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Death, and Glory.
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Ranger Sanctuary [west, north, south]
You are standing in a small 15 foot by 15 foot concrete chamber deep beneath
the Ranger Center. A large black table occupies the majority of the room. A
single bare lightbulb hanging over the table swings back and forth slowly with
the breeze generated by the noisy air ventilation system.
General Message Board
[71 notes]
A map of Ranger Center is tacked to the wall here.
A map of the sewer system has been nailed and duct taped to the wall.
Shpongie
Ronnie leans against the eastern wall
Manta
Truman
Ronnie says: We're all gonna die.
Truman says: Oh my god.
Ronnie asks: Christ himself couldn't escape death, you think yer special?
Truman exclaims: I'm a freakin' newb!
A ranger nervously enters the room, looking around. He looks at the
crowd already assembled, and nervously nods his head.
Truman sighs.
Ronnie salutes the ranger.
Manta salutes the ranger.
Truman salutes ranger.
Private Gunther nervously offers a salute.
"Hey, y'all.." Private Gunther says. "You guys waiting for the CO to
come in as well for the briefing?" he asks, nerviously.
Truman mutters no.
Ronnie relaxes a bit, feeling a bit embarassed but not showing it much, and
replies "yeah I guess."
Ronnie removes his pair of stylish black shades.
Shpongie's boots make a soft sound on the floor, as he moves calmly into the
room. Shades are pulled off, folding them before sliding them into his
jacket pocket. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, and he presses back
aginst the wall, giving salutes where the need be. Rubber sole presses
aginst the wall, and he watches the room.
Manta removes his kevlar helmet.
"So where ... you guys from?" Private Gunther says, clearly nervous.
He looks like he's fresh out of the recruit box, a lad of only eighteen or so.
Ronnie says: Georgia I suppose would be accurate.
Truman mutters under his breath an inaudible prayer and grabs at his neck but
finds nothing.
Manta sits down cleans his shotgun.
Ronnie says: I think I was born somewhere around Texas though.
Truman says: Somewhere San Antonio... (gulp) I guess.
Manta says: Nevada, born and raised.
Private Gunther nods, slowly. At that precise moment, the clicking of
hard leather boots echo throughout the room, and the door swings open to the
touch of another ranger, dressed in fatigues. His sharp features promote him,
and on his shoulders and his left chest pocket, are markings indicating that
he's a Lieutenant.
Ronnie says: My pappy didn't have a real accurate map, so all I really know is
west of the Mississip and east of the radiation fields of New Mexico.
Truman asks quietly "Any of you guys got a cross or something?"
Ronnie salutes the Lieutenant.
Shpongie silently places the G11 aginst the wall, butt down, and unloaded. He
snaps to attention, calling out, "Officer present!"
Manta stands and salutes.
Ronnie stands at attention.
The Lieutenant offers a quick and crisp salute. "At ease. You may sit
down, or be comfortable." he says, nearly barking. "My name is Barksley. That's
Lieutenant Barksley to you people. But in any occasion, you WILL refer me to
'SIR'. Do I get that clear?" he continues, stiffly.
Manta says, "Yessir!"
Ronnie says: Sir Yes Sir.
Shpongie calls out, hopefull in unision with the rest of the rangers, "Sir, yes
sir!" He once again shifts, leaning back aginst the wall, paying close
attention to the officer.
"Good. Allright. All of you privates have been assembled here for a
training mission of some sort. Training mission in a real life situation."
Lieutenant Barksley says, glancing about the room. "We have an ideal situation
where we can test out your skills in the field.." he says, as he puts down
several pieces of paper on the table.
Ronnie glances furtively at the papers, hoping to glean some information from
them.
Manta listens intently.
Truman shakes mildly causing his rifle to rattle about and mummbles a prayer.
Lieutenant Barksley pulls out a big piece of paper and with some
pins, pins it on the northern wall. "This is the ranger outpost, northwest from
the Ranger Center. It's a military outpost that guards the northwesten portion
of our territory and consolidates our power base there. It's also the second
command centre in case of an emergency." he says, pointing towards a spot
northwest from the Rail Camp.
Shpongie just listens for the moment, the heel of one hand resting aginst the
wall, fingers drumming. He was rather good at containing what nervousness,
if any, he had. Eyes glance slightly to the papers, before they move back
to the Lieutenant, alert.
Ronnie nods, he's obviously been there a few times.
Manta nods.
Gunther nods, slightly.
Lieutenant Barksley glances about the room and looks at the Privates
assembled there. Ronnie, Manta, Shpongie, Truman, and Gunther. He continues,
"Several days ago a group calling themselves the 'Coalition of Former prisoners
from the New Nevada Prison' attacked the outpost. These people are allegedly,
decendants from the original occupants of the Ranger Center, and demand the
right to be let into the center, as they claim it is originally theirs."
Truman slowly backs up to a wall still shaking and slowly slides down the wall
into a sitting posistion.
Ronnie winces as he remembers Ranger Doyle mentioning being low on most
munitions in the first place...
Manta snorts.
Manta says: They don't have the resources there to fend off much...
Words are absorbed quickly, and logged in appropriate brain centers. Tattooed
eyelids blink every now and then, a single finger tapping aginst the wall now.
"The group which has attacked the outpost is about fifty strong. They
attacked the outpost and set up to siege it. The outpost, which originally
thought that they could handle it at first, found themselves boxed in. Supplies
have run out and morale is low, and ammunition is even lower." the Lieutenant
says, ignoring Ronnie and Manta. "We're going to go there and assist them, and
clear out the rats.." he says, licking his lips.
Truman says: Whats the risk level.
Manta says: Sounds like fun, Sir.
Truman says: Sir.
Ronnie looks at Truman like he just pissed on an American Flag or something,
"Soldier what's 'risk level' matter? It has to be done, period. Let's get
it done."
"If you think that the five of you are going to go against fifty odd
ruffians and bastards, think again. The five of you have been assembled here
because your skills in the field will be tested and monitored." the Lieutenant
says. "You will be sent along with about 30 other rangers. Your every move will
be monitored and the results of this evaluation will be used to see if you are
worthy of a promotion or even to officer level" he continues.
Manta asks: Sir, do you erally think that wasting such resources are necessary
on your average wastelanders?
Lieutenant Barksley says, "Shut up, private. I'm not done yet."
Manta says: Aye sir.
Truman grabs his rifle and shoots up in to a standing posistion.
Shpongie nods lightly, checing over his equipment, which was fairly sparce. He
shakes his head at the meaningless and insubordinate soliders, still
keeping an ear to Barksley, ready to pay attention whenever the next part
of the briefing was given.
Truman says: Reqest permission to speak, Sir.
Ronnie grins a bit at Truman's statement.
The lieutenant looks over the papers on the table, and pulls out
another one. He puts it up onto the wall. It looks like a detailed map of the
Ranger Outpost. "The Coalition has attacked the entrace of the ranger outpost.
It looks like they have tried attacking the back, but they couldn't get past
the mountains. Failing that, they attacked in three different groups at the
outpost. Two from each side of the outpost, and one more further back from the
outpost. They have mortars and perhaps a bazooka or two." he says, and glances
at Truman. "Granted" , he snaps.
Truman asks: Freely, Sir?
Manta stares at Truman.
"Go ahead, or I'll bite your head off!" the Lieutenant fiercely says.
Truman asks: Are we all monitered even when we go out at our own will?
The Lieutenant growls. "We'll see."
Truman decides to remane silent.
Manta chuckles, "Don't worry Truman, nobody cares about how many hookers you
hang around."
Manta give Truman a friendly shove.
"The task of this squad, is to take out the mortar positions or
capture it intact." the Lieutenant says. "We can leave the fighting to the
other rangers. In any case of emergency, should you fail, the other rangers
will take care of the job for you." he says. "Of course, if that happens, you
will be marked accordingly" he barks. "Any questions?"
Gunther decides to pass.
Truman asks: What kind of weapons do they have?
"They have super chainguns and hyper plasma rifles, ranger!"
Lieutenant Barksley snaps at Truman. "No, really, what do you think that they
have? The majority of them will have some sort of small arms and a few of them
will have larger weapons, like a bazooka or two. Then there's always melee and
hand to hand!" he yips out.
Shpongie raises his arm halfway, a few fingers jutting into the air.
"Yes, Private.." the Lieutenant growls, as he glances at Shpongie.
"Shpongface. What questions do you have?"
Ronnie raises his hand.
The hand lowers as it's acknowledged, and he speaks crisply, "Are the mortars
in a fortified postion, or in the open?"
"The mortars are indicated to be on a much higher ground in order for
them to succesfully hit the outpost and in it's grounds. Intelligence has said
it to be on a western position not too far off from the main groups. It's
probably guarded by a unit or two." Lieutenant Barkley says. "They may have
fortified it in the time it took for intelligence to relay this info. But last
time we checked, they have not fortified it. Any more questions?"
Shpongie nods in response to his question, satisfied. He continues to go over
his gear as his fellow rangers continue to inquire.
Truman raises hand.
Truman asks: How much mortar ammunition do they have?
Ronnie nudges Truman, "Not like they can turn the mortars on us when we attack
up close anyway, stop bugging about shit that don't affect the mission."
Ronnie asks: Sir, if we take out the mortar positions, or capture them intact,
ahead of the other Rangers completing their missions, are we to move to
support them?
"You will recieve further orders on completion of your first task!"
The lieutenant says. "Provided that you all aren't dead!"
Truman shudders.
Ronnie says: Sir yes Sir.
Manta says, "Yessir!"
Ronnie begins strapping on his gear again, and grabs his shotgun.
Manta straps on the kevlar helmet
Truman says: I don't have all that good armor.
Ronnie says: Then we'll keep you farther back, your carbine'll be more useful
at longer ranges than our shotguns anyway.
Truman nods and shrugs.
"I will oversee your pitiful shitass faces, and then some. I will not
issue you any orders, however. No, I have elected Private Spongeface over
there.." the Lieutenant points at Shpongie.. "To be your commanding officer for
the duration of this mission!" he barks.
Truman looks at Ronnie.
Private Gunther nods, nervously. He looks around at his teammates.
Ronnie salutes Shpongie.
Manta says: Understood Sir.
Manta looks at Shpongie.
Truman says: Understood, Sir.
Ronnie says: Well let's roll, Doyle's not getting any younger waiting for us to
drag-ass up there and save his shit.
Truman asks: Could i borrow a helmet?
The G11 is taken unhurredly, and 'Pong loads it with a fresh magizine. His head
shifts up to acknowledge the order. The rifle is slung over his shoulder, and a
quick salute was returned to Ronnie. Jacket buttons up, any hanging straps
being secured.
"Allright. Your first task is to move to the carpark, where there
will be jeep waiting there, to drive you bastards to the Outpost. MOVE, MOVE,
MOVE!" yells the Lieutenant. "I will go to the site in a different vehicle" he
finishes.
Manta says, "Yessir!"
Ronnie says: SIr yes sir.
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Ranger Center - Tarmac [north]
You are standing in the middle of a black asphalt tarmac. To the west you can
see an concrete garage, with a large oversized sliding door. The entrance to
the ranger center appears to be toward the north. Directly east from you, you
can see the security checkpoint for vehicals using the back entrance.
The cold night zaps the heat right out of you.
Manta
Shpongie
A jeep is waiting here, it's engines up and running already. The
spacious interior can probably fit about five people, if crammed properly.
Several other jeeps and humvees are on the tarmac, and other rangers are
entering them.
Shpongie points to the back of the jeep, barking, "Get in and secure your
weapons!"
Ronnie climbes into the designated jeep.
Truman says: Lost you guys.
Manta climbs into jeep.
Shpongie climbs into the front seat after his makeshift squad was loaded in.
Truman jumps in.
"You the Newbie group?" the driver, a slim guy with the nametag
"Corporal DeCruz" drawls, half-assedly.
Ronnie says: Sir Yes Sir.
Manta says: Aye, Sir.
Shpongie nods to DeCruz, "Yes sir."
Truman says: Yes, sir.
"Good. We all set to go?" the Corporal says, as he looks past his
windscreen. Several jeeps are doing three-point turns and are already driving
out of the back entrance way already. He turns to Private Shpongie, and nods.
"Let's get rippin'" he drawls. Immediately, he presses down hard onto the
accelerator, shooting out of the gate.
The jeep screeches and wildly turns out of the center's back gates.
Corporal DeCruz seems like a demon behind the wheel, and constantly shifts and
changes gears. He grins wildly as the jeep bounces around on the arid desert.
The jeep screeches and it runs over a huge bump in the road. The
corporal drives with one hand on the wheel, relaxed, as if this is all normal
shit. The jeep buckles under all the stress as it shifts into a gear you never knew
existed.
Shpongie glances back at his squad, mentall assigning each of them tasks for
when they assaulted.
Cacti flash past the windows, as the jeep wildly swings to the right, avoiding a desert dweller.
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Outside an Outpost [outpost, west, south, north, east]
Off in the distance, you see a small settlement. It looks like there's a good
bit of activity there, as you can see an occasional cloud of dust coming from
here and there inside the walls of the place.
The cold night zaps the heat right out of you.
Manta
Ronnie
Truman
Shpongie
Truman says: To die... again, would be a great adventure.
"Well, this is it folks ..." the Corporal says, as he grips both his
hands on the wheel. Other jeeps now come into formation by the sides of your
jeeps, a total of five others. Over in the horizon, you see a large
dust cloud forming over the location of the outpost, and even an explosion or
two. The fighing looks kind of intense down there.
Another jeep takes the point suddenly, accelerating as fast as it can, and soon,
all the other jeeps zoom forwards, demons on wheels. Rangers swing out from windows
now and the jeeps get ready to turn themselves into killing squads on wheels.
The jeep that you're in rolls to a stop however, as the other jeeps zoom ahead of
you, leaving you in the dust. Your mission is of a different kind, however..
Ronnie rolls out of the jeep and begins checking out the area from a laying
position.
Truman gets out of jeep.
Manta climbs out of jeep.
Shpongie climbs out of the jeep, standing next to it, pointing a line
perpendicular to the vehicles, "Squad, form up on this line!"
Ronnie stands up and forms on the line.
Truman falls in.
Gunther steps out of the vehicle, nervously. He gets into line, looking about.
"Yeah, you have good luck out there.." the Corporal says, grinning.
"I'll join the others in front." he grins. The other jeeps have gone out ahead
of all of you, thier dust clouds only indicating where they are.
Gunther looks around, nervously. He grips his weapon, an ancient M17
Carbine probably inherited from his dad.
Truman says: I gotta question.
Shpongie checks over his squad, nodding to Truman, "Feel free."
Truman asks: How would one prevent thier gun from jamming?
Shpongie says: Keep the action clear, don't let dirt in.
The jeep hightails it out of here, leaving you folks in a cloud of
dust. Pretty soon another jeep screeches to a halt, and Lieutenant Barksley
climbs out of it. He grins at Shpongie as he walks towards the squad, clutching
his own M4A1 carbine and in the other hand, a small notepad.
Gunther looks around nervously.
Truman looks at the others and happily salutes, setting an example.
Manta salutes.
Ronnie asks: Sir, if I make a suggestion as far as tactical deployment?
Ronnie says: Well sir, there's me and Manta with our shotguns, we're obviously
ill-suited to trying to snipe at long range, and I know I personally could
probably sneak quite close to the raiders before they saw me. Seems like if
we had you with the G11 hang back behind cover to snipe a bit, me and Manta
up front ambushing, with Truman and Gunther providing some midrange cover,
it'd be the way to maximize the firepower we have.
"I'm watching you bastards!" the Lieutenant says, as he slings his
weapon across his shoulders. The fighting is still about half a mile off.
According to the information, the mortar should be about a bearing of 45degrees
to the west, away from the fighting.
Manta says: Understood, Sir.
"Or we could use the jeep and bust in there... " Gunther says, as he
eyes the jeep the Lieutenant got out of. "We could use the jeep to ram past
their defences and go out shooting..." he mumbles.
Ronnie says: Actually the jeep cold provide some cover, but it's not exactly
stealthy.
Truman puts a hand over his mouth and nose and inhale deeply his eyes half
close and removes his hand smiling "Ready to go, sir."
Lieutenant Barksley doesn't say anything. He scribbles something in
his notepad.
Ronnie begins stuffing nearby foliage into the webbing covering of his helmet,
and any other crevaces in his gear that look like they could use some
camoflague.
Shpongie listens to Ronnie, nodding after what he said was completed.
"Considered, and almost the same thing I was thinking. I think Truman and
Gunther should be adequate cover, I want you and Manta on either side of
me. Try to keep the mortars intact, I want something to bring home to show
the kids. We will hike up," he points to the start of the mountains, west,
"And you two," indicating Truman and Gunther, "Will set up positions where
you have a clear line of fire to the mortars. We three will move close, and
I will radio you to start firing. When I say, pepper the area with fire,
but slow down as you see us about to assault. Move up quickly after we
begin, and secure a perimiter around the mortar encampement. Any
questions?"
Truman says: Black trench coats in a desert aren't exactly camoflage.
Ronnie nods at Shpongie and remarks "We're surely outnumbered, surprise is the
tool that'll bring us all home intact.
Ronnie says: Truman if you haven't noticed, it's nighttime. Darkness. Black
coat.
Manta says: Well planned, Shpongie.
Truman says: Hmmmmm...
Shpongie says: We will have suprise. They will be concerned with those two, we
will slip up unnoticed.
Truman says: Good point.
Manta cracks his knuckles.
Ronnie pulls a small jug of what appears to be very thick motor oil out of his
trench coat and begins smearing it on any reflective metal he is wearing.
Truman eyes shoot open wildly and looks at his bare feet, smiles and laughs a
bit.
A position up the the mountains lights up suddenly, and a split
second later, a whole area in front of the Ranger Outpost lights up in a ball
of flame. Shooting and screams fill the air, as smaller explosions errupt from
nearly everywhere. It seems like the fight has begun.
Ronnie asks: Sir, permission to deploy?
"YOU READY TO PROVE YOUR WORTH, SOLIDERS?!" barks the acting commander, Shpongie, barely
waiting for a response before starting towards the mountains.
Manta says: ALways ready, Sir.
Truman exclaims: READY TO PROVE MY WORTHLESSNESS TO ALL SAR!!!!
Manta follows Ronnie, scaling the mountain to get into range.
Shpongie sets a quick pace, jogging along the base of the mountain, nimbly
darting up, using the easiest footholds. At an outcropping of rocks was
chosen to deploy the two riflemen, giving them a clear line of sight to the
mortars.
Small explosions light up the night sky, screams fill the air over
yonder.
"What do I do?" says Private Gunther.
Private Gunther checks over his equipment. He's in his own ranger
fatigues and he starts jogging along the rest of his squad.
Ronnie hollers back at Gunther "Erm, unless I'm mistaken aren't you with Truman
covering our asses from that outcropping that Shpongie is pointing
furiously at?"
"Sorry.." Private Gunther says, looking rather embarassed. He follows
Truman now.
Truman says: Like i know where to go.
"You wait for my radio call solider, I will say 'Commence attack', you and
Truman will start firing on that position. Let up when I give the command,
'cease fire', and move to where we are. It should be secure by the time you
reach it, and I want you two to set up a perimiter. We will join you, and wait
for further orders." Shpongie says, as he moves with Manta and Ronnie now, stealthily
coming up on the position's blind side.
Truman says: Lock and load.
Truman fiddles with gun.
"I can barely see in this darkness" Private Gunther says, as he
starts scaling the outcropping, his weapon slung over his shoulder.
Shpongie climbs carefully with the two shotgunners, eventually moving just
under the mortar position, enough time elasping for when they get there, to
allow Truman and Gunther to completely set up.
Ronnie reaches the top of the ridge, and as quietly as can be managed, slides
up onto the ridge and begins "GI Crawling" towards the mortar positions,
loaded shotgun in his right hand.
Lieutenant Barkley frowns as he follows Shpongie. He unslings his
rifle now, wary for any attack.
Truman holds down a button on his radio pickup while saying: Have fun, over
Manta's radio squawks and Truman's voice says: Have fun, over
The mortar position lights up in fire again, and this time, a
brilliant ball of flame jets up from the outpost's walls, crumbling it
instantly. A direct hit. With any luck, they would penetrate the walls and overrun
the place. A whoop of glee rises from the mortar position, instantly telling
you where the position is.
Ronnie smiles vaguely as the artillery crew foolishly give away their position,
and crawls closer and closer.
Shpongie crouches with the four, actually finding himself to the left of the
position, about level, concealed by rocks. He nods to the group,
whisipering, "You ready to rumble?" The radio button was pressed, "Commence
attack", and he clutches his weapon, waiting for the firing.
Manta makes his way toward the position, still crawling, and looking for
hostiles.
Several of The Coalition Raiders patrol around the mortar position,
armed with rifles and other small arms. They appear to be guarding the mortars. Intel was
right to say that perhaps one or two units guard the position. They had better, as the mortar
looks intstrumental to defeating the outpost.
Manta holds his shotgun tight, noting that the Raiders are getting close.
Truman begins to breath hard and fast.
Shpongie speaks as the two privates open fire, nodding, "We will go in hard and
fast, don't give them time to think."
There are about seven or eight, guards visible in the faint light that is a
campfire, around the mortar position. Suddenly, a shot rings out, and one of
them drops almost immediately. The position is thrown into panic now, and they
dig in, expecting an attack.
Truman falls on his back and shakes.
Ronnie's eyes flit nervously, something's wrong, the boys at the outcropping
should be firing by now...
Manta lines up a nearby Raider and opens fire, blowing half of his torso clean
off.
Private Gunther growls, as he reloads his carbine. "Damnit..." he
mumbles, as he tries to set his sights on another raider. He can't see anything
now...
Ronnie continues sneaking closer to the mortar position.
Truman wildly fires at the posistion howling and screaming "COME GET SOME!!!
COME GET SOME!!!
Ronnie shrugs, not a lot in point in sneaking, and begins a half-loping trot
towards the campfire, still ducking behind cover where available.
The raiders notice Manta almost immediately. Suddenly the air is
filled with hot lead popping out of nowhere, tracer fire zipping through the
air. It seems like a heavy machine gun position, and it's got Manta as an
easy target.
Truman wildly fires at the posistion howling and screaming "COME GET SOME!!!
COME GET SOME!!!
Ronnie mutters "SHIT" under his breath, drops back on his below and starts
crawling towards the new target: Heavy Machinegun position.
Shpongie snarls, barking into his radio, "CEASE FIRE!" He barely gets the order
out, before sliding down, moving close, G11 shouldered. Several three-round
bursts were fired at the Raiders, as he attempts to push into the position.
He used what cover was avalabile, his rifle substantally quieter than the
rest of the gunfire.
Manta's eyes open widely as the tracer fire slowly swings around to his position.
He jumps to the side as fast as he can, trying to use a large rock as cover. His
attempt is successful as the rock he's hiding behind sustains a large number of hits.
Ronnie gets close enough to see the machinegun post in the dim light now, the
bastards have strung a net on posts above it to shield it from grenades,
and it appears to be two men with the gun set up on a rock.
The heavymachinegun position dies down now. Seems like they either
took some shots, or are reloading. The mortar is empty now. Nobody's guarding
it - seems like they want to take out whatever shit that's being thrown at
them.
Manta slowly pokes his head up from his cover, trying to locate the location of
the machine gun.
Ronnie takes the cue to charge the machinegun position.
Shpongie wishes he had a grenade about now, as he slides up, suprising a
Raider, preferating his chest with 4.7mm caseless. He dives to the ground,
snapping several three round bursts out, from behind the still-warm
Raider's body.
Truman slowly aims and fires single precise shots at the position.
Truman reloads his rifle.
Shots splatter against the sandbags of the machine gun. The machine
gun chops up to life again, tracer fire lighting up the dark.
Ronnie circles around, the machinegunners are still to busy to notice him, then
one spots him with a shout, which quickly becomes a moot point as assault
shotgun fire peppers them both.
Manta sees some movement and takes a shot at it, hoping to hit somthing.
The machinegun swings to provide for supressive fire, as Raiders scan
for the attackers. They are perhaps down to five or six people, about three of
their men down. One of them fires a stream of lead hail at Ronnie, after his
partner is blown away in a flurry of shotgun rounds.
The unfamiliar sound of pistons thumping, belts spinning, and gasoline burning
can be heard. A Scrapbiker. With the thickly-treaded all-terrain tires chewing
up small pieces of rock as whoever's riding it attempts to manuever up the
precariously narrow path up the mountain, seeming to head towards the mortar.
Due to the lack of illumination, one can only go by the growling of the motor
for an idea of where the scrapbiker's position is located.
Ronnie just as he clears the machinegun nest, a sledgehammer slams into his
chest, or at least that's what it feels like, the shot knocks him at least
6 feet, he's happy to note his recon suit has saved his life, of cousre his
world is pain still, however noting the tracers swinging over to where he
was, he's somehow grateful.
Manta spots the machine gun and takes a mad dash from his cover, and begins
shooting at the gunner.
The gunner at the machinegun nest notes Truman and Gunther's position, from Truman's
earlier yelling. Quickly he fires blindly in that location, tracer bullets zipping
through the air to home in on the ranger's camping spot.
Private Gunther screams out in pain as the Machinegun bullets tear
through his kevlar vest. He slumps over his weapon, blood seeping out through
his vest. Vests are like tissue paper to a weapon like a HMG.
Manta ducks down and reloads.
The machinegunner is quite safe behind his sandbag as bullets
splatter onto his position. He doesn't stop firing, and neither does his
compadres, as they continue shooting bullets at the rangers.
The body of the Raider 'Pong kills is hit by several small arms shots, leaving
sick-sounding thwaks haning in the air for a moment, before they were drowned
by gunfire. Well.. this dead Raider had a 'nade strapped to his chest, and it
was quickly taken advantage of, pin pulled and thrown in the direction of the
machiengun, pitching it like a baseball, before diving behind a pile of rocks.
Better cover than human flesh and tissue, eh?
Large explosions echo throughout the valley below in front of the
ranger outpost. The fighting seems intense down there. It perhaps have taken a
turn for the better though, since nobody is firing the mortar now.. perhaps the
rangers down there have a chance to win.
A scream echoes throughout the air, and a moment later an earth
shaking roar splits the atmosphere. The heavy machinegun now errupts in a
brilliant ball of flame, it's gunner now splattered from here to needles.
Ronnie crawls closer to the gunner position, unsure who shot him exactly, but
sure it wasn't the machinegun, since that made rather short work of
Gunther... The gunner however seems to believe it was the machinegun that
hit Ronnie. Well it's not really an issue now as suddenly flaming shrapnel
is raining down from the machinegun nest.
The raiders, now dwindled down to four, now take positions defending
the mortar. None of them dare to venture out now, as they pop up from behind
rocks and take aim, firing at the rangers. Just like an old fashioned shooting
arcade.
Shpongie pushes up hard, clammoring to the top of the rockpile, G11 held at
ready, quickly finding a target and popping his throat with a salvo of
sharp bullets. He dips back behind cover, as bullets spark off the granite.
Manta throws himself into the sands, trying to locate the reamaing raiders.
Ronnie curses a bit as a chunk of shrapnel lands in his leg, reloads his
shotgun and begins moving towards the few remaining raiders.
A circular object files through the air now, falling close to
Shpongie's cover.
The raiders are dwindled down to three. A good deal of cursing can be
heard from their position now, however. Most notably, shouts as "WHERE THE FUCK
IS THE BACKUP?" is heard.
Ronnie grabs a nearby baseball sized rock and chunks it behind the raider's
cover, sure enough one thinks it's a 'nade and foolishly leaves cover, a
flurry of shotgun pellets drop the raider, and Ronnie moves behind a rock
as the remaining two mercilessly pummel the rock with small-arms fire.
The engine noise grows louder as the throttle is cranked, causing the scrapbike
to propel upward at an alarming rate towards the location of the mortar. In the
near-blinding darkness, and considering the distance, it's quite hard to see
the thick silohuette of the Scrapbike clearing a few sand-bags and
hastilly-constructed rock barricades. One of the individuals on the 'cycle
seems to let out an explosive volley of shots, spraying wildly at two of the
raiders that're dug in deep. The bike lands hard, kicking up dust and gravel as
it does so, before the mohawked driver spins the vehicle to its side and pulls
a weapon from the saddlebag, levelling it off at the closest thing possible.
Shpongie's eyes fly wide, hearing the clatter. A boot kicks at it, before he
rolls over, getting as much cover as possible before the grenade deontates.
He lets out a sharp scream as sharp, hot, jagged metal peices tear through
cloth and flesh, along his back, and legs a little. He had faced the
grenade headfirst, putting his weapon in front of the top of his helmet,
saving his life.
The shots in the area dies down, and all is silent.
Ronnie noting that some backup for his side has apparantly arrive, moves to
take the mortar position, keeping an eye, and furtively a shotgun, on the
new arrival.
Manta moves toward the mortar position as quietly as he can.
The individual on the back of the bike quickly dismounts, hastilly reloading a
compact-looking submachine gun as she does so. Spinning around once or twice to
be sure her six is cleared while the mohawked driver continues to keep a
look-out for any lurkers that the rangers might've missed. The leather-clad
female drops down to a crouch next to the mortar, and begins disassembling it
with the speed only one familiar with such a weapon could perform.
Ronnie notes one of the downed raiders groping woundedly for a weapon on the
ground, limps over to the man and discharges a three-round burst from his
shotgun into the man's skull.
Lieutenant Barksley peeks out from behind cover. Seems he's been
idling close to the outcropping close to Shpongie, enjoying a good smoke. He
views the damage that has been done and shrugs his shoulders, slinging his
weapon on his shoulders.
Shpongie groans as the injured ranger sits up, his weapon still lying in the sand. The
helmet is removed, a peice of metal lodged halfway through the kevlar. Very
slowly he stands, and grunts, gritting his teeth, several metallic shards
lodged under the flesh like spinters.
Ronnie barks "Somebody check if any of the others are still breathing."
Ronnie limps up to the woman, "Thanks for helping us out there miss, but um,
what exactly are you doing with that mortar?"
Manta gets on his feet and scans the area for any remaining hostiles.
Lieutenant Barkley grunts as he stops by Shpongie. He fumbles around
in his pocket for a moment before bending down and sticking a hypodermic needle
into Shpongie's arm. He grins. "Painkillers Stimpak. Take it easy, you got a
hard one."
Shpongie watches the needle, not making a sound as it enters, and he is washed
with relief. Eyes glaze over a little, and he reaches for his rifle.
Picking it up and turning it over, it is obvious it's no longer in any
working order. A sigh as he drops it, drawing a Colt 1911 from the holster
at his side. He moves towards the other rangers, checking them over.
The figting down in the valley below still wages on. Small explosions
and tracer fire lights up where the people are in the valley. Seems like the
remaining raiders are now caught between the Outpost and the new arrivals, and
without a mortar nor any heavy weapons backing them up, the fourty odd people
down there seem to be in the middle of a very painful session.
The girl finishes the job, and slides the disassembled mortar into a long
canvas bag. She doesn't say a word to Ronnie. She merely reaches over and
begins packing up whatever unused mortar rounds that are around her. The
scarred, heavilly-tattooed punk on the motorcycle levels off the .45 at
Ronnie... a small dot of the laser sight hovering on the flesh of his neck.
"Back off... this is gang-related. Just walk away, and nothing bad happens."
the punk states flatly, brushing a few strands of hair fallen from his
purple-mohawk back away from his face.
The girl stands, slinging the bag over her shoulder and subsequently pointing
the MAC-17 at Ronnie's face as she walks back to the Scrapbike, keeping a wide
arc of distance from her and the ranger.
Ronnie nervously touches his suit where the bullet hit him, and comes back with
fingers coated in blood, one of his eyebrows arches and he mutters "That
can't be good news..." he glances at the man with the .45, and decides if
the Lieutenant wants the mortar he can get it his damn self.
Shpongie looks at the two punks, and lays a hand on Ronnie's shoulder, tugging
him back, away from them. He speaks druggedly, "Can you man that machine
gun, if it's usable?"
Manta raises his shotgun and takes aim at the two punks.
Ronnie looks at Shpongie like he's from fucking Mars. And points to the chunk
of his leg that now has pieces of said machinegun lodged in it.
"That mortar is now the property of the New Nevada Desert Rangers,
Badlanders.." a man starts walking up the mountain trail, towards the mortar
position, says. "And if I'm not wrong on the alliance between the two of our
groups, you are entitled to help us and so are we to help you." Lieutenant
Barksley says, as he unslings the M4A1 assault rifle from his shoulder.
Shpongie didn't really see it explode, and he looks at the sandbag bunker,
blinking dumbfoundedly, "Oh.." Attention shifts back to the Lt., and to the
punks.
Ronnie pulls his knife from his boot and begins field-dressing the shrapnel
wounds in his legs. He doesn't have a clue what to do about the bullet in
his abdomen though. Good thing he's still in shock about it....
Lazz recognizes Shpongie from the encounter at the gas-station, but doesn't say
anything to jar his memory. He does however, give a few words to the rifle
as his female partner straddles the bike. "You guys are walking away with a
functional machine-gun, plenty of hand-held weaponry, and most likely more
than enough grenades. We only want the mortar, Lieutenant... and as for the
alliance, I don't think the agreements between your superiors and the
complete fruit-loop that heads my gang apply very much."
Ronnie glances over at the Lieutenant, and says something about a medic and
being hit before promptly passing out and sprawling all over the ground.
Manta lowers his shotgun and runs over to ROnnie.
Manta says: He's hit bad Sir, we gotta get him to a doctor.
Shpongie crouches next to the unconcious ranger, then back at the Barksley. He
fishes around in his now-tattered jacket pocket, pulling out a field
dressing, pressing it against Ronnie's stomach, in the spot where most of
the blood seemed to be.
The Lieutenant smiles. "I guess you're right about the fruitloops
that we have. The buttheads here blew up the machinegun and well, we'll just
walk away with some stuff. I guess that you do deserve the mortar, after all,
seeing that you helped this group of freshies out.." he says, wary not to cause
any tension between the two once-rival groups.
Ronnie took some shrapnel to his left leg, those wounds have already been
field-dressed. There's also a place on his abdomen where a 4.6mm caseless
round punched through his suit when Shpongie fired at movement.
An explosion echoes throughout the valley, and then the fighting
starts to die down. It looks like the rangers down there have consolidated
their gains.
Lazarus lowers the .45 as Ronnie faceplants into the dirt. He raises a pierced
eyebrow, then looks back over to Barksley. "Thanks for the cooperation... but
hey, if it makes you feel any better, I'll get Spike to okay a quick shipment
of meds up to this place... if there's a top-notch in our little hierarchy,
it's Spike. Devil's too fucking dangerous to even speak to...so you're gonna
wanna ask for the big mutant instead." Lazarus says as his female companion
begins to secure the mortar to the back of the bike.
"Lieutenant, we need a medic hear ASAP. I'm not sure how bad he's hurt here"
Shpongie says, glancing at Ronnie.
"It's allright." the Lieutenant says. "We got this thing covered," he
continues. "Expected it. I think we might be seeing some promotions here
tonight. Though, not many.." he says, eyeing Shpongie and Ronnie. "Thanks for
your help. Though it seems like you were only after the mortar.." he says,
chuckling.
Three rangers now come up the mountain trail, carrying field medic
equipment. All of them have a bright red cross on a white background, wrapped
around their arms. They look around the place, one of them goes up to where
Private Gunther was, and two of them walk to where Ronnie and Shpongie are.
"We've been scrapping with the new packs of marauders that've been trying to
expand their turf onto ours. Namely the Iron-Springs Slavers, the Coalition
Raiders, and some group of fuck-jobs in Junktown, The Smoke. Slavers and
Co-Raids have been a big pest to step on... but The Smoke is too fucking stoned
to do anything, so we leave them be." Lazarus chuckles. He looks around at the
remnants of the fight. "The mortar's going to be used against the Slavers...
and I think the Co-Raiders are going to be licking their wounds for a damn long
time before they got the manpower to scrap with us Badlanders any time soon."
Shpongie nods to the medics, still keeping pressure on Ronnie's gut wound,
trying to stave off bleeding. His back was streaked with slices along the
jacket, and flesh, trickling. His legs had a few scraps of metal lodged
under the skin, but nothing serious was heart.
The Lieutenant nods. "I just got word however the other day.. a memo
came in on most CO tables. General Andy radioed in to the Colonel this
afternoon on a crisis dealing with Raiders..." he says, licking his lips.
"Perhaps you might have known of it. Apparently there's fourty odd raiders
enroaching into the Nevada terriory, and they're just a wing of a large raider
alliance. The General's handling the fourty now, along with some of his group,
and the Colonel has put the rest of us rangers on high alert in case more
raiders enter this area."
Manta looks at Lazz.
A medic comes down from the outcropping, a body over his shoulders.
Private Gunther's body. He looks at his companions, tight-lipped, and shakes
his head.
Shpongie's eyes shift to the medic, and he slumps, but still with enough
presence to keep the pressure on Ronnie. He was obviously taken aback by
the nervous private's death, and he shivers slightly.
"I think we caught scent of that... the rival gangers have been popping up like
roaches, pretty much." Lazarus replies with a sigh. "The slavers are
particularly annoying..." he pauses, watching the medic carry off another
casualty. Another dead kid... another biproduct of a vicious skirmish.
A transmission comes over the Lieutenant's radio. "We're cleared up
over here, Lieutenant. How did the greenhorns do?"
The lieutenant nods. "These groups are based off in the north. They're
all appearing there. I guess the first territory they will pass by will be the
Badlander's territory. If you need any help, we can always come by and assist
you guys." he chuckles, as he fingers his radio. He speaks into the transmitter
now, and says, "Yeah, we're done here. They managed to take out the mortar with
some help, but we got one dead and two seriously injured back here.." he says,
and puts down the transmitter. "But, I guess you guys wouldn't want our help,
right?" he says, grinning slightly.
The medic comes over to Ronnie, and nod towards Shpongie. Slowly, the
medic takes over Shpongie's job, and the first thing he does is jab a stimpak
needle into Ronnie. Following that, he proceeds to take out other things, like
bandages, antiseptic, and more stimpaks and painkiller pills.
Shpongie moves away, letting the medic to his job, sitting back on his ass.
Another look was given to the dead ranger, before he began listening to the
Lt.'s and Bandlander's coversation.
The other medic bends down in front of Shpongie, jabbing him with a
stimpak. He depresses the needle before Shpongie says a word, and nods to the
other guy. "He's got some shards in him. Can't take them out here, we'll drag
him into the outpost for further things, though."
Shpongie sits there, eyes clouding from the numbing affects of the syringe. He
wobbles a tad, resting his forehead on a knee.
"We're good... if a horde of punks with a seven-foot mutant for a warboss can't
drop another gang, then we don't deserve the turf anyway. But, things do look
good for our chances. We've been cooped up for too long, waiting for a real
fight for a damn while now... while they're going to be tired from travelling,
with some of their supplies depleted from the journey over here... all we'd
have to do is get'em before they have a chance to set up a foot-hold."
"That's good. Well, then, we here better get started dragging our
dead and dying down there, and then also to loot the shit that these Co-Raiders
left behind. We might meet up later, no?" Lieutent Barksley says, licking his
lips again. It's starting to get irritating, the way he keeps doing that.
The radio attached to Lazarus's bike squawks to life, and the deep, raspy voice
of Spike crackles out with a mechanical twinge: "Yo, Lazz! You get that mortar,
or are you dead?"
Lazarus blinks, then grabs the handset and pulls it up next to his mouth. "You
know me, Spike. Mortar's ours for right now. The rangers got everything else,
though.", he responds, holding up a finger towards Barksley to indicate he'll
only be a second.
Manta stands up and checks his surroundings, examining the scattered weapons.
The radio crackles again, and Spike's voice emits: "Kick-ass... you didn't have
to kill any rangers for it, did you?"
Lazarus rolls his eyes and depresses the thumb-switch on the handset to speak
again: "No, Spike. But they do have some wounded... can you arrange a small
shipment of stimpaks and morphine, as sort of a trade-off for the mortar they
just sort of gave us?"
Barkley waves Lazarus off. "It's okay. We got things handled up here
already" he says, trying to see how things are down below.
The radio: "No problem. Expect it there in about a week or so. We can't spare
the morphine, though... we're uhh... having a party for Joykill tonight."
Shpongie just sits there, a little shocked from the feeling of having someone
under you die, as a result of your actions, or at least the assumption it
was because of you. He was also dulled by the painkillers, and didn't have
much to say at this point anyway.
Barksley chuckles. "No biggie. We'ld have recovered in a week or two
anyway" he says, as the medics gently lifts up Shpongie and Ronnie on
stretchers. Manta and Truman doesn't seem to have suffered any lift-threatening
injuries, though, and after a quick check-through, the medics give them a clean
bill of health.
Shpongie stares up into the blanket of darkness and stars, lost in his own
thoughts about what couldn't have been more than five or six mintues of
fighting, at most.
Lazz shrugs, and finishes off: "That's cool. I'll be back in a little bit... I
might have to stop and get gas first. Lorae and I are fine, for now. Keep a
look-out though for any more of those fuckin' Co-Raiders, man. Over and
out." before hooking the handset back to the side of the radio. Lazarus
looks back over to Barksley. "Well, I'm going to go get this thing back to
home-plate. It's been a pleasure, guys..." he grins, and checks the gauges
on the scrapbike, most of them cracked and fogged with dust. With the flick
of the wrist, he starts the throttle, which causes the female on the back
of the bike to tighten her grip around Lazz's waist before the punk seems
to launch himself down the narrow path. The bike gains a good four or five
seconds of air before it lands only inches from a hazardous rock
outcropping. Pivoting with one foot, he speeds down the rest of the less
rocky path... his seeming recklessness not so much as a flawed sense of
judgement, but more of a skill that's been honed and sharpened...
The bike seems to carve a trail of dust-clouds and crushed vegetation as
Lazarus and the girl ride off...
Lieutenant Barksley nods, and turns towards what remains of the
battered greenhorn group. He frowns as he says, "Allright. Your Real life
training sim is over, with a minimum amount of casualities.." he says, as he
walks down the trail. He accompanies Shpongie, his hands clutching his own
weapon. Almost reading his mind, he says, "Well, don't worry about it. Even if
you had gotten to Gunther after that shot, he would have been dead. Heavy
Machineguns are hell. You did good today, so don't worry about it." he says,
tight lipped.
Shpongie nods slowly, comforted by the experenced soldier's words. He just
watches the stars, as if savoring them. He reaches into his jacket pocket,
pulling out what appears to be a slightly crumpled box of cigs. Only after
one carefully rolled stick of plant material was ignited, that it was
revealed to be, in fact, ganja. The pack was replaced, and he puffs lazily
on the joint, staring at the heavens.
The group reaches the bottom of the mountain now. "I trust that the
medics can take care of you lot." the Lieutenant says, as he looks at Manta,
Truman, Ronnie and Shpongie. "They'll take you to the outpost. Watch out for
corpses, though. I think that they might prove to be a challenge to step over
in the dark." he chuckles. "You can take any shit you can find on the ground
home, though.." he chuckles again, as he starts walking in the direction of the
outpost.
Plumes of rich marijuana smoke fill the air around 'Pong, supplimenting the
effects of the short-acting painkillers, which were starting to wane.
The night seems so quiet and peaceful now, over the stars. Hard to believe that
a large battle was just waged here over trivial things like land and what happened
so long ago. The future seems so dark and bleak these days, but maybe, maybe one day
everyone can settle their differences aside, and then, things could be back to where
they were...
Or maybe not.
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