|12-11-2009, 02:54 AM||#51|
Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: Back in the US of A! (NoVA)
Dial-Tone is from Oregon
|12-11-2009, 02:55 AM||#52|
FEED ME MORE!
Join Date: Apr 2009
Location: Korugar, Space Sector 1417
thanks for the intel, so I have two characters at least
I <3 LJ, Chari, Phoenix, Sweetness, and the Skittles Queen Lady D
owner of page 9301 of GI Joe, Monkeytown
RIP Dark Songstress, Gyre-Viper, samantha
Queen Charijoe's #1 Fan/champion Rising_Phoenix2's lackey TofuNinja's genin Sole Owner of Tali's Lab Total Forum Game kills:18
|12-11-2009, 04:47 AM||#53|
Join Date: Apr 2009
Awesome work. I love the way you're weaving your ideas and others germinated from the filecards thread seamlessly into some of the pre established joe continuity and making it your own. I love the way you're using armor in a plausible way too. Just blown away every time I read your stuff
|12-11-2009, 09:37 AM||#54|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
I had written a post asking if there had been another arms maker besides Destro in any of the Joe incarnations in the past. But then I got thinking and I knew I was having Trakker in there and I figured it would make sense if he ended up being the designer of the Joes' more "exotic" vehicles.
I'll probably leave out some Joes, the ones I personally don't like, and I'll be adding some of my own creation to help flesh out and fill up the roster.
|12-11-2009, 10:59 AM||#55|
Join Date: Feb 2008
Location: Litchfield, ME
Again, I think you're reading my mind, Troy. I use Trakker as the weapons/tech developer for the team. He comes up with the exotic stuff like the Night Attack Chopper and the MCC. I've read Declassified several times, but I didn't realize it was Sparks that Steeler saved. Guess I'll have to reread it.
|12-11-2009, 01:45 PM||#56|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
I'll have to double check but the feeling I got out of the story was that Steeler had saved Sparks and that's why Sparks requested that Steeler join the Joes, kind of a repayment thing.
I could be wrong, but I like the way it works in my stuff.
|12-11-2009, 08:39 PM||#57|
Join Date: Jun 2009
Location: Hixson, Tn
Troy. I had waited till you got more of this story down to start reading it. I was intrigued. Now I'm looking forward to more of it. Good job so far. Bringing a logical more menacing threat to Cobra. I like the nods to the various footnotes in the Joe mythos. Feels like the new Trek movie. Cant wait to see more.
jim's feedback thread: http://www.hisstank.com/forum/buy-se...ck-thread.html
Jim's trade thread:http://www.hisstank.com/forum/g-i-jo...ding-post.html
|12-11-2009, 08:50 PM||#58|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
Thanks. Was hoping people were picking up on the various nods. Hopefully have the next couple of episodes up. Want one or two tonight.
RoC Haters should like the next episode.
|12-11-2009, 10:10 PM||#59|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
Was that gunfire he heard?
So hard to tell. So groggy. He could barely lift his head. How long had it been?
Blood, could taste blood on his lips. Dried and fresh. They had beat him earlier. How much earlier? Hours? Not that long ago, blood was still fresh. He tried to open his yes, only one did. The other was swollen shut. His head hurt. His shoulders ached. Arms bound behind his back, tied around the chair he sat in. Stripped to his underwear. Had they gotten the pictures? Had to have.
He had failed.
It was gunfire. Getting closer. Repeating, short bursts. Assault rifles. He knew that sound, he’d fired enough of them in his time. Multiple weapons. Different sound, enemy returning fire.
So hard to stay awake. Tired. Hungry. Hurt.
He lifts his head as the door is kick in. Dust lifts off the floor. Smoke from outside wafts into the room. Light from the hallway shining behind a man in the doorway. The man enters. Hard to make out. Green pants, black t-shirt, black beret. Shotgun shells in a carrier on his wrist. Assault rifle on a sling over his shoulder, carrying a shotgun.
“Faireborn,” he hears himself say. A croak. Barely a whisper.
“C’mon Weems,” the man said smiling a lop-sided grin. “We’re going home…”
“Lifeline!,” Flint yells rushing into the room.
The man in front of him, red haired, fair skinned, was in bad shape. It was obvious he’d lost weight, barely fed. He was filthy and bruised. He could barely lift his head and spoke one word before passing out again. He was sitting in a chair, nothing else in the room, arms bound behind him, feet bound with rope that had dug into his ankles. His left eye was swollen shut by bruising. Lips were cracked and bloody.
Flint did a quick scan of the room, left and right, behind the door and up into the ceiling, the flashlight attached to the end of his shotgun shining the darkened cell. No one in there. He rushed over to the man tied to the chair, Wallace Weems, U.S. Special Forces Soldier. He heard noises behind him and turned quickly gun ready as Lifeline and Muskrat entered the room. Beyond them he could see Footloose and Spearhead watching the hallway.
“Out of the way,” Lifeline ordered and went over to check on Weems.
A quick look showed Lifeline that Weems was okay, not great, but not bad. Nothing broken. Didn’t seem to be any internal bleeding that he could tell from here. He’d have to get him to a better and more secure location to know more. The man was malnourished and had been beaten.
“Right,” Lifeline said getting up and gesturing to Muskrat. “Untie him and let’s get him out of here.”
“Safe to move,” Flint asked?
“Hope so,” Lifeline replied. “From what I can tell there’s nothing beyond the bruising and malnourishment but won’t know for sure until can do a better review. Muskrat take his right side, I’ll take the left.”
The two men bent down on either side of Weems and carefully put his arms over their shoulders. Muskrats boonie hat fell off. Flint walked over and picked it up and placed it on Muskrats head.
“Thanks,” Muskrat said. “That hats my good luck charm.”
Flint just smiled and watched as the other two slowly lifted Weems from the chair. He turned and head back out the door. Spearhead was on the right, Footloose on the left.
“Spearhead, point,” Flint said pointing towards the right, the direction they had come from. “Footloose, you and I got drag. Lifeline and Muskrat set the pace. Move out.”
“Yo,” four men said almost in unison.
Moving. Hurts. Bouncing. Hurts.
Shouting. Firing. Screams.
Loud. Shots near.
Open your eyes, the thought goes thru his head, figure it out.
Weems opened his eye, barely, one still swollen shut. He realized he was being carried. Looking to his left, he saw a man with glasses and blondish/brown hair. No helmet. Gun slung over his shoulder.
“Who,” Weems was able to say.
“Flint,” the man with the glasses said. “He’s awake.”
“Right,” a man from slightly behind them said. “Spearhead, breather.”
“Yo,” came the reply from in front of them.
Weems grunted as he was set down. The man in glasses moved to in front of him and took out a light and shined in Weems eyes.
“Ow,” Weems said.
“Hold still Corporal,” the man said. “Look at me. Follow the light.” The man moved the light slowly around. It was hard to follow but Weems tried the best he could.
“How’s the patient,” a voice said. It was familiar. Weems knew it.
He turned his attention to the voice. It was the man that had freed him.
The man smiled, that lop-sided grin that was so distinctive.
“Hey Wally,” Flint said crouching down so Weems wouldn’t need to look up at him. “How ya been?”
“Been better,” Weems said. It was hard to stay awake. “What?”
“Flint, got company coming,” a man said from the way they had come. The rear guard.
Flint stood up and signaled the two men that had been carrying Weems.
“Told ya Wally,” Flint said moving towards the back. “We’re going home. Spearhead, get ‘em out of here. Footloose and I will be right behind you.”
Flint moved out of Weems vision and he helped the other two lift him up. Helping them the best he could, the three of them started off the corridor.
“Wait,” Weems said bringing the group to a stop. “Have to tell him…” He coughed. It was hard to talk.
“What’s the hold up,” Flint said from behind them.
“Pictures,” Weems croaked out. “Need…” Another coughing fit.
“He’s saying something about some pictures Flint,” Muskrat said from Weems right.
Flint caught up to them.
“Stalker, you there,” Flint said into his throat mike.
“Hearing you Flint,” Stalker said into his throat mike as he crouched behind a wall. Shots hit the corner just above his head. He was crouched on one side of a T intersection. On the other side Bayou leaned around the corner and let a burst from his assault rifle. A scream indicated that he had hit someone. “Kind of busy.”
“Weems says they have some pictures he took,” Flint said over the radio.
“If I was a betting man I’d say they were down at the end of this hallway,” Stalker replied. “These guys are pretty determined to stop us getting down it.”
“Too tough? We don’t know what these pictures are of,” Flint said.
“Give us 5,” Stalker started indicating to Bayou to lay some covering fire. “If we haven’t gotten there in 5 we’re leaving.”
“Right,” Came the reply.
“Save us some seats on the Tomahawk,” Stalker said thumbing off the mike.
Stalker leaned around the corner and let loose with his assault rifle.
“You heard the man Bayou. We have 5 minutes to find out what’s inside Door #1.”
Weems was starting to get some strength back. Just moving around,getting feeling back into his limps, was helping a lot. He could see one man ahead, the one they called Spearhead. The two holding him were Lifeline, the medic, and Muskrat. Behind him he could hear shots being fired as Flint and the one called Footloose brought up the rear.
“Lift.. minutes….heavy…” Weems could barely make out. Flint was talking to someone.
He grunted as they came to an abrupt stop. Ahead of them Spearhead had raised his hand, indicating stop. They had come to a blind corner. Putting his back around against the wall, Spearhead quickly look down the hall. He barely pulled his head back in time as shots fired towards him. Pieces of the wall exploded where the bullets hit it.
“Two or three,” he said.
Muskrat and Lifeline gently as possible put Weems against the wall. Lifeline unslung his rifle and took up position, Muskrat went up next to Spearhead. Muskrat held up three fingers and started counting down. When he reached 0 Spearhead leaned out and opened fire, at the same time Muskrat rolled across the hall and barreled into the door opposite knocking it open. Second later Muskrat appeared, crouching behind the door and frame.
“Think I got one,” Spearhead said.
“Right,” Muskrat replied.
Flint came rushing up, flashing Weems the grin as he went by, taking up position near Spearhead.
“What’s the hold up, we got hostiles coming fast.”
“Got hostiles ahead,” Spearhead said doing a quick duck around the corner and firing. He pulled back and Muskrat opened fire across the hall. “Two of ‘em.”
“Great,” Flint said the grin vanishing.
“How much longer,” Bayou asked from his position down the hall and behind Stalker.
“Two minutes,” Stalker replied hiding behind the door and frame.
“Right,” Bayou said moving forward as Stalker laid down covering fire. “Move quicker.”
“All at once,” Flint said crouching down in the middle of the hallway. “On three. Spear, count..”
Spearhead raised three fingers and all tensed as he counted down. At 0 he leaned out and opened fire. Across the hall Muskrat opened fire. Flint rolled from his crouching position to his side in the middle of the T hallway and opened fire. They sustained the burst and then pulled back behind cover . There was no returning fire.
“Flashbang,” Flint ordered.
Spearhead took the grenade off his belt, pulled the pin and threw it down the hall. All three covered their eyes. Weems squinted at the bright light that erupted with a muffled pop a couple of seconds later. He watched as Spearhead and Muskrat ran down the hall weapons ready.
“Clear,” he heard Muskrat say seconds later.
Flint came back and slung his rifle over his shoulder. Somewhere along the way he had lost the shotgun. Lifeline, rifle reslung, got on Weems left and together he and Flint, with limited help from Weems, lifted him up and started off down the hall. Weems heard the drag man rush up behind them.
“Move it or lose it,” Footloose said.
Stalker looked around the room. It had been an office of some kind, but had been ransacked recently. He and Bayou did a quick look around, kicking aside the bodies. Some papers were on the desk, file cabinets and on the floor. No pictures were noticeable.
“Grab as much as you can,” Stalker ordered as he started grabbing papers.
Bayou did the same. Soon they had as much gathered up as they could and were stuffing it into a bag Stalker grabbed off one of the dead men. Bayou stopped and examined the bag. He turned it and showed Stalker some writing on the side. It read Arbco.
“No clue,” Stalker said shrugging. “Let the intel boys figure it out, we have a chopper to catch.”
Weapons ready, the two of them advanced as quick as they could down the hallway.
They stood in front of a door. Spearhead on one side and Muskrat on the other. A loud sound could be heard from the other side. Weems was starting to sag. He was getting weaker, closer to passing out. Flint gave the signal and Muskrat, on the knob side, reached over and threw the door open. Spearhead burst thru pointing his weapon to the left and right and then turned around and pointed it up and over the door.
“Clear,” he said.
Lifeline and Flint moved with Weems outside the door. Now Weems knew what the sound was. Further down the roof of the large building, Weems had never realized it was this big, was a large helicopter. It had double rotors, front and back, and was painted a light brown and darker brown color. The rotor blades were spinning, the sliding hatch in the middle of the helicopter was open. A man stepped out of the hatch with weapon ready and took up covering position.
Fling and Lifeline rushed out onto the roof with Spearhead and Muskrat covering on the sides. The wind from the propellers was buffeting Weems. Too much…
“Where,” he said waking up. Looking around Weems saw that he was on board the helicopter. Lifeline was hooking an IV up to his arm. Around him he saw Muskrat, Footloose and Spearhead sitting down. The man that had gotten out of the helicopter on the roof was in the front, in the co-pilots chair. Weems saw two other men, a black man and a white guy. The white guy had a bandage wrapped around his leg at the thigh. The black man saw Weems looking and nodded.
“He’s awake,” the man said.
Flint came into Weems view.
“Heading home Wally. Told you,” Flint said with that lop-sided grin.
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