Avatar of CaptainBritton
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    1. CaptainBritton 10 yrs ago
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7 yrs ago
Current "Out of every hundred men, ten shouldn't even be there, eighty are targets, nine are the real fighters, for they make the battle. But one is a warrior, and he will bring the others back." -Heraclitus
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9 yrs ago
"I have resolved never to start an unjust war, but never to end a legitimate one except by defeating my enemies." -King Charles XII 'Carolus Rex' of Sweden, 1700
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9 yrs ago
“Civilians are like beans; you buy 'em as needed for any job which merely requires skill and savvy. But you can't buy fighting spirit.” -Robert A. Heinlein
5 likes
9 yrs ago
"The soldier is also a citizen. In fact, the highest obligation and privilege of citizenship is that of bearing arms for one’s country” -General George S. Patton Jr.
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9 yrs ago
"Wine has drowned more than the sea." -Roman proverb
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Most Recent Posts


Staking my claim before someone commits grand theft terrain on me.
1)C
2)A
3)B
Interested.
Still here, and I don't plan on going anywhere any time soon.
I'm definitely a sucker for Amtracks. The EFV also peaks some interest. As for air vehicles, all of the above seem fitting.
Space, The Final Frontier

He sat up rapidly, a sharp gasp escaping him as he traced the details of this new environment closely. "The fuck am I?" He muttered to nobody in particular, throwing his feet to the side and making to his feet. The effects hit him all at once. He rolled his tongue around in his mouth and stretched, yawning rather loudly.

His first thought drifted to the word "ship" as he rose and wandered about. The change into his MCCUUs was sluggish and efforted, and when the call for assembly came, he dragged himself forth to the destination ahead.


Above My Paygrade

He certainly didn't anticipate they were in fucking space, nor that they were working for Invader Zim and Co. His surprise definitely took even more hold when the word 'multimillionaires' was uttered. His sluggishness was overcome by eagerness, by motivation, potentially even by greed. One does not pass up millions just daily, and they certainly don't carry out their task like a zombie.

The mention of jungles did not concern him in the slightest. What was a jungle, even if pink and purple, compared to that of Okinawa, of mainland Japan, of Australia? He anticipated the end of the briefing eagerly, and began preparations immediately. The pink and purple uniforms offset the feeling slightly, but he followed.

Clad in his new uniform paired with the equipment of which he had brought, he prepared for planetfall.


Out of the Frying Pan...

He wasn't anticipating what met him there. It had all been wrong. Everything he thought before, all wrong. It was hot, not just 'a summer day' hot or 'a freshly made pie' hot. It felt as if Satan himself was pissing molten lava down his back the entire time, from the second he set foot on the God-forsaken planet in question.

He rasped through the respirator and, while he was attempting to conserve the water he had, he found himself again and again going to the Camelbak strapped to his ruck. The sweat made the gloves he wore insufferable, and the cotton socks paired with the boots unbearable. He just hoped they'd be back up on that luxury cruise they called a transport soon.


Into the Fire...

To make matters worse, enemies. He fumbled with the M203 and planted one big smooch on the primer of a 40mm HE, slamming it into the chamber and shutting it with a quiet click. He moved with his squad, sticking close to his team lead. It was time to engage. He had moved into position as told, and just waited for the moment.

"Weapons free!" was all he heard. Next thing he knew, those around him were emptying their weapons into the foe, and he did as well. First sailed forth the 40mm and it impacted with a roar which must have been deafening for the enemy and displaced a fair amount of dirt. His next course was to empty short bursts into the targets acquired. Pop pop. Pop pop. All he heard through the noise-cancelling headphones was the dull pop and crack of the rifle as it sent forth hot lead. He found himself pumping with adrenaline, and accompanying his fire was that infernal cry. One that anyone who knew the culture of the South could place. It was the rebel yell.
"Check your weapons! Now's your chance to load up!" Called out Senior Sergeant Upard, clutching his own A280 and checking the remaining shots in the magazine as he moved with the column that consisted of the first section. The Lieutenant moved at the front, his own rifle bouncing in his grasp as he glanced around the dull grey corridor.

"I want all auto riflemen at the front! Riflemen, organize into fireteams, breach and clear! Sappers cover their asses!" Trad enunciated, rejoining the first section as the riflemen split off in groups of two or three and moved to various bulkheads connecting to adjoining hatches, until suddenly the two doors on either end of the corridor slammed down, and locked with a hiss and whirr.

"Shit." Trad muttered, troops around him glancing at the recent development with collective scowls. "Sappers!" Trad called out amongst the disgruntled and confused mass of troops that once were preparing to breach and clear. "Get those doors open ASAP! The rest of you, get back to work! We got a schedule to follow!"

The sappers went to work, a man detaching from the squad and heading to each tightly locked hatch and producing a block charge and timer. With ease and skill they began to fasten the blocks to the weak-points of the doors, information which they had been told over and over in their own briefing. Mid-section, along the line that connects them.

Meanwhile, the riflemen went to work. Doors were pryed, shot, and beat open, and scattered shots rang out, mercenaries that had been hiding out being trapped like tuna in a can and shot dead without mercy. Though, it did not go without losses. A single man had been gunned down, a blaster bolt taken directly to the torso, a fatal shot. One more, a shot to the leg, a result of a panicked and trapped mercenary spraying wildly upon their disturbance. Some rushed to assist and others continued.

By the time each room had been cleared, the charges were placed. "Fire in the hole!" The sapper section leader shrieked, and all the troops ducked into the recently cleared rooms or stuck to the walls of the corridor. Either way, two explosions raged not seconds between eachother, and both doors collapsed inwards as the mechanism was twisted and bent horribly.

The sections were wrangled by their respective leaders and pushed forwards at the command of the Lieutenant, and Trad hissed into his communications device. "Initial breach has been successful. We're clearing out bunkhouses and moving sternwards as of current. However, we've encountered dropped blast doors. We've expended two of our eight blasting charges and no doubt we will need more before long." The acknowledgement of the Company Sergeant satiated his concern and he continued his march as the Second Platoon moved ever closer to their objective.
Count me interested.
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