"Hey Sarge, I got something!" A grunt from the over the hill called, waving his BRA armored hand towards Sergeant Walker. Shifting the military hat on his own A2 variant of the armor, Walker slew his G36C over his shoulder, and began to jog up the hill through the dead wooded forest, noting the lack of leaves and the massive amount of bare trees around him. "Holy shit..." Walker said, waving his hand in a regroup pattern. "Search the wreckage." Walker said, heading down the hill. Two caravans were completely wrecked, with six mutilated marines and two caravan drivers dead, their armor and weapons, as well as the cargo, missing. "Bloody yellow-bellied rebels fucking up the caravans..." Walker muttered. "They sure must've hit the caravan in force, Sarge." One of marines called out. "Thanks for pointing out the obvious, dipshit." Corporal Cropland called out to the side. "Amen to that." Walker said, and with his hand on his rifle kicked over one of the corpses, ripping off his dog-tags and repeating the process with the others. "Damned rebels left their mark, too." Cropland said. Walker approached the dead brahmin where Cropland was standing. On it's hide was a ripped piece of parchment with the symbol of Red Faction, painted over the double-headed eagle seal of the Crusade. "Red Faction strikes again." Walker said sarcastically. "Let's get a move on. I'm sure the brass back at Annapolis will want to here about this.
It took them several hours to get back to the base. Stopping at the gate, guards let the platoon pass through as they entered the campus courtyard, where various trainees, soldiers, and most importantly Enclave troops ran about. Something about them gave Walker the creeps; he'd fought them up north in N.Y., and he knew they were some scary bad-ass soldiers, although he and his men had won out in the end. Still, there was something unsettling about them. Sure, both sides were purists, but Walker and his men just couldn't shake the feeling they were gonna get shot in the back. Someone popped out of a tent to the side. "Hey Sergeant, the Kap-y-tan wants to talk to you!" The soldier said, his body suited in an A2 suit with his head sticking out. "Cropland, you have the platoon. I'll be back later." Walker said. "Noted, Sarge. Have a nice trip." Cropland said sarcastically. Stepping inside the tent, Walker noted with displeasure the few Enclave soldiers inside. The Captain began with a welcome. "Good morning, gentlemen. Let's get to work, shall we?" The Captain said, laying out an old map of Baltimore and the surrounding area.
John Hale stood back, waiting for these morons to set up their plans. Fucking apes. He was not happy with being put in a supervisory position with them. For God's sake, he was a soldier. Why had he signed on to the Secret Service? Because he thought he'd get a cushy job guarding the Senate Floor in that spiffy Oil Rig Era Power Armor. But noooo. The Senate didn't want their badassest soldier guarding them. They wanted him off in Maryland, watching a clan of monkeys plan an attack on some lot called the Red Faction. The name alone made Hale furious. It evoked Communism. Hale had beaten a Communist dissenter to death in New Mexico. One of the ones Fielding had let go. That was the one killing in that place Hale didn't regret.
"So, ladies, how's the planning going?" Hale sneered. They knew better than to take that too seriously. There were Enclave soldiers all over this base, all better armed and armored than these poor monkeys. And Hale was no slouch either. One of the men shuddered when he looked Hale in the eye. That particular sergeant had been there when a Lieutenant had tried to start something with Hale. Hale had put the irreverant bastard on life support. No one had even dreamt of fucking with the big Enclave soldier since. Hale leaned on the table, listening in and making a mental note of everything that was said at the table. He reached out and shifted the map a little. There were little markers detailing where caravans and patrols had been attacked. They seemed chaotic. No pattern at all. Untill Hale thought of a drawing his daughter had made up. A spiral. With little stars coming out of it. Hale was glad she was a preppy kid. He wasn't sure he could handle a brooding teenager.
"They're moving in a spiral. Coming outwards from one of these . . . four points." Hale said indicating the areas he guessed the Red Faction raids were coming from. All in difficult terrain. Great. A guerilla war in shitty ground. Just what the doctor ordered. Fuck. Hale thought as the Crusade personnel stared incredulously at him, the pattern of the attacks finally dawning on them.
Walker didn't even look away as the giant pointed out the obvious, having stared down Sergeant Peterson. "Thanks for pointing out the obvious, sonny." Walker said, turning towards the Captain, who gave both of them an angry look. "Both of you, shut up. I'm in command here. Walker, I don't give a damn how many engagements and fights you've been in; no back talk. Officer Hale, I needn't remind you that we can read a map. I should also remind you that no matter how deadly you are as some enclave super bad-ass soldier, there are ten times more of us than you, and with guns already out. Insults are not required right now. Save it for later. You can piss off Sergeant Walker out in the field, but right now, we are in the middle of a briefing. Clear?" Captain Orion stated, annoyed. Both Walker and the big-ass Enclave officer grunted in annoyance. Fucking enclave asshole. Walker thought to himself. "Now back to business, gentlemen. As of right now, Mr. President and the Consul can't spare anything major to our little Christmas offensive here. We're gonna fight with what we got. Which is a little less than half a full legion, about 2,500 guys. Now cut that by three fourths, and that's what we've got to fight with. Six-hundred and twenty-five legionnaires, with an added two-hundred enclave G.I.s as auxiliary forces. We've also got an Airborne detachment, should we need them." The Captain said, then turned to point at the map. "Each of your platoons will be assigned a different sector to penetrate, search and destroy. Once initial objectives have been met, we will move against Baltimore and the various RF towns. Report to your company commanders for assignments. Achuna-matata, leathernecks. God speed." The Captain said. He turned towards Walker and Hale. "Sergeant Walker, you will have Officer Hale, as well as several G.I.s. Your headed along with every other platoon in your company for Hagerstown. Cartel activity. Get going." The Captain said. Great. Stuck with the ball of sunshine. Walker thought, exiting the tent.
Hale grumbled as he stepped out of the tent, looking around. His GIs were already geared up and ready to go, but those moron Guardians were still milling around like fucking ants. Fuckin fantastic. I gotta deal with these mongrels and those Crusade fucks who think they're smarter than they are. Pointing out the obvious. If it was that obvious, the last nine attacks could have been avoided. Hale thought to himself. So either the Walker fella was a conceited fuck-up who knew fuck all, or a conceited fuck-up who knew plenty, but was too bull-headed for his own good. Either way, he was not the kind of person Hale enjoyed working with. Hale sighed and walked into his tent to get set up in his BlackOps Armor. He was sick of these military fatigues. He wanted to get back into something that could at least slow a bullet.
Five minutes later, Hale stepped out of his tent, guns cleaned, knives sharpened, backup bag packed and across his back. His helmet was in that bag too, with his Sawed-off City Killer, M72 Gauss Rifle and his rations and ammunition. And that first aid kit. He had gotten used to carrying a first aid kit. His Ka-Bar was sheathed on his chest, and his M1911 was holstered at his hip. He carried his FN FAL in his hands as he moved towards Walker and his squad of apes.
"Well, if we're working together, you answer to me, Sergeant." Hale snapped.
"And you answer to my Captain." Walker responded smugly.
"Wrong, Sergeant." Hale replied, indicating the Major's heraldry on his shoulder. Walker's face dropped. He hated Hale already.
"Bloody fuck! A Major! The last thing I need is an enclave prick with oak leaves and a chip on his shoulder!" Walker said, fitting on his mask and military hat with his A2 suit. "Let's go, sunshine!" Walker said to Hale, then slew his G36C over his shoulder, securing his sidearm at the same time. "Cropland, get the gate guard to deactivate the frag mines in No Man's Land, will ya?" Walker shouted.Cropland nodded, sprinted off to the guard post, slammed the outside of the small checkpoint, and motioned for Walker and the platoon to get going through the forty or so yards of heavily defended positions and barricades. "Well, Mr. Oak Leaves, your in command, yes? I suppose you got some fuckin' orders?" Walker said, annoyed, as they exited No Man's Land and entered the relatively unsafe desert and ruins outside of the Academy in Annapolis.
Airborne Shock Trooper John Stone was laying in a muddy area somewhere. He couldn't figure out exactly where. He couldn't remember. All he seen was bodies of his former comrades, dead or alive. Who knows. His guns were scattered, but he had his Auto Revolver in his hand still. Lucky. As far as he knew, the hole he layed in was a trap. One of his squadmates must have stepped on a mine of some sort. Either way, he couldn't get up, the mud kept him down. MR-.7 wasn't designed to work in the mud unfortunately. He took a grenade off his belt and cooked it. He then threw it into the air to get attention. If anybody was out there, they knew he was here now. (The hole is not that deep, its the mud thats keeping him down)
Shock Troup Alan Smith (il make the page eventualy) of the guardian 1st shock troup regiment was on patrol in no mans land outside the base.He hated working with the crusade who were in his opinion just a bunch of jumped up waster's.Still he had his orders and there were more improtant things to deal with.Like his patrol for example.He made his way towards the next patrol that was headed his way.(Ku and run i hope)
Old, dusty office. Same old same old, yet this one was filled with fucking guns. Boris never really did like the Castill and Weston cartel. One of their merchant Bastards tried to rip him off a few years ago, he cut off his hands and hung him from a tree upside down. Pointing to the floor, like the traitor he was. Their also was the fact that he tried to have his soldiers kill him after seeing his armor and weapons. "So, all you want me and my me to do for you, is make sure the AWA doesn't stick rippers up all of the Red Faction soldiers?"
James O'Brien unslung his FAMAS. Him and his squad had been sitting in a runied building for the past 5 hours. Now, it was time to strike. Bringing his FAMAs, he saw the caravan en-route towards him on a dusty road. Crusade this time. His fellow Red Faction soldiers also sighted in on the Crusade soldiers that were riding shotgun on the Brahimin Carts. There always was a problem with hitting differnt caravans. With the Crusade caravans, you could expect better gear, less ammo. With the AWA, more ammom less gear. Signalling with his hand to fire on his mark James waited. The Caravan was almost in bewtten the two buildings on the oppostie sides of the roads that the Red Faction soldiers were hiding in. Spraying across the entire Caravan, the Crusade soldiers were cut down in less then two mintues. The Red Faction soldiers moved with the speed and effenciey of soldiers who this is routine to, which it is. Grabbing the ammo crates and spare weapons, along with other items of note such as Cigarrettes, Rations and Combat Armour, they quickly killed the Brahimn, strung up the dead bodies and painted a Red Hand on the wagons. Disappering into the Brush, James followed
"A Guerillas life for me..."
He sang. Dropping his old magzine, he brought up a new one and slammed it home. Slinging the weapon across his back, he took a drink of water. The shiity part of Raids is that they have to walk home. Well, at least to there outpost, which was a Pre-War Motel that has been barricdded heavily. Hell, one of the specialists in his Mob even figured out how to get some Sentery turrets up in there. Cracking his back, James put the lid on his bottle and stuffed it in one of his pockets. Settling into stride, he contuied to walk along the old dusty road, not minding the dead bodies and burning caravan only a few hundered yards behind him. For James, this is not a war. No. This, this is a Revoltion.
"Pretty much, Mr. Koslov." Emanuel Castille of the Cartel said, his henchmen behind him, dressed in business suits and armed with Thompson SMGs seized from Crusade equipment-bearing merchants. "Well, more along the lines of guarding Hagerstown, as well as keeping either side from destroying each other prematurely. It's a lucrative market, senor, and we'd like it to stay that way." Emanuel said, smoking a cigar handed to him by his bodyguard. "You'll receive half of your payment now for the contract, and the other half after this petty conflict is over. Have we reached an agreeable consensus, Mr. Koslov?" Emanuel said, quietly puffing out smoke.
"Great, more enclave asshole nit-wits to add to the party. What's it this time?" Walker said, eyeing the approaching figure. "Guardian, 1st Shock Trooper Regiment." Hale said. Walker looked at him. "Only stating the obvious, Sergeant." Hale said, pissing off Walker. Walker quickly turned his attention back to the "Guardian." What a joke. The Airborne were ten times better kick ass soldiers than those guardians of their own bullshit. Cropland spoke up. He was the farthest out of the ruins, near the outskirts of the open wastes. It was raining, and a silent pitter-patter could be heard on everyone's armor. "Sarge, I got a contact! Frag explosion, one klick north!" Cropland said, then turned on his radio. "They hit another caravan just east of the spot, sir! More tangos!" Cropland said, unslinging his Thompson. Cocking his own G36C, Walker gave a hand signal for the platoon to move out. "Cropland, hand me the radio." Walker said, grabbing the small telephone mike. "This 1st Platoon, Sierra Company. We've got reports of an explosion and a caravan raid north of here. Requesting permission to investigate." Walker radioed in. "Copy, 1st Platoon. This is Control. Be quick about it; complete the investigation, than form up with Sierra Company. Control out." The radio crackled off as the rain continued. "Let's go ladies!" Walker shouted, moving into a jog. He looked back towards Hale and the new comer. "Try not to shoot yourself. Remember, the weapon's barrel faces forward, and it fires at the point where your finger curls into an arc." Walker said, causing the troops to grin and laugh inside their helmets.
"One more thing, I need you to supply my men with guns, and ammo. They show up in one week, wearing Rapture Armor. They'll have some basic guns, and then you'll supply them with the weapons. They give them back once they leave. Got it?" Castille put his hand forward, and shook Borises hand. This would be a beutiful hired guns for money friendship. The best friend ship.
Men. Twenty five of them. All dressed up in Crusade BRAs. Under their watch full eye, was a small (but heavily defended) AWA outpost. Three non-soldiers, mostly traders to afraid to leave town. Boris could count thirty armed soldiers, and counting again he confirmed that number. "We attack at night fall, reap some hell comrades." The men behind him slowly crawled back wards, and got into a run twenty feet from their.
(time for Sasuke to play a role)
About 100 feet or so away from the Camp, Sasuke Kagemaru, the Ninja Ghoul had been asigned an important mission, keeping an ear to the ground on the Enclave, Boris told him this could help with his status in the Rapture company but it was most likly drunk talk, either way it is a simple job. Sasuke was in a tree with some old Binoculers, his Recon armor with the Stealth Suit unit was working like a charm but for some reason everytime water hit it, it seemed to faze out but he digressed. "Hmm so thats Hale, another Weapon just like Jacob, hard to believe the Enclave are doing this t otheir own people, and the way they call my people monsters and reds, ha they are the monsters" HE thought, so far he been in the area for 2 days without any sign of them moving out, what were they planning, and if so, had they found him and wanted him alive for somthing?
Hale sighed and followed the Crusade soldiers. In their BRAs. Morons. That'd be like the Irish changing the name of the Local Defence Forces to the Irish Reserve Army (if you don't get it, look at the initials). He raised his FN FAL, scanning the horizon through his modified ACOG scope. No hostiles except around the frag flash. None he could pick out anyway. There was a large smudge at a tree not too far away, but that was probably just the rain. It couldn't be a stealthed soldier. Because no idiot would hide in a tree around Baltimore, because, by and large, they had no leaves. And that tree was no exception. And now they had Guardian Shock Troopers with them too. Like all the real Enclave soldiers, Hale wasn't happy to have those moron half-breeds around. More trigger fingers than brains. Actually, they hadn't a brain to share around in the whole organization. And those "Shock Troupers" were even worse! They thought they were pure humans! Morons! Fucking apes!
"Well, I'm seein gunfire. We gonna try catch a few of those RedFac pricks by the short 'n' curlies, show 'em what real soldiers can do?" Hale said, his long, easy stride carrying him to the front of the group. His GI's followed. The Crusaders likewise. After five minutes at an easy trot, most of the Guardians were huffing and puffing. Good to see my tax money was well spent training these fatboys. Hale thought to himself.
(You know what I have no idea how we know, besides I'm sure Jacob found files on all current Weapons, knowing him he would try to get rid of them as soon as possible)
Sasuke looked at his arm, it was showing and he swore in Japanese, it must have rained and the suit stopped working "God damn it, I have to get out of here before they see me" HE thought and he jumped down, bad move, Hale Saw him and ordr snipers to wound him and not kill him, Hale would deal with this spy later. The shots hit Sasuke in the shoulder and leg ad he fell to the ground and passed out.(HE won't he wil lescape...I hope)
(thanks dude, thanks, on with the show)
Vladimir Sechin sat apart from the other AWA soldiers in camp. They were loud and boistrous after duty. No doubt the liquor was getting to them. Vladimir winced in disgust. A lot of these soldiers seemed like they were happier drinking than holding up the AWA's values and doing work. Vladimir couldn't understand why they would sign on if they didn't have at least some dedication to the cause. It was probably a moot point, however, since they were all good fighters. You'd have to be at an outlying base. Vladimir sat back and waited for the scouts' next reports. Once the AWA High Command had heard that the Crusade was moving in on Baltimore, they started bolstering base defenses and bringing Paragons down. Vladimir knew Knox was around here somewhere. Vladimir didn't really think much about the smaller, quiet man, which suited Knox just fine, in all probability.
John managed his way out of the deep mud. Retrieving his weapons, he couldn't help but notice a group of BRA wearing grunts walking towards them. Shit, he thought, I look like a fucking fool! Nooo! Not infront of lower ranks! Shit Shit Shit!! He had to act fast, there was a small pool of irradiated water near by, and they were just out of range. He'd act as if he tumbled due to an injury. He jumped into the pool and immediately his MR-.7 armor was less mud encrusted, Good. He picked his weapons back up, and ran towards the group.
Marshall Rascón looked at the Red Factiomn camp. It took almost 500 cap's in Bribes just to get here, but, it worked. Noqw, here he was sitting to a Red Faction commander.
"So, Mr. Samuels, this is what i'm offering. Instead of using the shitty weapons you get from Raiding Caravans, which bcosts botrh Time and Lives, you can come to me. I can sell you weapons, automatic weapons, mide you, cheaper then the Westin branch can. Hell, i sell cheaper then the Castille branch! You got a deal?"
The Red Faction commander simply stared at him afrom across his desk, before slowly extending his hand.
"Sure, Rascon. Sure. I'll listen"
"Good. You see this weapon? R-91. You see this weapon? Crusade. Most of what you get here is R-91's. However, i can sell you this weapon, a G36C, for the low price of only 100 Cao's per gun. This comes with both 2 free clips, full of the hard-hitting 5.56 x 45mm NATO rounds, and the knowledge that this gun is one of the finest you will ever use."
Mr. Samuels leaned back in his chair, and Rascon shot a glance towards on of his Bodyguards. Fucking Revolatianres. Thinking they can change the world, or at least there hometown. Well, at least now they will be using his weapons. Marshall snapped back to attention when Samuels talked agian.
"Mr. Rascon, my people have been fighting. We can't provide much, but, we can make a deal."
"I'm listening" said Marshall in a flat, even tone.
" We find some suits of power-armour. We have no-clue how to use them,,. We can give you around half the sets we have now and you will get at least 1 set per Raid on the caravans. You will also gett some cap's, but not much."
Marshall leaned back in his own chair and shaked his head a little, smiling.
"Mr. Samule,sk keep your cap's. I just want to know one thing...i might need some help later down the line. I'll scrath your back here, you'll scrath mine later.
With that, Marshall Rascon, the arms dealer, left the little building and headed out into the main Red Faction camp. Singalling his men to start unloading the Crusade weapons, they moved quickly. He did'mnt want to be caught in a crossfire or a fucking raid that oh so common in this regin.
Nightfall. Time to roll. Checking to make sure that the fifteen soldiers around him all had Crusade Weapons and their BRAs on, Boris started to walk toward the AWA camp. Most of his soldiers scored good marks in the marksmen ship category, with two of them being big gun specialists. Soon, the AWA camp was in eye sight. Ordering his soldiers to go prone, he started crawling towards the camp. Another soldier slowly crawled toward him. With a captured Crusade fatman. "Load the nuke". The man compiled, and aimed at the barracks. "How many in the Barracks?" "Most of the camp sir, about 23 out of the thirty. They're packed in their like flies too, the nuke should take most of em out." Boris raised his hand, and waited. Ten seconds later, the nuke fired. Destroying the barracks, and the rest of the camp was cut down by sniper fire. Four of the shots were fatal, three simply disabled the men. They would survive, and see Crusaders standing over their camp, sacking ammo. Then, in the morning they would be found. One probably still alive. He would squeal, saying everything he knew. And after two attacks just like this, the AWA would have no choice but think that the Crusade were attacking them. A war would start soon.
"I got a live one!" Walker shouted, sliding down the mud pit as the rain continued. A lone Airborne was stuck squirming in the mud, the weight of his armor working against him. Pulling the man to his feet, Walker patted him on the back. "What the hell happened, laddy? You look like you got bogged down by an ambush!" Walker said, smirking at the minor pun. "There were five us." The trooper said, collapsing as he pulled himself up at the edge of the hole. "Bloody RedFac mistook us for a troop movement. Hit us with a whole fucking company!" He spat, taking a water Walker tossed to him. "So your not invincible in that tin-can armor?" Walker said, laughing with his men. "Sergeant, secure that shit before I do it for you. Clear?" The trooper said, still drinking water. Walker snapped a mock salute, and turned to investigate the captive two Guardians had brought in. "What'd you find, fatties?" Walker said, his scottish accent carrying. "Captive, sir." The Guardian said, annoyed with the word. "I don't like your tone, soldier!" Walker said, causing more grins and laughter. "Captive, sir." The Guardian said, his back straight up and his head cocked like a soldier. "I still don't like your tone. You can carry him for the rest of the mission." Walker said, fist-bumping Cropland.
Hale walked among the other four bodies, looking at the injuries. He tracked the machinegun fire, the bullet spray, the blood spatter and the bodie's poses on the ground. Cut down by mass ambush. Which begged the question, how did the Shock Trooper survive? Did he see them first, give a warning and dive for cover? Did he drop and curl up in the mud? Did the soldiers walk straight into an ambush that wasn't meant for them? Hale scratched his chin and head, ignoring the rain for a moment.
"Why are you the only survivor? They're in the same dogshit armor, and they're all dead. And here you are, big as life, stuck in the mud." Hale said, goin on, "What happened? I mean what really happened?"
Hale looked over to the captive the Guardians had brought in. Maybe those moron locals weren't so useless after all. It stank. Ghoul. Soaked Ghoul. Which was even worse. It was the freak from the tree.
"I'll deal with the interrogation when we get back to base camp. You boy scouts can hang onto it till then." Hale said to the Guardians holding the captive. One of them opened his mouth, mutterring something that sounded vaguely like Prick. Hale smiled. Time to give the mongrel bastards a job they actually deserved.
"You, the one without the filter between his mouth and his excuse for a brain. You just earned your unit latrine duty." Hale said, with a mock smile. Then he turned to Walker and continued, "Annapolis could do with a new cesspit, couldn't it?"
( yeah it's me)
"sorry that was me, Prick mother fucker" Sasuke said, he hear how Hale gave his orders, Jacob was the same as him but at least he cared for his allies, this man was even worse scum to him "Good shot to that Sniper who got me, winged my right arm so could you tell the "Boy scout" who is holding my right arm to ease up" Sasuke says, Hale didn't know whether to Laugh at the Cheek or just shoot him where he stands, but information is information and at this point it would be needed to win the battle
"Sounds good to me. I like this man. He's enclave, but I like him." Walker said, fist-bumping Cropland. Bunch of guardian asshole boy-scouts. Guardians of their own fucking assess with their thumbs up their rear ends. Walker turned towards the captured soldier. "Shut up!" Walker said, hitting his head with the butt of his rifle and knocking his mask from his face, revealing the features of a ghoul. "A ghoul!" Walker shouted. Immediately, every single soldier in the platoon spun towards the captive with their guns raised. "In case you didn't notice, Major, we don't like ghouls." Walker growled, his assault rifle pointed at the disgusting smelly ghoul.
"Guess you won't mind me saying" Sasuke says, and he continues with a stament in JApanese that transalated woudl say "You stupid Enclave are a bunch of morons" To bad for him Hale understood the word Baka (Stupid) and hit him over the back of the head, the torutre would not be pretty for Sasuke.
Aaron guestured to the protectors guarding the ghoul."You are relived of your duty boys"he said."Hand over the captive to my squad".There was quick salute from the men and the ghoul was transfered to his squad,"Move along ghoul"He said gesturing to him with his assualt rifle."If your coperative ghoul we might just execute you humanly when the major is finished with you"
"Baka" He mutered but he complied, he might be able to escape, so he was taken to a large tent where all his items were confiscated, except for his photo of his family andf the Trasever, no one will answer unless you said a code word (the word is Mole rat for some reason) "So I can speak english and Japanese so need need for you to bring someone to translate, of course I doubt you have anyone who speaks my people's language due to your Monarchy" Sasuke says
"I don't even know what you said, lumpyskin, but your fate will be no different." Walker said, adding insult to injury with another blow to face. Blood actively dripped and drizzled, and as the Guardians hoisted the ghoul up, Walker and Cropland took turns landing sucker punches in the gut, knocking the air out of the ghoul. "In case you didn't notice,we're not as nice as the Asswipes of the American Wastes or those yellow-bellies." Walker said, smashing the ghoul across the face with his fist. He was going to continue when Cropland shouted something after listening to his radio. "Brass wants Sierra Company to head towards a RedFac town named Octagon (it's named in Red Faction's town list) and burn to prevent the caravan raids for a day or so while we consolidate. 2nd, 3rd, and 4th Platoon are already en route to our position with the good Colonel himself." Cropland said, saying the name Colonel with massive distaste. "Who's the Colonel?" Hale said, asking Walker. "The Colonel, as he is known to the enlisted, is a mohawked man with a ballistic face mask and power armor who carries a fuckin' big ripper. Cliche for a bad ass evil overlord, I know. That's not the thing we don't like though. Everybody before you came out of Annapolis' training center. The Colonel is the fucking DI in charge." Walker said.
"Eh those blows arn't nothing, nowm y master, Chay he can really hurt you, you pawns couldn't take a day of his training let alone 4 years" Sasuke says spitting out some blood. "So what do you want from me, information, codes, locations, I got them all in my head and lets just say I might be willing to let loose some info for the right price" (Lie, Speech Challenge 78% LOL) Sasuke hoped he take the bait, he was already told where to tel lthem to go if an event came up, to tell them to go into a gorge where they could easily be spotted and ambushed, hopefully this guy wasn't as smart as that Hale fellow
Hale shrugged and waved the Crusaders away from the Ghoul. He tossed the Ghoul into a chair and circled him.
"Everyone breaks Ghoul. Have no delusions, everyone breaks. And I speak a fair bit of Japanese, because I like dead languages. I know some Latin too. But back to the point. Everyone breaks. Now, ordinarily, I'd ask you to just give up who you are, who you work for, why they're here. Yes, I assume you're working for someone, because you're too dense to be here on your own. But, I'm gonna spare you that part, because I want to torture you. You ever heard a grown man scream like a baby in the most horrible pain imaginable? I have. I've caused it." Hale said, right in Sasuke's ear.
"I'll never talk, you know." Sasuke said.
"That's for me to decide, Ghoul." Hale said, picking up a hammer from the table in the corner before continuing, "On the basis of whether or not I cut your tongue out."
"Now, this goes in an order of how we become friends in this room." Hale said, hefting the small hammer in his hands. "With this hammer, its like the first meeting. The office party. You're photocopying your ass or something. When I move on to the knives and the pliers, we're getting to know each other, saying hello in the hallways and asking about each other's wives and kids. Then the needles. I'll start to trust you then, take on board what you say. Then, we get to the really fun stuff. Electricity, sparks, heat, cold, drowning and suffocation. Once we get to that, I'll believe anything you say."
Hale stepped forward as he finished, striking Sasuke across the thigh with the hammer, landing it on a pressure point. Sasuke growled with the pain.
"Lets start small. I want your name." Hale said, hitting Sasuke's other thigh. "What? I don't want my new friend to be lopsided, now do I?"
Aaron reloaded his rifle and left the room with the crusaders."so mr crusader whats the plan,We go in on foot or bye air?". He sat down and started reloading his rifle and underslung grenade launcher."So this Colonel whats he like.A profesional assehole right".Aaron grined he had met many assehole commanders in his time but from the crusaders discription this guy was even worse.
"Sasuke Kento Kagemaru, of the Kagemaru clan from the Former Coutny Japan" HE said and Hale grinned, Sasuke would be broken...or would he? "Let me ask you somthing Hale, are you aware of what the Enclave does to theirir people, at least with comunism we work togather as equals, you guys are still a monarchy" Sasuke says
Both Walker and Cropland flanked the doors of the tent as the rain continued. "Did he just says he supports communism?" Cropland said, his hands behind his back as he stood at attention. "Aye, he did." Walker said. That was the worst combination possible! Sure, a ghoul was bad enough, but a communist ghoul? The thought was unbearable. "I got five caps says Hale rips out of his eyes." Cropland said, only his mouth moving as his helmet stayed perfectly still. "Your on, laddy." Walker said, reaching out across the tent door for a handshake with Cropland, taking a moment to leave his standing at attention. "I think he'll rip both eyes out, then smash his fingers. Want to raise the stakes?" Walker said, still at attention flanking the entrance with Cropland. "Seargeant, you have yourself a deal. Ten caps." Cropland said, shaking Walker's hand once again. The pair chuckled for a moment, then returned to duty.
"What we do to our people? If you mean by killing Wastelanders, I think you'll find they aren't citizens of the Enclave, and so aren't our people." Hale said. "And I'm the one asking questions here, Ghoul. Oh, shit, Sasuke, isn't it. My name's John Hale."
Hale slammed the hammer downwards on sasuke's hand. Not hard enough to break bone, but enough to make the Ghoul grunt, growl and then snarl. He wasn't screaming. He was tougher than he looked.
"Hey, zombie, do your nerve-endings still work, or is all that flaky skin really dead?" Hale asked nonchalantly as he grabbed a loose piece of skin on the side of Saskue's head and ripped it free. Sasuke screamed that time.
"As I said Ghoul everyone breaks. And the longer you're here, the easier it'll get to break you. Now I've been stationed here till further notice, so that could be as long as this little war with RedFac goes on. The odds are in my favour, Sasuke. Oh, shit, I forgot. Symmetry. I don't want my new friend to be lopsided" Hale sneered as he grabbed some flappy skin on the other side of Sasuke's head and pulled. Walker and Cropland shuddered at the cry of pain.
(Everyone breaks, Bren. Everyone. Please RP accordingly. He doesn't have to break straight away though. Those bits of skin are only about the size of a coin, I'm not going to strip the flesh from Sasuke's bones or anything.)
(Yeah I know brb, I have to do somthing so after this post see ya)
Sasuke just glared at Hale "You know we "Zombies" Have feelins g to you know, of course you don't have any feelings, Eh Monster? I should be calling you a monster, just created to be a pawn of the Enclave, thats it. You don't scare me, So ask somemore questions, Molerat" Sasuke said, the person o nthe other end of the Line of the Transeiver picked up and before he coudl answer sasuke says " So Hale, Enclave Comander my Capturer what do you have next to ask me" Sasuke prayed they would get the message, and that Hale doesn't decide to check on it.
Allan stept back out of his tent and into the rain.His helmet shielded him from most of it but it was fucking up his H.U.D."Fucking cheapscape enclave tech"He muttered and yanked his helmet off.Standingt at atention outside the majors tent he heard screams.He poked his head round the tents flap to talk to the major.Good gods he thought he had seen madmen befor but the major took the biscuit."Sir i would like to remind you were not here to just interegate ghouls"
"I think he'll chop his legs off too, Sarge." Cropland said, his helmet still staring straight forward as they talked indirectly. "I think it'll be his arms, Corporal. Unless you want to make a bet." Walker said, never straying from his position. "I'll offer you a different one." Cropland said. "A whole month's salary and platoon latrine duty that Hale rips off Sasuke's skin." Cropland said, having overheard the ghoul's name. "Bring it, Cropland. Prepare to lose your booze and brothel money." Walker said, chuckling. Making sure there were no ranking officers observing them besides the guardian who had poked inside, Walker peeked inside the tent, straying from his position. Inside, Hale was busy ripping off small parts of Sasuke's skin. Turning back to his position, Walker mumbled and cursed under his breath. "Well, Sarge?" Cropland said, smiling inside his helmet. "Friggin' fortune teller fuckin' with ma head..." Walker mumbled again, shoveling out the envelope cap payment from the army backpack slung over his shoulder. "Lucky asshole bastard..." Walker said, annoyed. "Until we bet again, Sergeant." Cropland said, looking towards Walker and tipping the hat on top of his rebreather and dancing to a non-existent tune.
"Fuck off, I'm busy." Hale said to Aaron. "Don't you know not to interrupt an artist at work?"
"You know what, I am a monster. But I'm a necessary monster. And I'm not a pawn. I'm a fuckin Rook boy." Hale said to Sasuke with a sick smile. He punched the side of Sasuke's head, blurring his vision, making his ears ring, and more importantly, breaking that transceiver the Ghoul thought he was so cleverly hiding. Hale had been trained to look out for those sort of things in the Secret Service and BlackOps. Aaron recoiled from the tent after that.
"Now, moving along swiftly, you know I work for the Enclave, the Senate, specifically, so who do you work for?" Hale said, bringing the hammer down on Sasuke's other hand. Sasuke growled again, stamping his feet as much as he could. Hale had hogtied him to the chair. So there wasn't much stomping going on.
"Hmmm, still not talking to your new friend then? How rude." Hale said, lighting a cigar. He stood for a good ten minutes, blowing smoke in Sasuke's face, before he'd smoked the cigar down to an appropriate level. Then he stubbed it out on Sasuke's arm. Sasuke roared out in English.
"BASTARD!" The Ghoul howled.
Sasuke was in pain, not only from the burns and flesh loss, but the fact that he was being reduced down to a pathteic ninja, this isn't what he was ment for, so he decided it was time to throw in the towle "Alright HAle, you win, untie me and I will show you on the map here my friends are" (Lie) You can even keep my legs tied and one arm behind my back too, besides I'm sure you are gonna kill me so I my at well end it quickly" Sasuke says softly
"Did you forget? I said earlier that I wanted to torture you." Hale said as he walked to the tentflap, and left the tent for a short time.
"Walker, could you do me a favour and get that map the CO was using earlier?" Hale said. "The Ghoul says he wants to point out where his buddies are on it. So we send a small lot of Guardians in there, and a larger force behind them so when the ambush kicks off, we can land a counter-ambush. Catch these bastards red-handed. So to speak." Hale whispered to Walker. Walker nodded slowly. Without waiting to see if he complied, Hale walked back into the tent. Sasuke was sitting there, pathetically.
"Well, this is just for fun now. So, are we friends yet, or do I have to break out the screwdrivers?" Hale said sunnily.
(Sasuke did not hear Hale talking to Walker)(yeah I know)
"Yes Hale, we are friedns" Sasuke says grimly, little did he know that he was leading this friends into a trap and that Boris would not be happy because Boris is scary when he is sober. Sasuke was then untied then retied so he could point out the "location" he pointed to gorge "The Enemy is over in the gorge, we chose it because it is easy to defend" Sasuke says, hoping this would work
"You forgot what friends implied, Sasuke." Hale sighed. His eyes flashed to life suddenly, his whole face became animated. "Now, this is all strictly for fun."
Hale walked over to the bucket of ice-water in another corner of the room. He dipped a cotton shirt into it and pulled it out. ringing it out sightly, Hale walked back to Sasuke, and stood behind him.
"Wet cotton pulled tightly over the face causes the same sensation as drowning, including the gag reflex. However, there is a chance of your windpipe snapping shut. Too bad if that happens. I don't want you croaking on me before we get to the really fun parts." Hale said calmly. It disgusted Sasuke that Hale could find such joy in tormenting a Ghoul. Then Hale pulled the shirt tight across Sasuke's face. Sasuke struggled as much as a Ghoul hogtied to a chair could. Hale let the shirt go slack and stepped away. Then he dumped the bucket of water over Sasuke's head. It was freezing. "If the hypothermia doesn't kill you by morning, I'll introduce you to my friend electricity."
Hale smiled and left.
(ok seriously that is grade A Torture, I'm impressed, but Istill want Sasuke to get out of this Alive)
Sasuke thought back to his training with master Chay, he remember thata still mind can overcome anypain, one has to clear his mind, sasuke tok deep breaths despite the feeling, if Hale didn't tell him that this is a simulation he might have panic, but he was able to surpass his gag reflex and remain calm, he prayed to god that someone will notice his broken Transmision and Send for Help, but then again Boris wasn't excapty buddy buddy with him, but he knew that he would try to remain strong through this ordeal...
Templar Paragon Robert Knox sat perched in a crevasse in the ridge outside the AWA outpost, watching the panorama below him. The dry rushes whispered at his side as he scanned the wastes. He was very good at this. Always had been, too. He'd been a good outdoorsman all his life, and an equally skilled scout and sniper. The spot that Knox had chosen allowed him to watch the wastes without the wastes watching him, and his recon armor allowed him to blend in even better with the rock. A mutant sparrow landed next to Knox and cocked its head inquisitively. Knox smiled. He'd always enjoyed looking at the wastes' wildlife. He had a soft spot for animals. He whistled quietly to attract the bird's attention, then whistled a small song, drawing the creature in.
It was just within Knox's reach when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Knox sighed. More of those fools from the Red Faction. Knox slowly raised his sniper rifle. They hadn't seen him, and it would probably stay that way. Knox sighted through his scope. There was five of them. Ordinarily, Knox wouldn't try and take on all of them at once, but he also had two AWA snipers aiding him in the area. They'd no doubt seen the Red Faction soldiers and were waiting for Knox's signal. He'd give it, then.
Knox fixed his scope on the better-equipped soldier in the center of the group. He fixed the crosshairs on his target's center of body mass and pulled the trigger. A shot rang out as the lead man dropped, his blood splashing out in the air as the deadly .308 round did it's work. Immediately, two more shots rang out and two more rebels dropped as the AWA snipers provided covering fire. Knox fixed on one of the remaining soldiers and pulled the trigger. The bullet forcefully ripped the soldier's jaw off as it punched into his head. One of the other snipers had fired too fast, and his shot had just barely grazed the last rebel. The man stumbled, then continued on. The other sniper was a little more successful, hitting his enemy in the shoulder and dropping him. Yet he was not dead. Knox sighted through the scope a final time and shot the squirming man dead.
Knox looked over to where the sparrow was. The sniper rifle fire had scared the bird away. Knox sighed again, then radioed in to the base. Once he got a response, he gave the coordinates of the bodies and requested a pick up. Time to change location again.
Eugene Randolph skirted his way through the Crusade-Enclave camp. Amazing how people couldn't see you if you didn't want them to. Here was Eugene, a well-dressed man in a white suit and a safari hat, carrying a bunch of various weapons, and yet they didn't even glance in his direction. That was no doubt because Eugene was incredibly skilled at what he did, which was sneaking and killing. He would have laughed, except that would compromise his position. Eugene had gotten Sasuke's signal. The damn fool ninja, thinking he was so great. If he was so good, why had he been caught in the first place? The answer was because he relied too much on his damn technology and not enough on his actual skill. Eugene wasn't like that. That was why he was one of the best Top Seven, and Sasuke was still apprenticed to Chay. Eugene ducked in the shadows near what appeared to be an interrogation tent and listened as Sasuke was tortured for information. Just a taste of what he'd get when Eugene brought him back to Boris. But, for now, it was time to get the fool out of there.
Eugene drew his assassin's knife. There was a reason he carried this weapon, and it was primarily because it was a very sharp and deadly blade. However, it also was good at cutting through obstructions. Eugene turned its wicked sharp point on the canvas that made up the torture tent. The English assassin cut through the canvas like butter and cautiously made his way inside.
The tent was bigger than it looked from the outside. Inside, it was former mobster's worst nightmare. The walls were covered in wicked implements of torture, and more could be seen on the table. There was even a mini-generator, powering heat racks and electric torture devices. If the state had had permission to use stuff like this when Eugene was in the mob, he had no doubt that quite a few mobsters would break the oaths of omerta they were forced to swear upon induction into the mob. A lone bulb of light, plugged into a less menacing generator, shed light upon a soaked figure in black tied to a chair in the center of the room. Eugene whispered to the figure, who was undoubtedly Sasuke. "Sasuke, if you can hear me, don't be startled should the lights go out. You're getting out of here." With that, Eugene neatly yanked the plug for the light out of the generator's port and moved it across the room. That'd buy them a little time at least. Eugene stealthily drew up behind the chair where Sasuke was and began working at the captive's bonds, all the time whispering information into his ear. Eugene had no idea how long the guards outside would be before they popped back in to check on the prisoner. Eugene's assassin's dagger made short work of the ropes. With a low grunt, he picked up the ghoul ninja, policed his weapons that were in sight, and stealthily made his way back out the way he'd came.
Once Eugene was a safe distance away, he drew into an empty tent and dropped Sasuke. As soon as the ninja was down, Eugene immediately began shaking and slapping him, trying to get him awake. As the ninja's eyes began to focus, Eugene started to talk. "Sasuke, old boy, you're really in a spot of bother now, aren't you? This is why I tell you never to rely on tech when skill will suit you just fine. I've no idea what you've told these degenerates, but you won't be telling them any more. Boris wants you out of that little torture cell. Now get up so we can go, and stay quite if you can absolutely help it." Sasuke nodded, and the two took off.
"Do you think we should check on Sasuke before the guard changes? I mean, we'll be leaving a minute or two to lead 1st Platoon. And besides, I haven't heard a peep out of him." Cropland said. Walker brushed aside the notion. "Don't be so worried. What's gonna happen? It's not like some other well-dressed communist ghoul mobster will chop into the back of the tent, whistle Sasuke to safety, drop him in another tent, and attempt to revive him. The odds of that happening are extremely thin, laddy. Now c'mon, it's time to high-tale it to the briefing." Walker said, tired of guarding the tent. Switching places with another pair of Crusaders, Walker, Cropland, and Hale, who had just rejoined them, approached the growing crowd inside the Colonel's tent, where he spoke with authority. "That's the good Colonel himself." Walker said. The Colonel was large by any ordinary man's standards. Towering at almost 7 feet, clad in advanced power armor but helmet-less, and sporting a warhawk for his hair-do, a ballistic face mask, and a massive field ripper, he was the epitomy of an evil overlord commander with unlimited power. "Gather around children." He said in a massive bold voice. "We'll be raiding the RedFac town of Octagon to the north, to cover and conceal plans for our movements against Baltimore. Sierra Company, Whiskey Company, and Tango Company will be led by me personally. There will be no survivors. Besides a small RedFac Cell operating in the town, there will be little resistance from the town folk. No survivors, no wounded, no living. The town will be burned, and RedFac will learn who they are really dealing with. Sierra will approach head on, Tangon will hit from the opposite side, and Whiskey will approach from the two remaining angles in split units. Public executions; I want some of their people to escape and live to tell the tale. They've made a mockery of Annapolis so much that now I'm out here, and they'll be dead by the end of the week. Company COs, gather your men. I expect Sierra Company's 1st Platoon, 2nd Platoon, 3rd Platoon, and 4th Platoon on me within the next five minutes. You have your orders. Go to them." The Colonel said, picking up his field ripper and heading out the tent, pushing himself through the crowd of officers and XOs. Walker turned towards Hale and Cropland. "Cool. Now we're the good Colonel's fucking personal lackies."
James took a swig of the captured liqour and looked around the small town. Otagon. Named because some genuis found a pre-war book and that was on the front cover. Now, the poor kids have to say that they live in a town which problay the shittest name ever. Leaning back in his chair, he watched as his Mob mingled about the town square. They were going to hole up here for a few days, then move on. They needed the rest anyway. 3 Caravans in one week, Jeues. Taking another swig, James looked at the bottle. Whiskey. A soldier with a ski-mask ran up to him and saluted, and James saluted back.
"Sir! Commander Evans wants to speak with you, sir!"
"Thanks, i'll be right there." Said James, handing off the bottle to the young boy. He was problay in trouble right now. That, or, he was being thanked or something. Fucking high-=-com. They don't want to talk to you unless you did something very good or very bad. At least he still has sight of the objective. Walking across his men, he Raised a clechned fist in the air and shouted.
"Better Red then Dead!" James shouted
"Hoo-ah!" repiled his men, for some odd reason. Normally, it's just some whoops and cheers. Odd. Must be some liquour. Either that, or the new guy.
Sasuke was still woozy, damn Hale, he would love to put a bullet between his eyes in front of his troopp, he betted that they would cheer then be upset but thats beside the point, the point is that he escaped. "Sorry that I got caught, glad you saved me, I still have lots to learn" HE said quietly ducking throw the area "So any new orders" He asks
"Well, let's think about that for a moment, shall we?" Eugene whispered. How dumb was this fellow? "Well, as a Top Seven, I will give you these orders: Follow me as I get as far away from camp as possible and then bring you to Boris. Once there, you'll ask Mr. Kozlov what he wants you to do. No doubt he'll be relatively angry that you've probably led these people to Rapture's doorstep, and, as such, you'll probably receive some sort of berating. I'll be standing by with vodka in case the poor man gets tired. Then, once he's done, you'll presumably go back to scouting and intelligence, hopefull with a little more wisdom in your noggin. I believe I've made myself as clear as I can be. Now, let's keep our eyes out for sentries and soldiers. Wouldn't want to ruin my suit with their blood, seeing as I just cleaned and repaired it after that mess with the large deer."
Sasuke sighed, this wasn't the first timeBoris shouted at him in a Sober fit of rage (I'm seeing a running gag with that) "Right I will pay you back the caps, but I at least sent them in the location you wanted but I have a bad feeling, and not because of that Hale Fellow, might want to put some elete assissin on him, he is trouble witha captiol T" Sasuke says following Him
Eugene nodded. Maybe this ninja wasn't a total fool. He could at least follow orders and knew how handing intuition could be. "This is where our dear leader and I disagree. I would have preferred a decoy location that would bring our enemies on a wild goose chase through difficult terrain, attracting attacks from the local populace and these AWA fellows I'm hearing so much about. Such a route would not only place Rapture Company in minimal danger, but would also give a skilled assassin plenty of time and opportunities to escape. I can't exactly usurp our esteemed founder, though."
The two assassins cleared the camp and ducked through the scrub, staying out of site from the sentries. They had escaped even these men when they found a Crusade patrol passing through a grove of trees. These men were, surprisingly, lightly armored and didn't seem very alert. This was why Eugene never had a drink outside of the base. He and Sasuke dove out of the scrub and hit hard and fast. Eugene stepped out, longsword at the ready. As soon as the Crusaders got close enough to see him, it was too late. Eugene struck out fast with his hand-and-a-half sword, stabbing the leader of the drunkards in the stomach. Meanwhile, Sasuke cut down the one from behind with his ninjato. The ninja was about to attack the middle drunkard, who had drawn a police baton as his only defense. He was sure sobering up quick. Eugene waved the ninja off. Sasuke understood and backed up, while Eugene sheathed his sword. The soldier was confused now, and frightened. Eugene slowly drew his rapier and rondel, then spoke to the man.
"Come on now, you've got that weapon. Let's see you use it." The soldier swung a slow, lazy attack. Eugene easily stepped out of the way. He shook his head and laughed. "No, too slow. Ah well. Try again." The soldier attacked again, faster and more precise. Eugene easily got out of the way again. The soldier stopped. Eugene appeared confused. "Why are you stopping? You've got an enemy who won't fight back. Make the most of it."
The soldier attacked and attacked, swinging and flailing his weapon desperately. He knew he was outmatched before the battle began, and yet he attacked, because it was the only way to his freedom. Eugene easily dodged or blocked the attacks with quick movements of his rondel or rapier. If the soldier had been paying attention, he would see Eugene's quick foot movements and the opportunities for strikes that Eugene was missing. Suddenly, Eugene seemed to tire of this game. As soon as the soldier threw his next attack, Eugene blocked and then retaliated, throwing a blindingly fast flurry of strikes that seemed to just miss. The soldier knew for certain at that moment that Eugene was just toying with him. Suddenly, one of Eugene's strikes caught the police baton and pinned it down. The man was helpless. Eugene stared at him, disdain in his eyes, and said, "Pay attention, never underestimate an opponent, and never let an opportunity pass for you to strike a killing blow."
With that, Eugene seemingly danced forward, rondel in hand. The man had no time before Eugene stabbed him in the stomach, then stepped back and slashed across his throat. The battle was over, and Eugene hadn't even worked up a sweat. He looked at Sasuke and spoke. "I really do hope you were paying attention there, because that was for your own benefit."
Boris was waiting, along with several other Rapture Soldiers. It was taking a while for Sasuke and Eugene to get back. Several of the soldiers had mortars, and they were waiting for them to get back. They were going to bomb the place from a safe distance, (aiming for the armory and barracks). Boris, was a rare sight today. He had left his Rapture Power Armor at base, and was wearing his riot gear. Gas mask, (with added protection) check. Old Russian war suit, painted black and with added protection in the form of Kevlar. Along with his AK-103 assault rifle, and Dragunov. Along with several ballistic knives of course, and his combat gloves with steel padding to protect his knuckles. "Where the fucks Eugene, if he's not back in fifteen minutes we're going to blow that base to smithereens, and rescue that Japanese dumb ass the old fashioned way. "
"Boris you know Eugene,He should be back soon".Alfred took out his swords and set about sharpning them.After that he took out his rifle and oiled the mechanism."We could just go in before thay get back you know boris"
"No need to," came the reply from a very old lilting English tongue, "I've got the fellow right here? What did you expect? That I, Eugene Randolph, would fail here, escorting a Rapture assassin out of the camp of a bunch of tin-wearing gorillas? Guess again! Boris knows me better than that, and I would never fail at something like that. " Eugene moved to stand with the other Top Seven. "I was simply showing our dear ninjutsu-practicing sub-ordinate a few pointers for the mission and combat. One can always learn something if they put their mind to it."
"I was hoping you came back with your tongue cut out Eugene. In 200 fucking years you never seemed to lose that stupid accent. Always wandered why." Boris signaled for Sasuke to come closer. The man stayed in place. "What, it's not like I'm going to hurt you!" Sasuke seemed relieved, and he stepped forward. Smiling. Then Boris smacked him across the face, flooring the Japanese ninja. "Get the fuck back up, they'll be more of that at the camp. I'll let the Conscripts join in this time too.
Sebastian was woken up by a Conscript, just in time to see omne ghoul smack another ghoul. The first ghoul, the smackee, was his employer. Broris. A Russian Ghoul, who knows a thing or two about fighting, vodka, and...well, thats it. Getting out of his little resting area, which was just a crate wheich he took a nap on, Sebastian groaned a little. Checking his Auto-Revolor, couresty of the noew defunt DC Crusade, Sebastian looked out a small pair of bincolars towards tghe tagat. A Crusade Camp. Odd, conserding he was once emplyoed by trhe CCI. But, that was before. This is now. Replacing his G36C with his .44 Repater, Sebastian stood ready, leaning agiasnt a tree. He hoped that this job was nice and easy, unlike the laast contract he had with the Crusade. But, once agian, that was before. Now, it was with Rapture Company. And he was still treated like shit.
Robert Knox was leading the scout and sniper patrol through the woods and swampy lowlands back to the AWA base. His patrol included the two snipers from earlier and three AWA Knights who had been guarding the snipers' flank. The group was carrying a motley assortment of weapons. Knox was holding his silenced .223 pistol, as his sniper rifle wouldn't do him much good here. The other snipers very carrying their sidearms, which looked to be pistols or submachineguns, and the knights were carrying whatever weapons they had when they were protecting the group's flank. From here, Knox judged them to be assault rifles, although one looked to be carrying a pump-action shotgun.
Knox led his patrol forward when he heard a snap and the sound of something being released. Knox immediately leaped back, as did his other soldiers, but one Knight was not so lucky. The trees around him were covered in a blood-red stain as the grenades that dropped exploded and tore the man apart. An ambush! Knox was quite certain who was leading this ambush--those damn Red Faction soldiers were at it again. Knox's suspicions were confirmed as the area around the trap echoed with the distinctive sound of AK-47 gunfire. Knox dove for cover as the AK rounds ate up the ground around him. His pistol couldn't hope to match the superior firepower of the AKs, but it was better than nothing. Knowing the Red Faction, there was probably five or six of the guerrillas in the ambush party. Knox saw movement and instinctively fired. The .223 rounds hit whatever was in the cover, probably a Red Faction guerrilla, and a flurry of 10mm rounds from one of the snipers killed whatever was left in there. Knox moved as AK rounds ate up the cover he was hiding behind. He was determined to stay alive and unharmed, although that didn't look to be a problem from here. That Knight with the shotgun just hollowed out the skull of a guerrilla who got too close, and it looked as though he would soon kill another. Suddenly, however, there was a blinding purple explosion as a guerrilla pulse grenade fried the electronics inside the Knight's power armor, leaving him helpless to the guerrillas. Their AKs ended him quickly.
Knox heard a scream near his head, and he moved suddenly. A guerrilla had gotten too close and attacked with his AKs bayonet. Knox whipped around and drew his Ka-Bar. The guerrilla feigned attacks twice, trying to catch Knox off guard, then stabbed forward with lightening speed. Knox dodged to the side and grabbed a firm hold on the enemy's AK. Then, before he could retaliate, Knox stabbed him in the throat with the Ka-Bar. Knox eased the weapon out of the guerrilla's nerveless fingers. This would provide superior firepower to Knox's .223. The Paragon sighted down the weapon's sights and opened fire on the Red Faction position. He saw movement to his left. One of the AWA snipers had jumped out of cover for some reason. He immediately was smacked down by AK fire. Knox saw something leave the man's hand before he was shot, though. Suddenly, the Red Faction cover erupted into blue flames as a Nuka Grenade exploded in their midst. The sound of screams could be heard over the crackling of flames. One Red Faction guerrilla exited cover, screaming and waving his arms around as the flames covered his body. The remaining Knight ended his misery with a burst from his FN FAL. Knox saw more movement and fired. His AK dropped a Red Faction soldier, who fell from behind his cover, riddled with holes. FN FAL fire kept the last one pinned down as Knox slowly advanced. The man went to run, but ran into Knox. The Paragon stabbed forward with his AK's bayonet, catching the man in the stomach. As the Red Faction grunted in surprise and pain, Knox said to him, in his characteristically quite voice, "Don't mess with the American Wasteland Army if you can't deal with the consequences."
Knight Paul Calhoun grunted and started towards one of the bodies as he saw a Red Faction soldier squirming on the ground, injured but still alive. As the guerilla reached for his sidearm - a shitty little .32 - Paul send an enthusiastically vicious kick into his arm, forcing him to release his grip with a sickening snapping sound and a torrent of blood as what appeared to be his wristbone poked through his skin. Without a moment of hesitation, he dropped down, planted his knee on the wounded insurgent's chest and plunged his detatched bayonet into his eye, twisting it before pulling it out. "Brahmin-fucking Red hick," He spat, shaking his head slowly as he wiped the blood off the blade on the guerilla's shirt. He stuck it back on his FN FAL and then slung the rifle over his shoulder before stripping the guerilla's body of ammunition. 7.62 ammunition was quite hard to come by, even for the AWA, and it was a wonder these hicks had gotten a hold of it. He stood up, repeated the process on another two insurgents' corpses before walking over to to the bodies of his fallen comrades, routinely but hopelessly checking them for signs of life before closing their eyes as a mark of respect. The surviving sniper, whose name he didn't catch, was doing the same.
"What're we gonna do about these bodies, Paragon? We can't just leave them out here." He called over to Knox after letting out a quiet sigh.
Scotty MacKnight was a truly intimidating fellow. Sure,, he was almost seven feet tall, and he did carry a field ripper, and yes, the ballistic face mask and mohawk were a little fear-instilling when he charged somebody, but he was actually in reality a really nice guy. Sure, he'd done his fair share of public executions, and yes, he'd burnt down several handfuls of settlements with no remorse, and yes, he'd killed cooks for incorrect lunch servings and the like, but he really was a good guy. So it didn't bother him when he had earned the title and name "The Good Colonel", a weird spin-off of the doctor title. So when exiting the tent and being greeted with a number of expletives by his favorite former cadets, Sergeant Walker and Corporal Cropland, he smiled underneath his urban-camou ballistic face mask, then put a hand and motioned for Hale to introduce himself. "Major Johnathan Hale, Enclave Armed Forces." Hale said, not extending a hand of his own. The Colonel didn't either, a sign of their mutual hostility and disregard for rank respect and protocol. In the distance, the distinct gunfire of several FN FALs and AK-47s reported to him that there was a fire-fight north of the camp. Yawning, the good Colonel didn't even bother register that the fighting was so close, but rather that it was in the way of the coming operation, and therefore had to be dealt with. "Walker, Hale, gather Sierra Company." He said in a deep scottish accent, removing his field ripper from his back. Maybe he'd run into Paragon Robert and his lacky Calhoun again. He'd decimated their numbers before, and yet this pair of yellow-bellied fighters had escaped without even pausing to say goodbye. Noting with pleasure how he might have a lucky chance to tear them limb from limb with his field ripper, he silently made his way towards the gates, his bodyguards flanking him.
Knox sighed. The Red Faction shouldn't be able to decimate AWA patrols like that. It wasn't right. Knox stopped to police the dog tags of the soldiers that had been killed. He came to the sniper when he stopped. The sniper wasn't dead. He'd been wounded, yes, but the Red Faction had failed to kill him. "Knight Captain Calhoun!" Knox barked, louder than what was necessary. Those kills were getting to him. "Shoulder the body of Paragon Jennings here," he said, motioning towards the sniper, "while we give the dead the best burial they're going to get in these swamps." Without waiting for a response, Knox began moving the bodies to the waterside after removing everything of value from their bodies.
"Gladly Colonel. It'll be a pleasure to teach your bull-necked thugs how to fight a war." Hale sneered after the Good Colonel. Walker opened his mouth but Hale cut him off, "Walker, I'd like to point out that you were pushed out of DC by a Wastelander force and your own mutinous soldiers. It took the Lone Wanderer and the Brotherhood to shift the DC Enclave. Now that I've cut the ground from under you, care to chat to your fellow thugs and get 'em ready. I'll get my Enclave GI's prepared. See if we can't steamroll those mongrel rats out there on the plains?"
Without further words, Hale strode off, a pair of chuckling GIs following him. Both from the 3rd Special Forces Platoon. One of them was Master Sergeant Jackson, sadly, not the same man from his unit at the Void. Another was Staff Sergeant Warrick from New York. Along with them, he had a platoon of twenty from the Special Forces Battallions, as well as ten Secret Service agents, supervising Enclave movements in various parts of the DelMarVa area. All answering directly to the Committee, those shadowy men and womeen who the Senate answered to. One snap of his fingers and Hale could have a battalion move into this fortress and level it. That was how much weight working directly under the Committee's authority carried. Of course, if these Crusaders fucked up, he'd be working in Seattle for the rest of his life. Where he'd likely die from boredom.
Paul gave a wordless nod as he dropped to a kneeling position at Jennings' side. Carefully, he slipped his arms underneath the wounded soldier's body. "Up we go," he muttered as he lifted the sniper slowly, and then put him over his shoulder with his back across the pauldron of his T-45d. Paul knew enough about medicine that having him flat on his stomach could inhibit his breathing. Now, if he was still conscious, his back might be mildly uncomfortable. Pretty worthy tradeoff. He then got to his feet, the servomotors of his new Power Armor supporting both his weight and the Paragon's with relative ease. The sniper, apparently still awake, muttered his pained thanks. He'd need medical attention soon if he was to survive.
The negligible effort it took to move himself and Jennings was reassuring. It was good to be wearing a proper Pre-War model rather than that terrible Metal Power Armor the so-called Specialists had designed. While it was fairly useful, it was ridiculously inconvinient. On two occasions he'd sprained himself due to faulty servos and more times than he could count, the joints had locked up in mid-combat and he'd had to have been dragged out of a hotzone helplessly. To make matters worse, the T-45d stocks were stretched to the point where he'd had to wear the Metal Power Armor despite being promoted from Sentinel quite a while ago. It was fortunate, then, that they'd captured a few old Airborne Power Armor suits from the Crusade not too long ago. Paul had been on the "waiting list" for quite a while.
Using arm to keep Jennings on his shoulder, Paul then began helping Knox in moving the bodies of the fallen towards the waterside. Those men didn't deserve to be buried in a swamp in the ass end of nowhere, but nothing could be done. Such was how things often were in the AWA, Paul had learnt over the last six years. The look of grim resignation on his face was obscured by ceramic and steel.
The Colonel moved silently at the head of the troop movement. Behind him were the hundred-man strong number of Sierra Company, which would be followed by the other companies to move against Octagon and Hagerstown soon enough. His power armor shifted through the cracked mud from the rain as they headed through the once grand, now petrified forest. "Eyes on. 1st and 2nd Platoon on me, 3rd and 4th, continue en route to Octagon and engage patrols." The Colonel comanded, and crept closer to the sounds of shifting water and soft voices talking about their former comrades. Makng a hand-motion for the two platoons and Hale's G.I.s to spread out around the source of the noises, the Colonel waited silently as the groups radioed in that they were in position. With this, the Colonel laughed as he took a look at his opponent. It was a patrol of no more than ten men, armed with rebel weaponry, but identified by AWA insignia on their armor. "Hit it." The Colonel said, drawing his field ripper. The two platoons had spread out on three sides of the patrol, leaving only a small avenue of escape for the men should the Colonel be feeling in a good mood. Squinting his eyes, the Colonel made out the features of the helmetless Knox and his lackey, Calhoun. Perfect, The Colonel thought. He'd been meaning to get back at Knox for that embarassment at Baltimore. He'd actually let Knox escape through his grasp, and Calhoun had bought Knox time. However, it wouldn't matter. All would be paid for in blood.
Vrrmmm... There came the sound of a fossil-fuel engine somewhere a ways off. Somewhere in the mists of the swamp, a will-o'-the-wisp (or was it?) flickered amongst the dying trees. Suddenly, out of nowhere, what can only be described as a maniac swept out of the woods.
Accompanied by the familiar sound of "Holy Diver" by Dio in the background, Mikhael Rowey jumped his Norton Big Four off of a low rise and smashed tail-first into one of the Crusade soldiers. Pulling the cavalry sabre off the side of his motorcycle, he took a wild swing at one of the Crusaders and slit his throat by chance, as he released the clutch of his Big Four and pulled on the throttle, heading for the woods again. He dissappeared into the fog, whooping and hollering as he pulled his beret down lower over his head.
He power-skidded his motorcycle in a hard right turn, hit the gas again and flew towards the Crusade ranks again, taking a sudden left turn and flying off another downed log, using every last bit of power he could kick out of the Big Four's engine as he startled the crap out of the Crusade's rear guard, shouting like a manic demon as he fired wildly into the little group with an Obrez Mosin before dissappearing into the wods again, his figure nothing more than the glowin red will-o-the-wisp of his tail-light.
Boris Kozlov slashed the Crusaders neck, killing him near instantly. Then, he pointed his ballistic knife at the other Crusader from the patrol. He was tied, and on the floor. Boris's style of killing a man, then asking questions was complained about today. So, they instead captured the small Crusade patrol. "So, tell me what you know little piggy." Boris was one of the few people who could be both severely drunk, and intimidating at the same time. "Nothing you fucking brain rotter." Smirking, Boris ordered one of the top seven near him to punch the man in the gut. "Now now now, I think we can be friends comrade! Just tell me some information. That's all I want." The top seven member again attacked the Crusader, this time with a kick to the chest. "You sure you don't want to talk?" The man was then attacked several more times, then when he started to cough up blood, he started to talk. "Fucking zombie...... I'll tell you what you want to know damn it." Boris ordered a conscript to untie the man, and then started asking questions. With several .50 magnums pointed at you, he wouldn't run.
"Neutralize that threat at once." The Good Colonel said. Immediately, four rearguardsmen hastily set up a neck high garrote line, made of steel wire that would, if the man rode fast enough, break his neck; at the very least it would knock him off his so-called motor-cycle. Taking his attention away from the rear, the Colonel noted with disgust how his prey had discovered him and escaped. Cursing that he hadn't given an order to attack and neutralize, the Colonel turned his sights once again to Octagon, his designated rape and pillage site. In the distance, the settlement glistened with pre-war electric signs and lights, and the busy and hasty life of wasters at work was a given as the sounds flowed through the rain. "He likes to drink in the sunset of an evil overlord sometimes before pillaging." Walker said, remvoing his rebreather and pulling out two cigars, handing one to Hale.
Rowey watched from a distance as the rear guardsmen nudged their way into the trees, carrying a length of something he, at this time, couldn't identify. The fog still hung sort of thickly in the swampy air, and with his motorcycle off and the lights down, sure the enemy couldn't see him. However, he couldn't see what they were doing either. Not to mention the Obrez's tremendous kick would make any long-range shooting nigh-on impossible. So he did the next best thing.
He kicked the Big Four to life and rode straight at them.
In Rowey's stone-o-vision, the entire action unfolded in a matter of seconds. The Crusade soldiers had tied off the steel wire and were now waiting on the other side, watching to see what would happen. What happened was, just as he got to the wire, he dropped his blunt. Dipping his head and back down to grab at the little roll of paper and weed stuck on his boot laces, he didn't notice that the steel wire had just rushed past him, only that the source of euphoria clutched formerly between his teeth was now lost on his boot. He quickly retrieved it and put his head up at the far side of the wire, only just now noting the fact that it had nearly snapped his neck as he calmly replaced the blunt in his teeth.
"Holy fuckballs, that was close!" Rowey shouted, accidentally giving away any element of surprise he may have had.
Which was already little, considering he was at least almost six feet tall, dressed in black leather and riding a fucking motorcycle.
He skirted the right flank of the Crusader formation and along the way swiped the cigar from Walker's hand as he flew past, down a short slope and back towards Octagon.
"What the hell?"
James said as he apperead from the local bar/brothel. Moving towards the noise, James found himself at the walls. Zipping up hus pants, he saw it. A man riding a...motorcycle? Rubbing his eyes, the rest of the Red Faction soldiers emegred from where ever they were and manned postions at the barricdes.Looking through a pair of bincolulars, James saw trhe man. Cartel.
"Open the gate and let 'em through!"
James shouted, as his men and the local RF Milita did. The motorcycle man flew in before stopping dramticcly in the town square. Looking at him, James moved towards him, slinging the FAMAS over his shoulder. Taking a swig of the whiskey bottle he had in his hands James threw it towards a soldier and looked the new guy in the eyes.
"Names James. Red Faction officer. I'm presuming your cartel? And what the hell are you doing out here!?!:"
Hale blinked. That nut on the motorcycle had swiped the cigar just as he was about to take it from Walker. Hale blinked again. Had that really happened? He went through a variety of facial expressions, ranging from mild frustration to extreme confusion as he and Walker stood staring after Rowey as he bombed towards Octagon. Hale waved his hands out to the side in a confused shrugging motion. He repeated, at a total loss for words. He raised his eyebrows, lowered them and raised them again, one at a time. He rubbed his eyes, his face, and ran a hand through his hair. There were no words for what had just happened. There was no phraze to aptly describe how balls-out bonkers and surreal a moment that had been as a stoned-off-his-face whack-job sped between him and Walker and snatched his cigar.
"Well fuck me sideways" Hale said slowlysquinting into the distance to see Rowey rapidly approaching Octagon. Hale scratched his head and began shuffling forwards and then backwards again, still running a complete mental blank after that shit. He just shook his head and raised his hands. He had no idea what had just happened. Walker was still staring after Rowey, utterly gobsmacked. The two looked at each other, then back towards Octagon and back at each other. Hale shook his head as Walker shrugged. There were no words. Just no words.
Rowey popped a wheelie just as the gate swung out of the way, popped the clutch on his motorcycle and hit the rear brake, putting his front end down and sending the vehicle into a high-speed powerslide. He stopped just as he reached the village square, using his sideways momentum to pop the motorcycle upright, and kick the kickstands down. He threw his leg over the side of the motorcycle and lifted his goggles off his dust-stained face, putting the cigar between his lips as he spat out the burnt little piece of paper that remained of his original vice.
He looked over towards John as the man approached. Through the psychedelic colors swirling in Rowey's vision, the mercenary noted the Red Faction emblem on his chest (and the fact that he was hastily doing up his fly, and the fact that hilariously exaggerated footprints- at least to Rowey- led away from the brothel). He steadied himself on his feet, took a long (and I mean at least six second) draw on the cigar before extinguishing the butt under his boot's heel.
"Yeah, I'm cartel." The mercenary said, carefully picking his steps as he closed the distance between the officer and himself. "Sent in by Castille-Westin themselves on high recommendation. I'm here to look after the Cartel's investments in your little band of liberators, here." He extended a knuckle-gloved hand to the officer. "Mikhael Rowey, or Rowdy to my friends. My employers tell me I've been promoted temporarily to the rank of Sergeant for the duration of my contract. Pleasure to be working with you, sir."
The Good Colonel, watching as the two buffoons stared speechless, grabbed a soldier with a radio, snatching the mike from his back and starting to speak. "This the Colonel speaking. All Companies, you may commence attack. I'm sick of these damn rebels. Women alive, men executed, and children for target practice. Same as always. Colonel MacKnight out." The Colonel said, tossing the coiled mike aside and throwing the soldier off balance. Almost at once, two howitzers from Annapolis opened up, along with three mortars from the camp outside Annapolis. They were in such close proximity that the fire was hugely effective, sending several patrols flying upwards, minus various limbs and body parts. He turned to Hale. "You have the charge as you see fit, Major." The Colonel said as several machineguns opened up on the settlement, cutting down several sentries with massed fire.
Hmm... That doesn't sound right... Mikhael thought loudly to himself, attempting to fight through the purple haze all in his brain (HA HA). He was, of course, talking about the high-pitched whine of incoming mortar shells. "JESUS!" he shouted as his thought proved to be correct, grabbing John by the wrist and dragging him back towards the Brothel. An artillery shell detonated a few feet from where he had been standing before. Dragging him and his C.O back into the brothel as another artillery shell fell nearby, blowing over a few ramshackle sheds. He heard the sound of machine-gun fire from outside the camp.
"John Connor, keep your head down!" Rowey shouted as scared hookers, citizens and the barkeep made for the makeshift basement beneath the building. Rowey grabbed a discarded .223 hunting rifle from the table and held it tight, noting that he had left his Obrez Mosin back on his bike-
"Oh shit, my bike!" Rowey shouted as he immediately left the bar again, heading for where his motorcycle was posted back in the center of town, which he noted was now a shell-littered hellhole. Red Faction soldiers were holed up in the craters, using them as a makeshift trench line as the machine gun fire rained down from above. Discarding the bullets flying around him, Rowey lifted the kickstand up with his boots and moved the Big Four out of the line of fire. The Cartel would have his head if this motorcycle got destroyed; the last three had suffered bent frames from Rowey's rediculous motorcycle stunts, and the Big Four was the only one who had stood up to the punishment over and over and over again. Artillery shells would ruin the fun.
And Rowey was just starting to like this bike.
Quickly moving it up onto the boardwalk of the brothel, Rowey gripped the .223 in one hand as he made his way up to the roof of the Brothel, using the drainage pipe as a makeshift ladder. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder as soon as his feet hit the roof. He adjusted the sights nonchalantly as bullets began to rain around him from machine gun fire before sighting in on the first Crusade gunner. A single pop echoed across the wasteland as the little bullet shocked and stunned the Crusader, his combat helmet barely stopping the bullet but the force being enough to knock him back off the gun. Rowey pumped his left fist back and smiled at his successful opening volley as he laid prone on the roof and sighted in on his next victim. Soon, the cadence of "his" rifle joined the other guns in a uniform fashion.
Hale had left Walker in command of those Crusade grunts as he moved his GIs around to the one flank the Crusade forces weren't moving on. Hale nodded to Jackson, who moved forwards a little and lobbed a homemade demo charge towards the corrugated iron walls of Octagon. with a loud boom, the charge burst the wall and collapsed the tower next to it as Hale and his Special Forces GIs activated the Stealth Fields on their BlackOps Armor. They moved quickly and quietly through the breach they had created, slashing throats as RedFac insurgents moved into the smoke. Hale was busy breaking necks as he moved from his first victim to the second, savagely shoving the man's head one way, before violently pulling it the other, snapping his neck and tearing his spinal cord. Hale shoved the body into the third foe, staggering him while Hale stepped forwards and drove his Ka-Bar downwards into the rebel's helmetless head. The poor Red Eyes were fighting a dozen stealthed men much fitter, and much better trained than them, and more experienced to boot. Hale and his soldiers had already moved well into the town, killing anything that came within reach, only drawing their FN FALs at the last second, forming a loosely arranged group, scanning their surroundings and firing in controlled bursts whenever a target presented itself. And their stealth fields were still active, so the unit looked like a swirling mass of muzzle flares. Hale punched a nearby Red Eye in the face, shattering the man's nose. Hale followed up with a rifle butt to the throat, sending the man to the ground, a livid bruise forming on his windpipe where Hale had crushed it.
"Spread out, assume cover and commence suppressive fire. Much as I hate to say this, we need as many Crusaders to survive this as possible," Hale said down his unit's closed-channel radio.
Hale and the unit Designated Marksman, with their ACOG scopes and modified weapon grips, began shooting men out of the visible guard towers and cherry-picked choice targets like heavy-weapons operators and officers from the Red Faction forces milling about through the town. All the while, the GIs remained cloaked. Silent, invisible death stalked their position as any Red Eye that came near was swiftly cut down, either by gunfire or by knifework. As many again were killed by Hale's bone-crushing hand-to-hand attacks, as he broke necks and cracked spines with unnerving speed and ease.
The Good Colonel listened in as the spotters coordinated with artillery, smashing up and softening the town with numerous shells and explosives. It was at this point that he noticed an above average height building, with a sniper atop it. The building was fairly close to the RedFac wall, and there was a scrap metal bunker with a machinegun pinning down several troopers in a dune foxhole about seven feet wide and four feet deep. Smiling as he identified Walker amongst the group, Walker pulled aside a spotter, pointing towards the pinned down soldiers and then to the building. "Flatten it." The Colonel said, drawing his field ripper. The spotter complied, and began relaying his orders over the radio with the building's relative location. "Yes, dammit, the entire grid! The Colonel says flatten the entire bloody grid!" The spotter could heard shouting as a bullet whizzed by and caught an officer in the head, slamming through his rebreather and exiting out the other side as he collapsed backwards into the Colonel. Shoving the body off, the Colonel stood straight as the artillery came down, more or less to the right of the actual building and instead on the main gate. Well, at least we hit something. The Colonel thought. The hardpoint wasn't gone, but at least they could storm the town.
"Snap!" Walker said in a heavy scottish accent, one hand on his head as artillery slammed into the town wall in front of him and blew apart the front gates, sending metal and bodies every which way. "Bayonets!" Walker screamed, drawing his sword. On the other sides of Octagon, the real attack was now taking place. Walker's attack had simply been a diversion, and now the Crusaders were hitting the town from the west and east besides the southern approach. A radioman relayed the bayonet-charge order, and next to him, Cropland attached a bayonet as a stray .223 round from a sniper atop a building, knocking him unconscious as the round hit him with extra force, although not penetrating. Unfazed by his comrade's quick sleeping method, Walker waved his sword in a cocky civil war officer attitude, motioning for Sierra Company, spread thinly across the grounds in front of Octagon, began to move from cover and charge the few trenches outside Octagon, engaging and overwhelming the wasters of RedFac in hand-to-hand combat. Walker dove into a trench with his sword raised, using the other hand to slide himself inward as he skewered a retreating grunt in the chest, the blade going straight through his flak jacket and out the other side. Walker shoved the sword deeper, gripping the man's back and forcing him closer and causing the blade to go farther. The man spat blood and his struggling grip to remove the sword weakened. Walker let the man fall, his sword still lodged in the man's gut. Unslinging his Thompson, Walker smashed the butt into the face of an officer, who was obviously unprepared for close range combat. The man's face caved in, permanently blinding him and knocking him unconscious. Kicking the man onto his back, Walker planted a foot on his chest, released a three-round burst of .45 ACP, and removed his combat boot as blood flowed from his dusty modified combat armor, three new bullet holes in his chest. Ducking aft er realizing how long he had been exposed, Walker checked his surroundings. Sierra Company was now occupying several trenches outside Octagon's scrap metal wall, only twenty yards away from the now decimated front gates, while Tango and Whiskey Company attacked from the western and eastern approaches. RedFac sentries attempted to coordinate fire while artillery caused friendly fire casualities amongst the Crusade. Bloody navy squids firing their fancy big guns, Walker thought, being thrown onto his back as a mortar blew up Captain Byrne to the right on accident, sending bits of fresh meat everywhere.
Hale and his soldiers were on the move again, heading around the East wall to link up with Walker and the rest of Sierra Company as he gashed his knife into yet another RedFac throat. He ducked as a .223 bullet whizzed by, narrowly missing him. He then realized just how exposed he had left himself just there. And then remembered he had a Stealth Field active. Lucky shot by whoever that was then. Hale passed it off as such and kept going. He could hear the gorillas of Sierra company fighting in and around the gate, any of them still inside the fatal funnel. Hale calmly gunned down another RedFac soldier from behind. She screamed and fell, the bullets pulverising her skull. Hale gulped. He hated shooting women, even when he didn't realise they were women till after he pulled the trigger. Hale looked away from the blonde hair, now soaked in blood. He kept going. He was doing this for America, for peace. For the future.
Hale ran headlong into a large, burly officer as the man stepped around the corner, investigating the scream. Hale fell backwards, his Stealth Field deactivating. He stood up as the Red Eye went for him with what Hale could only describe as a mattock. Hale ducked and dodged, weaving away from the man's crazed swings. Apparently, the Red Eye wasn't going to tire out, so Hale sighed and finished the contest. He dodged another swing, and stepped towards the man before he could recover his grip and balance. Hale headbutted, punched, kicked and clubbed the man with his rifle-stock all in quick succession, and finished up with a bullet between the eyes. Hale straightened up his helmet and reactivated the Stealth Field on his armor. He and his unit got moving again, his HUD showing them all up as blue outlines, in spite of their stealth fields. The joys of Enclave technology. This stuff worked on Stealthboys and the like as well, making BlackOps armor the ultimate counter-infiltraation equipment too. Hale spotted another outline, showing up in red. A stealthboy. He fired a burst in perfect sync with the rest of his unit. The RedFac spy went to the ground, bisected at the solar plexus by the hail of lead that pounded into him.
Rowey jumped down from the roof of the brothel as a mortar shell detonated on top of a nearby building. Some of the shrapnel whizzed past his head, not doing any damage. However, the annoying buzzing in his ear was back now that the explosion had addled his brain. He cranked the bolt on the .223 again, taking aim at one of the Black-Ops soldiers (not Hale). He fired once, making every bullet count as the small magazine clicked towards empty. The Black-Ops soldier went down, a neat little hole in the back of his neck. He moved to fire at another one, but again forgot the size of his clip as his ears heard click click click coming from the magazine. Rowey discarded the .223 in the alley and made a move for his motorcycle.
Somehow avoiding the sight of the Black-Ops moving up the street nearby, Rowey withdrew his cavalry saber and Obrez Mosin from the various holsters on his motorcycle. Cycling the bolt on his rifle-pistol (“The only gun capable of killing a man and setting his clothes on fire at the same time”), Rowey held the huge pistol double-handed, sighted in on another Black-Ops soldier and pulled the trigger. The resoundingly loud BAM! sent the Black-Ops soldier sprawling to the ground. Rowey was already starting his Big Four by the time the squad had realized what was happening, and by the time they had a good aim at him, the mercenary was already on the move, weaving through the shell-holes and gun fights as he avoided the Black-Ops squad altogether and continued on down the little street, aiming to double back and head for the town center, where Crusaders and Enclave soldiers were pouring in. Now completely off his weed high, Rowey was perfectly coherent and could tell everything that was going on around him, his acute “danger sense” amplified by the delayed adrenalin rush.
Leslie Leach Jones caught up with Paul and Knox. He had gotten lost an hour earlier, and had been "trying" to sneak through Red Faction territory.He came across a AWA camp, filled with dead soldiers. Red Faction was getting stronger and stronger everyday. He saw Knox and Paul, hauling bodies into the swamp. What the fuck happened? He holstered his Avenger Mini gun over his back, his pre-war power armour helping greatly to that effect. His whole squad had been issued it, and it was much better then the combat armour he had been using not so long ago. Running over, he stopped once he was near them. He was tired from the long ass run over here. "What the hell happened guys?"
"COVER ME, YOU LIMP-DICKED FUCKUPS!"
James shouted, running through enemy fire. Doing a shoulder roll into cover, James saw a wounded RedFac soldier. Droppimng his FAMAS, James un-holseted his 10MM pistol. Getting up, James felt as if everythoing went in slow motion. Putting the pistol behind his back, James fired a round. The 10MM pistol round went right into a selethed soldier, and James couln't help but shout something witty.
"PEEK-A-BOO! I SEE YOU!"
James shouted. Picking up the RedFac soldier as he moved towards him, James looked towards the bar, where a rather white mexican appeard, submachine gun in hand. Cocking his head, he watched as the men whistled and several men appeard beside him, with Assualt rifles, SMG's and a Minigun/
Marshall Rascon was pissed. And when he was pissed, he was really pissed. Someody interruppted his business deal. And he did'nt like that. BNot. One.Bit. Pulling up his SMG, a Uzi he presumed, and opicking up a sawed-off shotgun laying on the ground, Marshall began to dual weild.
"FUCK YOU, ENCLAVE! FUCK YOU!"
Blasting a soldier moving towards him that was Crusade, Marshall made his way towards cover. All the while, his soldiers were shooting up the place. However, they were carfull enough to not shoot Red Fac forces.
Knox gave Leslie a long, slow look, as if to say Is it not obvious from the lack of AWA personnel? However, he didn't, mostly because Leslie was a good kid and a good soldier, and because it wouldn't do to alienate your soldiers when on the front. "Red Faction attacked. We fought them off and went to rendezvous back at base. Then we got orders to move out to the advance camp. We escaped from a Crusade war party on the way there, mostly do to good timing by some local on a bike. However, these guys weren't so lucky. Looks like the Crusade or the Red Faction got them. Care to lend a hand? After this, we'll probably be heading back to base camp. These guys deserve a burial, and their places will be filled by more reinforcements. I hope we can survive, though."
The Paragon moved another body into the swampy water. It really was a shame that all this armor is here and not in use, he thought. Maybe these locals could be employed to acquire the AWA armor from the front lines for them. Knox's train of thought was broken when Calhoun called him over to a wounded soldier. Knox gave the man a shot of Med-X and a Stimpack before dressing the wound. He might make it out, and every man saved is one less gun for the AWA lost. A drop of water landed in front of Knox. Shit. Rain was on the way. If they didn't hurry, the entire lowlands would quickly be flooded. That would not be good for equipment, and, should the water develop a current, it could and would carry men away. Plus, any man unfortunate enough to be caught in the water would quickly develop serious health complications from taking in so much radiation. Knox spied a Punga fruit on a nearby tree and grabbed it, then motioned for the others to do the same. It never hurt to be too careful.
Hale stepped away from a soldier who was running at him. He grabbed the man by the throat and slammed him against the the wall, breaking his neck. Hale let the body fall, kicking out at another man who had the misfortune of getting in his way.. The high-angled sidekick crushed the Red Eye's windpipe. Hale shifted his balance, swaying out of reach of the next Red Eye to attack him. the second the attack was away from his body, he surged back in, grabbing the young man by the neck and the belt. Hale shoved the man away, pulled his M1911 and fired a single shot between the young man's eyes.
"Never send a boy to do a man's job." Hale muttered as he stepped over the body. His GIs followed him like loyal hounds. The sniper from the roof had since taken off on the motorcycle, soHale could only surmise that it was the same man who stole his cigar. One reason to break the man's nose. Now, given that the man had killed two of his GIs, Hale had one reason to bust the biker's head, and two reasons to cut it off. And Hale liked those odds.
Walker took one more look around him. Sierra Company was ready for rockin' and rollin'; that much he could tell. They calmly returned fire while their acting CO, being Walker since Byrne's death, waited for the order to begin storming the front gates. However, the rumbling behind him forced him to prematurely belay the future order as two VTOLs in Crusade colors swirled overhead, brushing off light small arms fire from distracted RedFac soldiers. Walker watched with amazement as a squad of Airborne Shock Troopers, armed to the teeth and dressed in T-4x Power Armor, rapelled down from their birds onto the scrap metal walls and makeshift buildings, killing several sentires with ease as they fired mini-guns, tripple-barrels, flamers, and other specialized weapons. One of them was even carrying a BCR-4 on his back, with a Thompson already in his hands as he smashed the face of an officer with the butt and planted a round in between his hazel brown eyes. The sight, of Airborne troopers always enflamed Walker to fight harder, as it did with every trooper. The Airborne were the greatest, albeit bigoted, heroes of the Crusade, and these men were amazing in every way. What made Walker even more enflamed to fight was their insignia; they were members of the Third Echelon, the sole fifteen surviving members of the D.C. Airborne; "We who are Alive and Remain." The Third Echelon were the embodiement of the Crusade, and to see them participating in a raid on some backwater settlement was truly awe-instilling. "Charge the bloody walls, you fuckers!" Walker screamed at the top of his lungs, waving his Thompson in a crazy matter as he bolted from the trenches. All at once, the under-manned fifty man company surged forward under heavy fire, sprinting the Mogadishu dash on a much smaller scale of twenty yards. Walker was the first to the destroyed gates, firing his submachinegun like a wild man.
As for James, he was trying to organzie the remaining Red Faction soldiers into some center barricdes. Pulling all the ammop, guns, men and women and childern into it, James bescially astarted the Alamo all over agian. However, this time it was a much smaller scale. And behind them, a RedFac specialst was setting down a satchel charge so then they could get the fuck out. Of course, a wall might be blown up, but, whatever. Ducking as a burst of bullets whizzed by his head, James looked back to see a soldiers head expolde in a smal lshower of gore.
Looking around, James saw something that might be of use after al... a ROPG-7. And, due to the fact that there was a Verti0brid hovering around...well, it clicked. Grabbing a speciaslt by the shoulder and handing him the rocket laucnher, Jame sponted out the target,. One pull of a trigger later, and a Verti-brids roter was off, flying in the air. Of course, when that happend, it sorta fell on the XCrusades forces. Grinning with delight, James watched as at least 6 Crusade soldiers were cut to sherds by the spinning rotors. Looking around, a small group of non-unifmormed soldiers were moving towards the barricdes. James recongized them. Some Arms Dealer was here. Must be him and his forces. Whatever, they were allies. They could help. Hell, they might even get out alive! Helping them get over the barricdes, James went back to hooting at the Crusade forces that were piling through the front gate.
Rowey doubled back on his original path, cycling the bolt on his Obrez Mosin and firing one-handed at an approaching Crusade soldier. The heavy-handed round levelled the Crusader, burning a hole in his combat armor and lighting his clothes on fire, just as the tag-line said. He noted that Hale and his Black-Ops squad were now closing on an oppressed, suppressed squad of Red Faction soldiers. Pulling the throttle on hisBig Four, Rowey sped off in pursuit of Hale and his Black-Ops team. Drawing close, he pulled his Cavalry Saber and, moving past quickly, ham-stringed another Black-Ops soldier, causing him to face-plant onto the ground while his leg bled. Hand-braking to put his Big Four to a stop, He turned off his bike and drew his Mosin again, aiming it one-handed as he advanced on Hale and his remaining Black-Ops soldiers.
"Yo! Juggernaught!" Rowey shouted, probably referencing Hale. "This ends here! You're putting my whole contract at risk, killing these guys. If you don't stop, I'm gonna kick your ass." Poor Rowey, of course, had no idea the ass-whooping he was about to be in for.
Hale snapped the neck of theRed Eye he had been strangling as the nut on the motorcycle uttered his challenge. Hale stood up straight and started stretching a little. Didn't want to pull a muscle when he broke this guy's neck. Hale stretched his neck, shoulders and back, each movement producing an audible crunch as he worked out days worth of stress and muscle tightness. Hale pulled off his helmet and handed it to Johnson. He locked eyes with Rowey as the mad merc revved his Big Four and whirled his saber. Hale dropped his bag to the ground and handed his FN FAL to Jackson. Hale finished his little stretching display and nodded to Rowey, who had, for some reason, waited respectfully for him to finish. Having seen Hale fight in single combat before, the BlackOps GIs rapidly cleared the area around the Butcher. That nickname had been given by Crusade troops, but adopted by Enclave forces, because it suited Hale down to the ground. Rowey flourished his saber and revved the Big Four again. Hale responded to this display by flipping the merc off and easing himself into a fighting stance that was somewhere between an Aikido stance and an internal Tai Chi Chuan stance.
Rowey gunned the engine and opened the throttle, ready to go whole-hog at Hale. He wheelied at the start of the run down the street and then levelled out. Hale just stood, waiting for an opportunity to land the strike that would finish this. Reaching behind his back, Hale pulled an entrenching shovel from his harness.. The second Rowey came withing throwing range, Hale lobbed the shovel at him. It hit flat-on, knocking Rowey from the bike, rather than splitting his head like a cooking apple, as Hale had hoped for. The bike hit the ground and skidded along the street until Hale stopped it dead by applying a boot to the undercarriage as it skidded towards him. Hale walked over the bike, flexing his fingers as Rowey staggered to his feet, his head throbbing from a mix of adrenaline come-down and shovel impact.
Rowey managed to collect himself and dive for his saber as Hale marched towards him like some unstoppable force of nature, breaking the neck of yet another RedFac soldier who ran past him, without breaking stride. Rowey whirled his saber, still confident in his skill, and his ability to beat this mere playground bully. He didn't realize that the bullish swagger was a bluff. Hale approached, a cocky look in his eye, a twisted parody of a smile on his face. Rowey made an expert thrust, wchich would have caught anyone off-guard, or so he thought. Hale swayed back, just out of Rowey's reach, and followed the saber back in as Rowey withdrew it to strike again.Hale landed a series of crushing front kicks, followed by a sidekick, roundhouse kick, and finally a spinning back-kick that bounced Rowey off the shack behind him. As Rowey rebounded off the wall, Hale landed a follow-up backhand, nearly taking Rowey's lower jaw clean off. Rowey lashed out on instinct, catching Hale with the back of his saber. The blow struck the side of Hale's leg, forcing him off-balance.
Where a normal man would have used that momentary respite to get some breathing space, or better, run the hell away, Rowey used if to press the advantage, punching Hale in the face with the guard of his sword. Hale staggered again, taken by surprise by the sudden hit. Rowey followed up with a kick to Hale's hip and a knee-kick to Hale's midriff. As Hale staggered again, Rowey slammed his elbow down on Hale's upper back, staggering the massive GI again. The rest of Hale's squad stared in disbelief. Not only had Rowey managed to land a hit on Hale, but managed to force him onto the back foot. Hale stepped back into a low stance, waiting for Rowey to follow up again. Which Rowey did, understandably, as Hale feigned injury. Just as Rowey came within range, Hale lurched his weight forwards, coming up off the back heel as he threw a perfect opposite punch, knocking Rowey off his feet as the strike connected with his chest.
"Still awake then," Hale sighed as Rowey struggled to his feet, badly winded by the punch, "Well, better finish this then, biker."
Rowey was winded, and he felt that his jaw may or may not have been dise may have several minor lacerations and/or internal concussions. He spat on the ground next to where his head was laying, but stayed down. "You're damn right, ya priss." Rowey said, but laid still. As Hale retrieved the shovel he had thrown to knock Rowey off his motorcycle, a lightning-fast move of his hand flicked a single .44 derringer from his belt. Before any of the Black-Ops soldiers could react, Rowey rolled to his feet and pulled the trigger on the semi-automatic .44.
Hale would feel, in his back, a series of white-hot prickers entering the backside of his ballistics vest, but not touching skin. They would still hurt like a bitch, though, even with Warrior-Weapon-Tough skin. Rowey tossed the empty derringer to the side, keeping his eyes focused on Hale and his Black-Ops team as he moved back towards his fallen Big Four. Along the way, he retrieved his cavalry saber and plucked his fallen Obrez Mosin from the dirt. As it turned out, the Big Four had withstood the fall it had taken when Rowey had separated from the seat.. The frame was untouched, and the only marks were where what was left of the paint on the gas tank had been scratched. Still looking at Hale, he lifted the bike onto its wheels, saddled it, retrieved his fallen beret and started the motor.
"Stop killin' folks!" The merc shouted as he sheathed his sabre and Obrez Mosin, rode towards Hale and clotheslined him with an outstretched arm.
Walker's face gazed onward as a VTOL, it's rotor chopped off by a missile, swirled out of control before landing on six of his own men, smashing them with super-heated metal and various alloys. So much for air support. Walker thought. About half of his remaining men were inside the gates, with more arriving to scale the walls or clear scrap metal pillboxes on the outside. As Walker turned the corner, he was joined by four members of the Third Echelon, their white and red power armor gleaming alongside the 82nd Airborne and Crusade insignia emblazoned on their shoulders. Walker and the five men who were with him as his two personal fire-teams snapped a salute with crisp precision. The Airborne returned the favor with nods of respect. The foremost of the Airborne, the tallest amongst them and armed with a tripple-barrel, spoke to Walker. "We're looking for a certain James O'Brien." The Airborne Captain stated. "CCI wants him. They say he's too much of a symbol for RedFac and the Cartel's interests." He said, shouldering his shotgun. Walker nodded. "We spotted the laddy trying to hold us back near the middle square where the barricades are." Walker said. The Airborne Captain nodded. "Move through the houses. We're going straight down the middle." He said, pushing past Walker and his men, the other Airborne in tow. Is he fucking insane? Walker thought. To go straight down the middle was suicidal... not to mention that the sight of it would lift morale ten fold.
"On me, lads and lassies." Walker said in his scottish accent, and moved towards an alley scrap metal door to the same two floor building that housed the sniper who had knocked out Cropland. Walker and two men on the left, with three on the right, cocked weapons and clicked off safeties. Three... two... one. Immediately, Walker smashed down the door with his boot, then backed off as two men entered with assault rifles, firing indiscriminately into the building. Screams and shouts were heard as the crew neutralized the first floor. "Status!" Walker shouted, entering with his Thompson raised at chest-level. When the invisible smoke had cleared, Walker noticed the lack of dead tangos and more the bounty of dead whores. Several other harlots stood cowering in corners, their male guardians having left long ago to defend the town.
"Anderson," Walker said, smiling, "note this building for strategic importance. List it as a resource depot." Walker said, chuckling. He moved towards one of the women, a twenty year-old waster with dirtied brunette hair. Her face was covered in grime, and she was half naked with a cloth held close to her chest. "Wie sind die kleinen whoredog heute, yah?" Walker said, putting his german credentials to use by mocking the women. She spat at his feet, pulling herself away. Immediately, Walker struck her across the face, sending her onto the floor and bruising her badly. Grabbing her by the chinny chin chin, Walker breathed through his matte black-carbon rebreather mask into her face. "Machen Sie sich keine Sorgen, arschloch. Wir sind Ihr Freund, right?" Walker said sarcastically. The other soldiers began to chuckle, then stopped as Walker made a hand motion. "But sir, I thought this was a resource depot, yah?" Anderson said, cocking an eyebrow inside his mask and helmet. "Not anymore; at least, not for us. Schießen. Wir akzeptieren keine Abfälle, nicht wahr?" Walker said, reminding him that they were purists. Snapping his fingers, Walker fired a round into the woman's forehead, blood gushing out as she collapsed.
Screaming became apparent as the six men opened fire, cutting down all of the women in the room without remorse. The room filled with the smoking ends of rifles and the smoking husks of whores. "Red Faction sluts and bitches." Walker said, his moral compass still sleeping like a baby. He enjoyed his work. Sure, they did have waster subjects, but known offenders of genetic uncompliance was unacceptable. Kicking each of the bodies to make sure they were truly dead, Walker stopped as he heard shouting from the upstairs area. "Anderson, with me." Walker said, his Thompson raised as he walked slowly up the stairs, Anderson on point. "Carparzo, move on to the next building." Walker said commandingly. Carparzo nodded, waving for everyone to follow him except for Anderson.
James and his band of what was left of the Red Faction mob. Stumbling through the old forest, James would trip over the ossiclanl root that was exposed. The first rule of Red Faction: Fight when you can, Get out when you must. It was better to lie to fight another day then to stand there and die. Red Faction would come back...with everything they got. Well, neraly everything. Coming across a dirt road, the group followed it, now meeting any firnedlys or hostiles. Finnaly, they came across a Red Faction roadblock.
"Dude, whats wrong yiou?" Asked one of the RedFac soldiers guyarding it.
"Otaacgon was just burned to the ground....Crusade and Enclave...." responded James.
"Shitttt." responded the same soldier. "Alright, nearst camp down the road a mile or so. Talk to the commander there. He's going to want to hear this."
"Yeah..." responed James.
Walking down the road, James thought. What if, they just fired a bunch of Rockets at Otagon? I mean, wfrom what he's heard of the Crusade, they would problay kill everybody. Adjusting his Flak Jacket, James settled in for the wall. Amnnd he left his FAMAs at the camp. Great.
Rowey sighed, wondering again how he had landed in the shithole job of the month as he cycled the bolt on his Obrez. He heard voices outside the door of the building he was hiding in, what may have at one point been a common house but was now gutted and covered with barriers. There were civilians- mostly women, children and the elderly- hidden behind overturned furniture and scrap metal piled up behind and in front, and Rowey hoped that the blood splattered around the room from the Black-Ops incursion earlier would lead the Crusaders to believe that Black-Ops had gunned down the survivors.
He wasn't that lucky.
Walker and his team kicked down the main door of the common house, and Rowey felt the door, barely hanging on to its hinges, smash into the wall beside him. Drawing himself up tight against the wall, clutching the grip of the Obrez Mosin, he waited for the group of Crusaders to draw in closer for a better shot.
Hale walked along a line of prisoners. The battle was clearing up, the Crusade gorillas gunning down the fleeing Red Eyes. Hale circled around the prisoners, walking behind them now. One of them twitched, Hale grabbed him by the collar, pulled him out of the line and slammed his knee upwards into the prisoner's gut. Hale followed up with a headbutt and a ridgehand to the throat. The man coughed and staggered backwards. Hale pulled his M1911 and put a slug between the man's eyes. A woman across the square screamed and started running. It was clear she was running towards the body, but Hale shot her anyway, the slug passing cleanly through her head. Hale sneered as the body fell, collapsing to the ground as blood leaked through the gaping hole in her forehead. Hale couldn't rationalize that. He was just pissed at that psychopath on the motorcycle surviving. That was the first time in too long Hale had failed to kill someone he had intended to butcher. Hale strode back in front of the queue of lowlifes.
"You,name and Rank?" Hale growled at the one at the head of the line.
"Officer Daniel Roberts. You might know me as that bastard CCI couldn't touch," The Officer responded smugly.
"Oh, the guy who killed two CCI Agents," Hale said, smiling as the man nodded. Hale sighed and continued, "CCI will never touch you."
Hale shot the man between the eyes as the colour drained from the Officer's face. Hale kneecapped the man next to the officer and pistol-whipped the man next to him. Hale was really enjoying blowing off steam on these bastards. He executed the one he'd kneecapped, a shot to the heart.
"Well, that makes me seem like a right bastard, doesn't it?" Hale said, running a hand through his hair. He turned to his unit and nodded. They smiled and stepped forwards, raising their AER12 Laser Rifles and firing at the line of men arrayed in front of them, rapidly gunning them down.
"And that, people, is how you deal with scum who think surrendering will make us go any easier on them," Hale said to his unit. They all smirked.
Lewis Price peered out of a window inside the Casteille-Westin HQ. A certain Marshall Rascon, a friend of Mre. Casteille himself just showed up. Something about a town named Otagon being raided. SDo, what did Lewis have to do? Check it out. Of course, by himself. At least, offically. Heading downstiars and opening the heavy wooden doors, Lewis was soon flanked by several Casetille mercenaries. Checking his two revolers, Lewis grabbed a rabndom gun from a nearby rack, dropping several caps on the dealers booth. Looking at the gun, Lewis noticecdd it was a thomposn. Slinging it over his shoulder, Lewis and his little group walked out of the gated marketplace/compiound for the Casetille brnach of the cartel. Now, to go to some hick little town and see whats up.
"Man, should'nt fucking Red Faction be doing this? I mean, chirst, i got my onw things to do!" Lewis said, which was responded by a few chuck;es/
James O'Brien paced around the outpost. Which, in reailty, was very small. It was 5 or so tents surrodned by a plaside of scrap-metal and trees that have been cut down. He had just finished to talking to the Red Faction officer in charge, a man by the name of Johnny White. Which, was kinda odd because he was hispanic. Slung over his back was a IA M6 Rifle, taken from Johhny Whites little armoury of extra guns. He was now carrying at least 5 spare mazine in his little dump-pouch. Which, was'nt that bad. Until you ran out of ammo. Jame's own mob were now sitting on the ground, resting. He had 11 Riflemen (which was really a catchall term for anybody without a speicalzied weapon.), 3 Support gunners, and a rocket team. Walking back over to the armoury, James quickly picked up several more magzines out of a crate. Pocketing them, James adjusted his flak-jacket agian. He had long since droppd the bandolier of ammo, since he longer had a FAMAS, and this outpost did'nt have one.
"15 Men total...." he muttered. This outposts mob had around the same men, but, James did'nt want to take any of the officer-in -charges men. First of all, he did'nt know them. Second of all, the local officer needed them more.
"Fuck it. Come on guys, lets go!" he whisted and moved ihis arm in the unviersval "follow me and move the fuck faster" montuon. Walking out the gate with his mob, James knew what he was going to do. Head back to Otcgon. Cause some havoc in the bush. After all, they were locals. They knew the area better then these invavning asswipes. It's time to show what a bunch of dedicated soldiers, such as himself and his mob, were cable of.
Hale stepped into another house, gun holstered, knives sheathed. He didn't think he really needed them in here. He surveyed the room, noting the piano in the corner. Probably out of tune, but hey, it was worth a shot at playing. As he stepped away from the door, he felt something wrap around his neck. Not a human arm or a wire garrotte, more like a belt. Ignoring the instinct to swing wildly at his attacker and thus waste air, Hale made an effort to force his fingers between his neck and that which was crushing it. After a little bit of struggling, he managed it, and forced the belt away from his windpipe. Taking a deep breath, Hale launched himself backwards, slamming both himself and his attacker into the wall. He lunged his elbow backwards again and again, hearing the satisfying gargle of a winded opponent and the dull thump of his elbow connecting with his quarry's gut. Then he swung his elbow up, hearing the unmistakable crack of his opponent's nose shattering as his elbow contacted it. Finally turning to face his battered foe, Hale noted the splash of blood and spit on the wall from his shot to the attacker's face, and the look of pain on the man's face as he tried to spit blood from his mouth and gasp for air simutaneously. Beaten, but right now, that wasn't enough for Hale. He was still pissed from Rowey.
So Hale went to town on the poor rebel. Grabbing the man by the hair, Hale pulled him back to a standing position and smiled a sadistic smile. He punched the man twice more in the gut, the second one so forceful the man began to vomit. Hale then shifted his grip and launched the man against the wall, producing the disharmonic clang of the sheet metal rattling against a human head. Hale stepped forwards and stamp-kicked into the back of the man's knee, eliciting a crack and a scream. Hale knee-kicked him in the kidneys, the sheer force ploughing the unfortunate Red Eye into the wall again and forcing him into his standing. Before he could slump again, Hale had delivered two punches to each kidney, followed by a snapped elbow to the base of his skull. He pulled the attack just short of killing him. Pulling his near-dead victim from the wall, Hale held him in his standing and looked him in the eyes. Hale thought victim as this had long since gone past him being a credible opponent. Hale shoved the man backwards, letting him get a chance to throw a punch. Hale shook his head as he blocked the predictable right hook, then snapped the man's wrist with a mix of gleeful ease and outright contempt. Then, altering his grip, he hyperextended the poor soul's elbow, listening to that sweet crack as the man's arm bent in ways it wasn't built to bend. Hale shin-kicked the man in the leg, his armoured calf crunching the Red Eye's lower leg. Hale followed up with a savage knee strike to the same thigh, dislocating it with something between a pop and a crunch. Hale grabbed the man and shifted him. Hale then slammed his knee into the man's groin until tears streamed down his face. As a final humiliation before the finale, Hale altered his grip and placed a thumb over the terrorist's eye and applied some pressure. The REdFac screamed as Hale drove his thumb further and further into the socket before removing the bloodied digit and returning it to the man's collar.
"You picked the wrong soldier to jump, you poor bastard," Hale said, shaking his head slowly. Then he took a firmer grip of the man's jacket and head butted him, once, twice, three times. One to break each cheekbone and a third to shatter what parts of the man's nose Hale's earlier elbow hadn't destroyed. To finish the brutal salvo off, Hale drew back again and slammed the side of his head against the side of the Red Eye's head, sending him to the floor. The man lay coughing up blood on the dirt floor, spitting out teeth and fragments of his torn, shattered cheeks. Chunks of gum mixed with the sickening mix as he tried and failed to gather the strength to crawl away from Hale. "This is how the Enclave deals with terrorists. You're on the wrong side of that line boy."
Hale crouched next to the man, grabbing him by the head and chin. Without a word, Hale lifted the man by the head, snapped his neck and tossed his body aside. With a dismissive grunt, Hale turned from the corpse, lying pathetically in the corner. Hale dusted his hands off and walked over to the piano. Swinging his leg over the stool, followed by the other, Hale settled himself, took a deep breath and started playing. He could hear his men executing the guerrillas outside, rapid bursts of AER12 Laser Fire cutting short the screams and pleas for mercy with a reassuring hiss. Hale knew he and his men would be demonized by the Red Faction thugs. But he didn't care. Some of his own people would consider them brutes for what they did. But others knew the truth. Hale and his men were necessary for the Enclave to survive. Sure they killed and exeecuted. But every time they went to war, the kissed their wives and kids goodbye and stood on a line to keep them safe. They drew a line on the ground and never took one step back. The stood on that line and said "Sleep quietly, sleep well. Nothing's going to get you tonight. Not on my watch". And so he kept on playing through the screams and the gunfire until the music drowned out the screams. And for that short minute, he was living the life of those he fought for. Hearing the music and ignoring the bloodshed as if it wasn't there. He sighed, finished and closed the piano. Time to go back to doing what he did best. He walked back out into the fire lit night, gun in hand. There was cleaning to do yet, and these scum wouldn't die by themselves.
((For those who are interested, Hale is playing this tune on the piano while his unit executes a bunch of rebels outside))