BigPapaBelial Member
I have seen you...I have watched you...
STATUS: Quickly RPGuild we must Matriculate! 7 mos ago
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- Old Guild Username: BigPapaBelial
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Quickly RPGuild we must Matriculate!
1 yr ago
Getting that I'm feeling watched feeling again...who are all these people stalking...err...visiting my profile? Ahhhh stranger danger.
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2 yrs ago
I just wanna sleep...
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Just one more day again...one more...I hate long shifts...
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2 yrs ago
One more day on shift...then a half day to feel human again...adulting sucks.
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Most Recent Posts
_Some Months ago, At Stone House Barracks_
A grey and brown haired colonel looked over the records of the Marine sitting across from him, "You've come a long way haven't you Sergeant?" The man sitting across from him a Royal Marines Sergeant, the name of Ward printed on his breast nods, "Yes sir, two major conflicts, several small skirmishes, I have come a very long way sir." The Colonel nodded, "World War 2, The France debacle, and Gold Beach, wounded shortly after the landings. Time in training with the Marines, then off to Korea, wounded again there, why'd you not come off the line when you were wounded there?" Ward hrmed, "Didn't want to leave my unit sir. I saw what happened back in The Second, I got taken off the line, and ended up being sent to a whole other unit. Besides the wound in Normandy was worse then the one I took in Korea. Just a ricochet." The Colonel chuckled, "Just a ricochet. You're a tough old sod, I'll give you that. Never approached for promotion beyond sergeant though, why is that?" Ward snorted, "I got passed over sir. Others in my units were more deserving I suppose. That's alright I don't mind." the Colonel nods, "And now thirty eight, getting on in years. How many years do you think you have left in you?" Ward gave a very ungentlemanly snort, "Premission to speak a little more openly sir?" The Colonel nodded and gestured for him to proceed. Ward nodded his thanks, "Sir, I know I'm old, I know I've seen my fair share. I don't think I have more then seven years left in me, and maybe only two more on the field. The military and the marines besides have been my life sir. And I'd rather have somemore action before finding myself behind a desk...sir. No offense, sir." The colonel chuckles and pats his big heavy walnut desk, "None taken son. Well, we'll keep all this in mind. Thanks for coming in son." Ward nods, gets up and salutes. As he's heading out the colonel calls, "See your current commander about a reassignment...that Suez thing that's starting up...might need an old wise hand to help out out there. Dismissed Sergeant." Ward saluted again.
----
**_0600 HMS Eagle, Near Egyptian Coastline_**
"Hey, that's a live weapon! Careful!" Ward turned to look at the young Corporal who was hollering at him. Ward hrmed, "Listen son, I outrank you for one, two this here is my safety." The older man raised his right hand and hooked and unhooked his index finger a few times. "Three, I've seen more conflict in my life then you will for awhile yet. So don't tell me what's safe and what's not. But so as not to offend your sensibilities." He swung the rifle up, clicked on the safety and then swung it up and over his right shoulder, then walked off not letting the young man say anything else.
He looked quite the hard-case. His jacket is still the same one he got way back when he enlisted with the army. The same fabric, the same colors. It had a variety of mud and blood stains. A throw back to another time well over a decade ago when his generation became warriors rather then children. The rest of his kit, pants, boots, shirt all that were pristine and new, but he was adamant to keep the jacket which held part of his marine insignia. The shirt and vest under that carrying the rest. His kit bag held over his back, with ammo kit at his waist. Aside from the jacket it was all brand new. But they could take his jacket when he was dead and gone He might get flak for that from the Commanding Officer and any other hard asses in the unit, but he's stick by to this no matter what.
He arrived on the cargo deck just as the clock turned. Not feeling all that bad about potentially being late, for a muster it ought to be okay. You're never late in the field ever. And as he approached, saw the two older men, smiling a little knowing there is some maturity in the unit, they could hold their own, know what to do, and where to be. What made him wary though is all of the young blood. He remembered being that young, he remembered how green he was, and how he really had to mature and work past the possibility of shedding blood and taking lives. He approached the knot of people, and at first had only eyes for their CO. He dropped his kit bag to the ground at his feet, then clicked his feet together and snapped off a salute, "Sir, Sergeant Felix Ward, Armorer, reporting Captain, sir." He didn't spare a look at the young blood or the other older gents. Just waiting for the return salute from their CO.
0600, right on the dot. Right on time.
I was looking at it that Reid has command of a fire team, which might put him a half step up on the ladder then Ward.
But the way you put it yeah, I can see it working that way alot better.
I've been trying to piece together a chain of command here, just for my own enjoyment.
How would it go? Mackenzie, Reid, Ward then down to the Lance Corps and the rest?
I'm just curious. What do you guys think?
You still have your marksmen here my friend.
CS:
Name: Felix Ward
Gender: Male
Age: 38
Appearance:
[Felix On the left](http://www.nam.ac.uk/images/online/national-service/images/89664.jpg)
Felix is the "Old Man" of the unit. He saw the entirety of World War 2, and started to earn his thousand yard stare there. A trait that he still has even too this day. His skin is a weathered tan now, compared to a time when it was baby soft when he was a young sprat. He's got the big powerful build of a man who has humped, slogged and marched his way across almost a whole continent then did the same coming back. powerful shoulders, slightly greying hair, and a grizzled look that says, "I've done shit you wouldn't believe and survived every second of it." He moves with an almost animal like gait, a side effect of being wounded twice in the course of his military lifetime. As such he has an incredibly intimidating aura about him. There are people that can match it, but few who pull it off quite like he does. Despite seeing destruction, filth, atrocity and woe for years, he's managed to keep his sanity relatively intact.
Rank: Sergeant
Role: Marksmen/Armourer
Weapon and Ammunition:
Lee-Enfield No4 Mk2 20-5rnd stripper clips
2x Mills Bombs
2x Green smoke canisters
2x White smoke canisters
Brief Background:
Born in Lincoln, Lincolnshire, Great Britain. Son of a steel worker and a nurse. He wasn't incredibly well off from the beginning, but he was a happy kid none the less. He did decently in his schooling, and loved his sports, being an almost natural at rugby. He went on into his secondary schooling and would have continued on into college or university if the greatest defining moment for many young men didn't crop up.
World War 2.
When Hitler and his Nazis started to march, he told his mother and father what he intended. Got his fathers praise and his mothers tears on his shoulder, and went off to enlist. He went through bootcamp, and was shipped out to assist in the fighting in France. There beside so many other young Brits he fired in anger at the Germans. He held a Lee Enfield in his hand and even to the present day he holds one of those rifles as steadily as he would a new-bourne babe. Of course nothing was perfect. The Germans were well supplied, and had the guns and men, and drove the poorly defended and badly supplied British and French troops back. So it's no surprise he was on the evacuation ships that managed to get back to the Island. He chafed abit to get back into the thick, but wasn't with any of the groups that managed to get back into the thick. He did manage a few small raids across the Channel with small teams of infantry to help set up for greater things. But it wasn't until Normandy and Overlord that he actually got back to the mainland. He charged the shore at the northend end of Gold Beach. He was wounded three days after the landing when fighting at Boyeuk. And was the single time that he allowed himself to be pulled back off the line for treatment. He fought out the rest of the war after he returned on the front like he was meant too.
When the Second World War came to an end he shipped back and for a time was shifted back and forth doing peacekeeping and the like with his unit. By then he had earned his thousand yard stare, and made a great deal of friends and enemies. It was between World War Two and the Korean war, in that 5 year span that he was selected, recruited and trained through the Royal Marines. Doing his training and specialization as an Armourer.
When the Korean War broke out, his Marine unit was shipped out to join the fighting. His position as a marksman was established by now, and seeing him stock still for hours on end, waiting for that moment to pull off a mid range kill shot was no surprise to many of the people in his unit. It was in Korea that he recieved a second wound. Where the first blew a hole in his right shoulder, this one was a low ricochet that caught him in the ankle. Despite urgings from a young and inexperienced commanding officer he stayed on the front until a medic got to him to check him, bandaged him and said he was good. But his unit didn't spend the full three and some years in Korea and they were pulled out before the end of the conflict.
He spent time on and off a variety of boats. Until he was transfered out of his unit and into the 40 Commando battalion, on the HMS Eagle. Giving way to his "Old Man" status, it started as a joke among some of the younger marines, a few had to have it proved to them physically and verbally that he might be going through a discharge and retirement from the military within a few years, and that he might have been passed over a few times for promotion, but he's still the guy you don't want to have pointing a rifle your way, because he's not likely to miss.
Equipment:
Russian style [machete](http://www.knifeup.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/spetsnaz-machete2.jpg) - Bought during the tail end of WW2
British Fatigues (Khaki Drill camo)
Orienteering kit, compass, maps etc.
Canteen and Ration - Atleast enough for six days in the field
Mirror fitted to a telescopic armature to peek around corners.
Carl chuckled as he hooked up, "I gotta say, I got a lot of respect for your Royal Marines. They are straight out bad asses. I don't think the JTF2 would take this as a viable transport method. Thank god I'm not one of them." He made sure his karabiner up high on the wing tip, then waited. The tough fabric of the safety strap went taught, the karabiner clicked then the attack chooper began to lift. Carl felt his balance shift and then they were airborne. He freaked out for a brief second, feeling nothing but air beneath him. He had to tell him it was like being pulled out by fast line attached to a little bird.Just like a SPIE extraction. He got settled, "Okay, this is going down as one of the most incredible things we've done. Just saying." He clammed up as the flight continued.
Carl listened in on the briefing. He nodded, "Yeah they send in a large force into that mosque, we'd never hear the end of it. International sanctions, UN investigations, world wide news coverage." He keyed into the briefing, "Merlin, Knight 2 here, what's our rules of engagement on site? How much collateral are we allowed? Any wiggle room? Or do we treat this like we would a "friendly" country and no unauthorized destruction of property if we can help it?" He grabbed the wing of the Apache as the pilot made a particularly impressive juke. He grit his teeth, really impressed with this pilot. He had some balls, and a great deal of skill.
As they crossed the border he nodded his tri-clops headgear down to scan the ground and the approaching terrain. He nodded, he liked the way this was going. He tried to catch a view of his partner, "I think this is where we were going to end up eventually brother. We have the time, the skills, and the equipment. So operating in territory like this just had to come up." He grabbed the wing with one hand as the heli jerked to avoid the side of the canyon they whipped through, "I hope you have something to clean the side of your chooper with pilot, keep that up and I might make a mess out here." He let out a soft little urp of nausea.
It took a little time for everything to fall into place. John just wasn’t used to having an entire room all to himself. And the room is spacious. Very much so. The barracks originally meant for atleast 40 soldiers lying in bunk beds, left lots of room for just three men. After he had gotten settled into his room, the only room not already spoken for, he didn’t mind that at all. He had put his clothing, mostly military issue. With only a few things remaining from his previous life that he wouldn’t tear open the moment he put them on. He had laid on the bed for a time not sure what to do. He had a schedule that said they’d be free. Not really sure where he got that schedule during all this. The name on the file said Yertz, and something about a command rank only. Not that he understood any of that.
He laid there for a time, not sure what to do, then decided to see just how old that computer terminal is. Maybe get some news about the outside world. It’d been awhile since he’d read a newspaper. So he wasn’t sure what the general conflict is like, or how the common man was doing in this time. Here in Vulpes they are far enough behind the front lines that there was no worries for civilians or military alike. Getting up and off his bed he made his way to the common area. And made for the computer, checking to see if any of the rest of the team had decided to come out.
He sat down at the computer terminal and quickly familiarized himself with it. Booting the computer up he is presented with a log in screen. And it takes him a moment or two to try and remember the one he was told to make shortly after training began. Soon he is surfing a military internet, looking through recent reports and news on the current war efforts. Such things as artillery and bombing actions along the north front were referenced. A major altercation along a new salient that the United Front had managed to bore into the Faiths lines was getting headlines. It looked like the war hadn’t lessened or worsened at all it seemed, just got a little more complicated.
As he sat there he started to feel this odd pressure in the back of his head. It wasn’t from the computer screen, he hadn’t been sitting there that long. But slowly it got worse, he sat back in the chair, rubbing his temple, not sure that the heck is going on.
John winced, attempting to endure this odd pressure. It is giving him one heck of a headache, and is quite possibly one of the least enjoyable things he’s had happen to him in awhile. He sat there for a time before something clicked and in his head he heard, “Squad N3. Squad N3. Prepare for a visit by General Yertz. This message will repeat.” John blinked, a visit from a general? Okay that’s something to be wondering about. He got up and went to each of his squad mates asking only one thing, “Did you get that message about a visit from the general?”
Yes as a heads up I do have a post in the works.
Just been getting settled into the new place I moved into just recently.
Carl made his way through the building sweeping the rooms as best he can, twice he found civilians hiding in rooms, he had left them, watching them the whole way while making his way out. Several times he found AQ fighters hiding out, these he got rid of as quickly and cleanly as he could. Usually a shot gun blast to the chest would do it. His flechette loaded shotgun making hamburger of their bodies. Hew cleared the upper levels of the apartment building as quickly and carefully as he could.
He then made a beeline for what he was going for the whole time. He climbed up onto a railing, “No man should be left here.” He cut the body down, catching the wire that was used to hang him, and letting him down to the balcony carefully. He settled the body down, and used a blanket he had found to cover it, “Rest in peace brother. You earned your rest, don’t worry, you won’t be alone.” Carl took the man’s dogtags from under ripped up fatigues. And pocketed them, he’d be remembered, Carl would make sure of that. As he finished up, offering a silent prayer to any being who was listening to protect the soldiers soul. He got up, just as the door to the room he is in bursts open and a AQ soldier rushes in. Just one man. He’s suddenly faced with a pissed off heavily armored Canadian.
The AQ soldier meets Carl’s size 10 boot right to the stomach. The man almost doubles over. Carl then stepped back and with an amazing amount of flexibility for being in that armor he round housed kicked the man right to the side of the head. Somehow he didn’t die from the sheer force behind that boot. He spins a full 4 times before the AW soldier hits the ground. Carl then went right over, and planted his other boot against the man’s throat, “You string up a good soldier for what? A show? You just know that you brought this on yourself.” Carl let up the pressure on the man’s throat, raised his leg up, getting his knee nice and high, then brought his boot down hard.
Carl made it up to the rooftop with Ross shortly after. Carl looking about, “We’re getting picked up by an Apache? Really?” He turned too look out over the town, then brought out a white smoke canister. As they made their way down to the wall he laid about with his LMG one handed almost the whole way. He popped his own canister and tossed it a short distance away as Ross did the same. He then took up a position to return fire on the AQ soldiers sending rounds on their position. He grunted, “How are we attaching to this thing? I have a safety harness with me, but are there any hardpoints on that thing we can attach too? Fuck man, I can’t wait to see how we do this.” Carl ducked a little as a DsHK started to bark on his head of the street. He whipped his Carl Gustav off his back, rocked a shell in and fired all in one smooth movement. The DsHK vanishing in a ball of fire, “This is all going to get really interesting and will be a hell of a story to tell back at Mess.”
He then made a beeline for what he was going for the whole time. He climbed up onto a railing, “No man should be left here.” He cut the body down, catching the wire that was used to hang him, and letting him down to the balcony carefully. He settled the body down, and used a blanket he had found to cover it, “Rest in peace brother. You earned your rest, don’t worry, you won’t be alone.” Carl took the man’s dogtags from under ripped up fatigues. And pocketed them, he’d be remembered, Carl would make sure of that. As he finished up, offering a silent prayer to any being who was listening to protect the soldiers soul. He got up, just as the door to the room he is in bursts open and a AQ soldier rushes in. Just one man. He’s suddenly faced with a pissed off heavily armored Canadian.
The AQ soldier meets Carl’s size 10 boot right to the stomach. The man almost doubles over. Carl then stepped back and with an amazing amount of flexibility for being in that armor he round housed kicked the man right to the side of the head. Somehow he didn’t die from the sheer force behind that boot. He spins a full 4 times before the AW soldier hits the ground. Carl then went right over, and planted his other boot against the man’s throat, “You string up a good soldier for what? A show? You just know that you brought this on yourself.” Carl let up the pressure on the man’s throat, raised his leg up, getting his knee nice and high, then brought his boot down hard.
Carl made it up to the rooftop with Ross shortly after. Carl looking about, “We’re getting picked up by an Apache? Really?” He turned too look out over the town, then brought out a white smoke canister. As they made their way down to the wall he laid about with his LMG one handed almost the whole way. He popped his own canister and tossed it a short distance away as Ross did the same. He then took up a position to return fire on the AQ soldiers sending rounds on their position. He grunted, “How are we attaching to this thing? I have a safety harness with me, but are there any hardpoints on that thing we can attach too? Fuck man, I can’t wait to see how we do this.” Carl ducked a little as a DsHK started to bark on his head of the street. He whipped his Carl Gustav off his back, rocked a shell in and fired all in one smooth movement. The DsHK vanishing in a ball of fire, “This is all going to get really interesting and will be a hell of a story to tell back at Mess.”
Holy geez, that server outage was amazing!
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