been in trouble before for covering his troops and his leniency was growing thin with his soldiers. Lieutenant Grant, their officer and commander of their platoon, was a no-nonsense kind of man and was generally on any misconduct like an animal to food.

"Now come on, we should go before we drink too much," said James,

"First good sense I've heard Desmond," Golan stood up and a man approached the two,

"Hey, hey, hey," said the man nervously, and very fast, "Can you guys help, please help, everyone in here is just blowing me off, they don't care! You're soldiers, you're Western soldiers aren't you, can you help?"

"Civilian, we're on leave and frankly we don't care," said James,

"No, see, I'm not a civilian, I'm actually a NET soldier,"

"Then what makes you think we care more?"

"Well, I'm not anymore, I defected, got this girl, brought her to this place, probably not the best idea..."

Desmond and Rovanel couldn't make heads or tails of what the guy was trying to do. He was speaking almost a mile a minute, and he was kind of a weird guy, but Desmond recognized him as the guitar player at the tavern.

"Aren't you the guitarist here?" asked James,

"Sergeant, not all this guy's dogs are barking, let's just go,"

"Those NET soldiers took my girl! I don't know where she is, but, but, but, they punched me too!" the man showed off his black eye by opening his eye as much as he could and pointing at it,

"Listen, we'll do what we can and we'll be on the lookout for her, alright?" said James,

"Oh my God, thank you-thank you-thank you!"

"Uh huh, now we've got to go, OK?"

"Yeah! Sure-sure-sure, I'll be here!"

Like that, Golan and James left the tavern and started walking down the street which was flowing with civilians and the occasional trooper occupied vehicle.

"We're not actually going to help that guy, right?" asked Golan,

"Hell no, like you said, the guy was nuts, or drunk, I don't know what his girl looks like, and not only that I don't even know the guy's name. Fuck 'im." said James, adjusting his M14 on his back to be more comfortable,

*Walking down the flooded street* "Come brother we must find another food supplier soon or the help will get upset again!" Luna said with hurt in her eyes.
"Like I said before we will get to it when we get to it. Right now I am hungry, the alpha male always eats first." Dimitri replied quite plainly. They walked a few more feet, Dimitri checking his pockets every few steps to ward off some poor man with quick fingers. Luna, in her street attire, didn't attract much attention aside from her dancing. "Luna! Quit your dancing you look like another crazy." Luna kept on shifting back and forth twirling as best she could. "Oh lighten up brother, you will strain yourself and die of a heart attack at seventeen."

Luna continued until she bumped a man with a large rifle and fell over. "Ow! Oh dear I'm very sorry!"

Morrison: Turn into the pre-planned course. "Sundown be advised, White flight turning into heading 3-1-0, dropping down to 200 feet." As you approach the course call to your WSO; "Scan the terrain Cowboy, call out anything you see."

Two figures in the back of an M939, a heavy duty 6x6 truck that all factions used extensively, sat low in the vehicle, the January wind blowing off the low tarp in the bed. Gunnar Hirvasoja and Tyson Corsican. They were orphaned children, but before that, they were children to indentured servants and forced into government work by the Alaskan Government. Their parents had been part of a worker's union named "The Road", a union which was active since 2170, but only got attention in the early 2200s. Once the Alaskan Government saw it as a threat, it was put down violently, and the remaining children put into work for their nation which minors may not cause much...attention. Tyson and Gunnar, 15 and 16 respectively, were thrown into a world which even grown men shouldn't see.

"I think we're in North Dakota now," said Gunnar waking to gunshots,

"What are they shooting at?" asked Tyson, both looked out the back of the tarp to see UGW troops burning a tribal village and killing men, women and children. Nevertheless, the truck with a blue outlined star kept on without reaction, "Are these really the people we're helping? Seriously?"

"It's just what we need to do Tyson," said Gunnar, putting his hand on Tyson's shoulder,

"It isn't right, Gunnar!"

"It's just doing our duty, would you rather be back as a slave? Working twelve, sometimes sixteen hours a day?"

"Guess who else is doing their duty? Them!" Tyson pointed to a soldier, who put a handgun to a woman's forehead in front of her children and pulled the trigger, the children screaming in terror, "Is that the right thing to do?"

"What would you rather do? Enable a nation to do that by slaving for them, or doing it yourself?"

That stumped Tyson, "I don't know," he said, "I guess we'll see,"

Farther down the road, a mass grave was being torched, gasoline thrown onto dead bodies, some still barely alive, the soldiers apathetically committing even by the current day's standards, horrible moral crimes.

"United Governments of the West," said Tyson under his breath, "United on the blood of others,"

"Not like the 'New England Territories'" said Gunnar with air quotes "Is any better, remember what we were told? All of these workers here are slaves, just like us!"

"I just wish we could help actual victims here..."

Tyson and Gunnar being former slaves themselves, they could empathize with the slaves well. Slavery may not have been "slavery", it may have been "indentured servitude" but that was nonsense in a slave's mind. It didn't matter if the country was handed to them in their pay, the fact that the work was unbearable and you couldn't buy yourself out of it, even with the massive pay boost given to your family, was inhumane. People died in factories all the time from the poor work conditions, all for the better of a country which never respected them in the first place. It was horrible.

"Who are we supposed to meet again when we get there?" asked Tyson,

"A man named Archer Grant, he's a Lieutenant and he'll have work for us,"

"I don't know how we're going to find him in all this mess, but whatever,"

They were tasked to help assist the UGW in espionage work against the NET since the UGW was looking to make an alliance with The Alaskan Sovereign for various reasons. Regardless of what people say, people don't normally shoot the messenger and minors searching around for information where they really shouldn't, doesn't raise as much suspicion as when actual spies are caught doing it. That's if they are caught. Generally, espionage was top notch by both sides from years of infiltrating raider tribes and other groups to gain information against them. Information was a weapon tantamount to a nuclear weapon in some cases. Reliable information could destroy an enemy's plan before it ever got off the ground, and end a battle before it started as was found with many tribes across the country.

Arriving in a UGW camp on the frontlines about an hour later, they hopped out of the truck. A three day truck ride and sitting down for that time caused a little bit of shock in both of the boys, who were glad to stretch their legs and get fresh air not from the back of a Cummins diesel. They honestly didn't know where to start, the forward camp had so many troopers walking around, doing random things, and the fact they all looked the same didn't help at all.

"I don't know who anyone is," asserted Tyson,

"Well I don't either but it doesn't take a genius to find out who's in charge. Just look for anyone who's ordering everyone around."

"Oh, what about him?" Tyson pointed to a man with an officer's cap in a duster pointing people to various places,

"Guess we could try him,"

"I'll be honest Gunnar, I'm kind of nervous," said Tyson,

"Yeah, you and me both man,"

The two boys approached the officer, and he turned his attention to the boys. Just by the man staring at them, the boys stomachs felt like they dropped out of their bodies. He was quite an intimidating man.

"You don't look like recruits, too young. Why are you kids here? Your parents lose you?"

"We're from the Alaskan Sovereign," said Gunnar, handing the officer his ID, "We were tasked to help you."

"Ah, well, I'm Grant. Lieutenant Grant, I think I remember getting something about that, follow me," said the officer. His name, Archer Grant, was fitting, he was a big muscular guy with an M14 slung over his back and he was extremely intimidating. He pulled a few papers from his desk in his tent and pulled a requisition form, complete with the seal of the UGW on it and everything.

"Alright, Tyson Corsican and Gunnar Hirva..soja?" said Grant pronouncing it like 'soh-ja' instead of 'soh-ya'

"Actually it's Hirvasoja," said Gunnar pronouncing it correctly,

"Well, I don't care, I don't even know why you were assigned to me, but apparently the higher ups think you'll be useful," said Lieutenant Grant, "I've got my hands full already running this platoon, so I'm putting Staff Sergeant Desmond in command of you,"

"Where is Staff Sergeant Desmond?" asked Tyson,

"Currently, he's in Bakken drinking away his damn paycheck again probably with one of my more miscreant troopers," answered Grant quickly, "So unless you want to walk five miles, find a woman named Sergeant Moore, she can set you up with a bed and possibly get you both a weapon."

"We get guns?"

"If you're going to be agents, then yeah," said Grant, as if they were supposed to know, "If you want to go play junior detective and things go south, you're going to need to defend yourself, even though you probably can't hit the toilet with your piss."

"Oh," said Tyson, "Well, thanks I guess,"

"Yeah, get out of here," said Grant, he turned to a passing trooper, "Trooper! Did you get that M2 set up?"

"I was going to Quartermaster Moore to get some .50, we only have 100 rounds on the emplacement,"

"Escort these guys to the Quartermaster trooper,"

"Yes sir," said the trooper, she turned to the boys, "Follow me I guess,"

Gunnar waited until they were out of earshot of the Lieutenant, "That guy's an asshole,"

"He's a hard leader, but our platoon defended against two hundred raiders with him leading us personally. He's an angry son of a bitch, but he'd save you from the devil himself,"

"Hopefully we'll have the same respect," muttered Tyson,

********

Dimitri Durov, inheritor of over $100,000 of property from his uncle, prominent slave master in the West like any other sometimes needs to outsource to feed his workers. Bakken wouldn't be his first choice to shop, but when time was a factor, it was all that was available.

"What do we need again, sister?" asked Dimitri, walking down the somewhat crowded streets,

"Soap, and basic food, the workers are getting restless again for some quality meals,"

"They'll take what I feed them with my kindness,"

"You know that the Government will strip your rank if you don't provide basics,"

"Don't remind me, but Washington doesn't say I need to feed them beef wellington and caviar with mother of pearl spoons," said Dimitri with a scowl on his face, "They'll be lucky if I give them meat." Dimitri pointed to a salesman in a building, "I hear this man markets soap, of all things in this hellhole, we'll go to him first."

Dimitri and his sister Luna walked into the storefront to an eccentric and happy salesman who greeted them with all the bells and whistles.

"Why, hello! Hello! Codell Wooten at your service, but you may call me Mr. Wooten or even Cody itself! What in particular do you ask of me, your servant to all your needs in cleanliness products? Hair product, hand soaps, general soaps, liquids, bars, deodorants, or maybe even..." Mr. Wooten moved closely to Luna's ear, "Vaginal cleanliness products," he moved back to the open, "I HAVE IT ALL! And all for fair prices I might add, now, how may I be your servant?"

"We're looking into mass sale of general soaps for workers in the field," said Dimitri,

"But something with a nice scent!" interrupted his sister,

"Price is an issue, so what can you do?"

The somewhat queer man turned his back, "EASY PEASY! I have multiple variations of soap from companies across America itself! Dell from Northern California, made with lotion to maintain your hands from all of that hard work drilling oil or from harvesting crops, or Fantasia from New England itself, makes your skin feel as soft as a baby's bottom,"

"Oh, I love Fantasia! Do you possibly have Philosophy...?" exclaimed Luna,

"What do you have that's basic and gets what it needs to done?" said Dimitri, down to business,

"Well, I have reproduced Dial, it's old world formula, cheap and easy to manufacture, from the NET itself, it's probably what you're looking for,"

"How many units in a crate?"

"144 units in a crate, when do you need it?"

"As soon as possible if you can,"

"How many crates?"

"We'll go with 300, can you do that?"

"I can, good sir, that I can, that will be, let's see here...carry the four, put bulk discount into account...uh...do the conversions" said Mr. Wooten as he typed in an old calculator which was akin to a block the size of a suitcase that had a paper printer in it, "8,500 in NET dollars, 5,700 in UGW dollars, 9,200 in New Island dollars, 2,500 in Alaskan dollars, 11,000 in North Mexican, what is your currency?"

"NET, do you take checks?" asked Dimitri,

"That I do, I'm very well connected with all of the governments,"

"Alright then," said Dimitri, writing a check for 8,500 NET dollars,

"So convenient that with all of the differences between our fledgling nations, that we all use the same symbol for our currencies, reduces the confusion if any decide to merge!"

"Uh huh," said Dimitri, "We'll talk again in a few months,"

Luna stayed behind for a moment, "So, do you have Fantasia?"

"LUNA!"

Luna looked back to Mr. Wooten, "I'll be back!"

They exited the building, and overcast covered the sky, fair weather for a warzone, a pitfall for a modern civilization. Granted, Dimitri's sister never ceased to actually make the best of a situation, she was extremely happy for no apparent reason at all, even though she herself was a slave master, she intended on making herself friends with the workers, to give them a light in the darkness. Dimitri was...not the same. He preferred to distance himself and put himself into a different caste than the rest. He was their foreman, he was their master.

"Now, come brother we must find another food supplier soon or the workers will get upset again!" said Luna, pleading to get the workers help.

"We will get to it when we get to it, right now I'm starving, are there any restaurants in this hole?"

Dimitri and Luna walked down a flooded street in Bakken. It had rained extensively the last night, flooding some of the streets in town, making it quite a nuisance for anyone wearing expensive footwear that Dimitri preferred. His sister, eccentric as she was, had decided to dance and feel like a kid again in the rain, standing out from the crowd for acting so foolishly

"Luna stop!" said Dimitri, "Don't attract more attention than you should!"

"If you don't want to attract attention maybe you shouldn't wear your rich man suit in this place. That attracts more attention than even me being stupid! Now let yourself go! You're so tense!"

Dimitri constantly checked his pockets for his valuables. Pickpockets were everywhere, and if he intended on being as flashy as he wanted, he needed to be alert. He liked it that way, it sharpened his skills, and if he felt something gone, than a pickpocket would be a dead man, or woman, it didn't matter. He'd killed both before like the dogs they were, envying wealth in their filth.

"Luna! Quit your dancing you look like another one of them,"

"Oh, lighten up brother! You will strain yourself and die of a heart attack at seventeen!" said Luna as she swayed back and forth before running into a soldier knocking him into his comrade, "Ow!" she exclaimed, "Oh dear, I'm very sorry,"

"The fuck is your problem?" said the soldier, grabbing Luna by the throat and picking her up. She struggled to breath as the man held on, "Are you fucking nuts or something?"

"Well, she's kind of pretty, don't you think Desmond?"

"Oh my God, I didn't mean to do anything sir!" said Luna trying to breath, "I really didn't-"

A gunshot rang out and a bullet strayed the soldier's arm holding Luna. She fell to the ground into the water. The soldiers pulled their handguns and fired at Dimitri, missing, but only barely. Both parties went to cover quickly, the soldiers hiding behind a UGW jeep, and Dimitri grabbing his sister and concealing himself behind a horse-drawn wagon. The soldiers pulled their M14s and fired full automatic across the street to suppress Dimitri, which worked.

"Luna, run fast, run down that ally, I'll meet you on the next block, OK?"

"YES! YES! I'm going!"

"Do you know who you're messing with?!" yelled Dimitri across the street, his response was more automatic 7.62 fire from the M14s. He thought to himself why in the world did soldiers go on leave with their damn rifles. Things like this happened!



Dimitri put his gun down, he was outgunned and outnumbered, the only way out of this was to just surrender.

"I'm putting my gun down!"

"Hands up!" yelled the Sergeant, approaching Dimitri with his rifle aimed at him, "Hands on your goddamn head!"

Dimitri complied, and didn't move, this was ruining his clothes, kneeling in this rain puddle.

"Don't..." said the Sergeant as he swung his rifle like a baseball bat, hitting Dimitri in the mouth and knocking him on his back, "...Fuck with me!"

"Desmond, we need to get out of here before MPs show up,"

"Let them come, he shot first! Who are they going to believe, some idiot in a cash suit, or a battle hardened NCO on break?"

As the soldiers egressed, Dimitri picked himself up, and found his sister again on the next block. His jaw felt a bit loose, and he spit a bloody tooth out, but his sister was OK, and he was fine as well. He hated Bakken.

"Brother, are you OK? My God! I was so worried,"

"Don't worry about it," said Dimitri, "Let's just get back to the work site,"

If there was anything for sure, it was that Bakken changed people. In war, truth was the first casualty.

Tyson: Whilst following the trooper with Gunnar, take a look around the camp. Looking for any areas that may be of future relevance to you such as the barracks, mess hall, et cetera. Taking caution to avoid smacking into any of the troopers walking around.

Speed up your walking pace to pass Gunnar and approach the soldier you are following.

"So, how's the situation here on this front-line encampment? See much action?"

Awaiting the solider's response, check any compartments on your clothing, see if anything fell out on the ride.

FoundDa Kiwi wrote:Morrison: Turn into the pre-planned course. "Sundown be advised, White flight turning into heading 3-1-0, dropping down to 200 feet." As you approach the course call to your WSO; "Scan the terrain Cowboy, call out anything you see."

John

"Yeah huh. Just make sure we don't hit the ground."

The Phantom II went loud and fast over the grasslands, already breaking 450kph. Flying over a small NET outpost placed defensively, the troopers cheered as the Phantom deafened them with its flyover. The flight path was several raider encampments around the area, some no less than two miles from the base, some as far as ten miles. All in all, a few flyovers should be enough to tell the enemy, 'don't try anything'.

"Sundown, this is White flight, turning into heading 3-1-0, altitude 0-2, heading for waypoint 'Adam', ETA, 30 seconds," said Cipher to tower,

"We have you on radar, Sundown copies all,"

"Scan the terrain Cowboy, call out anything that you see,"

"Uh huh, Just make sure we don't hit the ground, I wouldn't want to insult you with my flying now," said Cowboy, referencing the dual controls on all Phantom IIs.

"You mean like this?" said Cipher with a grin on his face as he pulled an aileron roll over waypoint 'Adam'.

Heading towards waypoint 'Baker' now, they leveled in flight and adjusted coarse. Although the mission was to only scare the local troublemakers and didn't involve actually destroying targets, both men were eager to wreck something. They hadn't done Wild Weasel duty in months, it had been all CAP from months on end which is almost pointless seeing as there are absolutely no enemy aircraft in the sky. Or at least officially enemy aircraft.

"Sundown, this is White flight, heading 3-4-0, altitude, 0-2, heading for waypoint 'Baker',"

In another thirty seconds, they reached Baker which was a larger base, but this time actually taking small arms fire. One round in particular grazed the canopy which put a nick in the glass to both pilots astonishment.

"WOAH!" exclaimed both pilots, surprised even that someone taking potshots with an assault rifle managed to nail a hit. That was the surprising part.

"Pull a hard right, we're dropping the pain on these guys!" exclaimed Cowboy over the radio,

"Roger on that, pulling a hard right," said Cipher, "We'll ascend to Angels one, come in from the North from about a klick away, good?"

"Good, I've got a Mark 82 with these guy's names on it," Cowboy prepped a Mark 82 500lb bomb,

Ascending to 1000 feet, they went straight up, and then pulled into a 30 degree dive aiming towards the raider encampment, Cipher put the aircraft in the right place and waited until Cowboy would drop the Mark 82. Once he came to, the bomb dropped, deployed its fins for low-level bombing to slow it down, and the aircraft flew away, the pilots looking behind them just in time to catch the explosion, an immediate red fireball which then turned into a grey dust cloud and the shockwave going out.

"That'll make them think again!" called Cipher,

"Or not," replied Cowboy,

********

Tyson followed the trooper trying to find buildings of future relevance such as a barracks, or a mess hall, or anything, but everything just seemed to be tents, tents and more tents. He didn't want to run into any troopers on accident because to honest, these guys looked pretty angry. Almost all of them did.

"So, I don't actually see anything that looks different it's just tents and tents. No barracks or mess hall or anything?" asked Tyson,

"No, it's all just tents. Most you find house soldiers, what's under the netting is generally ammunition or something rather, and where we get food is one of these tents. I even forget sometimes. It all comes with time though,"

"That's good to know," replied Gunnar,

"So, do you see any action on a frontline encampment? It has to be here for some reason!" asked Tyson, speeding up past Gunnar to talk to the soldier more personally,

"It's nothing very interesting, just a lot of prepping and a lot of waiting. The cold war is ratcheting up, both sides gathering equipment, both sides setting themselves up for full on war and both are ruthless as any,"

"Really?"

"There's a reason why these countries have survived everything. They didn't get it by being nice that's for damn sure,"

"Guess you're right on that one-"

"Plug your ears, these are loud," said the trooper, pointing to a 155mm howitzer,

"Four rounds, shell HEAT, charge four, deflection 3-2-5-8, quadrant 3-9-7, verify," said the trooper guiding the artillery, a baritone voice which neither boy understood said some things, and apparently they were good because the crews continued to turn the guns slightly up and left,

"Let's go!" called the leader of the group, "Deflection 3-2-5-8,"

"We're set!" said the trooper guiding the artillery piece,

"Plug your ears," said the trooper escorting them, Tyson and Gunnar plugged their ears and heard a muffled 'fire!' before the trooper pulled a lever hard, the howitzer let out, and then another behind it, and then another behind it.

"Those are loud!" yelled Gunnar,

"Let's just get you where you need to go!"

After being deafened by everything on the frontline, Tyson and Gunnar found themselves being introduced to more and more troopers. So far, most of them were alright. Nothing like the soldiers they saw on the way in destroying a village, but in the back of their minds, they had a feeling that when you're told what to do, you don't disobey. You don't disobey.

"Quartermaster Moore, I needed .50 ammunition for a forward emplacement,"

"How much? I've got more than you could throw on a 5 ton." answered Quartermaster Moore, a rather young woman wearing a long coat, her hair short and her face clean unlike most troopers around here.

"300 rounds, minimum,"

"Just get what you need over there," she pointed her thumb over her back, then she pointed to the boys, "Where are these boys' parents? They shouldn't be here,"

"Lieutenant Grant told me to hand them to you, show them around and get them equipped,"

Moore looked at Tyson and Gunnar, "The only thing you boys are equipped for is a ride home, you shouldn't be here,"

"We look young, but we're supposed to be here," said Gunnar, "I'm Gunnar Hirvasoja, this is my friend and comrade, Tyson Corsican," Gunnar and Tyson showed their IDs, and Moore raised her eyebrows.

"So you're from Alaska huh? I guess the cold won't bother you then," she went back to her desk, and leaned in her chair, "What do you need?"

"Lieutenant Grant said that you would get us equipped, said that if we're doing espionage work that we should be given weapons to defend ourselves if things go south,"

Moore pinched the bridge of her nose, "I'm giving kids guns now?"

"In all honesty miss, people our age are given guns all of the time when they sign up for the
military," said Tyson, pointing out that in most countries, 15 or 16 was eligible for military service.

"Ha, don't remind me," said Moore, "I took this work up at 16!" Moore leaned forward in her chair again and stood up, "Alright, you've got me, what did you boys need again?"

"Just something to protect ourselves, I guess," stated Gunnar,

"So it's Quartermaster's choice then? Alright," Moore went through weapons lockers, pulling boxes of .45 ACP out and magazines along with two .45 automatic handguns, clearing the chambers of said handguns to be sure they weren't loaded, then pulling six magazines for the two of them, "Are you boys trained on how to handle firearms?"

"Honestly, no," stated Gunnar, "All we're trained to do is pay attention to things and report,"

"So you're scouts?"

"I guess you could say that,"

"Well, I don't know how they do it in Alaska, but this is a warzone, and even scouts need guns."

"I thought you weren't at war yet, that's what they told us in the homeland anyway," asked Tyson,

"It's all talk, you can just feel it in the air here, it won't be long before something happens."

Tyson and Gunnar spent the rest of the day learning how to handle their firearms, how to maintain good muzzle discipline, how to clean their weapons and last, but not least, training with their pistols. The UGW used .45 handguns as default service pistols, so spare parts, ammunition and commonality wasn't a problem. By the end of the day, Tyson and Gunnar were ready to do operations under the orders of their handler, a Staff Sergeant that they hadn't even met yet.


********
ADestroyer360, Cloaky and Nooks character will be implemented by the end of the day. Just spent an hour writing. -_-

Jagdgeschwader wrote:cloaky

Cloakey

Mordecai
*thinking to self* damn it... maybe i went too freaked out on that one.

It was a common practice in his new radical group, that he joined a few days ago. Find people to help out someone desperate and force them into the cause, it wasn't the most polite way to earn allies. walking outside the bar he notices a man in a filthy suit and a girl with him.

*thinking to self* he seems to have connections
*he walks over and pulls the same trick on the man in the suit*

It's Fox now.

Tyson: Place the 45. handgun in an appropriate position on your body after turning on the safety, or if Quartermaster Moore gave you a holster, place it there. Afterwards placing the three magazines in your inventory.

Spoiler:

@ Moore: "We were place under command of Sergeant Desmond by Lieutenant Grant, who also informed us that Desmond is in Bakken, doing unmentionables. From my perspective, Gunnar and I have a few options. Stay here and wait for Desmond's return, which from my knowledge could be an hour from now, or a week from now. Or we both walk to Bakken, depending on the situation from here to there. Additionally, if you have any transport going from here to Bakken, it would be ideal to include us on that trip.

I'd like your personal input on our situation, another 'Quartermaster's choice'."

*walking to a half ass clinic* "Damn it this hurts!" Dimitri replied increasing the pain in his jaw.

"Brother are you ok?" Luna asked with the utmost concern for her brother.

"Yea...*spits* I'm fine... are you ok Luna?" Dimitri was only half listening to himself, he was dazed.

"I'm fine, just scared."

Dimitri walked into a door with a cross above it signaling it as a clinic. " I think we need to find some protection... I need to go talk to the military to see if I can't pull a few men for protection work."

"If you would of just talked to them..."

"And let them shoot me right there and take off with you to god knows where. Yea that seems like a good idea! There is no reasoning for men to act so crazy and carry guns everywhere. I guarantee those uniforms and guns were stolen."

Luna remained quiet.

Vicious Fox and Cloakey


At a NET firebase, not too far from the city of Bakken itself, the FOB had just recently woken up. On orders of General Allan Shepard, the commander of all NET forces in the region, this FOB was to take the lead in clearing loose ends in the local area. Specifically some organized raider groups in the area, and a rebel group gaining strength. Lieutenant Speirs, Harry Cloake's commanding officer called him specifically.

"Sergeant Cloake!" called Speirs, "Sergeant! Sound off!"

The young Sergeant jumped out of his bed and ran out of his tent, sounding off to the Lieutenant, "Waiting, sir!"

"Get your team together, you're tasked to clearing out some raider groups who captured an officer, Lieutenant Pound. You've gone up against them before, should be easy,"

"Yes, sir,"

"You'll have armored assistance as well, one M113 requisitioned from one of the BCTs, meet it on the north entrance, it'll take you where you need to go,"

"Very well, sir,"

"Watch your fire, it didn't sound good when the Lieutenant called in,"

Sergeant Cloake went to the field headquarters and went inside, nothing more than a large tent with radio equipment but more importantly, a loudspeaker system used to rally troops together when they were all at ease wandering around the FOB.

"Boone, Chavez, Richards, Brooks, Bayer, Frost, Cross, report to the field headquarters immediately!" called Sergeant Cloake,

Boone, Chavez, Richards, Brooker, Bayer, Frost and Cross all came to the field headquarters within thirty seconds, a good reaction time. NET soldiers were nothing less than professionals, equal to their UGW counterparts. At least the actual professional soldiers anyway, since conscripts were less than stellar in combat. Cloake swung his L85 from behind his back, a specialized rifle given to NET squad leaders instead of the .30 caliber L1A1 rifle.

"Alright people, we're dropping some raiders. Follow me to the carrier, let's move!"

The squad ran in a column to the M113 carrier, an armored personnel carrier with a mounted M2 on the top. Good for fighting infantry without anti-tank weapons. Once all of them climbed in, the hatch closed and the carrier drove offroad to another road, picking up the pace once on that road. They were the only squad being dispatched to this particular operation, which raised a little worry in the troopers, but not much.

"Hey, so Sergeant," asked Cross, "Why did we get called out of our beds anyway at 800?"

"Lieutenant Pound's jeep didn't make it to another FOB, they think he was taken by raiders and we're being sent as the rescue team,"

"I heard something about that on the radio in the next tent," said Corporal Richards, a rifleman in Cloake's squad,

"Guess what Richards," said Brooker, "I'm going to get that watch, we're going to get shot at,"

"Nah, I'm thinking I'm going to get your rations for the day," replied Richards,

"And why is that? The Lieutenant sounded like he was getting pretty shot up to me,"

"No, you know what he's like Brooker, probably just another one of his 'exercises'-"

"This ain't no exercise soldier and get that in your head. We can only hope we get to the Lieutenant in time," said Cloake, shutting both troopers up.

Both troopers shut up and the ride was silent for the rest of the time. The situation was eerie...to say the least. Going from awake to ready was always a strange affair, when suddenly, before you even knew it, you were heading for combat. The M113 ride was around five minutes, and radio chatter also said that other troops were coming from the next FOB over, but they'd take longer. When the ride was over, the driver of the APC turned around to face the passengers.

"Alright, the Lieutenant's position is just ahead,"

When the squad jumped out of the M113, one by one, they took positions in a line position with the APC, the APC giving them cover while they worked into formation.

"That must be the Lieutenant's jeep," said Cloake, "Jeez, what a mess!" the jeep was ablaze and even though they were about two hundred yards away, this already wasn't looking good. The squad readied themselves for combat and scanned the terrain for possible ambush points.

"Brooker," said Richards quietly, "We're going to get hit,"

"Yeah, you watch left, I'll watch right,"

"Move up!" said Cloake as he stood up, the M113 following. They knew almost for sure that the Lieutenant was captured, so they ignored the burning jeep. Heading North of the road, they ran into contacts, assault rifles lighting up their positions. Raiders though were generally bad shots, and so it didn't concern the troopers as much. They returned fire, the M113 laying the hurt with its Browning M2 machine gun, dropping raiders by the drove. Soldiers pointed out targets for each other, and like assumed, eight professional soldiers were no match for the amateur tribals.

Cloake scanned the horizon for targets, with the raiders blessed enough to remain alive, running literally for the hills. The young Sergeant gave chase, jogging after the enemy combatants.

"Boone, get on your radio and inform FOB Dawnstar that we've made contact with the bandits and are giving chase!"

Private Greg Boone, the radio operator in the squad got onto his radio and informed their FOB, FOB Dawnstar that the raiders were on the run and that the squad was going to probably make contact with a base soon.

"They're informed Sergeant!" called Boone finishing the transmission, "FOB Dog is sending another squad as well, they'll be here in minutes,"

"Good to know," said Cloake, "We'll wait here. Defensive positions everyone, scan the horizon!" Cloake turned to Finn Richards, one of the troopers in his squad and talked to him,

"Trooper, tell the M113 that we're waiting here until reinforcements arrive,"

Richards nodded, and ran down to the APC climbing onto the vehicle and knocking on the hatch to get the attention of the driver, "Hey, we're staying here until reinforcements arrive,"

"Alright, guess we'll stay alert," said the driver, and like that they sat in a holding pattern waiting for more troops.

********

Snowwolf and Destroyer

"Damn it," Mordecai said to himself, "Overreacted to them, not only that, why would soldiers join a cause? They already have one..."

Mordecai took a seat down at the table the two soldiers were sitting at, and he looked around for another target to recruit, he thought to himself that maybe just being outright was a better path, seeing as the NET had extremely effective espionage. If they cared about the movement, it was dead anyway before it'd get off the ground. Then again, that wasn't his problem.

"Excuse me," an older man walked up to Mordecai, "Did you need help?"

Mordecai put his best acting on, "Oh God, yes!" he said, "Yes, I do, please, assist!"

"Alright, what's your name?"

"Mordecai," he outstretched his hand, "Yourself?"

"Termous," said the man, "Clark Termous,"

"Termous? Don't you mean 'Thomas'?"

"Uh, no."

"Oh,"

After a somewhat awkward introduction, Mordecai managed to at least convince Mr. Termous that he was in need and needed help. Mr. Termous managed to be a somewhat difficult man to enlist, but with a lot of luck and little experience, he was able to recruit him. On the road, they took their horses to the campgrounds of the movement, Mr. Termous asking questions the entire time and Mordecai answering or dodging questions.

"So, where are we going?" said Clark over the sound of the horses running in their sprint. It was quite a long distance, and the horses needed to take regular breaks,

"Where my girl was when I last left her! I'm hoping to find something that may put me on the track!"

"What do I look like? An investigator? I don't know any of that mister!"

"We've got to try!" yelled Mordecai over the noise, "You know, I really appreciate you doing this for me!"

"Not a problem mister, always willing to help a fellow man in need!" Clark was more interested for his own reasons, he'd been around long enough to know someone when they're bluffing.

********

ApocalypseVVolf

Gunnar and Tyson waited in the Quartermaster's tent. Sergeant Moore was a nice woman, probably one of the only troopers here that could actually be talked to without being some hardened veteran to share war stories with. They got the impression that none of the troopers wanted anything to do with civilians. Must've been that 'Frontier Syndrome' the Westerners called it. NET called it 'Van Braun Syndrome', after the doctor who identified it in that country, and their government called it 'Shellshock', an old world term. Nevertheless, different names, same thing, and from their understanding most troopers suffered from it. Hard not to, these troopers have miserable lives here.

The boys waited for quite a while, waiting for their handler which may be back in an hour or maybe the next week for all they knew, although Moore said that generally troopers only go on leave for a day, two at the most. Troopers had consistent work clearing 'loose ends' as Moore put it, so leave was short.

"You boys can't stay here forever you know," said Moore, leaning back in her chair,

"We were actually supposed to get beds assigned from you?" asked Gunnar,

"Pbbt!" said Moore sarcastically, "There aren't even beds for all of the troopers! Let alone some outsource help," Moore laughed a little more at that, "Who told you that?"

"Grant did," replied Tyson,

"Oh," suddenly Moore wasn't laughing, "Alright, guess I should've expected that. Well, I'll see what I can do,"

Tyson noticed that whenever Grant ordered something, people did it and any sense of humor died right then and there. Giving the impression that this Grant was someone you didn't trifle with.

"You know, whenever someone mentions this 'Grant' fellow, people stop anything they're doing and just do what he says,"

"You're not military savvy, are you?" asked Moore,

"Well, it just seems more so than other officers,"

"There are two officers on this FOB, Grant, and Riviera. In the military when your superior tells you to do something, it's done. The chain of command is sacred and almost never questioned." explained Moore,

"Sounds problematic," said Gunnar,

"It's not," said Moore, "It's how the Army works."

"The Army works by putting the fear of God itself into superior ranks?" asked Tyson,

"Guess you could say that, don't know why you're talking down on it though," Moore examined their position as scouts, "Aren't you doing the same thing?"

"What?" replied Gunnar,

"Doing your duty to your country, without question?"

"Well when you put it that way..."

"I'm not being a hardass on you because you're not my people, but try to keep those questions to yourself when Desmond gets here,"

"Our handler?"

"He's...angrier than most,"

"Why?"

"Frontier Syndrome," said Moore, "He's got a bad case of it, seen some bad things, done a lot of bad things too,"

"Like what?" asked Tyson,

"A group he commanded in Montana tracked down this raider group which had been harassing convoys from the mainland..."

"Yeah?"

"They tracked them down and killed the warriors,"

"Uh huh?"

"Once the warriors were done, he ordered his troops to round up the civilians of the tribe,"

"I'm afraid of where this is going," said Gunnar,

"Took the warriors bodies, stripped them naked, threw gasoline on them and burned them in a crater,"

"Wow," said both boys together,

"Then after, took the women and hung them in the forest. Afterwards the children that fought were killed and burned with the warriors, and the children that surrendered, if they were old enough were drafted into the military. Those not old enough were sent back to the homeland and put into foster cares."

"We saw that happen on the way here," said Gunnar,

"It happens all too often," said Moore sadly,

"You don't approve?" asked Tyson,

"No, I don't, but it's also not my say. Raiders are scum, but even raiders don't deserve that. All you do is create more hatred against the UGW. Even raiders are fathers, and families need fathers to be healthy."

More and more stories of atrocities committed by these countries just reinforced the boys opinions of the militaries, but also served as a warning to not piss them off either. Seems like it didn't matter who you were, everyone was equally worthy when it came to intimidation.

"I'd suggest you go talk to Grant, he'll know when your handler will be back. I would guess sometime tonight maybe, or tomorrow, but it'd still be best to talk to him about it,"

"Mind going with us?" asked Gunnar,

"Why?"

"Last time we talked to Grant, he shooed us away as fast as possible, we get the feeling he doesn't respect us,"

"Well that's not surprising," said Moore, "But I like you boys, you remind me of my sons back home. I'll go with you,"

********

Clark: "So Mordecai, I've got to ask, of all the places to bring your girlfriend, why a war zone? It doesn't exactly scream romance. Hey, let's let the horses take a break up here." Begin to slow down my Arabian into a small clearing off the road, then secure my blade to make sure it didn't bounce loose from it's sheath during the ride.

Mordecai: "Well you see i heard that a lot of people were at bakken and you know what they say more people more money, well more people equals more assholes." *slows down with clark*

Clark: Chuckling "Ain't that the truth." Suddenly, leap off my horse, tackling Mordecai off of his and onto the ground. Pin him to the ground and place my machete against his neck. "Now then, let's have a little chat." Press the blade slightly into his throat without drawing blood. "What are you lying about and why?"

Golan
**************

"God damn it James, you say I am a wild one," Golan scolded. "At least I don't go around choking children."

Golan slid a new magazine into his M14 and peeked out of his cover.

"Well he is gone no-"

Golan was cut off by an explosion in the distance, causing him to dive to the ground. His NCO flailed beside Golan, the white phosphorus entering his lungs and cooking them. The charged skin of his NCO ripping at the slightest touch, his labored breathing as he expired, Golan was unable to do anything to help him. Golan placed his M1911 to his NCO's forehead.

Within a blink he was back, freaking out on the ground about a bomb over a klick away.

Mordecai: *completely stunned he seen through the ruse*
"M...Most of what i said was true, just remove the knife and i will tell you"

Clark: Squint at Mordecai for a moment, then sigh and get up, offering him a hand. "Sorry, but I don't like going into a situation without having proper intel."

Tyson: Accompanying Gunnar and Moore, return to where you last encountered Grant. Get some directions from Moore if Grant isn't in that area.

Spoiler:

DJDimitri

Dimitri spat blood out en mass. His molar had been knocked out of his mouth with the stock of the rifle, and it hurt horribly. Not only that, it hurt to talk, and he tried rocking his jaw around a bit, spiking in pain as he did it. He picked himself up out of the water, the soldiers egressing and civilians coming back. As he looked over to the soldiers, he saw a civilian try talking to one of them, and the civilian was just pushed away violently. Could they even be soldiers? They were so violent! Almost like they were raiders wearing the uniform of UGW troopers.

"Goddamn it," he spat more blood out, and the rain puddle turned red, "Son of a..." he said, spitting more blood. He picked himself up, a civilian trying to help him up,

"Get away from me!" he said, shooing the civilian away. Dimitri went over to the next block, but his sister Luna came to him,

"Brother, are you OK? My God! I was so worried,"

"Don't worry about it," said Dimitri, "Let's just get back to the work site,"

If there was anything for sure, it was that Bakken changed people. In war, truth was the first casualty.

"Damn savages!" He spat more blood out, "Yes, I'm fine, what about you? Did he hurt you?"

"No, it's fine, my neck is a little sore, but it's fine," she said, "We need to get you to a clinic!"

Dimitri started walking towards a clinic in town, signaled by a red cross above the entrance. It was a clinic used by everyone in town, and Dimitri would've rathered used his government appointed physician back in the fields, but you can't always get what you want.

"These people can help you," said Luna, "Damn it, Dimitri, if only you would've talked to them!"

"Those soldiers would've shot me down, taken you, and raped you Luna, and you'd best know that's true! That's why I don't like coming to this place, thug locals, thug raiders and thug foreign soldiers unsatisfied by their whores and alcohol. It's not a place for you!"

"I can look out for myself, brother, I am of age,"

"Then you better start acting it! A grown woman doesn't dance around in the rain, and a woman in this field doesn't greet every person on the street with a smile, you have your destination and you go," Dimitri said, pantomiming someone walking, "Go and always watch your back, or something like that will happen!" Dimitri grabbed his jaw, in pain from scolding his sister. His sister went quiet and didn't respond, and Dimitri felt bad for yelling at her.

"Luna, I'm sorry for scolding you-"

"No, no, you're right," she said, assuring Dimitri, "Just like you always are," Luna helped her brother inside the clinic and went straight to the doctor,

"Doctor, doctor," called Luna, "I need a doctor, can someone help?"

An assistant went to the front desk, "Please, get in line and we'll get to you,"

Dimitri pulled his wallet out and threw $3,000 dollars on the table, "Get to me now,"

The assistant called the doctor, "Doctor! We have a dental emergency! This man needs assistance!"

"Money talks," said Dimitri under his breath,

********

Jagdgeschwader & Sir Manguydude

Desmond and Rovanel walked around the block, approaching a Western 5ton truck convoy which was headed back to the firebase. Desmond looked at his new wound, but it was only a graze and he'd had worse. He shrugged it off and Rovanel reloaded his M14 while they walked.

"Christ Desmond, and you say I'm the wild one. At least I stick my kicks to picking up on random bar girls! She was like what? 15?" exclaimed Rovanel,

"She was old enough," said Desmond, "You can't let people get away with that, they need to know their place, and as long as they're in UGW territory in Bakken, they're going to yield to us."

"I think you should really lighten up Sergeant, it's not good for you,"

Desmond sighed, "I know, I've just got a lot of things bothering me-"

Rovanel was cut off by an explosion in the distance, causing him to dive to the ground. His NCO flailed beside him, the white phosphorus entering his lungs and causing him to lose his breath. The charred skin of his NCO ripping at the slightest touch, his labored breathing as he expired, Rovanel was unable to do anything to help him, so he pulled his sidearm...

And in a moment he was back, "Are you serious?" said Desmond,

"What happened?" You're...you're..."

"You better not be going nuts on me,"

"What was that?"

"I don't know, seemed small though, probably a roadside bomb or something rather out of town,"

Rovanel took a large breath and calmed himself down. He was having troubles lately, maybe his Frontier Syndrome was getting worse, he didn't know, but he could've just sworn a chemical bomb like the ones they dropped on tribals in Nevada had just gone off. Regardless, he calmed himself, he was OK. A small explosion was heard outside of town, which was probably a roadside bomb or something rather. The local insurrectionists couldn't find man to man with either the NET or the UGW military, so they resorted to more insurgency tactics.

"Just seemed like a chemical bomb went off like the ones in Nevada," explained Rovanel,

"What? Like the...uh...the Willie Petes was it?" Willie Pete was a jargon term for white phosphorous bombs. Generally, they were used as smoke screens or for illumination purposes in a mortar, but they could also be utilized as a psych weapon as they tear the skin open and make it feel like you're burning alive. They then soak into the skin and can cause multiple organ failures, resulting in an extremely long three day death where you're burning alive every moment.

"Yeah, God we dropped them on those raiders back in the Mojave, it was bad..."

"It sure made them stop fighting though, huh?"

"I guess," said Rovanel, Desmond could tell he's had his day of action, so Desmond excused him to the convoy to relax for the hour before they were to head back.

In the meantime, Desmond who was in charge of the troopers on leave needed to get all of the troopers back. As far as he knew, they were all in the red light district. He had five troopers to find: Durant, Norton, Michael, Alvarez, and Volk. The first place he went was the brothel on the corner he just turned. It was a favorite spot to visit among troopers who consistently went to prostitutes despite the constant lecturing by their superiors to not visit such places. The last thing that soldiers needed were social diseases.

He entered the brothel, being approached by a prostitute but instantly turning her away to look for his troops. He went through the main room of the building passing many dancers and pole dancers on platforms heading towards a hallway where the working girls do "favors". The building strobed a dark red color with old world disco music on a record playing.

"I hate disco music," said Desmond to himself as he pushed through large crowds to the hallway. Once he entered, the hallway had twelve different rooms, a bouncer guarding the rooms against anyone who may go through. He approached the bouncer who stood in front of one room, guarding it, and the bouncer stopped him as he opened the door.

"Sorry, but you're going to have to wait playboy, they don't do groups," said the bouncer,

"I don't think you understand, I need to find my troopers, we're heading out of here in an hour, I'm their Staff Sergeant," said Desmond,

"No, I don't think you understand trooper, you're not going in there," responded the bouncer, and Desmond kneed him in the inner thigh in the middle, incapacitating the bouncer and causing him to drop. Intense pain kept the man on the ground while Desmond searched through the rooms, opening doors to men in the middle of either sex or other unmentionable acts.

"Hey," said Desmond, a trooper turning around that he didn't identify, the woman covered her breasts with her shirt clamped in her hands and the man covered himself,

"ARE YOU NUTS- oh, Staff Sergeant," said Volk,

"Get your ass dressed and get to the convoy, we're rolling out in an hour,"

"Yeah, sure, Desmond, uh..." said Volk, he turned to his prostitute, "So do I get my money back?"

"Ah...sorry sugar, that's not happening," said the prostitute,

"Well," he looked at Desmond, "Had to try..."

"Where are the others?" asked Desmond,

"Probably around here or in the tavern," replied Volk, "I'd try those places."

Thirty minutes of searching eventually got all troopers accounted for, and like that the convoy was rolling out at 2100, many troopers heading back to FOB McKinley for more operations tomorrow.

********

Destroyer and Snowwolf

Clark watched the stranger, and things started to feel wrong about him. The way he answered questions, he would never directly answer them, it was always a dodgy answer. The way he talked, something didn't seem right that he'd lost his spouse, and the way he didn't care...it was...disturbing. Mordecai didn't actually care that his spouse was lost in the wilderness of North Dakota no, he instead just wanted him to follow him to this location and he was rather obvious to it. Clark had reached this age for good reason, he knew how to gauge people, and this was the time to take action.

Clark jumped from his horse, admittingly, a skill which came with extreme practice and tackled the strange man. Mordecai was shocked, extremely disturbed at how the events unfolded when Clark had his blade put against the boy's throat.

"Well, I guess this place is as dangerous as they say!" said Mordecai trying to make a funny while pinned,

"You find a girl after your dad disowns you for suffering two casualties in a fight against raiders, in the military after he encouraged you join, take said girl west from town to town, eventually coming to the battlefield where two post apocalyptic gods are about to clash, and you think this is the right place to be at all??!"

"Well, you see..."

"And you want me to chase down your spouse after she got lost here doing God knows what, yet you don't seem to care that we've taken almost two hours on what would normally be a thirty minute horse ride?"

"I-I-I-I don't know-it's just uh...it's just-" Mordecai was so surprised by this, he hardly knew what to say,"

"Oh you better speak fast, and you better think fast too because I'm about one inch away from making you bleed out like a stuck pig!"

"MOST OF WHAT I SAID IS TRUE! JUST TAKE AWAY THE BLADE!"

"And why would I do that? Huh?" Clark pushed it closer,

"Let's just get rid of the blade and I'll be straight with you, especially after this little reaction..."

Clark narrowed his eyes at him, and he examined him one more time, but ultimately, "Fine..." He was too good of a person to kill someone on a whim of suspicion. He retracted, "But talk quick, tell me what the real reason is you're not telling me or my kindness won't resurface for you."

"I'm part of a movement against the NET in this area. Trying to sabotage oil production for them or destroy supply lines, it's just getting started, but we need people enlisted. So far, I've been less than stellar at it,"

"Enlisting people?"

"Yes, and it's proving to be difficult. People aren't motivated against the NET, they're more involved in their own problems and raider groups are...difficult to contact to say the least."

"That is true," said Clark, "I'll tell you what, I'll humor you, I'll talk to whoever you want me to talk to."

"That true?"

"I'm still a soldier a heart, and our countries are going to go to war soon. If I can help swing it a little in mine's favor, I'm happy."

"Good! Good, good to see I got someone to help,"

Clark went over to his horse, "Let's just get this over with before I rethink the odds and am swayed from not doing it."

"Not a problem!" said Mordecai, "Let's get going again,"

********

ApocalypseVVolf

2100 loomed, which was the time in which FOB McKinley, the FOB they were staying at, switched into night operations mode and repurposed. When 2100 came around and the sun went down, actual special forces moved in and so did OFSA troops. That stood for "Office of Foreign Strategic Affairs" a paramilitary group which operated off a government payroll and did some "Special" operations. They were spooks in every sense of the word. They didn't talk, they wore all black uniforms with ski masks under black helmets, and they used silenced machine guns. What they did specifically, only God knows, but they were definitely the government's rainy day toys. In a sense, they were most similar to old world CIA or FSB, or maybe MI6 or Mossad. One of those groups.

Tyson and Gunnar accompanied Quartermaster Moore, who was getting ready to go to sleep after this. They received bunks from her, and so they were actually well set into operations here, ready to start in the morning. Moore, with her kindness agreed to talk with Grant for them, but now the challenge was actually finding him. All evening they'd been hearing him bark at various troops, but he was gone now. Guessing that he may have gone to his tent to either go to sleep or do paperwork, they went there. Moore tapped his tent flap a few times over, trying to get his attention if he was there. All that lit the tent was a lantern, one placed at his desk that he was using to read documents.

"Come in! Come in!" said Grant, putting the papers away, he leaned in his chair, "Quartermaster, was there something you needed?"

"These boys wanted to talk to you, hopefully you could point them in the right direction,"

"Maybe I can, thanks for dropping them off Quartermaster," A different side of Grant was showing, a more calm relaxed side, yet he still retained his authority. He still wasn't someone you weren't going to bother without good reason.

"Lieutenant, sir, we were wondering when our handler would be arriving, just to know," asked Gunnar,

"One thing you'll have to get used to around here is working without knowing what will happen next," explained Grant, "Fortunately, that isn't true for you this moment. Desmond radioed in, he's en route from Bakken in a convoy now with the rest of my squad. You'll talk with him in the morning," said Grant, "But I still need to brief him on the situation of you two, know that by tomorrow morning you will be actually thrust into action which I know is something you've been just dying to do."

"Good to get some clarification, sir," said Tyson respectfully, "Thank you,"

"It's my pleasure," replied Grant, "You'll find I can be quite a fine person to converse with when I'm not being burdened with the affairs of an entire platoon,"

"Well, we better get to bed," said Gunnar,

"Yes, you should, you have an eventful day ahead of you tomorrow."

"Ah," said the boys,

"Dismissed," said Grant, allowing the boys to leave, they went to their beds and slept that night. The first restful sleep they'd had in days, at least until 155mm howitzers began firing again at 300 which woke both up violently and suddenly.

********

Cloakey and Vicious Fox

(Will be written later, note Destroyer and Snowwolf, do not advance to the encampment yet)








Also it's not required (I can't force anyone to do anything) but it's recommended that you read all entries. The entries may seem long, but they take only a few minutes to read and everything is important to everyone. If you don't read some entries, your character may be participating in events you don't know about.