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JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Civvies seem ok thus far!

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JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Manilla was deffo less of a shitheap when I was there in 2014. I did see honest-to-God slums, but the airport was very much a regular rear end airport.

I like how Mack likes to show the hypocricy of terrorists by having them use American-made shoes and electronics when all of those things are made in China anyways.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Crazycryodude posted:

What the gently caress. It's just... what the gently caress? How badly did Mack's mind break that he gets off on writing about mentally disabled people being tortured and expects you to enjoy it?

The same way we enjoyed bombing civilians, poisoning civilians and throwing teens out of helicopters.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


I loved the part where the super soldiers bullied the mentally disabled person. Almost as much as I loved the part where Superhawks effortlessly know every part of the terrorist's plan and never come to harm. Even when they get into a Napoleonic three rank formation to live out their Rorke's Drift fantasies and never find out why close formation is abad thing in a world where automatic weapons exist.

I'm also loving how one of the moest fiercly Christian nations on Earth has a police department full of cops ready to march into certain death to help Islamic terrorists. Those are some well disciplined crooked cops.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Mack really doesn't know poo poo about anything, does he?

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Well, we still have white Balkan Muslims to go through! Maybe they'll crop up in book four.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


PJOmega posted:

Weirdly enough, the Basketball Game Jingoism is probably the most disturbing passage so far. The rest are so outlandish that while they're disgusting in their being written down. The basketball game is someone's furious fantasy about nationalism and it gives me the heebie jeebies.

Yeah, it's like the coke lesbo sacrifice in the Wingman, only this time the author is rubbing himself raw to a country.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


So a bunch of American black ops soldiers are helping islamic terrorists get stinger tubes (which aren't a thing) in an operation orchestrated by a French intelligence agent and the terror act is going to be carried out by Indonesian dudes. Meanwhile, other black ops dudes can somehow go wild in Gitmo, kill and impersonate prisoners without notice, escape a plane explosion... and then perfectly time a timebomb so that it would only kill the French agent... who they could have easily stabbed in the mugging.


Fuuuuuuuuuuuck

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


gently caress Mack. gently caress him good.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


You'd think people that are Clancy fans would read the books for the hard-boiled authenticity, but I guess they read it for its flavor... or the hard men doing hard things action. They're probably all chickenhawks with marginal understanding of the military and, being old farts, an even worse grasp of modern technology.

Certainly when I was reading... this one book about a vigilante for hire chasing a Serbian war criminal who had killed a humanitarian son of some rich dude during the wars... I was drawn into the whole nitty and gritty thing. I didn't know how realistic the book was and I still don't, but that's what attracted the younger me. That's what I find attractive about Ralph Peter's Red Army; what's more, he doesn't even name drop all the tanks or planes in the book, because the names or spergy technical specs don't really matter in the face of what's happening.

Also, all of the books I've read had a lot less sex. Like Dogs of War barely has any sex at all.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Hey, so we took this <thing> and rebuilt with <enough stuff to make it something totally else>.

Which is how all of Mack's objects of fascination go. Hey, the F-16 is cool, but what if we doubled its weight with upgrades to make it cooler?

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Preechr posted:

To be fair, didn't we do that to the F-16 IRL? I've seen pictures of original F-16 and modernized bombtruck loadouts, and the difference is insane.

Yeah, but real life has to take the limitations of the airframe into account. If you really want an F-16 that would go in with guns, just say that USAlternate actually employed F/A-16 or something.

Plus, even with the polips that the newest F-16s have, it's a lot less ridiculous than "every helicopter is a stealth helicopter if you just believe in freedom enough"

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


chitoryu12 posted:

Hawk Hunter's F-16 in Wingman is faster and more agile than even the lightest and snappiest real F-16 after he modifies it to carry 6 Vulcan guns and something like 2 dozen Sidewinders. Mack just handwaves it as upgrades to the engines and airframe and leaves it at that, which brings up the question of why he hasn't done his super modifications to every plane his allies get.

And also the magnificent full hull electrocution suite.

But yeah, he upgrades only certain planes, like the stupid cargo helo gunship. His flying friends? The Ace Wrecking Company's Phantoms? Naw, those guys can gently caress themselves.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Yes, the U.S. should have done more than invade two countries in three years! They should have let 9/11 families push the red button to nuke Afghanistan and lynched Muslims in the streets!

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


I have a hard time recalling the last time I hated a protagonist as much I hate Gunn, and this includes both Secret Dick and Ghost the Kildar. I won't claim to have never had violent fantasies about, dunno, cat killers, but this guy is so petty and stupid...

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Oh yeah, I do hope he buys it.

I know it's too much to hope that at least half of the team died off screen; Mack is a poo poo enough writer to have character die off screen, but he wouldn't let his super patriots die like that.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Is it a terrorist act to attack a military target?

Also, weren't the Republicans in charge during Lebanon?

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


I'm kinda glad only one book remains.

I think rewrites is an another thing Mack doesn't know about. He made some tension and some excitement about Hunn dying... but remembered that he can't kill Real American Wino, so just shrugged it off a bruise. Who cares that he was passed when Ozzy nearly killed himself dragging him; the moment of drama and tension is over, so those details can be forgotten.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


This is so much bullshit, it only needed a "and then everyone started clapping" somewhere in there.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


I'm running out of words to complain about it, so I can believe that.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


quote:

Pentagon types who abhor the idea of a rogue special forces team operating without any control

Sounds like just the kind of guys we would want in Pentagon, TBH.

quote:

Strike Force Alpha: Back in 1972, Palestinian terrorists kidnapped and killed a number of Israeli athletes competing in the Summer Olympics in Munich. The German authorities allowed many of the terrorists to escape — there were about two dozen in all. Shortly afterwards, the Israeli government put together a secret unit whose sole aim was to hunt down and kill every terrorist connected with the Munich Massacre. It took them more than 15 years, but this special unit got every one of the murderers, shooting each one between the eyes after first announcing who they were and why they were whacking them. This sent a message to the Palestinian terrorists: if you screw with us, we’re going to get you, no matter how long it takes.

And the Israelis never had to fight Palestinians or terrorists ever again. The End!

quote:

This was the inspiration for the Superhawks books. Like many other people in this country, I believe that the full resources of the US military should have been aimed at finding and killing Osama bin Laden and his gang. I still can’t figure out why this hasn’t happened — can you? I can’t tell you how many letters I’ve received since the books have come out asking the same question, and wishing that the Superhawks were a real unit and that this country was doing what the Israelis did.

Man, if only the US military had done something to find Osama. Could they have, dunno, invaded a country at the very least?

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Why are the French evil? Because they opposed the invasion of Iraq or something, which makes them terrorists.

And look, I am no saint. I would like to put ERA and active protection systems on a T-55 or to have all the Hinds ever upgraded to Mk V Superhinds. But Mack just transforms existing vehicles to monstrosities that might as well be a clean sheet design with a new name. But I guess having the name of an existing vehicle slapped on something that barely resembles it makes it ~~~authentic~~~. Why do they even need the SUPER OSPREY if a regular one could have easily made the same pick up?

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


why do I keep reading this

Curare sounds scary, it's like one of those super deadly cobra poisons.

Well, at least Wiki claims it to be paralytic and the victim can be saved if you are willing to do mouth to mouth until the poison wears off or something. No foaming of melting guts.

It's like Mack is spinning himself apart the longer he writes this. The whole assault is like a videogame. Crashing a helo for faster landing, sending the tanks first followed by DPS dudes... Thought the shot ricocheting off the armor and killing the guy that fired it is something to behold.

That and racism.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Yeah, what if some rear end in a top hat started eating earlier?

drat plug'n'play muslim fanatics, only caring about very specific parts of scripture.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


chitoryu12 posted:

It was a resolution that I took a few seconds to fully comprehend. Not because it's hard to understand, but because it was so amazingly offensive.

US promises to buy every Muslim who fights for them 72 virginal goats and all terrorism ends?

PJOmega posted:

Well of course not. Mecca is discovered to be the entrance to a cave network where the ultimate terrorist is hiding. Immortal Muhammad, from whose lips all Islam and all terror is brought into the world. When the ghost team bravely fights through the labyrinth network, they make the ultimate sacrifice to collapse it. In doing so they finally kill Muhammad, and everyone the world over renounces Islam and all become beautiful exotic people. Well all the women do. All the men kill themselves because they were all terrorists.

Is the real ending more offensive than that?

Well, this reminds of Clive Barker's Jericho, which I think makes it very offensive.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Everything that was bad about the Muslim religion could be found here.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


drat it is easy to write patriot fiction. Iran is funding AQ, a city can work while having 80% terrorist population (that's why it's ok to bomb the poor, because they're poor terrorists), nobody can shoot the jets down, you need to have a dedicated rape chamber, VHS tapes are important in TYOL 2004, when even the first book was all about CDs...

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Yeah, me too. Wanna start a two person project where we both motivate each other to write lovely fic for Amazon self publishing?

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


I bet the carpenter ant queen is ugly and misshaped, and the termites are lead by a seven legged, one pincered drone that stinks.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


OK, lads, I came up with a horrible idea, probably inspired by Yooper's LP.

*rips bong*

what if it's a story about a guy/guys building a libertarian utopia in Iraq/Syria, with Kurds being so attracted by the ideas of libertarianism that they abandon the stinkin' YPG and become "enthusiastic serfs" for the bitcoin caliphate?

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Man, urban warfare was easy. If only those pussies in Fallujah had wanted to win hard enough!

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


If we make a lot of noise, the terrorists will be too scared to shoot us.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


OP Nifty Package posted:

Although the operation was successful, National Security Advisor Brent Scowcroftwould later point to the psychological harassment of the Papal Nuncio as "a low moment in US Army history," noting that their approach had been silly, reproachable and undignified.

So Mack's books, basically.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Dieter Dirlewanger in Superdraches posted:

Two minutes before midnight, the first Superdrache lands on the outskirts of Pokhorovka near Weak Point Ost, what the team has labeled an area where three drainage culverts merge. The 1st SS squad of 10 soldiers leaps out, led by the infamous Gunther Konig. They're about 3/4 of a kilometer from the Pokhorovka slums, a series of clay and wood houses on a dead end street before the city proper begins. There are still lights on in some of the houses and armed men milling about.

After 30 seconds, right on time, there's the sudden sound of engines overhead in the night sky and the whistle of bombs. Anti-aircraft fire fills the sky as the SS guys stuff cotton in their ears; it's not actually a bombing, just the Wotan plane broadcasting the sound of a He-111 run with their Fuhrer's Voice speakers. The Wotan plane roars overhead and dispenses flares that light up the whole city, and right on cue the SS squad rushes in.

The next two minutes unfolded like a dream for Konig. It was always like that for him in combat. But this—this was particularly surreal.

They hit the edge of the slum just 10 seconds out of the trench. They were all firing their weapons, from the hip, as they were running, adding even more to the substantial confusion. Because Konig kept his IR goggles down, to him, it looked like they were running into a gray hell. The Drache helicopter that had dropped them off now reappeared and laid a barrage of MG 42 machine-gun fire into the first house in a row of buildings. Despite the racket being made by the now-circling Wotan plane, and his blocked ears, Konig could hear people screaming inside.

He and his men reached the first apartment building a few seconds later. There were many Bolshevik inside who were trying to jump out of the windows after dodging the copter’s bullets and still thinking that He-111 bombs were about to pulverize them. Konig’s guys opened up on them; at least 12 ivans died in this initial fusillade.

Konig hit the house’s front door running. It exploded in a storm of wooden splinters. Two Bolshevik fighters were in the hallway, bent over, hands covering their ears, trying to block out the horrendous sounds coming from above. Konig shot both of them in the head. His men poured into the building after him. They began a split-second clearing operation. The place was full of Bolsheviks, but like the first two, most were in shock or were jumping out the windows. Those who remained were shot, stabbed, and kicked to death. The first and second floors were cleared inside a minute. Somehow a fire had started in the kitchen.

Konig and his guys headed for the roof. Up here they found another knot of Bolsheviks who, incredibly, were in the process of pouring a barrel of rainwater through a hole in the roof onto the kitchen fire below. Seemingly unaware of what was happening, five of these six men died in a hail of bullets. One was spared intentionally.

The Wotan plane went overhead again, the roar from its loudspeakers now mimicking strings of bombs hitting the ground. The plane was also shooting out an incredible number of flares now. It was as bright as day in the slum. Even through their blocked ears the men of 1st SS could hear the commotion; without any protection, it was deafening.

Still, Konig was able to yell down through the hole in the ceiling, telling his men below to verbalize the securing of the building. Five shouts back confirmed the building was clear and under their control. Their Drache helicopter went over again, firing at ivans in the next apartment building over. Suddenly half that structure was on fire.

Konig turned to his guys up on the roof and said: “Get the rope.”

They took the surviving Bolshevik fighter, so frightened he had soiled himself, and pulled a noose over his head. Then they dropped him over the side of the building. His scream pierced the chaos of the night—caught short only by his windpipe collapsing, his neck breaking. He was dead in a second. Then the SS soldiers unfurled one of the dozens of swastika flags they’d carried into Pokhorovka and draped it over the still-twitching body.

As Heinrich Kohl of the 2nd SS squad hits the ground, he's knocked off his feet by two 50-kilo bombs from Jager's Stuka blowing a hole in the wall for them and destroying some random part of the city on the other side. They're attacking the Old Quarter of Pokhorovka from Weak Point Nort, an ancient part of town with whitewashed buildings and neatly packed dirt roads.

2nd SS is assigned to clearing the NKVD from the rooftops of the Old Quarter. The Marxists inside are convinced that a gigantic German attack is underway thanks to the Wotan sound effects, the flares dropping, and the actual bombs being dropped and Superdrache firing machine guns. Within less than 5 minutes, Heinrich Kohl's squad has cleared 5 buildings and hanged an ivan or two with an swastika flag from each to signify their capture. Getting pinned down, Kohl fires two green flares into the air to signal for support; not long after, their only pair of Pz. 35(t) tanks crashes through a wall to back them up.

The third squad is being led by Otto the tech guy, of all people. His group is 3rd Irregular Forces, made up entirely of 20 hiwi. They were dropped 1/4 kilometer south of Konig's terror squad, set up to capture the utilities buildings in Lenin Circle to shut off the city's electricity, phone, and water lines and blow up sewer manholes to deny the tunnels to the enemy fighters.

They blew up a half-dozen manholes in the first two minutes. It didn’t have to be pretty: Two hand grenades down the spout usually did it, as the tunnels were old and for the most part were made of dirt. A few times his fighters wanted to go down into the tunnels and look for the defenders of Pokhorovka, but each time Otto managed to diplomatically talk them out of it. There really was no need to be tunnel rats here, like in Warsaw. All they had to do was seal the tunnels from this end. That might be enough to trap a whole lot of ivans inside.

Another ten manholes were taken out before they reached Lenin Circle itself. The first building they faced was the waterworks. It was a two-story squarish structure; built of typical red bricks, it looked like something built in the nineteenth century. It was unoccupied. There was a massive pipe and a huge control wheel running right next to the building. It seemed as simple an act as turning this wheel would shut off all water in the city.

Otto instructed his hiwi friends to prepare four explosive charges. Two would go on the pipe; two would go beside the building itself. It took five minutes of skulking around, wrapping sticks of dynamite and laying fuse wire, but the building and the water pipe went up in a grand explosion.

The Wotan plane flew overhead just as the four blasts were going off and had to bank violently to the right to avoid getting caught in the fireball. Otto watched the plane go over, nearly lose its flight envelope, and then recover again, only to fly away. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Through the whole thing, the plane had continued broadcasting the earsplitting mimicry of a huge He-111 raid.

Next is the telegraph lines, with the forest of poles being toppled by more blast packs and yanking down the wires. Their final stop is the power station, a 3-story brick structure shaped like a tent and surrounded by wires and transmission poles. Suddenly tracer fire begins flying over their heads; there are troops inside setting up water cooled machine guns to shoot across the way toward Konig's group.

Otto pulls out a Czech 26.5mm flare pistol and fires a green flare right at the door of the power station. The guys inside start shooting at Otto's group, but it isn't long before the flare summons a Superdrache that turns the building into flaming debris with a Werfer-Granate 21.

After nearly 10 minutes of fighting, Jager's plane has 8 of its original 12 bombs left. He's been swooping at near supersonic speed over the city repeatedly, aiding in the terror created by the Wotan plane. On a few occasions he flew no more than 5 meters off the ground, leading to the ivans shooting down at him. Apparently the Marxists didn't buy a single anti-aircraft shell with a working self-destruct because many of the shells have fallen back onto the city, some of them taking out their own gun crews. The dozens of swastika flags hanging on captured buildings makes it look like a wave of Third Reich was taking over the city; they plan on killing every last man they find in the city to take out the Patch.

It was on one of his buzzing runs that Jager noticed somehow a flash of light out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t coming for a weapon of any kind. It was more like the light for an acetylene torch. The strange part was that he’d spotted it in the southern part of the city, a place where absolutely nothing was happening at the moment. No fighting, no confusion. Nothing. Very weird.

He swung out extra wide this time and flew over where he’d spotted the light. It was actually coming from an unblocked window in one warehouse that sat among a sea of warehouses.

It was strictly on instinct or maybe a whim, but he turned again and laid one of the fifty-kilogram bombs right through the window of the place. It went up like a fireworks factory. In seconds a huge fireball was rising in the sky above the southern part of the city.

“drat,” he whispered to himself. “I wonder what that was?”

The Commissar is sweating bullets. He's at the intersection where Heinrich Kohl's group is fighting, though not by choice; on the way back to the Hall of the Soviets to coordinate their defense, the convoy heard what they thought was incoming He-111s and leaped from their vehicles to find cover. They've made intermittent attempts to retreat, but keep getting waylaid by the Stuka and the black-suited ghosts chasing after them.

Without a way to call for help thanks to the dead lines and electronic interference killing his radio, the Commissar enacts a plan: he orders them to arrange the flimsiest barricades they can find, hoping to encourage the enemy tanks to crash through; thinking it's an easy breach, they'll find themselves flanked by anti-tank rifles. It's the first time the Soviets in this series have actually been depicted with good tactics instead of just making GBS threads themselves. Just as expected, the first tank lobs a smoke shell in front of the barricade and proceeds to crash into it.

Of course it couldn't be that easy. As the Commissar 's men charge out to attack, they find themselves under a hail of tracer fire and explosive shells. The smoke disguised that the tanks broke through with their turrets already turned backwards, having seen through the trick, and are firing their mounted machine guns and coaxials in all directions. Nearly wetting himself, the Commissar and his bodyguards turn on their heels and run.

While all this is going on, Fritz Immelman is floating overhead at 5000 feet and barely 150 kilometers per hour in his Stuka. He watches for three red pickup trucks to escape Pokhorovka; figuring they must be NKVD because they have access to vehicles, he blows them up with a quick burst from his 20mm cannon.

Nothing was routine in combat. But what Gunther Konig and the guys in 1st SS squad had been doing for the past twenty minutes came very close.

They’d moved steadily out from their jump-off point, Weak Point Ost, and been methodically chasing the city’s NKVD fighters and leftover Bolshevik out of their slummy buildings, pushing them west, toward the center of town and ultimately the Bondarchuk River. They had already cleared three blocks beyond the slum, this after being on the ground not even 30 minutes. What they were doing quickly fell into a pattern.

They came to a building and more often than not, especially in the past 15 minutes, these buildings were either empty or holding a few die-hards or ivans wounded and left behind by their comrades. If that was the case, instead of wasting time and going inside, SS would riddle the structure with their heavy weapons, hurl in a few hand grenades, or fire an enemy flamethrower they had captured during their miniblitzkrieg. There would be explosions, bright flashes of light, and a minor quaking of the earth; sometimes part of the building would come down. The SS guys would spray the rubble with gunfire and pepper it with more grenades. No screams from those trapped under the tons of rock would confirm that the leftover bad guys had been killed. SS would then mark the building by planting an swastika flag somewhere nearby and move on. If they thought there were still people alive and unbroken beneath the rubble, they would leave the house unmarked—as a signal, for those following in their path.

This was the second wave, coming in behind 1st SS, made up entirely of the hiwi foot soldiers, essentially mountain men with weapons. Their role was nasty but necessary. They would come to a house that wasn’t flying an swastika flag. They would first yell into the house, “Tovarishchi! Kak dela?” Roughly translated: “Comrades! How are you?”

If they received any reply, they would douse the rubble with something flammable and set it ablaze, finishing off those Soviet fighters still alive inside. Once the screams died down, then the hiwi would raise a swastika flag. And then they, too, would move on.

And coming right behind them was a third wave of invaders: hundreds of regular hiwi villagers who had created a small army of organized looters and were now spread over the liberated part of Pokhorovka, robbing the bodies of the dead.

Of course the Germans win every fight. They're bigger, stronger, better equipped, better trained, and not doped up on meth. Soviets fall to white blades like enemies in a Thomas Mayne Reid novel. By the 30 minute mark, 1st SS had cleared 8 blocks and hung swastika flags and dead bodies to mark their territory. They come to an industrial part of town populated by gas stations, repair shops, and meth processing plants; the Wotan plane begins broadcasting the noise of a massive ground battle instead of He-111s.

Konig finds a massive (several hundred gallons) propane tank and knocks on it to see if it's empty. He figures it's almost empty, from the sound it makes when he raps on it, but he can't leave it there and decides to step back a bit and shoot it to make a nice fireball.

Konig discovers that it's full.

Konig saw the bright white light first. He never heard the sound, never really saw the flames. It was just the bright white light and the sensation that he was floating through the air. His first thought was one of amazement: I must be dead.…

Actually he was flying through the air—and three of his troops were up here with him. The force of the blast literally blew them right out of the alley and onto a major thoroughfare, nearly a half-block away. One of his men crashed through the window of a puttees shop, landing out in the sidewalk. Two more came down on top of a kielbasa cart.

Konig himself, all 113 kilograms of him, just missed smashing into a wrecked and burning car and came down in a relatively soft mud hole instead. He landed face down, the bright white light replaced by the very dark brown mud. He sat up immediately. He couldn’t believe he was still alive. More incredibly, the other three troopers thrown by the explosion were alive and unhurt, too. The rest of his men came barreling around the corner moments later. They helped Konig back to his feet and checked the three others. Cuts and bruises were the worst of their injuries.

Meanwhile, the repair shop, the gas station, and the meth factory were all now reduced to flaming embers, this as the small mushroom cloud the propane explosion had created was still going straight up into the night sky. One of the Drache pilots flew over, more curious than anything else. Its rotor blades neatly cut the mushroom in half. Every window within a quarter kilometer had burst in the explosion.

Except those in the storefront next to the mud puddle Konig had found himself in. Once he cleared the crap from his eyes, he took a long look into this shop and realized that they had just hit pay dirt. It was a store that sold radios.

Konig immediately led four men into the store. The one thing the German strike team lacked was communications with one another. In that respect, they had hit a gold mine—or so they had thought. They found the clerk cowering behind the counter of the very cluttered store. The Germans looked down at him. He was shaking all over.

“Where are all the loving radios?” Konig screamed at him in Russian. The man looked up at him in terror.

“No more! No more!” he screamed. And it seemed true. The shelves were empty, at least of radios.

Then, still terrified, the clerk added: “I don’t have any tape rolls, either.…”

Otto's group is making good time as well, their volume of fire driving away any Marxists they don't outright kill. They progress beyond their original plan and come across a tall building with a machine gun nest, which they mark with a green flare for the Stuka to destroy (the entire building, not just the machine gun) with another 100 kilo bomb. He bursts in the front door of the hotel on the opposite corner to the destroyed building and stops dead in his tracks; there are 8 bodies, women and children, with their hands bound and throats slit in the lobby.

They fight their way up the stairs through the Marxists on each floor, who even throw Molotovs down at them. Otto becomes a madman, screaming in German and Russian and spraying gunfire as he charges upward. When his MP-40 runs out of ammo, he drops it and picks up an PPSh from a dead fighter and keeps going. A Molotov hits him directly in the shoulder without exploding, so he throws it back up.

They make it to the roof, where the Marxists try to hurl a gas stove down the ladder to stop Otto from making it to the top; they've run out of ammo, and Otto mercilessly shoots them both off the roof. Unfortunately, he's overextended a bit in his zeal: there's a small army surrounding the building, including three trucks with 45mm anti-tank guns, and NKVD fighters streaming into the building. And he's out of flares and almost out of ammo.

It was now 0040 hours. Forty minutes into the battle, Jager still had six bombs left. The last one he’d dropped, in support of Otto’s attack squad, had been a direct hit. Jager had followed it up with a strafing attack right through the middle of the city, once again scattering Zionist fighters who had foolishly gathered in the central square, weakly firing up at him as he bore down on them, no more than 5 meters off the ground. But after this, his latest low-altitude almost supersonic buzzing run, he put the Stuka on its tail, turned completely over, and found his nose pointing south again.

It was strange—there were now smoke and flames rising over more than half of the city. The Old Quarter was almost completely obscured by the results of the battle as Kohl’s 2nd SS team continued to clear the ancient neighborhood with help from the hiwi tanks. The fire in the east-side slum that had housed a lot of the Bolshevik fighters had already burned itself out. The city’s utilities centers were still aflame, as was its midsection as the twin prongs of Konig’s and Otto’s attacks continued marching westward.

But in the southern part of the city, down by all those warehouses, nothing was going on except the fire Jager himself set off about ten minutes before. This part of the city was almost completely dark. No headlights. No streetlights. No one in the streets at all.

Confused, Jager circles around the southern part of the city to try and spot anything useful. He thinks their Bofors may be installed there, but he can't find any trace of it and it doesn't make sense that they'd black out a whole section of the city for one AA gun. Without much else to do, he opens up a warehouse roof with his cannon and drops a bomb in it, which sends it up with a massive explosion indicating that it was probably full of fuel and/or munitions. Spotting two more green flares, he circles off to assist.

Somehow the Commissar made it back to the middle of the city. He’d run from the carnage at the intersection, commandeering a truck several blocks away. The first thing he did after climbing aboard was ask the driver if the middle of the city was still there, or had it been hit by the He-111s as well?

The driver didn’t know, so it was a surprise for both of them that even though they had to drive through a lot of smoke and flames, they found the city square virtually intact. Upon seeing this, the Commissar thought the He-111s must have hit the southern part of the city then, down near the warehouses. There was almost a dark amusement about this. How strange would it be if the south end got flattened and the middle of Pokhorovka was saved? Would that mean that universe had a cosmic sense of humor?

The Commissar runs into the first open shop he sees and grabs the owner's radio. Of the three channels in Pokhorovka, two are blocked by interference and the third has an unknown man's voice in Russian saying to stay away from Pokhorovka because it's being bombed and invaded by the German 4th Army. He's sent out messengers to try and contact the NKVD and Bolshevik commanders and bring in every reinforcement they can, but nobody's returned. In desperation, he enacts a plan to equip some of his lowest ranking officers and assistants with improvised pikes, dope them up with meth, and give them civilian clothes and suicide vests to go out and become "voluntary Matrosovs" against the Germans.

While making plans at his HQ on the ground floor of the Hall of the Soviets, he meets with his subordinates. Some of his men were caught trying to flee and were executed as an example to the rest of the fighters to stay and keep fighting. The good news is that the NKVD had delivered their arms supply and a box of celluloid tapes. The bad news is there doesn't seem to be anybody to start ringing the bells to summon reinforcements… except himself.

Arriving at the huge bell at the top floor of the Hall of the Soviets, he puts his hands over his ears to prepare for the noise of the He-111s flying overhead....but it's quiet. Pokhorovka is still standing below him, with only intermittent fires and muzzle flashes. He can only see about 30 Germans and not a single He-111 in the sky. It's at this point he realizes they've been fooled.

Before he can ring the bell, however, a helicopter appears right in front of him. He and the pilot and gunmen inside stare at one another, and then they open fire.

Again, there were five bodyguards up here on the roof with him. None of them had seen the copter approach—in fact, they didn’t know if it had come up behind them or had being flying at such a low altitude it had risen straight up after spotting them. In any case, the fusillade that came out of the copter was devastating. Four of the Commissar ’s bodyguards were literally torn in half. His fifth guard had his head blown off. The Commissar himself felt a great weight hit him at the same time the barrage from the helicopter did. He was thrown on his back, what seemed like molten steel washing over his body.

But somehow he saw the helicopter depart; the men were still shooting at him as it sped away. That’s the only reason the Commissar knew he was not dead, not yet anyway. He looked down at his chest and saw that he’d been hit not by bullets but by pieces of the bell that had been shattered in the fusillade. It was now in a million fragments—yet somehow he was still in one piece.

And right then and there, the Commissar lost it. He felt an ice-cold shiver go up and down his spine and back again. He’d been through combat. He’d murdered innocent people in the name of bloodlust and Stalin. He’d seen and felt and smelled and even tasted the worst aspects of war. But he’d never felt anything like this. Just like with the Patch, the Waffen SS were now after him. And it was the worst feeling in the world.

He looked out on the city again, this time from a horizontal position, as he could barely move. There were more fires and more smoke and more noise and more gunshots—but suddenly these things weren’t forefront in his mind anymore. Suddenly it was his own neck he was thinking about, always a priority but now even more so. They got under your skin; that’s what everyone said. First you ignore them. Then you laugh at them. Then you fight them. And then they beat you.

The Waffen SS. One close encounter with them was all it took. They got into your bloodstream, and after that it was only a matter of time before they hunted you down and sliced you up. Who wanted such a horrible way to go? It was at that moment that the Commissar began making plans for his own escape.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


Fukken knew Li was not gonna die off screen, I just couldn't fathom that the twist would be that stupid.

Nice to see Sunni-Shia divide not being a thing.

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


You need more and bigger eyes to do the needed rolling. I think this outshines everything in the Ringo thread.

I want to complain about terrorists all being game robots who blindly follow the quest or how and why the gently caress would anyone be trying to rebuild an F-117... but why?

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


OH NO THE ENEMY'S ELITE FORCES HAVE APPEARED AND OUR HEROES HAVE NO AMMUNITION OR STRENGTH TO FIGHT WHAT WILL THEY DO
*the enemy is promptly neutralized and killed without even holding weapons in their hands*
FREEDOM

Mack, the writer all 8 year olds aspire to be.

Gotta love how simulatniously
1) everything US said about Iraq pre invasion is true
2) the US is bad for invading Iraq instead of chasing terrists.

And that ending

JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


"Bring terror to the terrorists" is a great military tactic that worked wonders in such conflicts like

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JcDent
May 13, 2013

Give me a rifle, one round, and point me at Berlin!


What War Heaven books?

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