Alright, I'm afraid I'm going to have to make a few changes to the mechanic systems of the RP. Excel is being a tit, and wont do what I want it to, which means I'm having to sit here for a long time crunching numbers - Not how I envisioned things. My bad, but a lesson learnt for the future.
I'm going to have to remove the following:
Human population, contentment and religious beliefs.
In their place, there will be the following:
1) Random rebellions will crop up within Gorikan provinces. These will be randomly selected by a random number generator, every so often or when I feel you've left your provinces unsupervised for too long. Gorikan factions that IC tolerance, acceptance or inclusion of humans in a positive light will be less likely to get civil strife.
2) Human militia cap and replenishment will be dropped a bit. Originally I planned for the humans not to have an inexhaustible population, but I'm beginning to realise that it's a pointless mechanic because as there is so many of them, you guys would really have to fuck things up to run out.
3) Human religious followings within your provinces will be linked into the random rebellion generator. However, religion will still appear as a heavy theme within the IC.
Sorry about that, but like I say, I thought Excel was capable of doing what I needed, and maybe it is, but making the bloody thing has taken too much time and caused me too much frustration.
Battle mechanics will remain the same, as will soldier recruitment and Gorikan population replenishment. The changes above effect only your human stats.
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The fishes aint biting like they used to.
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No it was laid out crystal clear, I think I just mixed up the information in the PMs and the IC, my bad. I'll chalk it down to Evan not hearing properly, as he was faking a conversation with his dead sister under the watchful eye of the check point guard. I'll have him mentally revisit the conversation, realise he's made a cock up, and have him stay within the bounds of the village.
You can either post seeing a beaten up Ford Mondeo approaching, or just have your guys reach the place and wait around for a bit, and Evan will come to them.
You can either post seeing a beaten up Ford Mondeo approaching, or just have your guys reach the place and wait around for a bit, and Evan will come to them.
Evan will arrive in Faros in my next post. Thought I'd better give you time to recoup after that essay, haha.
"Don't worry sis, I know mama's mad that I had to leave, but people need me," said Evan into the mouth piece of his beaten Nokia 361. He paused momentarily to gleam a wide grin at the AAF soldier. "Well, you tell her she's just going to have to put it in the oven; don't worry, I wont be long." He hung up, chucking the mobile phone lazily onto the vacant passenger seat. "Mothers, eh?" He said to the soldier, following it with another overcompensating grin.
"I bet she's real nice," the soldier said. He was an ugly man, short and stocky with a stupid handlebar moustache. His fatigues were jumbled, and the large mass portruding over his belt told Evan that this guy was another reservist. "She'd have to be, to have a good looking son of a bitch like you."
Evan laughed, masking his deep seated pain with a genuine happiness. "Yes," he chuckled, "she sure was a lovely lady."
"Was?"
SHIT.
Two rounds rocked the technical as Evan discharged his sig saur point blank against the inside of the driver door. The soldier took both rounds to the stomach, and stumbled backwards clutching hopelessly at the bucket of blood pouring from him. His face was a thing of horror and shock, and the freedom fighter enjoyed every bit of it. The soldier's partner, a better turned out fellow, emerged from the guard shack. He took one look at his fallen comrade, eyes wide, and then thumbed to relieve his M16A2 from his shoulder. Evan casually pointed the sig saur above the door, took aim, and fired. The guy's head exploded in the top right, and he spun to the ground with a trail of gore chasing after him.
He slammed the gears into reverse, and spun the technical in a tight 180 degrees turn. Dust flew up from the bald tyres as they struggled to grip, and then he was away in the direction he had come. No one followed; there was no one else present at the check point except the two men he'd killed, which was fortunate. Most of them had a great deal of troops, either stationed at them or nearby. However, with the action over in Stratis, it seemed the AAF had done away with caution in a bid to get as many troops in the battle as it could.
Seagul had said Faros. This meant Evan had driven in the wrong direction and braved death several times for nothing; typical command fuck up. With the check point guards dead, it would only be a matter of time before someone noticed and raised the alarm. Coming back the way he came was not an option. A sign read 'Ifestonia', and so Evan banked hard right, taking the smaller country road by storm. Ifestonia was a small market town of no significance, he doubted the check point there would be manned, and if it was, well, he guessed he'd shoot his way through. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that; his nine lives expired months ago.
Speeding down the road, he spotted two Humvees coming the opposite way. He checked himself in the rear-view mirror; saw the specks of blood dotting his face. No doubt the outside door of the technical bore an even greater testament to his actions. As the lead Humvee waved him down, he pulled to the side, clutching his pistol and expecting death to fall upon him shortly.
Clambering from the Humvee were three AAF professionals. Flak jackets, tactical formation with assault rifles held high. This was about right, Evan figured, he had lived things far too dangerously.
"Out of the car!" Screamed one of the soldiers, thrusting his assault rifle at Evan.
"The check point, the Americans are at the check point you fools!" replied Evan, hoping beyond hope that his bluff would work.
The soldier halted, "they are?"
"Fucking you bet they are, a whole god damned platoon of them. I'm getting the fuck out of here, I suggest you guys do the same!"
They didn't seem to hear him, and already were remounting the Humvee. They accelerated, wheel spinning their way towards an absent enemy. Evan didn't think twice about hesitating, and sped off, pressing the technical to its extremes in his haste. Once they figured he had lied, they'd be back down the road with a whole God damned convoy with assault choppers to match. He didn't want to be around for that, he needed a new ride. As Ifestonia came up in the distance, he made the abrupt decision of bailing from his technical. Reaching underneath the rusted chassis, he fumbled for a clip-release on the fuel tank - found it - and snapped it open. His F2000 fell to the floor, along with three mags, a grenade, his binoculars and a satchel of clothes. He wasn't carrying all of it, but the F2000 was priority. As he clambered back to his feet, a beat up Ford Mondeo was heading towards him from the town. He cocked his weapon, fired in the air three times, and directed the occupants - a young couple - to get the fuck out. They had a screaming baby in the back, and he made sure they got it out of there along with its duffel bag of hygiene supplies.
"Sorry, brother and sister, but Altis needs this car more than you," he apologised as he lowered himself into the driver's seat.
"Fuck you, you FIA scum, you've wrecked this country, you fucking cow boy," came the man's angry retort. "Take the car, I hope it ends up being your fucking casket."
"Obliged friend," laughed Evan, turning the car around and speeding off at a grand 100MPH. This was more like it.
"I bet she's real nice," the soldier said. He was an ugly man, short and stocky with a stupid handlebar moustache. His fatigues were jumbled, and the large mass portruding over his belt told Evan that this guy was another reservist. "She'd have to be, to have a good looking son of a bitch like you."
Evan laughed, masking his deep seated pain with a genuine happiness. "Yes," he chuckled, "she sure was a lovely lady."
"Was?"
SHIT.
Two rounds rocked the technical as Evan discharged his sig saur point blank against the inside of the driver door. The soldier took both rounds to the stomach, and stumbled backwards clutching hopelessly at the bucket of blood pouring from him. His face was a thing of horror and shock, and the freedom fighter enjoyed every bit of it. The soldier's partner, a better turned out fellow, emerged from the guard shack. He took one look at his fallen comrade, eyes wide, and then thumbed to relieve his M16A2 from his shoulder. Evan casually pointed the sig saur above the door, took aim, and fired. The guy's head exploded in the top right, and he spun to the ground with a trail of gore chasing after him.
He slammed the gears into reverse, and spun the technical in a tight 180 degrees turn. Dust flew up from the bald tyres as they struggled to grip, and then he was away in the direction he had come. No one followed; there was no one else present at the check point except the two men he'd killed, which was fortunate. Most of them had a great deal of troops, either stationed at them or nearby. However, with the action over in Stratis, it seemed the AAF had done away with caution in a bid to get as many troops in the battle as it could.
Seagul had said Faros. This meant Evan had driven in the wrong direction and braved death several times for nothing; typical command fuck up. With the check point guards dead, it would only be a matter of time before someone noticed and raised the alarm. Coming back the way he came was not an option. A sign read 'Ifestonia', and so Evan banked hard right, taking the smaller country road by storm. Ifestonia was a small market town of no significance, he doubted the check point there would be manned, and if it was, well, he guessed he'd shoot his way through. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that; his nine lives expired months ago.
Speeding down the road, he spotted two Humvees coming the opposite way. He checked himself in the rear-view mirror; saw the specks of blood dotting his face. No doubt the outside door of the technical bore an even greater testament to his actions. As the lead Humvee waved him down, he pulled to the side, clutching his pistol and expecting death to fall upon him shortly.
Clambering from the Humvee were three AAF professionals. Flak jackets, tactical formation with assault rifles held high. This was about right, Evan figured, he had lived things far too dangerously.
"Out of the car!" Screamed one of the soldiers, thrusting his assault rifle at Evan.
"The check point, the Americans are at the check point you fools!" replied Evan, hoping beyond hope that his bluff would work.
The soldier halted, "they are?"
"Fucking you bet they are, a whole god damned platoon of them. I'm getting the fuck out of here, I suggest you guys do the same!"
They didn't seem to hear him, and already were remounting the Humvee. They accelerated, wheel spinning their way towards an absent enemy. Evan didn't think twice about hesitating, and sped off, pressing the technical to its extremes in his haste. Once they figured he had lied, they'd be back down the road with a whole God damned convoy with assault choppers to match. He didn't want to be around for that, he needed a new ride. As Ifestonia came up in the distance, he made the abrupt decision of bailing from his technical. Reaching underneath the rusted chassis, he fumbled for a clip-release on the fuel tank - found it - and snapped it open. His F2000 fell to the floor, along with three mags, a grenade, his binoculars and a satchel of clothes. He wasn't carrying all of it, but the F2000 was priority. As he clambered back to his feet, a beat up Ford Mondeo was heading towards him from the town. He cocked his weapon, fired in the air three times, and directed the occupants - a young couple - to get the fuck out. They had a screaming baby in the back, and he made sure they got it out of there along with its duffel bag of hygiene supplies.
"Sorry, brother and sister, but Altis needs this car more than you," he apologised as he lowered himself into the driver's seat.
"Fuck you, you FIA scum, you've wrecked this country, you fucking cow boy," came the man's angry retort. "Take the car, I hope it ends up being your fucking casket."
"Obliged friend," laughed Evan, turning the car around and speeding off at a grand 100MPH. This was more like it.
Raptorman said
I'm sick and do not think I can post today. I will post tomorrow I think.
No problem.
Lord Monbodo said
I take it you still have some room?
Yup, but I think you'll have to be the last one. I've got another guy entering. That gives us 6, which I think is a fair number. May increase this once I finish the population/contentment excel sheet I'm working on, which will remove the manual labour from the administrative process.
Post your sheet and await for my acceptance.
Evan depressed the accelerator of his technical gently, edging the rusted hulk away from the AAF check point. He released a deep sigh of relief, thankful to whatever Angels were left to watch over him. The AAF soldiers seemed not to care that he was a male, bruised and cut, and driving a suspicious looking Toyota with a hasty white paint job. They'd searched it, sure, but their efforts were half hearted. After the attack at Abdera, he had at least expected them to have detained him, ran a background check on his fantasy life, taken most of his innocent luggage and then given him a slight beating. Maybe they were just sick of opening a car bonnet to find a nail bomb waiting for them, or maybe they just did not care. Either way, they'd sent him on his way without incident.
It had been two hours since he destroyed the AAF 7th Reserve Company as it made its way from the airfield north of Abdera, and the enemy's activity was notably non-existent. Normally after such a brazen attack on Government forces, the FIA could expect to be forced into hiding for weeks, whilst special forces and gunships scoured the North West mountain regions of Altis for traces of them. Whatever was going down in the south east must have been big, Evan figured, if the AAF were unwilling to respond with their usual tenacity.
Leaving Galati, and being clear of any AAF patrols or check points, Evan floored it. The technical's ancient engine roared to life, and the bald tyres squealed against the tarmac as they struggled to get traction - but eventually they caught up with the speed of the cylinders, and he was away at a fair 50mph. The air smelt clean, molested only by the faint whiff of Imperial Leather that the freedom fighter had used to cleanse himself of battle half an hour ago before he attempted his trip across the country. It was a crafty move, and brave, to take the roads as he was. Orders were orders however, and his cell had been dispatched to Chalkeia. Why? He hadn't been told, but he figured it was part of a larger FIA mobilisation. Even now, seven other members of his cell were making their way there, using various methods of transport. Public buses, if they were running, cars, motorbikes - whatever was available. They had to travel alone though; a group of grizzled men in a disguised technical would rouse the suspicions of even the most unenthusiastic AAF checkpoint guard. Fake identification would only take one so far, after all.
Slamming a badly mistreated Led Zeppelin CD into the player, Evan cranked up the volume and started singing to his heart's content. It was going to be a bit of a drive, wrought with peril, but he'd made the trip a thousand times before. His tattered civilian suit, a briefcase full of nonsense documents to say he worked as a doctor down in Kalachori and some tactically placed sunglasses were all he needed to get past the worst of it. As long as no one at the check point saw it fit to open up the technical's fuel tank and find the hidden compartment where he kept his gear, things would be fine, just fine.
It had been two hours since he destroyed the AAF 7th Reserve Company as it made its way from the airfield north of Abdera, and the enemy's activity was notably non-existent. Normally after such a brazen attack on Government forces, the FIA could expect to be forced into hiding for weeks, whilst special forces and gunships scoured the North West mountain regions of Altis for traces of them. Whatever was going down in the south east must have been big, Evan figured, if the AAF were unwilling to respond with their usual tenacity.
Leaving Galati, and being clear of any AAF patrols or check points, Evan floored it. The technical's ancient engine roared to life, and the bald tyres squealed against the tarmac as they struggled to get traction - but eventually they caught up with the speed of the cylinders, and he was away at a fair 50mph. The air smelt clean, molested only by the faint whiff of Imperial Leather that the freedom fighter had used to cleanse himself of battle half an hour ago before he attempted his trip across the country. It was a crafty move, and brave, to take the roads as he was. Orders were orders however, and his cell had been dispatched to Chalkeia. Why? He hadn't been told, but he figured it was part of a larger FIA mobilisation. Even now, seven other members of his cell were making their way there, using various methods of transport. Public buses, if they were running, cars, motorbikes - whatever was available. They had to travel alone though; a group of grizzled men in a disguised technical would rouse the suspicions of even the most unenthusiastic AAF checkpoint guard. Fake identification would only take one so far, after all.
Slamming a badly mistreated Led Zeppelin CD into the player, Evan cranked up the volume and started singing to his heart's content. It was going to be a bit of a drive, wrought with peril, but he'd made the trip a thousand times before. His tattered civilian suit, a briefcase full of nonsense documents to say he worked as a doctor down in Kalachori and some tactically placed sunglasses were all he needed to get past the worst of it. As long as no one at the check point saw it fit to open up the technical's fuel tank and find the hidden compartment where he kept his gear, things would be fine, just fine.
MILITARY
- - Preparing to attack the Humlon (1 season)
- Annexes Luxombourg.
DIPLOMACY
- - Angered by England’s willingness to accept the questionable credibility of the Normandy strangeness.
MILITARY
- - Seizes Northern Ireland
- Army offensive halted, gathering troops.
DIPLOMACY
- Cardinal John Fletcher defects to the Mayelin, proclaiming them Angels sent from Heaven to assist mankind. He has returned to England, to spread the word.
- King John of England has openly declared Normandy a ‘sacred realm of Our Lord’ and vows not to send troops to reclaim the former English territory.
MILITARY
- - Recalling all forces to Germany.
The Defenders of Germany
Army Status Card
DIPLOMACY
[list[/list]
MILITARY
- - Seized Albania and Macedonia but with heavy losses.
DIPLOMACY
- - No Actions
MILITARY
- - Invades and claims Libya.
DIPLOMACY
- - No Actions
MILITARY
- - No Actions.
DIPLOMACY
- - No Actions
He's in the fray. An introductory post, if you will. I can have him appear wherever he's needed. Maybe the rebels need to launch an offensive, making good of the AAF's troop disposition. I imagine most of the heavy stuff would be dealing with NATO, allowing the FIA to go on a rampage?
I don't much mind, but I'll watch things closely to see where Evan can/should strike next.
I don't much mind, but I'll watch things closely to see where Evan can/should strike next.
Abdera was a sorry sight, but nothing new to Evan Kontos. Half of it had been reduced to rubble and graveyards, the other half had been hastily converted into basic slums to house a population too big for the meagre AAF's ration shipments. Two years ago it had been in the hands of Evan's brothers, the FIA, until the Americans and their NATO allies stepped in to give the butchers of Altis the weapons they needed to complete their genocidal rampage. He stared bitterly at the two burnt out husks of T-80's, long since dead, and quickly rusting into the cracked earth beneath them. They had been part of the FIA's Freedom Brigade in better times, when his brothers-in-arms were still considered a combat effective force.
Now they were terrorists. Hiding in the shadows, throwing grenades into cafes and blowing up market places. Usually these attacks were targeted at off duty AAF soldiers and officers, other times they were just directed at anyone. Whatever it took to grab the headlines. Evan despised such tactics that involved the killing of civlians, but his hands were rich with their blood all the same. It was far too easy for a bullet to fall stray in a busy road, or a for a child to pick up an IED hidden in some shrub. He would stand trial for all of them, and accept his just deserves; this he had promised himself.
The ground beneath him rumbled and animated as the convoy of Unimog Model 406's thundered down the dilapidated roadway that ran through Abdera. Through his binoculars, Evan could see the townspeople quickly hurrying into their depressing hovels; they had learned in the early days of this strife that the AAF, and indeed the FIA were in the business of shooting innocents who gave them disapproving looks. Though efforts had been made by the Cell Commanders to limit FIA's involvement in war crimes, the discipline was not always there to prevent such things. Evan himself had shot two of his fellows for taking liberties with the very people they were trying to save. It was sick situation - the good wanted to hide and obey, the bad wanted to kill and save. Evan fell under the latter, but not by choice. He shuddered as memories of his bloody baptism resurfaced temporarily, before they were put down by his psychological S.W.A.T team.
Two American made Humvees of no specified model followed the trucks. Evan guessed he was facing a total of sixty AAF soldiers, but judging by their last generation equipment, these were the dregs. As the convoy started to leave the town southbound, and head towards the FIA combat team, he flashed a light across the road. He did not believe in the use of radios - too easy to track - always the operations he led were done with total silence. Success demanded it.
The leading Unimogs were picked up by an almighty explosion, and thrown this way and that. Evan gleamed a smile as he watched one smash into the earth, throwing fiery bodies from it's smouldering ruin. Even as he joyed in the anihiliation of two dozen of his foe, the rest of the AAF were responding with practiced discipline; the explosion had failed to cause panic. Damn.
Twenty, then forty AAF soldiers, in their flak jackets and weilding a variety of weapons poured from the remaining Unimogs. The Humvees at the rear separated from the roadway, and scanned for the FIA with their mounted 20mm machineguns. Evan was outnumbered, four to one, but not out gunned. He shouldered his F2000, sighted the nearest soldier some two hundred yards off - gazed into the youthful eyes of a sixteen year old boy - and then pulled the trigger. His bounty jerked backwards, head first, and collapsed on the floor with a bloody mess spreading from the middle of his chest. Another boy I've had to slaughter. St. Peter will have many questions for me, I'm sure.
The AAF focused on the direction of his shot, and just as Evan rolled from his firing position, a hundred rounds crashed into the spot he had been laying. 20mm rounds exploded the rock formations, raining him with stinging fragments, whilst small arms reduced the earth and shrub to a fine powder. The second signal had been given.
The exposed AAF troops, confident they were facing either one man, or a very small team, had resolved to stand and charge Evan's position. Ten or so Soviet-Era and American surplus machineguns opened up from the shrubs, rises, rocks and crevices that dotted the landscape around the besieged convoy. The soldiers were hamburgered; their body parts easily seen flying above the red mist. The Humvees responded, firing sporadically in all directions until a LAW smashed into both of them, blasting them to ruins. Now it was the FIA's time to go on the offensive.
NATO was in trouble, betrayed by the AAF as they had betrayed the FIA those many years ago. Command had seen fit to aid the Americans, and their friends, in hopes that this time around they'd see the FIA as allies, and not terrorists. Evan didn't care, he just wanted to slaughter the AAF. It was his mission;his goal. Downing their machineguns, the FIA geurillas picked up their AKs and F2000s, and charged down onto the road. A bloody melee ensued, and bodies was blasted from just feet away.
Reaching the wreck of the first Unimog, Evan eyed an AAF soldier attempting to put his entrails back into his ruined midsection. Evan was not a monster, he would not let a man suffer so, and blasted the unfortunate man's head into nothingness. A NATO round cracked off the metal work of the Unimog, just inches from Evan, but he did not flinch. He turned with lightning grace, sighted his attacker - a soldier lying beneath one of the burning Humvees - and tapped the trigger three times. The soldier's face and shoulder were hit, and he slumped immediately.
What was left of the AAF force was retreating back into the town; Evan could not allow this. "Kill them, kill them all!" He roared, shouldering his F2000 and firing wildly at the backs of his beaten enemy.
He was soon joined by the remnant of his Cell, and together they put down the last of the AAF threat. The distant sound of helicopters told Evan it was time to pack up and leave - to melt back into the mountains. Sixty plus dead, at the loss of four FIA geurillas, not bad, not bad at all.
Now they were terrorists. Hiding in the shadows, throwing grenades into cafes and blowing up market places. Usually these attacks were targeted at off duty AAF soldiers and officers, other times they were just directed at anyone. Whatever it took to grab the headlines. Evan despised such tactics that involved the killing of civlians, but his hands were rich with their blood all the same. It was far too easy for a bullet to fall stray in a busy road, or a for a child to pick up an IED hidden in some shrub. He would stand trial for all of them, and accept his just deserves; this he had promised himself.
The ground beneath him rumbled and animated as the convoy of Unimog Model 406's thundered down the dilapidated roadway that ran through Abdera. Through his binoculars, Evan could see the townspeople quickly hurrying into their depressing hovels; they had learned in the early days of this strife that the AAF, and indeed the FIA were in the business of shooting innocents who gave them disapproving looks. Though efforts had been made by the Cell Commanders to limit FIA's involvement in war crimes, the discipline was not always there to prevent such things. Evan himself had shot two of his fellows for taking liberties with the very people they were trying to save. It was sick situation - the good wanted to hide and obey, the bad wanted to kill and save. Evan fell under the latter, but not by choice. He shuddered as memories of his bloody baptism resurfaced temporarily, before they were put down by his psychological S.W.A.T team.
Two American made Humvees of no specified model followed the trucks. Evan guessed he was facing a total of sixty AAF soldiers, but judging by their last generation equipment, these were the dregs. As the convoy started to leave the town southbound, and head towards the FIA combat team, he flashed a light across the road. He did not believe in the use of radios - too easy to track - always the operations he led were done with total silence. Success demanded it.
The leading Unimogs were picked up by an almighty explosion, and thrown this way and that. Evan gleamed a smile as he watched one smash into the earth, throwing fiery bodies from it's smouldering ruin. Even as he joyed in the anihiliation of two dozen of his foe, the rest of the AAF were responding with practiced discipline; the explosion had failed to cause panic. Damn.
Twenty, then forty AAF soldiers, in their flak jackets and weilding a variety of weapons poured from the remaining Unimogs. The Humvees at the rear separated from the roadway, and scanned for the FIA with their mounted 20mm machineguns. Evan was outnumbered, four to one, but not out gunned. He shouldered his F2000, sighted the nearest soldier some two hundred yards off - gazed into the youthful eyes of a sixteen year old boy - and then pulled the trigger. His bounty jerked backwards, head first, and collapsed on the floor with a bloody mess spreading from the middle of his chest. Another boy I've had to slaughter. St. Peter will have many questions for me, I'm sure.
The AAF focused on the direction of his shot, and just as Evan rolled from his firing position, a hundred rounds crashed into the spot he had been laying. 20mm rounds exploded the rock formations, raining him with stinging fragments, whilst small arms reduced the earth and shrub to a fine powder. The second signal had been given.
The exposed AAF troops, confident they were facing either one man, or a very small team, had resolved to stand and charge Evan's position. Ten or so Soviet-Era and American surplus machineguns opened up from the shrubs, rises, rocks and crevices that dotted the landscape around the besieged convoy. The soldiers were hamburgered; their body parts easily seen flying above the red mist. The Humvees responded, firing sporadically in all directions until a LAW smashed into both of them, blasting them to ruins. Now it was the FIA's time to go on the offensive.
NATO was in trouble, betrayed by the AAF as they had betrayed the FIA those many years ago. Command had seen fit to aid the Americans, and their friends, in hopes that this time around they'd see the FIA as allies, and not terrorists. Evan didn't care, he just wanted to slaughter the AAF. It was his mission;his goal. Downing their machineguns, the FIA geurillas picked up their AKs and F2000s, and charged down onto the road. A bloody melee ensued, and bodies was blasted from just feet away.
Reaching the wreck of the first Unimog, Evan eyed an AAF soldier attempting to put his entrails back into his ruined midsection. Evan was not a monster, he would not let a man suffer so, and blasted the unfortunate man's head into nothingness. A NATO round cracked off the metal work of the Unimog, just inches from Evan, but he did not flinch. He turned with lightning grace, sighted his attacker - a soldier lying beneath one of the burning Humvees - and tapped the trigger three times. The soldier's face and shoulder were hit, and he slumped immediately.
What was left of the AAF force was retreating back into the town; Evan could not allow this. "Kill them, kill them all!" He roared, shouldering his F2000 and firing wildly at the backs of his beaten enemy.
He was soon joined by the remnant of his Cell, and together they put down the last of the AAF threat. The distant sound of helicopters told Evan it was time to pack up and leave - to melt back into the mountains. Sixty plus dead, at the loss of four FIA geurillas, not bad, not bad at all.
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