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Nevermore214 posted:OK! Finally back home. I had it in my orders, yes. Das Panzer posted:Righto! Also, welcome back home!
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May 5, 2017 01:46
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| # ? Apr 26, 2024 12:59 |
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Nevermore214 posted:OK! Finally back home. Oh. Well, in that case run around the back of that hill toward the position where I thought I was, and then continue on as ordered.
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May 5, 2017 16:40
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Dawn breaks over the eastern Ukraine. First Sergeant Rance Cocksure waved his squad forward, hugging the tree line and staying barely out of sight of the panicking soldiers of the 283rd Guards Motor Rifle Regiment. He cursed under his breath. The trigger-happy fools in the Strykers had again given away their presence, peppering OBJ KATY and the foxholes surrounding it with ineffectual but alarming .50 cal rounds. The Russians were no doubt calling for reinforcements; this was going to be a tough nut to crack. Rance looked back, and regained his cool. 1st platoon, second squad was the best unit he'd ever served with and, in his opinion, the best squad in the division by far. There was Brooklyn, the hard-nosed, wisecracking kid that was a veteran of Iraq and two Afghanistan campaigns. Tex and Sancho were from Nacogdoches and El Paso, respectively, and despite the fact that they couldn't be more different their remarkable Texan ESP made them the best machine gun team in the battalion. Everyone called Collier "The Professor," but beneath the glasses and the polished demeanor beat the heart of a warrior; Collier was a veteran of both Yemen and South Sudan. Beauregard was just a boy from the swamps of south Georgia, but he could line up a headshot on a muskrat from 300 yards-- and in his youth had to do it to survive. There was Olsen, the quiet farmboy from Minnesota and Rubenstein, the devout Torah student from Baltimore who was the most ferocious fighter of them all. And finally, though he tried not to think of him, was RuJudas, a coward who repeatedly tried to convince Army brass that he was insane by cross-dressing and pledging allegiance to Satan in an effort to get discharged. Rance peered into his electronic sight toward OBJ KATY and the frantic Russians. Gathering information, he tried to get an accurate count of the armored vehicles the Russians possessed. Suddenly, the sight turned black. He looked around, as did first platoon, their electronics having been rendered useless. "Get down!" Rance shouted, as a horrific realization dawned. A light brighter than ten thousand suns shone on the eastern horizon. Rance moved to shield himself, but it was too late. His eyes ran like rivers down his windswept face, pooling on his dimpled chin before being vaporized by the blast wave that atomized Russian, Texan, and American alike in a civilization destroying holocaust. One Hundred Fifty Million Years Later Striking the oyster shell makes Urg rage. It not open! The seven limbed crustacean strikes harder. Picking up a piece of flint, he ineffectually strikes at the oyster again. Sparks fly. Urg makes fire! the call echoes into the night, and the cycle begins again. Monkeytime fucked around with this message at 05:58 on May 14, 2017 |
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May 14, 2017 05:56
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