Kickin' Back

[IsZi]

Cobywan walks into the soldier's lounge, having been worn out by a hard day at "work". He puts his trusty M24 up on the rack, and goes to pour himself a nice steaming (32 oz) cup of joe. As he sits down and kicks his feet up onto the table to relax, he counts in his head the number of crosshairs he's got to paint on ol' Mac tonight.

<OOC>
Anyone ever play an online RPG forum? You know what to do. Just walk your character in and start interacting. Remember, no Godding. (For the uninitiated, this does not refer to the vulnerability of a character, it refers to making other people's characters do things without their permission.) Also, don't forget to speak in third person.
</OOC>

[Vicky23]

Vicky strolls into the soldier's lounge just after Cobywan starts to relax at his table. She looks around, and sees the lounge is pretty empty exept for Cobywan relaxing at his table. With her M-24 still slung over her shoulder, she walks up to the folding table that has the army issued steel coffee container and next to it a hot water despenser. She pours herself a 12oz cup of hot water and snags a bag of tea and an almost edible army-made doughnut.

She walks over to a table near Cobywan, and greats him with a smile and a nod, not wanting to break the silence with words as she is comfortable as he is with just reflecting on the day's events. She places her steaming hot cup of water down on a round table near the middle, unslings her M-24 and places it on a chair at her table, sits down and drops the tea into her cup and the doughnut next to the cup. She unstraps her helmet and places it under her chair, takes out the bobby pin and lets her hair cascade down, shakeing it and savoring the feeing of release. She shucks her over coat and places it on the back of her chair.

The Mountain pass was colder then usual tonight and she is really looking forward to her tea. Vicky takes her M-24 and starts field stripping and cleaning it with the kit from her backpack letting the teabags soak. She takes a combat knife from her backpack and starts to make small marks on the butt of the rifle for every kill and as she does so, reflecting that she is glad it is her makeing the mark tonight, and not someone else.

One bite of the doughnut almost changes her mind. Taken back, Vicky looks at the small ring doughnut. :shock: She swears it could double as a life preserver in case of emergencies because it definetly tasted no better then rubber. 'Must be a navy transfer cook' she thinks wryly :roll: as she reaches for her tea to wash this lump down. After a quick sip, she realizes that wasn't going to work as the tea was still too hot to help, and decides to bear swollowing it out without fluids, straining to down the lump without complaint. Embarrased she looks over at Cobywan who is still deep in thought. Vicky is glad he didn't notice that little display.

As she goes back to cleaning her rifle, a song from her childhood comes back to her. She start to softly hum it to herself as she oils her rifle, and cleans the barrel. Lost in thought about childhood memories, the last battle that was narrowly won, the friends that were wounded but ok and dreams of life after the service.

Vicky finishes cleaning her rifle, places it in a padded case that was in her backpack, and then replaces the case with her disassembled weapon in it. She reaches for her ammo pack when she feels the sharp pain high on her side left side about 8 inchs down from her sholder.

Looking there, she almost forgot about the MOS shell that grazed her. A hopeful and overeager OpFor tried to pick her off, but luckly one of her teammates had been right there to nail him. She didn't know if it was Lord Rive or Acedeal, so she decided she owed both of them a drink when they got in.

She decided that it could wait as the wound wasn't too deep, had quit bleeding, and only left a dull burning sensation that she had learned to ignore. Her newly issued cammo's were shot from the bleeding and that upset her. It wasn't that terrible of a wound but she alway bled like a stuck pig with any little old scratch. Now with her coat off, it looked like she had been stabbed instead of having a simple bullet grazing her.

The two day R and R pass was visible in her backpack. A smile crept over her face just thinking of everyones face when she told them what she was going to do during R and R. Vicky start to hum softly as she imagines a nice warm bed after sleeping in that drafty arch at the bridge waiting for the opfor, then sleeping in that humvee after getting pushed back, and sleeping on the ground waiting for opfor to make their push out of the mountain. After the last 6 days away from a soft bed, no way to shower, and having no other females to be around the whole time, she saw this pass as a blessing.

Deciding against checking her ammo for weight variation, little dents, or nicks in the bullets, she starts sipping happly on her tea, elbows on the table holding the mug handle in her right hand and holding the mugs barrel in the other, staring off into space as she reflects on the battle sipping the tea, savoring the warmth on her hands as well as the warmth growing and spreading from her stomach. Vicky start to hum softly to herself an old Irish tune that her grandfather used to sing loudly with her father and uncles. A slow smile creeps onto vicky's face.

[IsZi]

Cobywan watched as Vicky strolled in, set herself up a mug of the tea that he had long ago learned to avoid, along with one of the donuts he'd been warned about back in boot camp, and proceeded to clean her rifle. Having finished in just enough time for the tea to be well brewed, and at a tolerable temperature, she was now sitting in her chair contentedly humming a tune which Coby did not recognize.

"What's that you're humming?" Coby asked curiously, setting down his coffee.

[Vicky23]

Vicky looks startled for a second, looks over at Cobywan and smiles as she starts to blush. "I didn't think I was humming that loud", she says softly. "'Tis something my Grandfather and my father sang when I was younger. An old Irish song. A Soldiers Song it's called." Vicky starts humming a few notes and then softly and gently starts singing along out loud with her grandfather and father who were already singing in her mind.



We'll sing a song, a soldier's song,
with cheering, rousing chorus,
As round our blazing fires we throng,
The starry heavens o'er us;
Impatient for the coming fight,
And as we wait the morning's light,
Here in the silence of the night
We'll chant a soldier's song.

Soldiers are we, whose lives are pledged to Ireland;
Some have come from a land beyond the wave.
Sworn to be free, no more our ancient sireland
Shall shelter the despot or the slave.
Tonight we man the 'bhearna bhaoil',
In Erin's cause, come woe or weal;
'Mid cannons' roar and rifles' peal
We'll chant a soldier's song.

In valley green, on towering crag,
Our fathers fought before us,
And conquered 'neath that same old flag
That's proudly floating o'er us.
We're children of a fighting race
That never yet has known disgrace,
And as we march, the foe to face,
We'll chant a soldier's song.

[CHORUS]
Sons of the Gael! Men of the Pale!
The long-watched day is breaking;
The serried ranks of Inisfail
Shall set the Tyrant quaking.
Our campfires now are burning low;
See in the east a silv'ry glow--
Out yonder waits the Saxon foe,
So chant a soldier's song!

When vicky was done she reddened a bit. 'I haven't sang in a while, and this doughnut didn't help any. Luckly for me this earl gray is perfect.' As she sipped on her tea, the dull throbbing pain came back to her side and she winced. Well, she wasn't going anywhere until she was good an relaxed. It was only a scratch anyway. It had started to seep a little again, probably from the movement she had done when cleaning her rifle or reaching for the ammo. Oh well, she thought, one more scar to help me remember how lucky I am.

Her father would never approve of her being in the service...this she knew, but what could he do now. Daddy still thought she was traveling europe 'finding' her 'roots'. Well, it was best this way. She was fulfilling her dreams, and that should be all that mattered. Her team had at first had not though much of this red-headed Irish lass. More hinderance then help. One thing they didn't count on was the Irish anger and her ability to sneak right up to someone without so much as a whisper. She was naturally light footed, and her lighter weight ment she could travel faster with less noise, hit before the enemy even knew what happened.

Lately, anytime she mentioned she had been wounded it was like a wolf pack surrounding her from danger. She remembered the bullet she took in the leg. The bullet wasn't the bad thing, it was that she was running and it sent her sprawling down a hillside only to sprain her ankle and manage a slight concusion. The team actually fought on the radio over who was going to carry her to safty...while they were sniping the enemy. Her green eyes sparkled as she grinned and shook her head at the memory.

She appreciated the fact that someone had started the small fireplace that wasn't too far away from the tables. Vicky just wanted to soak in every ounce of heat she could. She never realize that she had been that cold. Better remember the air activated heat pads next mission. Still relitively new to this posting, and the service in general, she knew that there were little things such as this she would learn.

She shivered as a small draft from somewhere caught her on the back of the neck. There was a sharp pain from that wound again when she shivered. She could feel the new blood seeping from the wound. This time she wasn't able to fully hide the wince, but she did her best to pass it off as a beginning of a yawn by scrinching her whole face.

After she recovered herself, a strong scent hit her. She wrinkled her nose a bit at the strong smell of Cobywan's coffee, but it was still heaven sent over being around 7 guys who had not showered in 6 days. She knew she wasn't spring rain fresh, as was evident with the blood matted olive drab tee-shirt so she shouldn't point fingers. She looked over at Cobywan fairly curious about the coffee he was drinking. She knew from experiance that he drank his coffee french style, black as night and no sweeteners or cream, but for some reason, something seamed different...or maybe her perception was a bit off.

"Hey Cobywan? What kind of coffee did you find this time and are you up for a hand or two of poker later tonight? You know I have to win back some of my paycheck from you for my R+R pass"

Here is the link for what Solider's song sounds like http://www.benpalmer.co.uk/musicmidi.htm

[IsZi]

WOW, what a beautiful singing voice! I never knew she had it in her!

Cobywan marveled at the luscious melody that emanated from Vicky's throat, as she sang a song from her homeland.

And she's a soldier?!?! I think she may have missed her true calling.

Not that she wasn't a good soldier. In fact, she was one of the best, possibly owing to the fact that she was one of the very few female snipers in the army, and may feel that she has a thing or two to prove. She'd alwasy been a tough one, Coby had to give her that. He did notice the relatively fresh wound on her left arm, as she occasionally winced from its pain. However, he did not point it out. He knew that she had long since grown tired of all the extra attention that comes from being a wounded female in an otherwise male-dominated squad. He decided he'd let her bring it up, or casually inquire, if the conversation wandered in that direction.

However, Vicky continued the conversation on a totally different tangent from where it had begun.


"Hey Cobywan? What kind of coffee did you find this time and are you up for a hand or two of poker later tonight? You know I have to win back some of my paycheck from you for my R+R pass"


<OOC>
BTW: How did you know I like "french-style" coffee? As a matter of fact, my personal preference is DUNKIN' DONUTS' French Vanilla, although I rarely drink it black. ;) Usually have a couple cream and some sugar in it. Good call, though!
</OOC>

"Actually, this is a bit of a departure from my norm. You may have noticed my usual preference is a French Vanilla type, but once in awhile I find myself in the mood for a little Hazlenut." Cobywan raised his mug a little to indicate that's what was in it. "As for poker, I'm not really in the mood tonight. Maybe some other time. I'm still too wired from the fights tonight to be able to play a good game."

Coby studied Vicky, who was trying her best not to show her pain, and decided he should steer the conversation around the war.

"So... you had family in the Irish Army?" Coby did not know much about Vicky's background, and was curious now that she'd brought it up.

[Kryten121]

The lounge door swings open very slowly, Kryten121 stands at the door to the lounge with his M24 SWS resting against his shoulder, a thin whisp of smoke still eminates from the barrel. He nods towards Vicky and Cobywan, then he walks over to his favourite chair, its kinda worn out and soft but its now perfectly worn to his body shape. He places his rifle carefully against the arm of that chair, then he takes off his backpack and begins to rummage in the pack.

After a short time moving stuff aside in the backpack he produces a couple of field dressing packs and starts to tend to a graze picked up while diving for the deck when an OpFor got just a little to close. Kryten121 looks up and notices the large blood stain on Vicky and throws one of his field dressing packs to her. With a smile he says "Looks like you need this more than I do!"

After tending to his minor graze, Kryten121 sits back and starts to clean his beloved M24.

[sKULLbONEya]

In a dark corner of the room, pvt. sKULLbONEya sat with his elbows on the table and head in his hands. He was new to the sniper unit and had just returned from his first Op.It was noticed by all in the room that his posture seemed unusual, like someone in a great deal of pain. Leaning to one side instead of sitting straight up.
He was feverishly mumbling under his breath almost incoherently. One could only catch an occasional disjointed word or phrase. "I just can't believe it." was heard repeatedly. What they were missing and couldn't possibly see was the slight bulge of a gauze bandage and the faint trace of an oozing red stain forming on the back pocket of his fatigues just below and inward from the hip on the side he was obviously protecting.

He inadvertently leaned a little to this side and quite convulsively sprang from his chair and screamed in pain while shacking his fists toward the ceiling. "I DON'T F---ING BELIEVE IT" he screamed again then grabbing his coffee cup he hurled it across the lounge spilling it's now cold bitter beverage on the floor, walls,,,,,, and the group of veteran snipers that where plying Nine Ball on the units pool table.

"What the F--k is YOUR problem Skull?" The youngest member of the group calmly said while not hiding the look of anger in his gun steel blue eyes. Eyes that could only look at someone the same way an apex predator looks at it's prey while tracking it with the fixed gaze of deadly confidence.

[Vicky23]

Vicky looked at Cobywan and smiled. "My father wanted to be in the military all his life, but my grandfather forbid him to do so since dad had just married my mother and I was unexpected news. 'Take care of your family first' was my grandfathers words. I guess there have always been fighting men in my family. Also I think my father was upset that he could never fight the IRA the way he wanted." Vicky sipped her tea and continued. "You know I am an only child and not being male was a blow that my family has had to learn to accept. It has been really hard and maybe this is just my way to please them, I don't rightly know. What I do know is I enjoy this job, even when I have to put up with all of the crap that I do." Vicky winked at Cobywan knowingly. She knew he understood the crap, getting hit on, and the overprotection that came with being a woman in this group.

"You better let me win back some of that money later. How about a cherry shoot later?" One of Vicky's favorite past times was to take a group of shotglasses and place them on a box or 55 gallon drum, then place cherries on top of the upsidedown shotglasses. She would then pace off 150-300 yards depending on her mood, and proceed to shoot the cherries off the shotglasses without marring the glass.

As Vicky began to sip at her cup again, she noticed it was nearly empty, and cold tea never appealed to her. She got up from her table, walked to the coffee table again, filled her cup with hot water and dropped two more bags of earl gray in. No doughnuts this time although she was still hungry from that battle. She still had some MREs in her rucksack and decided to break one out to curb this hunger. Later, after a shower and a visit to the infirmiry, she was going to break out that frozen t-bone and make a proper steak dinner for herself. Oddly enough, none of the other members, save Lord Rive or Cobywan, had ever asked to eat with her. She wondered if maybe she was too overpowering in her attitute. 'I guess I am a little cocky, and I don't really need to act like I have a chip on my sholder. These guys accept me for me.' she thought to herself.

She walked back to her table, sat down and grabbed the firstaid kit from her rucksack, along with a MRE. As she straightened up, a cold breeze blew into the room, and chilled her back and wounded side quickly. She was glad that she had worn a sports bra this time out. No need to be tweeking out infront of the guys at every little draft. She turn a bit to see that it was Kryten that was standing in the doorway. He nodded to her and Cobywan, and she smiled back and nodded. Kryten was not a member of the squad that Vicky had been posted with yet. She did see him on occation, but this was the first time that he had acknowledged that she was here. It made her feel much better.

She noticed he had plopped down in his favorite chair and started to rumbage in his rucksack. He looked at her shirt and she knew what he was thinking. He sent a field dressing packs flying and she caught it ok, but she twisted wrong, and the sharp pain came back. She winced unabashed now, and drew in a sharp breath. "It's really looks worse than it is. Thank you though, I was all out of compresses." She new it was a fairly thin lie, but most of the guys made a big fuss over her when she was hit. It was appreciated, and to tell the truth, she loved the attention but she would not be known for been a complainer.

Vicky opened her kit, pulled out antiseptic to clean the wound and area around it, a tube of burn salve, and a roll of wide surgical tape. She used the compresses from Kryten's kit and began cleaning. It was much deeper then she had origianally thought, but still it wasn't terrible. The bullet hadn't touched a rib, thankfully.

As she finished up by putting the compress in place she slightly turned her head and glanced over at Kryten. 'Hey Kryten, Good hunting I assume?"

Before he could answer Skullbone, a newer member then Vicky, screamed something she had missed as she was not paying attention to that corner of the room and the sudden violent outburst was well beyond what she was used to experiancing from a member of her team. His glass broke on the leg of a nearby table, shattering and sending it's contents all over. She turned her head away and raised her arm to ward off any shards of ceramic that may happen her direction. She wondered how he had slipped into the room without her noticing, since she distinctly remembered only seeing Cobywan in the room when see walked in. She shrugged it off.

She could understand that some members get very high strung after a mission, or after receiving the 'Dear John' letters. Vicky knew all about broken relationships from personal experiance.

She thought it best not to approach or try to talk to Skullbone in the mood he was in. She would let a guy handle that. If she talked to him, he may not open up, and he might see her as being patronizing. Something are best left alone. She checked her tea for any shards of his cup, and satisfied it was clean she took a sip. Perfect temperature. On that note, the MRE was opened, and the 'power' bar was selected as the first part of her meal.

She started to chew contently, occationally taking a sip of her tea, and waiting for Kryten and Cobywan to answer.

[Kryten121]

Just as Vicky had got thru dressing her wound, a cup went flying and smashed all over the place. Kryten instictively grabbed his trusty M24 and was in full readiness, with eyes wide open scaning every possible area for movement. Then he saw what it was and felt a slight bit stupid, he felt glad that his abilty to make ready at a short notice was still as sharp as the day he graduated the academy. He looked over at the young man sitting in the dark corner, he was hunched to one side in obvious pain, there was considerable frustration evident in his face.

Kryten looked at the young man and was instantly transported to a few years ago when he was a newly trained sniper, being mad at missed kills and the wounds he recieved in the field. Then a laugh suddenly came from the depths of his lungs, and a large smile took the place of the painful expression that had filled his face.

Looking back to Vicky he said, "The hunt is always good for me, the intense battle between the OpFor sniper and myself is an experience I would never give up. Its them or me and thankfully it tends to be me!". He then produced a knife from the left side, hidden in a small flap in his jacket, leaning down he slices a few more notches on the left leg of that battered and worn chair. Kryten then notes out aloud "This ol' chair has seen about as much action as I".

He then looks back up at Vicky and comments that he can smell the tea, and asks "Could you spare me a bag or 2?"

[LordRive]

The door to lounge opens softly, letting the cool outside air in. Cadences can be heard lightly in the background as the door swings wide to reveal Lord Rive standing in the doorjam. He looks slightly frazzled, either from pure fury or in bewilderment. There are woodchips all over his new gullie suit, and he's holding an M84 over his shoulder. Hanging off the scope of the rifle, are five sets of dogtags with blood on them. Rive's snow gear that he is wearing is torn, batttered, and also splattered with rain sized pelts of blood.

By the time everyone turns to look, he's already headed for his Kill Peg. He walks up, and takes the dogtags off the scope and hangs them on the impressive collection already resting on it. "I love it when they run. Don't you guys?" He swings around, and looks himself up and down. For the first time he realizes exactly how much he looks like some kind of living abstract art. "And I hate it when they get so close it splatters. I just bought this damn snow gear!"

Now settling down, he looks over the bar. Kryten looks like he had been talking to Vicky, and Coby is drinking some seriously strong smelling java. More noticeable are the ravings of Skullbone. Something about he can't believe something, and a glass was broken on the floor.

"Hmm. Which one was it guys? A Dear John letter, or Shell Shock?" Rive moves a bit closer to Skullbone and sharply says, "Skull...you are alive. That means the enemy is not. You did your job. And you did it well. Today was NOT a good day to die! Now...shut up, sit down, and celebrate your victory!"

Rive turns, winks at Vicky, nods to Coby and Kryten. He heads toward the bar, in the meantime finally letting go of his rolled up gullie suit. Picking peices of wood out of his hair, he says "Ah, I just love it when you get pinned behind a tree! It's almost like the OpFor sniper is a lumber-jack trying to chop the tree down with his rifle. Too bad I was counting the shots...got him while he was reloading." He grins. He places the M84 against the bar and points at it. "Oh, and by the way, this thing sucks. All the looks of a sniper rifle all squeezed into a gun that has twice the firepower and half the accuracy"

Reaching over the bar he grabs the Jameson whisky, and five shot glasses. The Private tending the bar begins to look at Rive like he's doing something he shouldn't. Rive immediately glares at him and mouths the work TAB. The Private nods. Rive continued to the table that Vicky and Coby were at. Coby was still drinking his coffee, and Vicky looked like she was getting into an MRE. Hunger. Wow, Rive realized hadn't eaten in awhile, but he always let the adreniline wear off first. Eating during that time makes him sick.

He sits at the table and puts the whisky and shot glasses down. His eyes finally adjusting to the light inside, he sees not only the MRE of Vicky's, but also her MedKit. "Looks like the cat scratched you hon. You may need to get some stitches on that one. Need some help?" He lines up the shot glasses and opens the bottle. As he pours he says, "And while you think on that offer...we can't break my tradition." Whisky rolls gently into the glasses like it did when Rive used to bartend. "Now I know you guys may not like it," he says. "I don't live for tomorrow...and neither should you." He picks up his glass in a toasting pose and looks at the rest of the crew.

[sKULLbONEya]

Except for a juke box playing the Jimmie Hendrix version of "Hey Joe" the lounge had become very still. sKULLbONEya moved only his eyes to glance around the room and saw every face staring at him. Not with surprise,shocked or fearful expressions you would expect. He was looking at a room full of professional killers looking calmly at him and waiting for his next move. He realized two things. He had just made a very bad mistake and that he was wearing his Crazed Psycho Killer Biker face. Normally that face could clear a room faster than a vice raid on a on a North Beach massage parlor. You can't scare the type people like these with a look. You need something like a live nuke to do that. Coming from a Biker/Trucker family he learned at a very young age how to read faces and body language for signs of danger. He saw those signs on everyone here except one.

Her name was Vicky. sKULLbONEya hadn't been at his new station long enough to learn his colleagues names yet. But he new hers from over hearing some teammate conversations.
She was had just finished dressing a wound on her side frightfully close to areas you don't want bullets landing like heart, lungs, liver. Places where a 7.62mm hands out a death sentence when it drops in to say hi. She was young with long blond hair braided into a french twist. She had one of those small tightly compact bodies you find on Olympic athletes. Her movements were fluid and measured, no wasted energy. Only someone in total control of mind, body and spirit moves like that. As she reached for her cup she looked away from the figures standing there frozen in a time freeze frame and looked in her cup shrugged and started taking out the contents of an MRE. She appraised what looked like a power bar and began eating. When Vicky Looked into sKULLbONEya's eyes he couldn't read a thing. No emotion, No danger, just quiet observation. The young man with the gunslinger eyes ( he later learned his name was Chains )was truly dangerous but sKULL knew from past experience that people who look at possible trouble with an almost serine look like Vicky had, were the most dangerous people on the planet.
They were "Natural Born Killers", predisposed from birth to kill without malice, emotion or guilt. He made a mental note. "DO NOT EVER DISRESPECT HER!" disrespect is the one thing a natural born killer will not tolerate. Anything but that.

sKULL took in a deep breath, closed his eyes and slowly but with force exhaled the way a martial artist does. While he exhaled he focused his mind on nothing, found his center and was completely calm and expressionless by the time he finished. He looked up and said in deep quiet voice. "I am very sorry for my inexcusable outburst." "Its just that something very weird happened on my Op today."

One of the things that had upset him the most was what the reaction from the unit would be when they found out happened to him. The peer pressure that exists in the military is the toughest there is outside of maximum security prisons. If he was an old-timer here there wouldn't be a problem but sKULL was a "NFG" ( New F---ing Guy). In an elite combat unit NFG's are considered a liability. The kind of liability through their inexperience that gets themselves killed and the old timers that were trying to keep them alive. There are three fatal diseases on the battle field. Inexperience, Hesitation and Inpatients. NFG's are infected with all three. If they are going to get killed it usually happens during their fist action. with in the first 60 seconds is the norm.

Chains noticed a few drops of blood had started to drip from sKULL's right pants cuff onto the clean but extremely worn lounge floor. He pointed at them and asked "You get hurt today?"
"I didn't see any casualty report with your name on it." I'm supposed to debrief anyone in this unit who is wounded in the field." Chains quietly told sKULL to tell "what happened." "and it better be the truth" There was an ominous tone in chain's quiet voice and sKULL that made sKULL realize he had unknowingly broken a BIG rule and that peer pressure might not be so bad next to getting kicked out of the squad or even the army.

He took another big cleansing breath and began.

"My patrol area was between hill 880 and the river." "My spotter and I had been in our hide for about two hours when he spotted movement on a ridge about 3500 meters from our position." " I sighted in with my M-82 and saw him walking along the ridge like he was going for a Sunday stroll." " Like not a care in the world, with his AK slung on his shoulder an his hands in his pockets." "And I swear he looked like he was whistling." "What happened then" Chains asked. "Well, It was just like we learned at sniper school." "I said Contact. Enemy. Spotter said "Contact Enemy Confirmed." "Just like in school." I held my right hand up and the spotter placed the bolt with a round attached, I inserted the bolt in the action and drove home the round." "Then what" Chains asked, impatience to creep into his voice. " Just what you would expect. I freed the safety, let out half a breath, held it and squeezed the trigger." "He went down like a sack of potatoes." "I mean Wow! like quick!"Their was all this blood and stuff dripping off the bush he was next to." After he went down one of his legs jerked up and down a couple of times then the total stillness only a dead body has." skull took a deep breath again but before he could continue Chains went off like a155. "WHAT THE F--K ARE YOU TELLING ME!" He roared jumping up from his chair and almost lunging at The now bewildered NFG. "You where hit AND YOU GOT A KILL TODAY?" THERE WASN'T ANY BC POSTED FOR YOU!" he shouted. the veins in his forehead and neck were now bulging and his expression was one of anger and utter contempt. Chains took a step back, took himself a deep calming breath and very quietly asked "Are you crazy?" "I told you tell the truth and you sit here trying to play me like a chump?" sKULL began to sweat now. He thought to himself "sh--t this is going all wrong." I better cut to the chase before My body ends up in the dumpster with the trash." HEY!: He yelled a very serious look on his face" "Don't be calling me no liar man" "You demanded to know what happened so sit there and let me finish before you start saying stuff that could get you hurt real bad!" Chains stepped back an expression of surprise on his face. "This is not the expected behavior from an NFG!" He thought to himself. He looked at the now calm sniper in front of him and sized up the man he might end up in a brawl with. sKULL was not as young as most new recruits in there late teens. He was about 24, 25, 6'3" about 225 lbs he guessed. Combine that with a barrel chest and Chains noticed for the first time huge muscleular arms with big wide fists connected to them. "I don't want to get hit by this idiot. He thought. "He could break my face in half with one punch" "Woe cowboy." He said. Your right, I should hear you out before I rip you a new one and have you thrown in the tank." sKULL new that that was as close to an apology he could expect and sat back down. " I need a drink" he said under his breath. Chains reached into his GI coat and pulled out a flask. "Here." he said offering sKULL the flask. sKULL took the flask, unscrewed the top and took a good sizes swig. "Jesus Christ!" He said breathlessly his eyes wide and started to water profusely. "What the F--k is that?" he asked. Chains put the flask to his mouth, tilted his head back and took two huge gulps, replaced the cap and put the flask back in his coat."Oh.... Just some ah...home made pain killer. It took several minutes for sKULL to recover from the 200 proof "pain killer" but he did notice that he was beginning to feel a little better and a few minutes later his pain was subsiding. Something more than alcohol in that pain killer? Chains smiled softly and said " Oh, just a variation Laudanum formula." "Shine instead of wine with tincture of opium is much quicker and slicker." "now go on and tell me the rest" "Please." Chains smiled and sat down. sKULL thought "I must get that recipe" "Ok, where was I." We scanned the area for movement, saw none and moved the hide about 1/4 mile south." I could still see the dead enemy, laying in a heap where I dropped him."
"Christ! he lay there in the sun for 3 1/2 Hrs." The XO radioed and called us back to base so we packed up to go and that's when everything went wrong." Chains could see sKULL wasn't lying. He was as serious as a judge. "Ok." I believe you aren't feeding BS to me with a shovel." "Go ahead" sKULL shook his head still not believing what happened next.

"I was bent over rolling up the camo net when BAM!" "It felt like Spot hit me in the ass with a sledge hammer!" My whole body went numb and I fell face down in the camo net. "I herd Sot yell." "IN COMING" "He dove for the back of the hide, grabbing me in the same motion pulling my to safety." "WTF was that I asked" 7.62 from the sound of it" the spotter said a bemused smile on his face."What the hell is so funny and where the hell did it come from?" Chains chuckled a little picturing the in his mind the scene the wounded NFG was describing. "What happened next" he asked. "Spot started laughing at me!" sKULL stated with a slightly hut tone in his voice. "I mean, I'm shot and paralyzed and he's laughing like it's the funniest thing he ever saw!"
Then sKULL looked down sadly and said. "It probably was the funniest thing he ever saw." "What do you mean?" Chains asked. sKULL took three really big breaths and said with resign in his voice. "He told me I was the first person he ever saw, get shot in the ass by a whistling dead guy." Chains sat there with a stunned expression for about 5 seconds. Then He threw his head back, tipping his chair over and hit the floor convulsing from hysterical laughter. Every few seconds he would stop his ragged breath and laughing long enough to shout stuff like "OH MY GOD!" "OH S--T! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!" "THAT'S THE FUNNIEST THING I EVER HEARD!" Then he would go back to rolling on the floor and laughing harder than he ever had before.

sKULL sat there watching the gyrations of the younger but senior team member. "You better get a hold of yourself" "You don't want to have a stroke or something." sKULL said wishing this would all get over with so he could go to bed and become lost in merciful sleep. It was at that exact moment that he realized this was just the beginning. He hadn't noticed before be now he heard it. Thumping, banging, screaming, coughing, choking and most of all........LAUGHING. Not tittering, not giggling but just like Chains, the entire population of the lounge was on the floor, tables, bar, juke box, toilets and every other surface there was in absolute hysterics. When your in combat with a likely chance you'll be dead tomorrow, somthig this funny gets this kind of reaction. sKULL new this. He new it was a good thing. It was a stress reducer. "But damn it" he thought. "I didn't go through all that training, especially the secret training." (so secret no one in his unit was aware of it. ) " I didn't go through all that and come all the way out here to be a stand up comic!" He sat there watching and listening for a few minute when a slight smile appeared on his lips and in his eyes. then it got a little bigger. Then he shouted "Aw the hell......." but before he could finish what he wanted to say, he found himself rolling on the floor and laughing hysterically like very one else. After all, being shot in the ass by a whistling dead guy is kind of funny.

[Acedeal]

Just Another War Story?
"Killing is my business...And business is good."


The “Supper Club” as the Soldiers of -=DoW battalion affectingly called the place. The initiated called it “Deaths Hang-Out” and many where afraid to venture in, or even close to it. There were a few wanna-be’s movie hero types that would venture into the place, but seldom did many return for the second visit. It was like the “Angle of Death” lived here.

Command Sergeant Major Acedeal, was in his usual place, in the back corner of “The Supper Club”. You could never really tell if anyone was in that corner or not. The “Dark Place” is what most called it now. For the past 6 months or so, some have replaced the bulb there, but it seems that everyday around 1600 hrs that bulb mysteriously burns out. (most think “Piper” has something to do with that bulb that always goes out)

For some in -=DoW, this was their first glimpse at Command Sergeant Acedeal.

Acedeal was talking to some Pvt. this evening “was it one of the new “recruits”. It was well known that “Ace” to those that knew him well enough to call him by that name” seldom made ideal “chit-chat” with the soldiers of his team. Everyone knew that Acedeal had hand picked everyone in the -=DoW=- Battalion and Acedeal was not one to get close to the soldiers that he may have to order to their deaths.

Some in the “Supper Club” were thinking that this Pvt. may not be a -=DoW=- team member.

Pool cue in hand, daily kill reports stacked on the table, and the usual 2 fingers of his favorite 25 yr old scotch and that German beer that “Piper” the bartender kept specially for him.

As Piper was heading back to the bar from pouring another 2 fingers of scotch in Acedeal’s glass, Vicky noticed that Acedeal was watching Piper walking away and had what some may consider a little smile on his face. Vicky found this rather odd, as she had heard from the old timers in the battalion that “Ace would just a soon cut your throat if you even glanced at him sideways, then smile”.

Piper the pretty blonde probably just turned 18 and had to join the Army type. Piper had only been on base for about 12 months and was really good at finding those specialty items that Acedeal’s team liked. Vicky was thinking that Piper should have stayed on the cheerleading team, and not in this god-forsaken place. Kyten was close enough to hear Vicky mumble something about “F—cking dip-shit dumb-blonde”.


Pvt. Coby was the only one sitting close enough to hear what was being said to the unknown Private that Acedeal was talking to. Colby had noticed that while Piper was pouring another round of scotch, that Acedeal has stopped talking to the private. When Piper left to head back to the bar he heard Acedeal say “ The process of healing scars left on America following that other so-called war has been slow and painful. For me, it has been especially so”.

“The paradox of killing in battle versus political assassination, "legal" warfare as opposed to "illegal," is one which I will not even attempt to solve. The notion that killing in one instance is moral and acceptable, while it is unthinkable in another, seems absurd on its face. Unfortunately, society tends to ignore the absurd rather than confront it.


What most in the battalion did not realize was that the unknown private was Command Sergeant’s Acedeal’s Nephew, who was dating Piper the bartender…

Switch to “The Unknown Private’s view:

The things he told me that night are things he cannot even tell his own kids. His oldest, who not surprisingly has taken an active interest in target-shooting, looks to his dad for support and encouragement.
He does his best to teach responsibility and safety, and he's certainly about the best marksmanship instructor that a son could hope for. But Acedeal seldom shoots anymore, hasn't spent a round since the war. "Just don't have it in me," he says. Vietnam stole many things from Acedeal, not the least of which was his love of and uncanny skill in shooting. I guess the reason he is the CSM of this battalion?.

His story hit me like a bombshell, totally unexpected and out of the blue.

We had been shooting 9-ball; he was catching a nifty buzz and I'm a lousy pool player, so we were about even. Later, while we were sitting in the very back of the bar, in a really dark spot bar, Acedeal got a familiar, far-away look on his face which suggested that he had something important to discuss. We'd become engaged in often-heated geopolitical discussions in the past, so I knew he had something on his mind.

I began formulating arguments in my head, even though he hadn't even said anything yet.

He stared down into his beer schooner and then shot up suddenly from his bar stool, startling me. He lifted up his shirt part way and turned with his back facing me. Reaching around, he pointed to a spot on his lower back near his kidney.
"Feel there," he said.
"What?" I replied, not knowing what to think.
"There," he said as he squeezed in on the spot. "Feel right there."
"Okay. . ." It was a strange request, but something in the tone of his voice suggested that this was not the time to argue. I felt around his lower back, near the spot he had been pointing at. "What am I feeling for?" I asked.

"Squeeze a little harder," he said, "You'll feel it."
"Feel wha -" I stopped short as I applied a bit more pressure. There was something there! It felt hard, like a bone, but I knew that was anatomically impossible. "What in the hell?.." I mused as I squeezed around this odd, hard spot embedded in his his tight muscle.
He let out a slight groan. "Oh, man, I'm sorry. But what is that?"
"A bullet."
"What?" I exclaimed. Acedeal was the last guy I'd expect to have a bullet in him. "How the hell did that happen?"

He bowed his head and responded solemnly, "Over in 'Nam."
Before that moment, I had no idea that Acedeal was a war veteran.


Although I've served in the military (US Navy, pre-Nam as an Ordnaceman (EOD)), I have known and encountered many people who have. It's just the unavoidable consequence of living in a community with such a strong military presence for most of my life.
Consequently, I've heard countless war stories and tales from the high seas.

I always felt that young people have a certain, innate responsibility to at least try to understand what hell those guys went through in the name of freedom, or their torment in the discovery that they had been used as pawns in someone else's chess-game. Many war veterans, I think, just need somebody to listen.

You can see in their eyes that the images they resurrect are painful and sad. Things they'd like to forget, but just can't. Wars have a way of creating powerful, dangerous emotions in men: Fear, Loathing, and Hatred in the extreme. So, in that sense, I can relate with the emotions, if not the circumstances. I know what the insanity and misery are like, having fought my own secret war with alcohol.

Acedeal’s war story was fundamentally different, however. I didn't listen to him with the intensity I did out of any moral obligation or respectful courtesy or becuase I was his hephew.

I listened simply because his story was so pretty gruesome that I couldn't believe my ears.

Acedeal fought a war which technically never happen. His wasn’t the war being broadcast home each night on the 6:00 news. His wasn’t the war that would be made into an Oliver Stone blockbuster twenty years later. His war is sure not the war of valiant grunts firing M-16s set on full auto blindly across burning rice-paddies.

No, Acedeal needed just one bullet to do his dirty work, his duty to God and Country. One heavy-grained, high-calibre cartridge to hit one, specific, pre-determined target. His job took him to the wrong side of the DMZ, in North Vietnam.

Acedeal fought our side of the covert, illegal war in Southeast Asia.


(call to arms)

Acedeal was an excellent marksman in high school. At one point he was ranked number one in the State of Texas and fourth in the whole United States. Shooting was his life, that one thing he was good at. But those were the innocent days of boyhood, when shooting was a sport and the targets were paper or clay.

After graduating high school, he enlisted in the Navy to avoid (he thought that the Army Infantry Units was for “wimps”. He requested submarine service, and the Navy was more than willing to oblige -- on one condition.

The Navy wanted him to make use of his uncanny skill with a rifle, to Be the Best He Could Be.

The first year of his enlistment, after he had completed boot camp, he was automatically promoted and indoctrinated into the ranks of the elite Navy Snipers.

By the time the Vietnamese conflict came to be, America had honed the art of covert intelligence gathering to fine perfection. Presumably through these efforts, certain influential civilian figures were identified throughout North and South Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos. Rallying support and morale for the communist war effort, these people were viewed as potential threats and identified as "targets."

It was Acedeal’s mission to "surgically extract" these targets.

Immediately after being dropped behind enemy lines, the Sniper Team went to work. The process was always swift, silent, and precise, having been pre-planned down to the most minute detail. Surprise, as well as the confusion and panic created following the "hit" were the team's greatest allies.

The team consisted of a primary and secondary sniper, and they alone knew the "target list," and the order of importance for hitting each one.

They were accompanied by a group of Sea-Air-Land commandos
(SEALs), whose sole purpose was to get the snipers in range and ensure that they lived at least long enough to perform their mission. Death, however, was preferable to being captured, for the snipers' mission was unofficial and Top Secret.

If capture seemed inevitable, the snipers knew that the SEALs had orders to kill them.

Acedeal used some sort of long range hunting rifle, far more powerful than the .22 calibre M-16 machine gun which was standard issue among the field grunts. "It's like throwing a fucking brick 300 miles per hour through a window," Acedeal said as he turned and gestured toward the large, plate window behind us.

"We'd usually hit during some sort of rally or gathering at the village," he continued. "I'd try to get in a clear position for an unobstructed head-shot."
"How far off were you, usually?" I asked with a growing sense of morbid fascination.
"Oh -- three or four hundred yards, I guess," he said.
"No fucking way!" I gasped, although I knew he wasn't lying. "You could hit a head from that far away?"
"Oh yeah -- easy," he replied. "We had powerful scopes, of course. I could watch it hit, although I couldn't hear it from that distance. The head just kinda -- well, it kinda disappeared."
"I'll bet it did," I mused. I could handle this sort of talk, which put Acedeal visibly at ease, but I wondered how I'd handle seeing (and doing) such things for real. "Well, I mean it was such a big bullet and all..."

"Like a brick," he repeated. "Can ya picture someone getting nailed upside the head with a zinging brick?"
I pondered his question a second. "I don't know. Would the head just disintegrate, or would it cave in massively? It's hard to picture..."

"It's like an exploding mellon," he said. "Little chunks, and the bluish-gray mixture of blood and brains. It's not just red blood, like you would think. Then it's just -- just gone and the body slumps over dead."

"Meanwhile," he continued, "the other guy's trying to spot other targets for you to hit, or he's picking off secondary targets. Once the prime target was hit, anything else was like a bonus. We couldn't hit innocent civilians, though. At least, we tried not to."

He took a long draw off of his beer, draining the schooner, and motioned Piper (our lovely bartender) for a refill.

"So then how'd you get out?" I queried. "The villagers caught on as soon as their leader's head exploded, didn't they?"

"Going out was different. Basically, we just ran like hell! We'd come to a place in the jungle where helicopters hovered just above the treetops. They dropped down lines and waited just a few minutes. If you didn't grab one, that was tough shit. They couldn't wait around all day."
Finally, I had to ask him. "What about the bullet?"

A pained look crossed his face, exaggerated by a full day's growth of scraggly beard. "On my last mission, something went haywire. Those bastards were tipped off or something because by the time we made our way through the jungle and had the village in sight, no one was there. They managed to circle around and flank our wedge formation, surprising us from our vulnerable side. I caught a stray bullet in the back as we turned and beat feet the hell out of there. We were damn lucky they didn't quite manage to surround us, or I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you right now."

His voice trailed off and he stared out across the bar, but he seemed relaxed.

"You didn't really want to hear this stuff, did you?" he finally asked
without turning his head.

"Honestly, no," I responded, "but I'm glad you told me anyway. I'm touched that you trust me enough to share these experiences with me, though I don't quite understand why. I really doubt that I would ever have the courage to trust anybody at all with such knowledge. Most people wouldn't take it very well, I think."

"No," he said quietly, "they haven't."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," he said. "Shoot."

"What does it feel like to murder, in cold blood? To kill? I've read things, mostly written by psychologists and that sort of shit, that suggest it's a very addicting rush."

"Oh, yeah," he replied quickly, with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "It's the most incredible feeling, the second you pull that trigger. You control everything. But the second after, you realize what you've done. Even though you've done it many times before, it's always just as bad. I felt really -- really dirty."

"When we got back," he continued, "they'd keep us separate from the other guys. They got us drunk. They'd bring in girls, Vietnamese whores. They'd wait on us hand and foot, telling us what a great job we did."


"So basically, they..." I started.

"They lied to me!" He completed the sentence about the same way that I would've.

"They told me that I was elite, that I was something special. That I was the fucking best I could be." His intensifying voice softened, as if on the verge of tears. "They made me into a monster."


Acedeal stopped there as Piper cried out for last call. It was well after one in the morning and I hadn't even realized it! We bid each other an uneasy farewell after settling up with my girlfriend”Piper”, and as I headed out of the bar into the chill night air, the tale of Acedeal still echoed madly in my head.


Just then, A Glass Shatters against the Wall, and Acedeal Come’s up with his Colt 45…………

[Vicky23]

Vicky tosses two packets of tea to Kryten, who catches them with ease. She had noticed his reflexes to the breaking cup and his quick scan of the room. Her opinion of him jumped. This was a guy she would gladly have watch her back.

Vicky looks back over to where skullbones is and their eyes lock. She looks beyond the furylike mask he has on his face, and sees he is quite upset, and very unsettled. Their eye contact was broken as a large soldier steps inbetween them and starts talking to skull.

The cold night air hits Vicky in the back, and she is unsuccessfull at stopping herself from tweeking out. It's hard enough trying to fit in with the guys but nipping out is kindof noticable and embarrasing for vicky. She doesn't need to remind these guys every 2 minutes that she is a woman.

Looking behind her, she sees Lord Rive standing in the doorway, uniform spattered with someone elses blood and a lopsided cocky grin on his face. He walks accross the room and places the five dogtags on his kill post. Vicky noticed everyone had a way of tracking their kills. She had her M-24, Krytan had his chair, Cobywan his computer, Rive his dogtags.

Lord Rive he was called by the team. It was said he was given the name Lord Rive because when he was on an op his cold demenor and cryogenical smile could chill someone to the bone on the hottest summer day. His morbid collection of dogtags unnerved some, and it was wispered that he could be a section eight. Vicky didn't think so. His demenor and dogtag obsession reminded another member of the team of a Sith Lord from the movie Star Wars. The name stuck, but off the field, Rive was as human as the rest of them.

He had just finished talking to Skull and turned to wink at vicky and nod at cobywan and Kryten. Vicky coloured a bit in her cheeks. She knew that Rive had a thing for her, and honestly the feeling was mutual. However, if she were to act on these feelings like a week-one recruite, she could break the confidence of this team and create internal strife. For now, she played it safe and cool.

Rive had gone to the bar and returned to her table with a bottle of whiskey and some shotglasses. Behind Rive, skull was still talking to the unknown soldier, and Acedeal was talking with a private that Vicky knew as Piper's guy.

Rive poured shots for himself vicky and cobywan, making a toast and salute. On a whim, Vicky downed the shot without emotion or an intake of breath. She could hold her liquor against any one of them. She had been drinking alcohol long before her peers could drive. Blame it on a father that aways had wanted a son.

She thought of the blood on Rive's jacket. She realized that she didn't feel anything when sniping. It was simple to her. No emotions before or after the kill. Just methodical, and thorough set up, controlled breathing, and a gentle squeeze of the trigger. She never felt anything. That didn't strike her as odd, but it was puzzling. Vicky strugged it off and had one more whiskey as she ran her fingers through her long red hair.

Piper was serving Acedeal a neat drink, and walked down to the other end of the bar to clean a few glasses. “F—cking dip-shit dumb-blonde” Vicky muttered. Oh, vicky liked Piper, and they got along fine as they were practically the only women on the base besides the few at the infirmary. Piper should be in college rooting for her team, not carring an M-16 into battle. When the oprotunity arose, Vicky tried to be placed in the same op as Piper. She had a big sister feeling towards Piper and would rather see her safe behind the bar, then out fighting opfor, although in this bar, you could get just as hurt.

Vicky could hear the last notes of the nightly revelle. Damn. She knew if she wanted to get checked out and take a shower tonight, she better get booking. When vicky joined DoW, Acedeal had a small problem on his hands. Where was Vicky going to bunk? Not in the male's barracks, that was out of the question. Ace decided to place Vicky in the empty Barracks 'C'. It was lonely at times, but it also provided that privacy she charished. Ace had also laid the rule that no male would be allowed in Barracks 'C' after 24:00. Before 24:00, you could be in the barracks at her discresion. The only man allowed to enter 'C' without permission was Acedeal himself. He only entered twice in her time with the team. The first was for a basic inspection, and the second was to find out why she had not formed up for revelle. Delerious from a high fever there was no way for her to form up. Vicky had said some things to Acedeal in her weakened state that only he knew about her now.

Deciding to get moving, vicky closes her rucksack, dons her winter cammo jacket, and fits her helmet oh her head. As she swung the rucksack to her back, Vicky knew she had made a mistake. The wound had opened again with the motion of swinging the rucksack, and the sharp pain about took her legs out from under her. She wobbled, and to cover this, she sat down again. Smiling weakly at Rive, she knew her face had completely drained of blood and she was as pale as a ghost. Trying to misdirect him, she said "I never got a chance to repay you from last week when you bought me dinner. I have a couple of t-bone and potatoes I am making latter. If you are hungry, stop by my Barracks around 21:00."

Vicky got up from the table, and her legs started to shake. When she walked, she had to force her knees to lock. She hid this by acting like she was adjusting her rucksack as she walked and it left her unbalanced. Looking over the room, she said her goodbyes, and trugged off in the cold night air towards the infirmary.

Had anyone happened to look at the floor where vicky had walked as she left, one might notice a light trail of blood droppings trailing out the door after her.

[-(F^S)-Sirchazz]

SirChazz walks in the door carrying two snipers he picked up from his battle, a Dragnov and mosting-nat. he places them down on a table as he sits down, make sure both weapons were not loaded with bullets. he just about to order a drink when he realized something

"uh oh, forgot my M82, there goes $500 down the drain!"

worried about the lost sniper weapon, he pickes up the dragnov and asked the follow members to loo after the Mosting-nat and dashes out for find his weapon

[D_Chosen1]

D_Chosen1 kicks the door in with his M-24 over one shoulder an a M-82
he found ,looks alot like SirChazz's gun he thought. He walks over to a table in the back corner the one across from the dark corn which he really doesnt like kinda spooky, leans his M-24 against the chair across from him then lays the m-82 on the table in front of him. He then reaches in his pack pulls out his own blend of coffie , knowing that darn military coffie taist like gun powder in rusty water. . he drops his blend of coffie in the hot cup of water he grabed on the way to the table.

Looking around he noticed everyone looking at him. He's not in a good mood cause he done been grazed then another bullet hit the stock of his m-24 wich pretty much shattered it . but it did save his life cause he only got grazed. thats what u get for being cocky . D_Chosen1 likes to play sniper chicken . Lay in clear view of other shooting at each other till ones dead. with out moving out of way .

He see's SirChazz still crying over his M-82 he had lost. He yells over at him saying boy me being new to the sniper unit a rookie an all.. knows never to misplace his weapon (its your best friend ). D_Chosen1 toss's the gun to him an said next time he'll keep it !!

D_Chosen1 notices Vicky , that theres a real women . she can take a man down as fast as any other man. And a body that would put an man on his knees begging for her bullet to his head :wink: .
he walks over to Vicky leans down over her table an an puts down that fresh cup of coffie he just made. Said to her drink this , hate to see You drink that awful Army coffie .

Smiling he stands up like he's something. An he bedamned he nailed his head on the hanging lights above table .
Cousing up a storm cause of it hurting but worse he was ambaresed he grabs the lighting an rips it from the cielling an chunkes it clear across the room , right out the window . He then walks back to his table sits down and lights a a cig . Siting there thinking an rubbing his head. maybe he shoulda kept that helment he was issued . instead of throwing it to the side . he maynot of got that nasty knot he know has on his head.

Then he hear's the same laughter he heard from outside before he walked in .

He just ignores it an tryes to think how he's goin to fix the stock of his gun .

[D_Chosen1]

D_Chosen1 kicks the door in with his M-24 over one shoulder an a M-82
he found ,looks alot like SirChazz's gun he thought. He walks over to a table in the back corner the one across from the dark corn which he really doesnt like kinda spooky, leans his M-24 against the chair across from him then lays the m-82 on the table in front of him. He then reaches in his pack pulls out his own blend of coffie , knowing that darn military coffie taist like gun powder in rusty water. . he drops his blend of coffie in the hot cup of water he grabed on the way to the table.

Looking around he noticed everyone looking at him. He's not in a good mood cause he done been grazed then another bullet hit the stock of his m-24 wich pretty much shattered it . but it did save his life cause he only got grazed. thats what u get for being cocky . D_Chosen1 likes to play sniper chicken . Lay in clear view of other shooting at each other till ones dead. with out moving out of way .

He see's SirChazz still crying over his M-82 he had lost. He yells over at him saying boy me being new to the sniper unit a rookie an all.. knows never to misplace his weapon (its your best friend ). D_Chosen1 toss's the gun to him an said next time he'll keep it !!

D_Chosen1 notices Vicky , that theres a real women . she can take a man down as fast as any other man. And a body that would put an man on his knees begging for her bullet to his head :wink: .
he walks over to Vicky leans down over her table an an puts down that fresh cup of coffie he just made. Said to her drink this , hate to see You drink that awful Army coffie .

Smiling he stands up like he's something. An he bedamned he nailed his head on the hanging lights above table .
Cousing up a storm cause of it hurting but worse he was ambaresed he grabs the lighting an rips it from the cielling an chunkes it clear across the room , right out the window . He then walks back to his table sits down and lights a a cig . Siting there thinking an rubbing his head. maybe he shoulda kept that helment he was issued . instead of throwing it to the side . he maynot of got that nasty knot he know has on his head.

Then he hear's the same laughter he heard from outside before he walked in .

He just ignores it an tryes to think how he's goin to fix the stock of his gun .

[skippie]

Skip was sitting at the end of the bar, looking quite relaxed. He had his first free day off since he joined
the DoW Battalion and he used it to go back home to meet some friends there. Now being back at the base again,
he was at the bar drinking a hot tea. Well it once again was a very cold autumn day, so drinking tea was apparently
the best thing to warm oneself. Coby joined him and it looked like the two were heavily discussing something,
as both were making heavy gestures with their hands, and sometimes the voice of them got louder.
But still nobody was able to hear what they were talking about.
They soon finished their discussion, as Skip stood up, went to the pool table and asked if somebody
wanted to beat him at pool.
Everybody knew that Skip liked to bet.
Playing pool was something that could help to forget some of the things that were going on during the duty in the Army.
Not that it was bad here, but killing people could become a psychological problem. So everybody needed something to relax
after they came back from a mission. Anyway being part of the Army wasnt something one really could expect from skip.
He was born in Poland but moved to Germany at the age of eight. He soon found a lot of friends who were American GI´s or kids
from GI´s. They were stationed in Berlin, and played baseball like Skip did, when he was younger.
But having a lot of friends who were stationed there, became a problem when the wall was taken down, and most of them now were
able to go back to the States, to their families. Of course he understood that they didnt stay, but it still was hard.
Losing so many friends in a short period of time, is a very hard thing. NOt that one didnt stay in contact but it wasnt the same
as meeting on a daily basis. But he was thankful that they could spend so much time together as well as them doing that much
for Berlin and Germany. It could be one of the reasons why he decided to become a sniper of the Army.
It was something nobody from his friends or family really expected, as he never had such plans, or at least didnt talk about those.

[D_Chosen1]

D-Chosen1 noticed his new buddy skippie step in the door .he looked like he was beat like the rest of us. D_Chosen1 an Skippie went a threw a fiew confrontations together side by side taking out Opfer left an right.
he saved D_Chosen1 a fiew times . That skippie took D_Chosen1 an fiew guys in, an took over the bridge. D_Chosen1 would of thought he was a natural leader .

D_Chosen1 walked over to Skippie an said he was up for a game of pool.
Then he racked the balls told Skippie to break.
While skippie was trying to locate a straight stick. D_Chosen1 went to the bar an bought rounds for all the -=DoW=- Ladies an Gents. Some good ole German Whisky. Thought that would be nice even though D_Chosen1 was from the States. He still had that Pure German blood that add the need for some good whisky. Even though its not like his Granny's Moon Shine O ya u talk about puting hair on your chest o ya even them women.
" He laughs to him self"

D_chosen1 walks back over to the pool table with 2 shots of whisky hands the other to skippie an Say's "u look like u need this like the rest of us " He looks down at the table see's the balls were broken but not a one knocked in. He looks over at skippie with a grin an says: i sure hope u better with the stick in your paints then the one u just use.

D_Chosen1 starts cleaning the table . But him being cocky missed the 8 ball. He looks over at skippie an says its all yours ..........

[LordRive]

Rive watches as everyone takes their shot and guns it like there is no tomorrow. He notices a whince from Vicky. She must be hurt more than she is letting on...

Vicky and Rive have a unique bond. At least Rive believes they do. Deep down he and Vicky connect, sometimes on some of the weirdest levels. Even on the field, Vicky and Rive sometimes try to out snipe each other by seeing who can pick the same target off the fastest. By last count they were both dead even.

Professionalism has always gotten in the way with Rive. He wants to tell her so much, but he knows that an attachment to Vicky could spell disaster for him, her, the team, and the mission. Rive plays it off, but he feels concerned for her all the time, and he knows she feels it too.

Vicky looks up and smiles at him and tells him she owes him for the dinner he took her to last week. He nods, and tells her "Of course I will be there!" As she gets up and leaves, he sees a rather noticeable trail of blood following her out the door. "She held back.", Rive says under his breath. She wasn't one to admit pain, or need for help.

"If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a dinner to attend." He grabs his M24 and his gullie suit, pets his new dogs tags on his Kill Peg, nods to everyone, and makes for the door. Only a few notice Rive has some thread, a needle, and some hemostats in his hand as he closes the door.

"I should shower first...but I can't eat if the cook is bleeding to death.", he mumbles again. He picks up the pace, trying to catch up with Vick.

[Major Kickass]

Shivering from the late night cold, Major Kickass ponders on how he is going to rid himself of a few neighboring problems. "Being stuck behind enemy lines is no picnic", he thinks to himself, wishing that he was at the base in his cot sipping on a hot cup of tea listening to updates of the war on his field radio.

Wanting fo the war to finally come to an end he spots an Opfor soldier in the darkness, only having the stars as his only souce of light. He wonders if he should take the shot, knowing that there are more Opfor to the right of him by the sounds of their footsteps.

He finally decides to wait until he can get his bearings on where most, if not all, of the Opfor are positioned. "Didn't really have a clear shot with that tree in the way anyways", he thinks to himself. He decides to wait until the crack of dawn to make any moves, his only friend in the field is the sound of his own breath, and the slight chattering of his teeth in the heart of this cold, snowfilled night.

Thinking..."Maybe playing it safe until some more Joe's aririve is my best bet to stay alive.", wishing that more of his team would just pop over the next hillside in a nocturne offensive. Pondering whether to try to get some shuteye, or stay awake for the next move by the Opfor, he grinds his teeth on a bit of cracker from his last MRE.

Tired and cold from the night air on this damned mountain, laying prone in the snow, his only wish is to see the faces of his squad once again...

[majota]

tired as hell, majota opens the door and wanders in, with his SVD hooked over his sholder, a weapon of precision and death. he studys all he passes, looking for a friendly face. he recognises sir chazz and gives him a wave, pulls up a chair and sits down, he yawns as he stretches out and smiles.

:)

"hows it going chazz? havent seen you for some time"

[Kryten121]

Kryten121 stumbles in from the cold, it was a cold and blustery night. The wind had been whipping round me all night and it was deadly cold, his estimate had been -15 it had been closer to -23, he thanked god for his army issue thermals and those ultrathin thermal gloves he had found in that little ukrainian town.

Kryten121 had been stranded out on that damn mountain pass when his M24 SWS had jammed, the firing pin had been bent by a freak accident involving an OpFor's bullet, just as he had blown the kidney out of another Opfor that was lying down on the wrong side of the hill. He wasn't sure how it had happened but just as he had lifted the bolt up to give himself another shot. Somehow the opfor bullet had managed to guide itself into the chamber bending the firing pin making his weapon unusable. He deceided that seeing as another OpFor must be close that the best course of action was to abandon his beloved M24, that M24 was his closest friend, it had to be! He relied on that weapon, he often slept with his M24. Some of his team mates often thought that was a little eccentric but Kryten121 had his reasons. It stemmed back from his days at the academy but thats a different story.....

After abandoning his weapon and his backpack opting for a speedy retreat, Kryten121 set off back towards base camp, there he figured he would hitch a lift in a Huey back to the -=DoW=- HQ about 20 Miles from base camp. After walking a few minutes in the direction of the base camp, he heard that distictive whistle, dropping like a sack of potatoes his head twisting to face the opposite direction, he saw the puff of snow as the 7.62 hit the side of the mountain. Luckily for Kryten121 he had dropped behind a small ridge, enough for him to be no longer visible. Unfortuanatly the cover only lasted for 50m either way, with a large clump of trees about 80m right of the ridge. Kryten121 lay there for a few minutes wondering how he could distract the OpFor sniper and make a rush for the clump of trees. Looking around him he spotted ony a few branches and a heck of alot of snow, realising the longer he lay there the higher the chance of his own breath giving him away, he decided to try something. Kryten121 moved within 3m of the end of the ridge on the left side, he then pulled out his pocket knife and cut some strips from his jacket, then he picked up some branches. Working quickly he rigged some sticks together with the strips of cloth and then preceded to urinate on the cloth. Quickly he threw the steaming sticks and cloth just about 0.5m out into the open. Rolling quickly to the right, he then picked himself up onto his knees and quickly ran for the end of the ridge on the right side. Kryten121 had always been a quick runner, he had never been the quickest but today he had a feeling he could outrun almost anyone!

Reaching the end of the ridge he plunged himself into the snow, breathing into the ridge trying to stop his warm steamy breath from rising to much. He had just ran 100m in about 12seconds, he had hoped that the steam from his urine was enough to make the opfor sniper think that was were he was. Listening intentley for the whine and whistle he had been trained to hear! Sure enough he heard that whistle, not wanting to wait around, knowing that any more seconds there could potentially give his position away, Kryten121 rose to his feet and was about to run full speed towards the trees, just as he sped from his position behind the ridge there was a second whistling sound! Kryten121 twisted and bent like he was in the Matrix and that 7.62 smashed into the snow covered ground with a large puff of snow which provided partial coverage. Kryten121 ran like he was Maurice Green, he ran like his life depended on it, which it did!

The whistling continued, just as he reached the clumps of trees the whistling had stopped, hoping that the OpFor had run out of rounds and was having to reload the Dragonov, Kryten121 ran for another bunch of trees hoping the OpFor was busy reloading. Sure enough the OpFor must have been reloading. Tired and almost exhausted from the adrenaline fueled running, Kryten121 made it to the second clump of trees and with good fortune had stumbled upon a OpFor corpse. This OpFor was a young female sniper, she had to be only 18-19 years old, her Drangonov was still clasped in her hand. I felt kind of wrong to prise that Drangonov from her dead lifeless fingers but this was a matter of life or death so Kryten121 felt completely justified. He started looking for her dog tags so he could have a name to the weapon, there wasn't any dog tags! Just then he remembered that was the style of Lord Rive and let out a laugh. Unfortuanatly for him the OpFor sniper had reloaded and the laugh had pin pointed Kryten121. Then came the familiar whistle of that 7.62 ripping its way through the air straight to him, it smashed Kryten121 straight in the shoulder and went straight through the flesh and exited straight out. The force of the 7.62 had pushed Kryten121 straight to the ground, wincing in agony Kryten121 was glad he hadn't been pushed out of the safety of the clump of trees. Laying on the floor he quickly grabbed a load of snow and applied it to the wound hoping to numb the area as much as possible. Luckily for him it had not impeded his left arm movement but he knew with the damage to the shoulder he would have 1 or two shots before the pain would become too much for him to move his left arm.

Moving slowly forward, Kryten121 moved to the front of the line of trees, shielded by the thick branches he pushes the Dragonov forward and started to hunt for the OpFor sniper, searching in the general direction that the bullet came from. Knowing that any sniper worth their salt would imediatly pickup and move after losing sight of their opponent, Kryten121 searched to the right of the position he thought the 7.62 came from. He wasn't sure why he had chosen the right side of the position, maybe it was because of the injury or maybe because he was a little physic, he wasn't entirely sure. Sure enough though, there was the glinting optic of the OpFor, Kryten121 knew his luck was in today. Squeezing off one round at that optic he hit that OpFor square in the head, a puff of red snow billowed skywards.

Kryten121's left arm was hurting immensely, the pain was like nothing he had felt before. Pulling himself to his feet, using a branch as support. He headed to base camp. It seemed like hours before he stumbled into the mobile HQ, there was a medic on hand with some much needed morphine and a friendly face or two. Having had the shoulder wound patched up and the debriefing in the Commanders Tent, Kryten121 was ordered to take a weeks R&R, he was planning to see if Vicky was on assignment he wasn't sure what he would be doing but anything was better than sub zero temperatures.

[dead_on_a_stick]

The front door suddenly opened, gusts of snow and cold wind blow in. A figure walks in, SVD in hand. He shuts the door behind him.

People turn and look, except Acedeal because he knows who this new arrival is.

I strided over to Acedeal and pulled off my snow covered jacket. Then I saluted. "Pvt. c3h5(no3)3 reporting for duty sir."

"At ease Pvt. Welcome to -=DoW=-."

"Thank you sir."

Acedeal turned back to his reports. It had been a hard night ... a drink seemed like the ideal thing. Turning, I strode over to the bar.

"Pint of Lemonade please." I was met with laughing.

"I thought you soldiers were all hard drinkers!".

"Not this soldier", I said. "I gave up the booze. Keeps my aim good."

"Okay, here you go. Where are you from?"

"England. Just finished a tour around my home. How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing."

I was a bit taken aback by this.

"Ah. Thank you very much."

Turning around again, I spied an empty table near the fire. Setting down my pint and my rifle, I start to enjoy the warmth eminating from the very welcoming fire. I pull out a pack of cigarettes and light one up.

As I breathe in the welcoming tobacco smoke, I start to daydream of events past ... until I am interrupted from my revere by another soldier in -=DoW=- fatigues.

"Hi, i'm Kryten121." He held his hand out.

I took his hand and shook. "c3h5(no3)3".

"So you're one of the new recruits?"

"Yep, just came in yesterday. They say good things about you guys."

"We get by ... nothing to brag about really."

"I can smell false modesty a mile off mate"

"Yeah, well wait till you meet Vicky23 ..."

Female members?

"You've female soldiers? Wow ... hang on, what've you done to your shoulder?"

"Just the usual war wounds. Nothing to worry about."

"So is this Vicky23 about?"

"She left about five minutes ago. Didn't you see her on your way in".

"Can't say I did ..." My voice trails off as I notice ...

I get up, stub my cigarette out and walk over to the doorway. I look down, then crouch.

Using my thumb and forefinger, I touch something liquid on the floor. Kryten wanders over ...

"What is it?"

"Just a sec ..." I examine the liquid, then smelling it before finally tasting it. "It's blood."

"Oh god ..."

"Yeah, if she's out there ..." I steady myself for one of my more stupid but more chivalrous moments. "I'd better go find her. You're in no condition."

I stide back to my table, pick up my belongings and walk out into the night.

I hope she's still alright by the time I get to her ...

[Dark.Visage]

It's been almost a year since the old place has seen any visitors. The lounge was recently purchased by a man named Richard Cross. Cross was at one time a merc for hire and has since then retired to run this small business. The lounge was never renamed and as such does not have any "official" title anymore.

It is often visited by guns for hire from around the world however the organized sniper mercs known as -=DoW=- have dubbed this place a form of headquarters while on and off missions. There are other merc groups out there that occassionally come and go but those of -=DoW=- seem to be the most frequent. You won't find this place on a road map or by travel agency. It's known only to those in the business and by those who know them. Cross has reopened the lounge and it's once again awaiting new customers and clients.

RULES
-----

1. No playing for anyone else. You may only play your own character. There are some exceptions to this rule as follows:

1a. Richard Cross can be used to speak but will not fight nor can he be killed. He's great at finding snipers jobs and such.
1b. There is no other staff here, only Cross, who runs the bar and day to day works of the place.

2. No one is bulletproof. You can't go on mission after mission and never be wounded. No one has to die but injuries are a part of a mercs life.

3. Two or more players may not get into a violent event with each other unless all parties involved are in agreement with the outcome of the event.

4. Although -=DoW=- members are known worldwide for thier skill with various sniper rifles, they are not limited to those. All "real world" weapons are available to players to use in their posts. Some of the more rare and/or exotic weapons should be explained in a post as to how it was gained.

5. Always speak in the third person when posting.

6. When posting, please post at least 1 (one) paragraph at least. You don't need to write out an entire short story per post if you don't want to but at least a paragraph is needed.

7. Last but not least, PLEASE if you are going to make a long post in which something may come up that affects another player, please shorten the post abit to give that player a chance to respond before continuing on. It's rather difficult at times when someone involves you in a storyline only to have left the building all in one post before you can respond with your own.

Have fun and enjoy. I'll begin work on my first post soon and get that up there and hopefully we can get a rather interesting story going on about the mercs and snipers of our made up world here.

-Dark.Visage

[Dark.Visage]

The door opens slowly as Visage enters the room. He glances about before making his way to the bar. His long coat rustles as it catchs a breeze before the door is shut. He carries a large black case in one hand, the other hangs loosely at his side for a moment before giving a slight salute to the man behind the bar.

"What can I do you for" asks Cross, as he slides a wet towel across the bartop.
"Coffee, black" Visage answers as he turns to look closer at the setup of the room.

Cross fills a cup with steaming coffee and passes it to Visage as the newcomer slides his money across the bartop before picking it up and moving to a nearby table. As he sits he places the long black case on the table and slowly unlatches the locks and begins to open it.

"Hold up there friend" Cross says.
"You can bring it in but don't go waving that thing around. What you do out in the world is your business but don't bring it in here" he adds.

With an affirmative nod Visage locks the case back up and moves it aside and sips at his coffee. He doesn't much mind the rules, he still has his sidearm should anything unexpected happen.

Visage makes a quick glance out the window, looking at his 4x4 parked out front.
"That new paintjob was worth it" he thinks to himself. The 4x4 SUV was one of a few vehicles he has at his disposal but this one was special. It's completely untracable to him and as such offers a feeling of extra security when visiting a place he has only just recently learned about.

"Nice place you have here" Visage said as he took a quick glance over at Cross.
"It pays the bills" was the only responce he got.

With that Visage went back to his coffee. Work would come later, for now, it was time to just relax and enjoy another day of being alive.

[Hari Seldon]

Seldon parked across the street. The SUV parked in front does not look familiar to him, and any change in routine has brought an alarm to his conscience. No, Rich hasn't put up the "call off" sign, so maybe no problems, thought Seldon.

He stealthily slipped to the alley behind the bar - dumpster, packing crates, typical refuse. No movement in the surrounding trees or shrubbery. Silence save for the talk of tree and stone. He slid several empty bottles across the back door - if someone leaves this way, the breaking glass will serve as a warning for old Rich Cross.

Seldon crossed to the front door and walked into the antechamber where the cigarette machine used to be, and where the old local papers are left. He looked across the bar at Cross, who was cleaning glasses with the rag in his left hand - all clear, he thought. He approached the bar, using only his peripheral vision to scan the room: dimly lit, one customer at corner table, back to wall. Good spot to cover the front and rear entrances, he thought to himself, the spot I would take if I was alone and had no cover. Maybe just a coincidence, but maybe this was someone "in the business." The long case across the stranger's table was not likely to be a pool cue, Seldon noted.

"G'day Hari," said Cross. "Haven't seen you around here for awhile, thought you found a better draft elsewhere."

"No, I had a consulting job that took me away for a while, but that contract has been completed and paid for, so I can settle my account here and perhaps resume my patronage," murmured Seldon. He picked up his draft and moved to the far end of the bar - the back table could be seen in the reflection from the mirror behind the register.

[Dutchie]

'Jeez' he said to himself... Looking in the mirror it was easy to see why... His face was a greyish white, he hadnt shaved for days and was starting to feel weaker and weaker.. Blood was slowy coming through the dirty bandages, not a lot, but still a very steady trickle of blood...

He had been lucky to make it all the way back here, a safe place from the old days, nearly 2 days it had taken him to get here though.. A place that was almost forgotten, but still safe.. A quiet place and safety was what he needed right now!

He turned around, slowly as he was feeling the pain in his side, and moved towards the toilet exit. As he moved forward he slipped a lost his balance.. down he went... Head first... His vision blurred and then went black.

[Acedeal]

[ ooc ]
Bumping this up. Good reading, let's remain in story. Try to read the initial setup, the current characters and the current mood of the story

Also turn off sigs, and smileys.
[ ooc ]

[sniper_nick]

Nick flew in the door and stood next to dutchie and fell on the floor laughing, then feeling like a jerk helped dutchie up and brought him a drink, and they spent hours talking about what dutchie had been doing to get that way.
Suddenly nick realised the time filled his hip flask with whiskey and went out out the door in a hurry almost triping over his .50 cal. Dutchie sat and said to himself "Il get that nick for laughing at me il kill him i will!!".

[Panda]

"It's been a long 10 months" Panda sighs to himself. He can still remember how the journey that led him here began. He was used. Led to believe something that never was. Misinformation causing a several month whirl wind of violence and self-loathing. At the end of it he thought he could find peace. But all he found was that damn smiling man with the small wire-rim glasses and thinning hair. It was him that told Panda the truth. All semblence of relief fled from his body; rage tidal waved to his very soul. It was the damn smile and the condesending look in his eyes that caused the immediate reaction. The man was only a messenger. His trachea collapsed with such little force from the knife as the vertebrae in his neck crumbled in on it self with one quck snaping motion. The man let out his last breath through the newly applied hole in his throat.

It was starting all over again. Images flashed through Panda's mind. His family all in a row. Laying across the backyard. Clean little holes in each of their foreheads. The expression of terror frozen on all of their faces. Until the arrival of the messenger he thought his vengence was complete. New images flooded his mind. Each face, each smell, each feel, of every person that fell at his hands, leading up to the man he thought was responsible. His weapon of choice has always been a knife or a thin-wire used as a garrote. If applied properly to the neck it was always fast and always absolutely silent. That's how they all went. All except for the last man. The wrong man. He had fun with him. Did things to the man that he knows will haunt his memories for the rest of his life. He thought he was done. Until the smiling man told him he was used. The true murderers of his family used the known reaction he would have along with is known skill to manipulate him and have him kill the wrong person. The death of that last person Panda could only assume helped the real murderers. Panda's real enemy. It was all a waste of time. A waste of life.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, he starts. The stalk will begin, with a new prey. Much was still yet to be learned. Much preperation still awaited. The first step may find its footing with his most trusted friends in Cross's bar. Rest is a priority now, for it's been a long journey to get here. Rest is a weapon.

Mistakes will no longer be made.