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11-19-2016, 10:50 AM | #21 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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Not at all. In fact I don't think I owned any Corps stuff until I bought some vehicles to use for Star Wars customs in the '90s. I am basically just looking at the figures with the idea that these are supposed to be mostly unsavory characters and making it up from there, dropping in some bits from other sources.This version of the Corps is a sort of militia, and Montana is the stereotypical setting for that sort of thing. I needed someone to bankroll this operation, so I made Jones into a Hard Right Ted Turner type billionaire. I borrowed bits of a character from Tom Clancy's "Sum of All Fears" for Tracker Tom. I created detailed backstories for Large Sarge and Shark as well as details of what was in that mall and what happened in there once the rebels took over, that stuff will never make it into the story, but that sort of world building helps me write.
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11-20-2016, 12:48 AM | #22 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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Chapter Seven: On the Circuit
October 20th, 1984, Below Ft. Wadsworth, Staten Island, NY General Clayton Abernathy, code name: Hawk, watched the television with increasing consternation. The hostage rescue in Val Verde had been the biggest news item of the last twenty four hours, with all the major networks replaying clips of the press conference Ted Jones had called when his ship had pulled into Panama City. It really was a brilliant PR move on Jones' part, Hawk thought, even the President had said good things about the operation. Of course he had, you couldn't have the President saying that maybe those hostages could have stayed in captivity a little longer while he made up his mind what to do, could you? "And this is some of the more level headed coverage, sir" Lt. Shana O'hara said, "GNN is practically calling for him to be canonized. Of, course, he does own that network..." "What about the papers?" Hawk asked. "About what you'd expect, sir. The Times is reserved, the Post seems to support him, at least on this one operation, the Bugle as well, with the usual level of hyperbole. No one in the press seems to have any hard data on his organization, though. If you remember, they pretty much laughed him off last summer. He'll have media lined up for at least the rest of the week, no doubt." The lieutenant's code name was Scarlett, fitting for both her surname and her fiery mane. Her initial inclusion on the team had been a concession with Langley, they wanted an in on the team, and he needed access to their resources. As it turned out, she was a brilliant intelligence analyst and fought like a cornered wolverine in the field; Hawk could scarcely recall why he had objected to having a woman on the team. Scarlett continued "I sent the tapes from yesterday and the ones from June over to Quantico. Hopefully someone over there can at least ID some of his team." NBC was again playing what seemed to be everyone's favorite sound byte from the press conference. "...Corps will defend America from all enemies, foreign AND domestic...." Maybe he was imagining the emphasis there. Then again, maybe he wasn't. "Keep on this O'hara. I doubt this is the last we'll hear from Ted Jones." October 24th, 1984, Jones Broadcasting Group building, New York City Ted Jones rarely came to these offices anymore, this was probably the first time he had set foot in the building this year. He was exhausted, but not even exhaustion could dampen his anger right now. He had been doing interview for the last four days straight, and the press had, for the most part been cooperative. Some of them had actually seemed in awe of what he had accomplished. For his part he had not taken the opportunity to rub the presses' collective noses in their earlier dismissal and ridicule. Coverage had been largely positive, and he wanted to keep it that way. He knew how this game was played. This however had been an ambush, pure and simple. He took the remote from the drawer of his large oaken desk and tuned the bank of television screens on the far wall to the same station. He had agreed to the interview on 20 Questions thinking that it would be an easy one. Sure, Hector Ramirez was a liberal puke, but he did seem to have a soft spot for audaciousness. Hell, he'd offered Ramirez a spot a GNN years ago, and was disappointed when the reporter had turned it down. After a short intro the interview began to play. The sight of Ramirez' smug face and bushy moustache made his blood boil. Jones had been confused to learn, just moments before taping had begun, that he wasn't the only guest, and that it would be a discussion rather than an interview. His confusion turned to pleasant surprise; he'd been a lifelong admirer, and quite honestly, he thought she had died a few years before. "...just say, I am a huge admirer of your work." "Vell zhen, Mister Jones, I vould suggest you go back and read zem again, because clearly you grasped nothink." She croaked in a thick accent. He saw her quite differently now, a wizened old toad with hideously asymmetrical hair. He held nothing against her, she wasn't long for this world after all, and clearly would never acknowledge any idea that hadn't issued from her and her alone. This would, however hurt him with some of his supporters, for whom her pronouncements were, ironically for someone who claimed to detest religion, gospel." "....previous efforts to influence policy in Vashington mark him as a statist and authoritarian, and as zuch, Mister Jones, one can only rationally interpret your actions to be pure adventurism, like a little boy playing vith tin zoldiers in ze dirt." Jones switched off the screens in disgust. Ramirez, however, Ramirez would pay.
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11-20-2016, 01:33 PM | #23 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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Chapter Eight: Photo Op
November 27th, 1984, Teach's Cay, The Bahamas Dawn was just creeping over the horizon as the three helicopters landed. They had been chartered out of Miami by Jones to ferry the assorted press types the 70 miles out to the Cay. Reporters and video crews and photographers from all the major networks and papers began to disembark on the flat stretch of beach. Five camouflage painted Allouette helicopters sat nearby, tail booms painted with the new Corps insignia, a circle divided into red, white, and blue thirds, the top segment blue and containing a white cross. Jones was on hand to meet the press, of course, again wearing his trademark flight jacket and fedora. "Welcome to Teach's Kay, gentlemen! Let's start the tour." For the next hour, Jones did just that, brining the group around the island to see the extent of the drug smuggling operation based here. They saw the main house, a concerted hotel, with its marble and gold baths and huge pornographic murals, done after the styles of Vallejo and Frazetta. They also saw the huge warehouse filled with cocaine and marijuana, packaged and ready for transport to the US. The group then continued to the dock, where along with the luxuriously appointed yacht, they also saw the small diesel submarine that was moored there, it's hold half filled with its next scheduled drug shipment. The tour concluded at the tennis courts, where the rest of Jones' men were holding the islands residents in once fenced in court. The other court held the compound's armed guards. Now relieved of their weapons, they still wore their uniform: a black leather suit with a studded shoulder pad, and a helmet with a featureless gold faceplate, topped with a black beret. In the first court a small balding man, clad only in a white bathrobe, clutched tightly at the fence, the gold ring bearing fingers of each hand turning white as he grasped at the wire. "Do you realize what you've done?!" The man screamed, red faced. "You're a dead man, Jones!" Jones turned to face the assembled press. "Any questions?" He asked. The crowd of press erupted into a clamor. Jones selected one of the beckoning faces, a small, rumpled looking man with oversized spectacles. "Urich, Daily Bugle. What happens now? You don't exactly have the authority to extradite these people." "Simple, Ben." Jones had memorized the list of reporters he had invited to the island. He had hoped his genial familiarity would held keep the press off guard and on his side. "We're destroying all the drugs, weapons and vehicles. Anything useful to the operation here, really. It all goes." On cue, one of his troopers set off a thermite charge placed on a stack of weapons across the wide, green yard from the assembly. The fountain of flame reduced the collection of arms to slag in seconds. "Then, after we leave, we call into the Bahamanian authorities. Now, I hope that the authorities will find it in themselves to prosecute these cutthroats, but I am a realistic man. This operation was to send a message to the drug pushers of the world: your days of pedaling this poison in America are numbered. That is all."
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11-25-2016, 12:42 AM | #24 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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Chapter Nine: Turn of the Wheel
"This is what I've got so far." Scarlett said, addressing the two other officers in Hawk's darkened office as she adjusted the focus on the slide projector she was operating. "Quantico was able to ID most of the Corps members we have clear pictures of. We have eleven positive IDs and three that are likely, but uncertain. All of them seem to be former military of one sort or another. Of those, quite a few either a criminal background or connections with various right wing extremists." "Anyone on any of our lists?" Captain Hauser, asked. The Captain, code named Duke, was the team's field commander. "No, but several have connections to people that are. Which is why I bring your attention to this man:" Scarlett pressed the button that advanced to the next slide. It projected an image on the screen of a young man with unruly dark hair and moustache. He had a huge, goofy grin stretching from ear to ear, unusual as the picture was clearly a mug shot. "This is Tony Tanner, former Marine corporal. Nam vet, combat engineer, dishonorably discharged in '70 over allegations of sexual impropriety. Feds say he has ties to a number of right wing militia and survivalist groups, including our old friends Strike First. Some highlights from his file are included in the packets I gave you. He's pretty indicative of the sort of guys Jones has attracted." "I've gone over the reports you've given me of their various operations" Hawk said. "Val Verde, Beirut, Malta, Teach's Key. Jones seems to be extremely well informed. Is someone in our government feeding him information?" "I wouldn't discount the possibility, General. He seems to have quite a few friends on the hill. But don't forget that he owns GNN, and that means he basically has access to the worlds largest private intelligence service." December 1st, 1984, the Russell Building, Washington DC The large oak door opened to admit Ted Jones into the office. He was well acquainted with the office's owner, Senator Robin Reinhardt, who was seated in one of the plush leather chairs. A man in a marine corps uniform sat in an identical chair next to him. "Come in, Ted!" Reinhardt called. "Scotch, Ted?" That was Senator York, who was just closing a bottle at the bar on the far side of the room. "Oh, I suppose I will. Neat." Ted replied. He had forgone his leather jacket and gun belt today, and was dressed in a crisp grey suit. The fourth man in the room stood from his seat and extended his hand to Jones. "Ted, allow me to introduce Lt. Colonel Jody Choate. Colonel Choate is a big fan of yours." Reinhardt said as Jones took the mans hand. God, what a grip. It's like a steel vice, Ted thought. The Colonel appeared to be about forty, obviously well built, and handsomely featured enough to be on a recruiting poster, even at that age. "What can I do for you gentlemen?" Ted asked. York handed him his scotch, which despite his request, had two large ice cubes floating in it. "It's more like what we can for you, Ted." The senator smiled. "As you know, we fully support what you've been doing, leading by example, showing the people what could be accomplished if the government would just take off the kid gloves and do what it needs to." Reinhardt said. "And it's not just us, Ted. You've got a lot of new fans up here on the hill. Even the president has to admit you've been getting things done, even if you did embarrass him a bit with Val Verde and Beirut." "Ronnie does like his hostages, doesn't he?" Ted sipped his drink, trying to ignore the ice. "You've got a lot of support right now, and not just here, the press seem to love you. Your handling of the press has been masterful. Well, except for that Ramirez thing. Seems he's got a real hard on for you. If you can keep this up, though, you might be able to get yourself an office down the hall here come the '86 midterms." Reinhardt continued. "Maybe somebody to give George a run for his money in '88. We could use a real man in the White House, Ted" York said as he poured himself another drink. "We want you to continue doing what you've been doing, and we want to help you. Which is why I've asked the colonel to join us today." Reinhardt added. Jones was liking what he was hearing so far. If the people here in Washington were getting his message maybe he did have a shot at the presidency. Then he could really get some things done. "And what can you do for me, Colonel Choate?" Ted asked. The colonel smiled and said "Well, I happen to know that we may have possibly over-ordered for a shipment of weapons that's about to be sent to a friendly nation...." About an hour later the office door opened, and the four men emerged, laughing to themselves. Ted found his assistant sitting on Reinhardt's secretary's desk, leaning over just a few inches from her. He chuckled internally a bit at her disgusted look. "...and I'm just in town until tomorrow, c'mon, sweetie.." "Yes, Tanner, she's very pretty, but we have other business tonight." Jones said in fake admonishment. "You should see Jody's secretary, Ted, she'll stop a man's heart at 20 paces!" York said. He'd had a bit more to drink than necessary for the occasion, Jones thought. "Bambi is probably the best secretary I've ever had!" The colonel said. A small grin came over his face. "Just don't tell Debbi." Jones and Tanner were soon in the car and on their way back to the home Ted owned in Georgetown. Ted was intrigued by the colonel's offer. This Ramirez thing, however, still gnawed at him. "Tony, change of plans." He said. "I'm flying back to the ranch alone. You and Billy will be heading up to New York tonight. I've got a job for you."
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11-25-2016, 02:11 AM | #25 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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Chapter Ten: Silent Night
December 2nd, 1984, the Jones Broadcasting Group building, New York City Even after a week, Jeffrey Martins was still furious "How can he do this, Burt?! Those were supposed to be confidential sources!" He practically screamed at his boss. Burt Silver rubbed his temples in exasperation. "We've been over this, Martins! You don't know he looked at your notes. And even if he did, you're an idiot for leaving them unsecured!" The president of GNN yelled back. This had been going on for a week now. "Unsecured?! They were in a desk drawer in a locked office! That little speech he gave to the reporters on Teach's Cay was damn near verbatim from my notes. I spent weeks getting in with those dirtbags, and only published on the promise on anonymity. No names, no places. What do you suppose is gonna happen to me when they put two and two together? Not to mention, I'm a reporter not a goddamned spy!" "Fine, Jeff. I'll talk to him. Just keep this quiet until I have a chance to fix it, okay?" Burt said. Martins stalked out of the office and slammed the door with enough force that Silver was surprised it was still hanging on the hinges. Once he could no longer hear Jeffrey mumbling his way down the hall he reached for his phone. This was going to be trouble, Silver thought. December 4th, 1984, Queens Center Mall, Queens, NY Hector Ramirez took a second to admire the green sweater the mannequin was wearing. He had left work a little bit earlier than usual today, and rather than go home to his house in New Jersey, he had come into Queens to do a little bit of Christmas shopping. A few people had recognized him tonight, but he had grown up in Queens and the people here generally still treated him like one of their own. His mom still lived in the same little house on 98th in Corona that he had grown up in, back when his unlikely aspiration had simply been to be a lawyer, rather than the impossible dream of being a national news celebrity. Mom had stubbornly refused to move out of their Hispanic neighborhood , or even at least let him buy her a bigger house after he had become famous. He was headed up there as soon as he was done here, but he realized he had something more pressing to attend to first. Tony Tanner and Billy had been tailing Ramirez for the last two days. Right now they sat on a bench in the mall outside of Ohrbach's, watching the asshole shop for sweaters. It may have been the most boring job Tanner had ever had. "There, mate, I think he's headed to the dunny." Billy said. Tony's reply was to loudly slurp the last of his Orange Julius and hook shot the cup into a near by trash can. "Let's do this." The pair navigated through the throng of shoppers, making their way towards the department store's men's room. Once inside, Tony began to wash his hands in one of the three sinks, while Billy stood by the swinging door. Once the old man who had been using the urinal had departed, Tony discreetly checked under the stall doors. Finding only one pair of feet, he turned and nodded silently to Billy, who gently locked the restroom door. Both men pulled down their knit caps into ski masks and unzipped their coats. Having finished his business, Hector unlocked the stall door and stepped out to wash his hands. Standing in his way was a masked man in jeans and a black flight jacket. He made eye contact with the man, who even with the mask was noticeably grinning from ear to ear. Despite the smile, the eyes that met his were cold. Where has he seen this man before? Tony's swing connected his his six cell Maglite directly with Ramirez's nose. It was smashed nearly flat by the impact of the metal flashlight and blood immediately began to pour from both nostrils. He then brought the light into an overhead swing that smashed down onto his left shoulder. Ramirez stumbled to the left from the impact, but Tony followed up with a kick to the stomach that sent him flying back into the stall, Hector's back crashing into the metal stem of the toilet's flushing system. Ramirez sat sprawled on the toilet for a half second before Tony was on top of him. He pressed his Maglite against the reporter's throat. "You'd better stick to reporting about skinheads and crack whores, shithead, because this is the only warning you're gonna get." Tanner hissed, is face a bare inch from his victim's. He shifted his light to his left hand and drew a silenced S&W auto from his jacket and fired two shots into the tile directly next to Ramirez's face. With a small giggle he turned and the two men left then restroom and melted into the mass of holiday shoppers. Hector sat limply on the toilet, blood flowing from his face and onto the tile floor. His thoughts were oddly fixated on the music drifting down from the store's sound system. Sinatra, Silent Night, he thought idly before unconsciousness claimed him.
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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; 11-25-2016 at 09:27 AM.. |
11-25-2016, 02:21 AM | #26 |
W.O.R.M.S. Commander
Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: Back in the US of A! (NoVA)
Posts: 10,649
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Love where this is going so far.
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12-31-2016, 02:10 PM | #27 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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Chapter Eleven: Prime Time
December 4th, 1984, Near Bozeman, Montana Ted Jones almost never watched the late news, but he was tuned into the local ABC affiliate tonight. There were the expected updates on the Bhopal gas leak and the Kuwaiti Air hijacking. Too bad it would nearly impossible to get a team into Tehran, he thought. The look on Ronnie's face if he could pull that one off would be worth whatever he'd have to pay! He diverted his whole attention now as the anchor segued into the next story. "...other breaking news, ABC News journalist Hector Ramirez was found unconscious and badly beaten in a Queens department store this evening, the apparent target of a racist attack..." The segment cut to Ramirez's hospital bed and the reporter giving a groggy account of Nazi skinheads assaulting him. The police were claiming no witnesses to the attack could be found, Jones noted in relief. He'd been very concerned about Tanner's decision to make his move in such a public place. But as soon as one problem had been dealt with, another had arisen. Jeff Martins would pose a more difficult challenge. Ramirez would follow story to the ends of the earth if need be, but self preservation could be counted on with him. He couldn't bask in the glory if he was dead. Jeffrey Martins, on the other hand, was a true blue crusader; a moralist who would sacrifice his life for his integrity. He wouldn't be intimidated. Jones admired him for it. All the admiration in the world wouldn't help Ted if the fact he was using GNN and his reporter's private notes as an intelligence source got out. The network would be sunk, they'd never be granted access or interviews ever again. It would be an ethical embarrassment for him as well, and probably divest the Corps of its hard earned support. Personal feelings aside, Martins would have to be dealt with more permanently. He reached for his phone. Hopefully he could get through to Tony at the hotel before he was too far gone wasting Jones' money drinking and whoring to be of use. December 5th, 1984, Freeport, Long Island Tony Tanner was going to die. Or at least that's how it felt. They'd been sitting in this car for over an hour waiting for Jeffrey Martins to come out of his apartment. Billy had the car's heat turned on full blast the entire time, and had practically screamed when he'd tried to crack the window and let some air in. The dark green '78 Granada sat in the very first spot in the lot of Martin's small four story apartment building. Tanner kept one eye on the buildings entrance and the other on Martins' car, a red VW Rabbit parked on the opposite side of the lot. "Jesus, mate, it's bloody freezing!" Billy exclaimed for what seemed like the fortieth time in the last hour. The weather wasn't pleasant, really, sleet that had left the streets filled with slush, but it was the Australian was getting on Tanner's nerves with his constant bitching. "It's got to be at least a hundred friggan degrees in this car!" Tony relplied. "I'm going to pass out! It's friggan December, what do you want?" Billy opened his mouth to make a reply but Tanner cut him off. "Shh.. Here he comes." Martins emerged from the apartment building. He was small and thin, wearing a green jacket and carrying a soft briefcase. Tony heard Billy put the car in gear as he watched Martins getting into his VW. He backed out of his spot, pulled out of the parking lot, and turned right onto Bayview. The two men followed in their Granada. "Good." Tanner said. "Looks like he's going to take 27 into the city. That's the way we went this morning to get here. There's a little strip of the road that's wooded, right before we get to Rockville. That's where we'll do it." Billy murmured an agreement as he continued to tail Martins. Tony reached down between his legs into the paper grocery bag and pulled out his weapon. The cut down Armsel Striker was a souvenir from the Teach's Cay operation, and looked more like a piece of hardware than a shotgun, with its square receiver and large cylinder drum,Tony thought. It was also a complete piece of shit in his assessment; a clockwork monstrosity that would probably take ten minutes to reload. But it was capable of delivering twelve rounds of 12 gauge 00 buck in a very short amount of time, and that's all he cared about right now. He checked the cylinder's winding key again as the car turned left onto 27. They followed Martins' little VW down the highway. Tanner figured it was about a mile to the spot he'd chosen. As they were just coming to an intersection with a large high school on the left, the Granada suddenly jerked to the right. Billy slammed on the brakes in response and the whole car went into a skid, pivoting around the front right wheel and slamming into the curb. "What the hell are you doing?!" Tony screamed. "I think the bloody tyre blew out!" Tony shoved the Striker back into the grocery bag and got out to inspect the vehicle. A passing driver honked as he passed, eliciting a one finger response from Tanner. The front passenger's tire was definitely done, but there didn't seem to be any other real damage to the car. Tony realized they had come close to hitting another car and thought about the myriad of complications that could arise from having the cops show up. He turned and looked west down 27. They'd never catch up with Martins now... December 5th, 1984, Manhattan, NY Jeffrey Martins was making a stop before work today. ABC's Lincoln Square headquarters weren't far from GNN's own, and he wanted to see an old friend. Martins had seen the news this morning, but he had also known Hector Ramirez long enough to know that as long as his legs worked, he would be in the office today. He didn't always see eye to eye with Ramirez about journalism, but he respected him and knew that he would jump at the chance to run this story. That bastard Jones had his own network and most of the rest of the media eating out of his hand. Ramirez would relish the chance to take him down a peg. Martins opened the door to Ramirez's office and went in. The reporter sat at his desk and looked up at him over a huge nose bandage with two black eyes. His left arm was in a sling. "Jesus, Hec, you look like shit." Ramirez started to laugh but winced with pain instead. "Thanks, Jeff. Did you just come down here to gawk?" "No." Jeff said as he drew a manila envelope from his brief case. "I've got something for you." Jeff had been talking for about ten minutes when he realized that Hector hadn't said a word. "Hec, I'm not boring you, am I? You'll excuse me, but it's a little hard to get a read on you with your face in that state." "He did this to me." Hector said. His voice was flat and even. "What?" Martins asked, not comprehending. "Jones! I lied about the skinheads! He was pissed off about the Rand interview I blindsided him with and sent his goons to do this to me! My face! My goddamn...Shit!!" Ramirez swore with pain as he reflexively tried to raise the arm that hung from his broken clavicle. "I'll take it. But we're going to need more. You're going to be my mole at GNN and we're going to nail that bastard to the wall!" December 5th, 1984, Jones Media Group Building, Manhattan, NY They had been sitting in parking garage of the GNN building for hours. Billy had finally stopped bitching about his pants being wet from changing the tire, but he still had the heat turned all the way up. They were parked between the elevators and Martins' Rabbit a few spots down. Tony was so miserable that he had begun to fantasize about just doing this in the garage as soon as Martins appeared. A quick calculation about the potential witnesses and Manhattan traffic in general had killed those thoughts. He had risked a call from a near by payphone earlier to confirm that his target was even still in the office, so he knew it was just a matter of time. This asshole had to stop working eventually, right? It was quarter to eight before Martins eventually decided to appear. Again they followed his little VW, this time through Manhattan, to the Queens-Midtown tunnel, and then out onto the Long Island Expressway. Then, when they finally turned on to 27 past Jamaica, Tony started to prepare himself. He checked the spring tension on the Striker yet again, he was paranoid about it failing. They passed through Rockville onto the stretch of 27 that Tanner had planned to use. Billy moved to the left lane and stepped on the gas. Jeffrey Martins turned to see why this asshole next to him was riding alongside rather than just passing. A man with a black watch cap and a long mustache sat in the sat in the passenger seat, smiling at him. Martins checked the road ahead for an instant, and turned back to look at the man. Why did he recognize this guy? The man was still smiling, but now he held something black and cylindrical in his hand. What the hell was.... Tony clamped down on the vertical fore grip of his striker and fired twice. The Rabbit's driver's side window disappeared with the first shot. The 00 pellets from the second tore into Martins' neck and face. The car immediately swerved it to the ditch, the rear wheels coming off the ground as the nose dug into the earth with a sickening crushing sound. Billy screeched the Ford to a halt on the shoulder alongside, as Tanner leapt from the car, clearing the few yards between the vehicles at a bound. He jammed the Striker through the gaping window and emptied the remaining ten rounds into Martins' head and chest at point blank range. Once back into the car, Billy tore through the U-turn and raced away westward down 27, back towards the city. December 6th, 1984, near Bozeman, Montana In his regular morning ritual, Ted Jones stood on the porch and sipped his black coffee. Two obstacles cleared in as many days, and now free to start planning his next move, he thought to himself. Ramirez would be quiet, and the only evidence the police might have with Martins was a burned out Granada behind a laundromat on Long Island, if they even managed to connect it to shooting. The air was bitingly cold and the sky was pure and cloudless blue, marred only by a single high altitude jet contrail. Beautiful. Sitting 30,000 feet above, in the rear seat of a modified F-14, Slipstream flipped a switch to turn off the TARPS photo reconnaissance pod. "Mission complete." He said to Ace, the pilot sitting in the fighter's forward position. "Mission Complete, Roger. Heading home."
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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; 01-01-2017 at 09:44 AM.. |
12-31-2016, 08:33 PM | #28 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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Chapter Twelve: The Game
December 6th, 1984, Edgewater, New Jersey This was the first time in years that Hector Ramirez hadn't gone to work. His producer understood of course, he was still recovering from the attack and now the shock of one of his friends being murdered. He had known Jeffrey Martins since the early 70's, when they'd been a junior reporters, Hector at WABC and Jeff with WPIX. But that wasn't why he wasn't going in to work. The speculation in the news at the moment was that Jeff's murder was retaliation for the all reporting he'd done earlier in the year about organized crime in the city. The Maggia had not been pleased, and news of that displeasure had filtered through the journalist community over the past months. Ramirez knew better. This had to be Jones. He was sure of it. Jones had sent the same grinning psychopath that had come for him to kill Jeff. He took another pull from his bottle of scotch. He'd been through half the bottle already, and it was not yet eleven o'clock. He looked over at the wall and and the Peabody Award that hung there. Jeff had been among the few people to encourage him to go after his story about the appalling conditions at that Staten Island sanitarium, and the first to congratulate him when he won. Something snapped in him at that moment. He was going to make Jones pay for this. His friend wouldn't die in vain. He still had the file that Jeff had given him, detailing Jones' use of his notes and sources, and those of at least a half dozen other GNN journalists, as intelligence for his operations. He would find a way to identify the goon that assaulted him. He'd find a away to connect all of this to Jeff and back to Jones. He was reporter, he'd find the thread he needed to pull to unravel this whole damn thing. December 10th, Below Ft. Wadsworth, Staten Island, NY Out of necessity, this briefing had been put off for a couple of days. Hawk had been dealing with the fallout from that debacle down in Florida, as well an incident at the Staten Island Mall. Every domestic incident the team was involved in caused problems for him at the Pentagon, but at least these had not been attributed to the team in the media. Scarlett started off the briefing with the latest intelligence on Ted Jones' Corps. "I'll start out with the analysis of the TARPS imagery." Scarlett began. "I think were going to be glad that got those photos ourself, rather than having tasking another unit or agency." "Why is that?" Hawk asked. "Because I think that someone in the government is supplying Ted Jones with weapons." Scarlett advanced the slide machine, calling out important features of the Jones ranch compound: the main house, the new helipad and hangar facilities, and the dormitories, garages, and workshops that the unit required. She stopped at the next slide. "This is their firing range." The image showed a rat maze of muddy tire tracks, and a row of a half dozen burnt out heavy trucks, separated by a hundred yards of mostly undisturbed snow. "You can see here that these trucks have been hit with some sort of explosives. Note the charred, snowless area surrounding each one. Referenced with the recent weather reports for snowfall, I can say that these trucks were hit no more than two days before these images were taken." She said as she advanced to the next slide. "Here you can see the firing line. See these disturbed areas of snow here and here?" the intelligence officer asked motioning her pointer to the spots on the projection. "This is where antitank rocket launchers were placed. The area just behind that shows where snow has been displaced by the weapon's back blast." Hawk interrupted. "We know they have at least a few old recoilless rifles, and they could have gotten God knows what from overseas. Jones has the funds." Scarlett advanced to the next slide, this time a close up of one of the firing positions. "I took measurements of the depressions in the mud in this area. It corresponds to the tripod footprint of a BGM-71 TOW missile." Scarlett said, advancing the slide yet again. This one the same image, this time with an arial shot of a TOW missile superimposed over it. "As you may know, there is only one source for this particular anti-tank weapon. The United States government." December 11, 1984, Josie's Bar, Manhattan This bar is a real shit hole, Ramirez thought to himself. It had taken him a few days to track this guy down through an intermediary, and he would only agree to meet here. It was fine. He needed someone who worked security at GNN to help him reconstruct Jeff Martins' last few days, and he couldn't go down there and ask himself. His guy showed up a few minutes later. He was probably in his late fifties, and thankfully not in his uniform. "You're him?" The man asked, looking Ramirez over. Apparently satisfied he added, "Yeah, you would be. What can I do for you?" "I need any security camera footage from the fifth." Ramirez said. "Why?" The man asked. "My friend works there. He was murdered. I want to know who did it." The man scratched his chin. "Martins? I knew him. Nice guy.He was the only TV face that ever acknowledged any of the security guys. Even got us all a real nice fruit basket last Christmas. Guess we won't be getting one this year." The man paused to ruminate something for a moment, the continued "I'll lose my job if anybody finds out I gave you those tapes." Hector looked him straight in the eye. He'd been doing this for years and was good at getting people to do what he needed. "This state has a shield law for confidential sources. I can't be compelled to divulge your identity, even in court. This man was my friend. The truth about his death is not being told. He deserves justice." The man looked at him like he was chewing on a particularly tough piece of meat. "Okay, I'll do it."
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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; 01-01-2017 at 09:46 AM.. |
12-31-2016, 08:41 PM | #29 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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There will be actual GI JOE action coming soon, this isn't going to turn into Hector Ramirez vs The Corps, I promise (at least not completly). Also, I wish I hadn't started off naming the chapters.
__________________
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; 12-31-2016 at 09:20 PM.. |
01-01-2017, 09:19 PM | #30 |
Cobra Viper
Join Date: Dec 2010
Location: Italy
Posts: 207
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You can just stop naming right here; I saw plenty of stories on FanFiction which have it this way; they start with one side then switch
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