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09-15-2016, 01:08 AM | #1 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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Here is the first chapter of Operation Inner Light. Please keep in mind while reading that this first chapter is sort of from the perspective of Ted Jones, who is a real piece of shit, and doesn't reflect my actual views on much of anything. It's fiction.
OPERATION INNER LIGHT Chapter One: New Dawn for America October 14th, 1984, near Boseman, Montana Ted Jones walked out onto the porch of his ranch house and drew a deep breath. It was only 4:30, and the morning air had a crisp cold to it that he normally found invigorating. Today however, it wasn't the air that was lifting his spirits, because today was the day he'd truly make his mark on history. He'd made a fortune - several fortunes in fact - first in beef, then in shipping, and, most recently, in cable television. All that had failed to provide Ted, now approaching his fifty-fifth year, with the sense that he had accomplished anything of true import with his life. He had realized his current life's mission slowly over the last few years. The unrest of the 1960s had given way to outright insurgency. Terrorists and radicals seemed to operate with impunity and gangs were taking over in the urban areas, all funded by robbery, and more importantly, foreign drugs. Add in all the other weird shit that had been happening recently and it was clear that the American way of life was in jeopardy. He had tried other means. He had sponsored initiatives for inner city children and campaigned for increased funding for police and anti-drug programs. He had gone to congress, invited by his few friends there, honorable men trying to keep their heads above the sea of shit they swam in, and railed that something, anything, must be done. He was briefly optimistic that the current president might have had the balls to take action, he could hardly have been worse than the pantywaist that occupied his office previously, but his hopes had been dashed. He'd worked himself near to death over the years, but he had billions to show for it. He'd been on the cusp of manhood when America had, at long last, crushed that bastard Hitler and brought the japs and krauts to heel. His own father had fought in that conflict as a marine aviator. He'd never served himself, but he'd grown up in the midst of war and always had a love for martial things. His collection of weapons and militaria stretched back to before the revolution. Ted's mother had named him after a cousin of hers, but he had a great affinity for Teddy Roosevelt, perhaps the last real American. When the threat of Spain has loomed over America, Teddy had formed his own volunteer unit and made ready for war. If no one else was going to do anything, Ted Jones would do it himself. It his typical fashion, Ted threw himself into his new work. In the past two years he had assembled and equipped a team of fighting men with witch he would finally strike back at America's enemies. He was very conscious of how this effort might be perceived by the public. He didn't want to be lumped in with any of the groups of armed idiots and Nazi loons the media loved to report on - The Order, Strike First, The Watchdogs. Ted didn't have much use for minorities personally, he couldn't abide any sort of laziness or entitlement, but he recruited a veritable rainbow of skilled men. Blacks, Indians (both kinds) and even a few orientals. There would be no room for the media to question his motives. As Ted looked out from the east, his customary view of the mountains was now obscured, the flat ranch land had sprouted a complex of Quonset huts, dormitories and work shops that was home to his growing force. Eventually, when all was ready, he called a press conference to officially introduce America to its new protectors. He brought the press and politicians out to his compound. His top men stood behind him on the massive stage he had erected, dressed in crisp new camouflage uniforms and armed to the teeth. A row of shiny new armored personnel carriers and armed jeeps behind that, while his sole attack helicopter circled over head. This was the force that would save America from her enemies, both inside and out, this was The Corps! But he had not expected what followed. They had laughed at him. Not at the press conference, but after, in the papers and on the television. Those pussies in Washington and their pinko friends in the media had laughed at him! And those that weren't laughing had called for his arrest. His friends in congress had stayed that particular threat at least, empty though it may have been. That had been four months ago. He'd bided his time, waiting for the opportunity to show what the Corps could do, and it had come. Last week there had been ten overdoses and four murders in Baltimore, all connected to heroin. That heroin had been brought in from the Central American shithole known as Val Verde. The Marxist thugs that controlled the jungle interior had been financing their "revolution" with the sale of drugs for years. The media had made mention of the connection but then shrugged it off. "What can be done?" they'd asked, and then forgotten. But then yesterday those same commie bastards had seized the airport in the port city of San Julio in southern Val Verde. The rebels were holding 30 hostages including twelve "capitalist imperialist Yanquis" and demanding that the Verdean government release all of their political prisoners. And while the President and Congress and the Media wring their hands and debate what to do about a dozen Americans being held in a foreign land, Ted's men and equipment would be setting sail from San Diego by tomorrow morning. The Corps was on the move.
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09-15-2016, 03:55 AM | #2 |
Hisstank.Com General
Join Date: Jun 2008
Location: virginia
Posts: 5,232
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I am very interested to see where this goes.
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09-15-2016, 08:17 AM | #3 |
Cobra Amphibian Trainer
Join Date: Oct 2010
Location: Ventura
Posts: 2,580
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Can Gills be in this? He's my favorite member of The Corps!
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My Feedback thread: http://www.hisstank.com/forum/buy-se...ck-thread.html |
09-15-2016, 12:25 PM | #4 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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I'm mostly using vintage characters, so if I need a frogman, it will probably be Shark.
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09-15-2016, 02:24 PM | #5 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: baldwinsville new york
Posts: 1,772
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Very interesting
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09-15-2016, 06:33 PM | #6 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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Chapter Two: Arrival
October 17, 1984, San Julio, Val Verde "Tracker" Tom Cody was exhausted. Three hours from Bozeman to Los Angeles. Seven hours from LA to Panama City. Then most of a day on a fishing boat up the pacific coast to San Julio. He couldn't sleep on the plane and the motion of the little fishing boat had left him surprisingly nauseous. Tom had never been to Val Verde. In fact he'd never been much anywhere out of Montana. Canada didn't count, he'd been kicked out of the Army before he got to go anywhere interesting, and his three years in California had been mostly inside a federal lock up. He considered himself pretty tough. His dad had split when he was eight and he'd taken care of himself, his Ma, and his sisters as well as he could. He'd taught himself to hunt and fish, and by the time he was sixteen he was earning a living hiring himself out a guide to hunters. The army was a cake walk in comparison. His post Army career as a criminal had toughened him up even more before an armed robbery had landed him in prison. But he was bone weary right now, and he figured it was still a ten mile walk from where the boat had dropped him and his three team mates to San Julio proper, where there first order of business was to procure a car. Then somewhere to hole up until the three days until they were needed. Then, maybe some sleep. A few hours later, Tom was crouched in a wooded area just outside of the city. It was his duty, his and Johns, that is, to guard the gear, while Sarge and Shark went to purchase a vehicle, since neither of them spoke Spanish. He glanced over at John Eagle. He thought it would be nice to have another 'Skin on this mission, but John was fairly distant. The dude was a tough motherfucker, no joke, having been in the army special forces before joining the Corps, but he played the stoic Indian role a little too well. They were close to the road, but out of sight, and soon enough a rusty white van pulled up. Tom tensed up a little bit until he saw it was Sarge behind the wheel. "C'mon you two, let's get this shit loaded. Shark's getting us hooked up with a room. If we're lucky, we might be able to grab some sleep and some chow before we start working." Sarge said. He was some sort of Latino, big, over 6 feet and with a full beard. The men loaded the pile of packs and duffles into the back of the van and hopped in. The van headed onto the road. The Avenida Bolivar was the main highway in this area and ran up the coast into the city of San Julio. It sprouted another highway, the Avenida Asuncion, east at a 50 degree angle, right at the Puerta de Bolivar, the city's main harbor. Tucked into the point of this open ended triangle was San Julio international airport, southern Val Verde's only major airport, and current headquarters of the local branch of the Verdean Worker's Front. "That's the port over there." said Sarge, nodding to left almost imperceptibly as he eased the van right onto Avenida Ascuncion. The airport needed no such indication. A chain link fence ran the length of the left hand side of the highway,and on the other side of it was a hundred yard wide strip of grass, then the runway and then the terminal beyond. The terminal building was of a modern design, having only been built about twelve years ago, with a huge glassed in front. "The Airport is still technically open, but I don't think any carriers are willing to fly out of there now. The Cubans made a big deal of sending a planeload of medical supplies in yesterday, but that's supposedly been the only air traffic since the rebels seized it." "So, what, we can just walk right in and check the place out then?" Tom said. " Nah, I wouldn't try it." Sarge replied, nodding slightly again, this time to the main gate coming up on the left just now." The gate had a makeshift roadblock set up, manned by rebel guerrillas with a few jeeps and civilian pickups. "Looks like light vehicles only, at least at the gate." John Eagle assessed. "Mostly G-3s and AKs. I don't see anything mounted that's heavier than a .30 cal." Tom, however, was now looking out the right side of the van. "Hey, man, that looks like some sort of mall or something." A huge shopping center, evidence of San Julio's more prosperous past, stood on the other side of the highway, directly across from the terminal building. "That's a few stories higher than the airport building. If we could get somebody up there with that big camera lens, with all those windows on the airport we oughta be able to scope out that whole place, maybe figure out exactly where their keeping those hostages." Tom continued. "I think that's a good idea." Sarge agreed, turning left off the highway and onto a city street. The streets were busy with vehicle and foot traffic. This was apparently a commercial district, the low white washed buildings seemed to house mostly shops and cafes under their tile roofs. The van's speed slowed as San Julio's streets filled with people conducting their morning business. They continued a few more blocks until Sarge saw Shark standing on the corner waiting. He maneuvered the van to the shoulder and Shark hopped in. Shark was Latin as well, but shorter than the rest, dark complected, and with thick, black hair. "I got us a room at a little boarding house. Two blocks up and to the right. Land lady's happy to have us, business is shit right now. I told her we were on business down south and we were supposed to catch a flight here tonight, but obviously we are stuck until our company figures out how to get us home. Right up here, man." Shark gestured to indicate the building. "Doesn't seem to be a lot of rebel activity in this area, its mostly business as usual." The van parked on the street opposite the boarding house and the men began unloading their gear, all civilian backpacks and duffel bags, and bringing them up to the second floor room. Sarge dropped his bag on the floor of the room and sat on one of the rooms two bed. "Secure your shit and get some rest. We've got four hours of rack time until we go to work."
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11-14-2016, 04:13 PM | #7 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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Chapter Three: Recon
Tom awoke with a start. Some idiot on the street was laying on his car horn while screaming serious invective, obvious even through the language barrier. The next thing he was aware of was the humidity. He was drenched in sweat. Had he ever been this hot? He stood up and pulled his jeans on and slipped into his sneakers. The horn had stopped but the yelling continued. He went out into the common area to find the rest of his teammates eating and fiddling with gear. "Morning, sweetheart." Sarge said, pushing a foil takeout tray of food into his hands. "Or should I say 'Good afternoon'? It's just past one; I let you sleep in." The food was good, if somewhat strange. Tom had expected something close to Mexican food, but this was nothing like that. The tray held some sort of chicken stew and two things that looked like half inch thick tortillas that were made out of cornbread. He decided he liked it. He washed it down with a bottle of beer, Cerveza Bolivar, and from what he could gather from the label, a product from right here in San Julio. The beer was less to his taste than the food, but it was still beer. "Glad you like the food, man. I passed a McDonalds on the way to get this but I guess the rebels burned it down last week. The rubble is still smoking." Sarge chuckled. "So here's the plan: me and Shark are gonna go check out this mall and see about roof access, then we are going to drive the perimeter of the airport and the harbour and take some photos. You guys are gonna sit tight here, double and triple check the equipment and wait for any radio traffic." Tom worked on his food, mopping up what remained of the stew with the tortillas, while he studied his team mates. It occurred to him, that despite his lack of formal experience, he was probably the only person on his team who had ever killed anybody. Sarge was an ex-marine, and though he'd been in the service at the tail end of 'Nam, he'd been stationed stateside. Shark and John were both former special forces, but they were just kids, he didn't think they'd seen any real combat. Tom had killed, however, five times. He wondered sometimes if was supposed to have affected him in some way, but he could honestly say he felt nothing. They had all been, in some way, simple obstacles that had needed to be eliminated. The first two had been small time dealers that had thought they could rip him off for a couple pounds of weed he'd brought down from Canada. The next had been an old man who wasn't supposed to have been at home when Tom was cleaning out his trailer. The next had been some dumb bitch in an gas station who though she'd be a hero when he was robbing the place. The last had been a Montana state trooper who'd pulled him over trying to get away from that gas station. Some poor sap was doing hard time for those two right now... The cops had no leads and just scooped up the first ex-con with an armed robbery rap and put it all on him. That one had caused him to light out for Cali that night, however, which is where his luck had run out. Sticking up a 7-11 was supposed to have gotten him the cash to set him self up near Chico, but had landed him in state prison when a couple of off duty deputies had walked in while he was sticking his 12 gauge up the cashier's nose. He didn't think he'd have any problem killing anybody who needed killing here. They'd all being doing their best to do the same to him. He'd hooked up with Jones and the Corps because he'd needed a gig and Jones was paying. He suspected that Jones desperately wanted to stand out from all the other racist pricks with militias in Montana, and had taken him and a few of the others on the team a token minorities. Whatever. This was his first steady paycheck. And the pay was real good. The rest of the afternoon had been uneventful to the point of boredom. They'd checked and rechecked the radio equipment and then checked it again. John was being his usual non-talkative self. Sarge and Shark returned around six in the evening, both seemingly in good spirit. "Man, this is gonna be even easier that we thought." Shark said. "We got up on the roof of that mall with the big telephoto lens. The front of the terminal building is all windows, you can see everything that's going on in there, so we know exactly where the hostages are gonna be at!" "There's blankets and a shit ton of food wrappers all around them, so it doesn't look like they're moving them to sleep." Sarge added, reaching into one of the bags and bringing out floor plans of the terminal. Sarge studied the plans for a few seconds. "Yes! I was right, and there's roof access right in the room where they're being held. We can just drop a few guys right in there and hold it until we're clear to move! This is gonna be a piece of cake!" Tom looked over the plans and decided that this just might work after all. Sarge reached into the paper sack he had brought in and produced four more tin take out trays. "All right, boys, now we're just waiting for everybody else to arrive. Let's check over that gear one more time..." The blast of the ship's horn jolted Esteban from his sleep. Had he been asleep? He shook his head groggily and checked his watch. Just past one am and, if this was the Montana Sunset, right on time. It wasn't unusual for a ship to arrive this late, but the Sunset was one of the few ships that had docked at the Puerte de Bolivar since San Julio had been in rebel hands. And he was glad it had. With the near complete evaporation of port traffic, Esteban had been afraid the owners would lay off him and the rest of the port workers. Then the rebels had showed up and declared that, ships or not, the port would stay open and the dock workers would continue to be paid their usual wage until traffic picked back up, and he'd spent the last few days trying to make sure nobody hurt them selves or broke anything in the antics that the bored men had been filling their idle time with. The owners of the Sunset had wired the port fees in advance. She was a US flag ship, Esteban noted, and though the US had yet to level any sort of sanctions on the rebel held area of Val Verde, he was surprised. It had to be the Colombians, then. The cartels did business with the government and the rebels both. Nothing unusual after all. Once he saw the the ship had moored without incident and the crew had radioed up that they wouldn't be loading anything until morning Esteban leaned back in his chair and went back to sleep.
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Needs : AOCI Lamprey Vests, (or similar), ROC Flash helmets, ROC Shipwreck flippers, 25th Dusty Torsos (or similar), BBTS Bull (Taurus) head, Snake Eyes V.52 forearms. Last edited by DerStahlhelm; 11-14-2016 at 11:21 PM.. |
11-14-2016, 06:55 PM | #8 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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Chapter Four: First Blood
The guard at the port gate waved the van through when Sarge told him they there for the Montana Sunset. Once they'd maneuvered up to the ship's berth the Tom and the three men got out. Ted Jones was waiting for them at the bottom of the gang plank, dressed, as usual, in his vintage leather flight jacket and fedora. This time, however, he also sported a black leather gun belt with a ivory handled .357 and was cradling a pistol grip Mossberg 12 gauge in his arms. Rumour had it that the .357 had belonged to Patton, and shit, Tom thought, if anybody could afford to own one of Patton's pieces, it was Jones. "Welcome, gentlemen!" Jones called to them "Won't you come aboard?" Sarge had briefed the men aboard the ship on their findings in town, and Tom had changed into a set of black BDUs and been given his weapons and gear for the op. Tom and John Eagle were assigned to the rooftop entry team along with Hiro and Han. Tom checked the action on his silenced Uzi and idly wondered if maybe Jones was assigning all the shit jobs to the non white team members. If shit went wrong there'd be little chance for his team to get out. Sarge and Shark had been joined by Tony Tanner to form the decoy team. The seven men and their gear loaded in to the van and made a left out of the gate onto the Avenida Bolivar. Tony hadn't shut up since they'd gotten in, and in the five minutes they'd been rolling had told a story about some guy he'd killed with a knife in 'Nam, a really dirty joke, and an even dirtier story about some chick he knew back in Colorado. As far as Tom was concerned Tanner was both a suck up and a sadistic asshole, and although he definitely had some skills he couldn't wait to be out of this van and away from him. "... And that's why they call that move the 'Dirty Tony'!" Tanner guffawed. He then spit a stream of tobacco juice onto the floor of the van and made a show of smoothing out his handlebar moustache. Tom caught John's subtle eye roll as Sarge called back from the driver's seat "What the hell, man! On the carpet?" "This ain't your low rider, ese! You worried about the trade in value or something?" Tony shot back. His mouth was wide in a toothy grin, but Tom noticed his eyes were like cold steel. Jesus. Get me away from this guy. The van turned again, right onto the service road that ran behind the airport terminal. They came to a stop a little way from the terminal itself and Tom and his team slipped out of the side door and into the brush on the opposite side of the road. John gave signal to get low and the van rolled off to deposit the decoy team at their location. As soon as the vans tail lights were no longer visible John gave the silent signal to move. They moved in a crouch across the darkened road and into the drainage ditch on the opposite side. Then it was just a matter of crossing 3 yards of grass to the chain link fence that guarded the back side of the terminal. Tom was is excellent shape, as was John, and they cleared the fence with ease, but Tom was in silent awe of how Hiro and Han had made it look as if the fence wasn't even there. The men moved across the pavement, silenced weapons sweeping back and forth in overlapping arcs, searching for unanticipated enemies. They reached the wall of the terminal, shielded from view by a large green transformer box that hummed and buzzed in the otherwise quiet night air. A fire escape hung above their heads, it's retracted ladder out of reach. John gave another silent nod to Hiro, who slung his Uzi and stood. Tom was amazed, again, as Hiro effortlessly and silently seemed to bounce from the wall, to the top of the transformer, to the fire escape. He hung by his legs, upside down, and slowly and silently lowered the ladder down into the reach of his waiting team mates. Once they had reached the rooftop, the group fanned out. Their daytime recon hadn't spotted any rooftop sentries, but they would need to make sure. A scratch of the pebbles that lined the terminals roof to Tom's left announced the presence of one such sentry. The guard stepped out from around a large air conditioning unit, rifle slung around his neck, and attempting to light a cigarette. As Tom began to raise his Uzi a black blur crossed his field of vision. It was Hiro again. The sentry's face barely had time to register surprise before a silver arc flashed out from Hiro's arm and his head fell from his shoulders, a red fountain spraying from the severed neck. Hiro's other hand shot out and caught the falling head by its greasy hair. There was another blur that turned out to be Han, who had caught the rebel's body mid-fall and was slowly lowering it to the ground. Holy shit! Tom was starting to feel better about being on this team after all. They quietly moved to the roof hatch that would drop them into the banquet room that was housing the hostages. John checked the hatch for booby traps, and finding nothing, told the men to assume their positions. All that was left now was to wait for the signal.
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Needs : AOCI Lamprey Vests, (or similar), ROC Flash helmets, ROC Shipwreck flippers, 25th Dusty Torsos (or similar), BBTS Bull (Taurus) head, Snake Eyes V.52 forearms. Last edited by DerStahlhelm; 11-14-2016 at 11:21 PM.. |
11-14-2016, 11:22 PM | #9 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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Chapter Five: Lima India Utah
Crash! Again Esteban was startled from his sleep. If those idiots on the night crew were messing around with the empty containers again... He looked down from the office window towards the source of the sound. Two bright lights shined from the deck of the Montana Sunset. A large ramp had been dropped from the side of the ship, accompanied by the rumbling sound of a large engine. Were they offloading a truck? What time was it? Container ships didn't usually have ramps like that. Things were not making sense. He squinted down into the glare of the trucks headlights. That wasn't a truck, that was... Esteban spun his chair around towards the phone. The city police had all fled when the rebels had taken over, but there had to be somebody down there to... He found himself looking down the barrel of a submachine gun. The man holding it sat on the desk next to the phone. He wore a wide brim hat, turned up on one side and smiled from under his moustache. "I wouldn't try it, mate" Sarge's decoy team sat in a grassy area directly across the Avenida AsunciĆ³n from the airport's main gate. It was far wetter than he had anticipated, muddy and entirely unpleasant. He had also neglected to bring and bug repellent, he realized with regret, and the mosquitos were thick. They were about 300 yards from the gate and 200 yards from the hole they had cut in the fence of the mall parking lot. The van sat there. He fidgeted with the top cover on his M-60 machine gun, and glanced over at Tony, laying prone with his M-67 recoilless rifle a few yards to his right. Shark was a few yards past Tony with his own M-60. Tony was checking his radio. Sarge had one as well, and the signal they were waiting for would tell Tony to open fire with his recoilless. Sarge checked his watch again, lamenting that his pants were soaked through. Any minute now... The driver of the tanker truck was a little nervous. His boss had sent him down to the airport in the middle of the night to collect a tank full of jet fuel. The gas was paid for and delivered the same day the rebels had seized the airport, but the tanker had never been emptied. Boss had figured he could go get the tanker, since the airport was still technically open, and resell the fuel down the coast in Villa Cortez. He'd double his profits, and the airline would write off the initial shipment as stolen by the rebels. The driver had gone down to the airport at two in the morning in hopes that whoever was running the show for the rebels would be asleep and fewer questions would be asked. He pulled his truck up to the gate and was stopped by a gesture from one of the guards. A rebel in a former national police jeep lazily trained the vehicle's machine gun in his direction. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Sarge noticed a pair of headlights approaching the gate. It looked like a small tanker truck was attempting to leave the airport. He was too far to make anything out, but the still night air carried the tone of the guard's words and he didn't sound happy. Suddenly a voice came over his radio: "Lima India Utah, Lima India Utah, Lima India Utah" He thought he heard a giggle from Tony's direction and his thought turned to the tanker. Tanner was supposed to use his recoilless to light up the jeep nearest the gatehouse, he wasn't stupid enough to... "Tanner!" Sarge hissed as Tony came to his knee and aimed his weapon. "Don't..." WHUMP! The M67 fired with a gout of flame from its rear exhaust, the M371a1 HEAT round flying down range towards its intended target. A split second later the round's standoff probe made contact with the metal skin of the fuel tank on the back of the truck. This detonated the round far enough away from its target that the inverted cone of explosive material and it's matching copper sleeve had the nanosecond necessary to focus into a jet of impossibly hot molten metal. The jet burned through the fuel tank instantaneously, igniting the fuel inside. BOOM! Sarge's world seemed to come to an end as a wave of intense heat washed over him. He'd had the split second of clarity to stick his face in the mud, saving his beard and eyebrows from being singed in the same way his arm hair was being right now. He lifted his head just in time to see a truck axel cart wheeling through the air to land about a foot from him with a spray of grass and mud. The airport's gate house, the rebel jeeps, and the rebels themselves had simply ceased to be, costumed in the giant pillar of flame that rose hundreds of feet into the air in front of him. That goddamn idiot, sarge thought, realizing how close that axel had come to taking him out permanently. There was little time to dwell on it, however, as he heard Shark's M60 open up. Sarge followed suit, opening fire in the general direction what had been the gatehouse. The ammo in both their belts had been randomly peppered with tracer rounds, making the volume of fire the two gunners produced appear to be that much greater as tracers ricocheted off into the night in glowing arcs.
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11-14-2016, 11:23 PM | #10 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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Is anyone actually reading this? Let me know, I don't want to waste my time posting more chapters if nobody is.
Thanks!
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