NationStates Jolt Archive

Blood

Sergeant Hedgewood took in the dark confines of the truck, canvas drawn up, the slow day was taking its toll, while in the heavens, a half hearted battle was taking place: the sun struggling with the grey clouds for space in the calm sky. The usually tumultuous sky was as if a riotous sea had all of sudden turned eerily calm. In the eye of the storm, as some called it.

”Alright you miserable lot, looks like we is getting close to the forest, how do you lads like the prospect of looking for what happened to the last patrol? Not a lot? Get more enthusiastic then ye’ lazy bastards!”

The time passed quickly, the soldiers were in relatively high spirits, the idea of being given even this most meagre of tasks was like giving a child a lollypop after the prospect of ever having one again was stripped away from the minor. The sun was losing the battle against the encompassing clouds and slowly but surely, the sun was forced to retreat from its watchful vigil over the kind lands of Kriegorgrad, late was unnaturally dark as the winds of fate cast the clouds over the Proletarian Guardsmen.

Hedgewood allowed himself a long look at the attractive young woman driving the rumbling truck; she handled the truck with such finesse…Hedgewood snapped himself back to attention, away from the immoral thoughts infiltrating the otherwise virtuous man. The sergeant only hoped he wasn’t trapped out here for too long…the woman had an intoxicating affect of the young female, the perfect curves…

Hedgewood banished the thoughts from his head, he could not allow such wrong notions to permeate his otherwise pure mind. The truck began to rumble to a halt with the crunch of gravel heard two days earlier…

The squad disembarked, giving the truck abandoned two days ago quizzical looks while they lined up.

”Roll call!”

OoC: This thread is the RP thread for blood, all OOC and signups can be directed towards here. ( http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=8928692#post8928692)

Just RP your name being called and give a description of the surroundings and your characters feelings ect. ect. The surroundings are the rolling fields giving way to forest, with a gravel strewn road being the only path to civilisation.

"Corporal Jack Delaney!" Corporal Delaney was standing in line, smirked at the two chevrons he wore. He had just recieved his promotion from private only about two weeks ago and it gave him a sense of accomplishment. He wasn't entirely fond of being in the military but he was certainly fond of the progress he had made. If I have to do it, I'm going to do it well! He always thought to himself.

"Sir, yes sir. Present and accounted for!" He snapped to. He held his rifle at his side, in his right hand. It was an Enfield Mark III, a fine bolt-action rifle for a fine marskman. It was a big weapon though, 1,130 millimeters long with a barrel in the size of 640 millimeters. It weighed just shy of 4 kilograms, 3.9 to be exact. It fired a 7.69 millimeter bullet at a velocity of 744 meters per second. He could, easily, make it out to a thousand meters with the rifle, the rear sight being capable of 1,800 meters. He had, routinely, hit thousand meter shots, especially since he came in contact with a scope. Unfortunately, it had broken six days ago when he dropped his rifle as a result of a grenade blast. He was back to iron sights. He was just grateful he could load ten rounds at a time. It was plenty of opportunity.

Corporal Delaney looked out and over the horizon. Sun is fading. Look at those clouds. The clouds rolled in a certain way and it captivated him. A shiver went up his spine with the breeze as he listened to the others be called. Ten rounds. Ten bad guys. Ten problems solved.

Private Theodora Kalder (http://www.atddm.com/theo.html) stretched to loosen her muscles as she climbed down from the high drivers seat of the truck. She enjoyed driving, perhaps a legacy from her father's people's nomadic ways, but the last part of the drive had been difficult. The noncomissioned officer in charge of the unit, a Sergeant Hedgewood, had been very tense, and uncommunicative. Theo didn't think her driving had been unsafe or unskilled, and she hoped he was not planning to put her on report. She had been very conciencious, perhaps that is the problem, maybe I went too slow she thought as she waited at the end of the line for her name to be called. She hoped he wouldn't, she liked driving, hated typing - to end up in the steno pool would be just unbearable.

There weren't many women in the Kriegos military, and they always had the rough of it. She wasn't to be going searching with the others, her orders had been specific, 'to drive the truck, to stay with the truck, and report on the condition of the other truck if it was found. Request that the sergeant assign one of his men to drive it back if the vehicle was operable.' that was all she was supposed to do. She hadn't even been assigned a rifle, just the standard side arm 'all' personel carried 'in the field.' She doubted that even that would have been issued, save that the base commendant was a stickler for regulations, and the regulations said 'all' and female or not, mere motor pool driver or not, she was part of 'all'.

Discretely she smoothed her uniform and the bulky but warm coat she wore. The day ws a faded one, the sun seemingly unable to put forth any warmth as the clouds herded it from the bowl of the heavens, rushing into take it's place. The forest was close by, you could smell, ever so faintly the leaf rot and shadows, the cool that seeped from it's depths. Oh how she wanted to make her way there, to glide through it's verdant fastness. It called to her, drew her eyes, a shiver running through her. She had to firmly stop herself from turning and heading for the ragged treeline. What has gotten into me? She wondered as the breeze blew ever more enticing scents her way. Perhaps another fever? She did feel too restricted, too bound, and she shifted slightly seeking to make her uniform lie more comfortably.

The gravel road back to civilization seemed to fall away forever as she looked back along it. Let it go, let it fade away, the forest is here She looked to the forest. She knew with certainty that it was haunted.

"Private Jake Sanderson!"
"Present sir." Jake stood in line with the other soldiers, his helmet cocked back on his head and his eyes hidden by mirrored sunglasses. He was at attention, but his muscles were loose, and he was grinning slightly. Luckily, the sargeant either didn't notice or didn't care, and passed him by.
Behind the shades, Jake's eyes moved, running over the cold sun sinking through the sky. He grinned at that. His attention moved briefly over the other troops out with him. Some familiar faces, a couple he didn't know, who was that driver though? She was definitely someone he'd like to get to know a little better.
His grin widened a little and his eyes moved again, drawn to the darkness of the forest. He stared for a while in between the ancient trees, and his cheerful expression faded a bit, as something about the woods made him feel a little uneasy. When he realized this, he laughed inwardly at his own emotions and the grin returned, smug as ever.

"Kurt Tycos, Corporal"

Tycos dropped out of the back of the truck, careful to avoid the bumper, and dropped lightly to the ground, knees bending through reflex and years of training. He straightened up and brushed his dark brown hair back into place before placing his helmet ontop and securing the strap to make sure it wouldnt fall off at an inopportune moment. He stretched to his full five foot eight inches, and brushed some dirt off of his BDUs, making sure that there were no tears or cuts that he could be bawled out for.

He looked around, searching the forest with bright blue eyes, noting everything he could see, listing them into categories as he went; that ditch to the left could be used as a trench in an emergency; that thick branch could be used as a weapon if all else failed; the woods provided good cover against small-arms fire but little else.

Finally, he checked his weapons. First came his primary weapon, his pride and joy, a Kriegos Bren Light Machine Gun, a heavy brute of a weapon, but deadly in his hands. Then came his secondary piece, his pistol; this was a Webley Revolver, small but efficent, and it had got him out of more than a few scrapes before this. Finally, his knife, a small, lightweight but tough instrument, ready for action, without a spot of rust.

All of this done, he merely stood to attention, awaiting orders but constantly looking around, observing...calculating. He had long learnt to trust his instincts, and something was wrong with this place. That in itself was deeply cliched, but was all he knew. Something was going to happen here, he could feel it...

"Corporal Marcus Anderon"
The voice rang out, as the figure turned from the forest, a cigarette held between clenched lips, his eyes wide, alight with the sense of adventure, danger. His logn dark hair curled about the collar of his long black coat; his body armor beneath. He reached to his side, making sure his pistol and knife remained there; before checking the harness on his back, his Enfield still securely fasten; his supply pockets bristled with ammunition, as he stepped forward, sighing lightly.
"Here."

"Private Liam Flannigan!"

"Sah!"

Flannigan stepped out the truck and got into line. He stretched his legs, taking away the cramp that had formed from being in the truck. He shrugged his shoulders and held his rifle at the ready. The Lee-Enfied was reassuring when it was gripped in his hands.

Next up, he checked his camouflage. As the squad's pathfinder, the gun's scope came in very useful when trying to determine what was up ahead.

He was reminded again of the immense responsibilty that was resting on his shoulders; if he didn't do what he was trained to do, the unit could very easily walk into an ambush, or be completely unprepared for an engagement.

He suppressed the thought. He wouldn't fail. He wouldn't screw up. He was trained better than that, damn it.

He had a look at his comrades-in-arms. Corporal Delaney was one of the finest marksmen he'd met in a while. It would be more than reassuring to have a man like that helping him with the scouting, but he would do just fine without.

Then there was Private Kalder. She was something else altogether. He actually felt sorry for her; every other man in the unit would be pining over her. As such, he refused to be anything other than a gentleman and a friend to her. It was how he'd been raised.

Finally, he looked at his surroundings. The fading sun would make his job easier; the years of training in the dark would make certain he could see what the enemy couldn't. All the same, he had a bad feeling in his stomach. It was probably just paranoid feelings over the mission.

"Private Mark Hanks."

"Sir!" replied the private as he snapped to attention. Over his shoulder, his standard issue Lee Enfield bolt-action rifle. Over his other shoulder, he carried his prized possession, a black and white high quality, highly durable camera. The best money could buy...at least in this time and age. He had been assigned to "document" the capture of a 'madman' by this squad. He knew the others looked down on him, mainly for two reasons. One, he was a photographer, therefore what would he know about combat? More than they realized, he knew. Second, he was new to this squad, therefore they didn't trust him. He was an outsider, one to be watched with caution.

The thing was, Hanks was there for the government had ordered him to do so. He had no choice. It was that, or shuffling papers. He chose this, for it would allow him to once more get back into the field. Looking around, he studied the terrain. He looked at each of the soldiers around him, studying their faces. Some were sullen, some were just bored, and some stared back at him coldly. Shifting his gaze from them, he pretended to fix his uniform of a non-existent wrinkle.

OoC: You have to signup here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=421014&page=2&pp=15) Degruk, also, we are using old school English technology - Enfield rifles, Sten guns and Bren guns only! A Webley pistol as a side arm. Nice to see you already understand the role of an English proletarian. Also, Squornshelous, tone down your sig, it's HUGE!

IC: "Well, that's half of you lot done, let's see what the other half is so shy about?"

The words felt hollow to the bombastic and distinctly proletarian sergeant, the Kriegos army was well suited to the man but this mission felt off to the veteran sergeant, well, if anything went wrong, he had Delaney and Anderon to back him up if anything went amiss with the thusfar routine mission.

The grey sky began to boil as the oceans formed of cloud hid the glittery veil of stars beyond, as soon as the sun fled from its post, the already visible moon would take night watch. Hedgewood always thought militarily, it had been a part of his training and indoctrination, to think as a soldier even in peacetime to help ease the transition if Kriegorgrad was beckoned into a conflict.

I think I've just solved the problem of my sig and Dregruk's joining the RP. I've just remembered that I'm gonig on vacation and I won't have regular enough computer acess to RP properly. So, we have two choices, I can delete my post and we can pretend I was never in the RP, or you all can kill of my character when you need someone to die but no one wants to.

Chun-chun-chun-chun..
The C12 scout plane chuntered away in the sky above the dark forboding forest of Kriegorgrad, the sun setting above it as the plane marked it's way through the sky at a fairly low altitude of several thousand feet. The two pilots were fairly quiet, they didn't want to be noticed by any Kriegos listening posts, or whatever . The lone mission lieutenant sat on the seat, watching out the window as the forest went by and by, never seeming to end, cradling his rifle (http://www.world.guns.ru/rifle/rfl20-e.htm). Scout planes rarely went this deep into Kriegorgrad and Lieutenant Parker knew that they would be turning back soon. His suspicion was correct when the plane pulled a long turn and the whizz of the engines denoted they were switching to secondary fuel. As Parker glanced into the distance, he could see two small dots. The dots, were getting bigger. He moaned with exasperation; Why does everything always have to go wrong? The pilots, however, had already seen them, and assuming that they could climb higher than the Kriegos interceptors could reach them, began a steep climb that made Parker's ears pop. It was too late. The early soviet era were too fast for the small plane. It had powerful engines, however they were not as fast as the interceptors and Parker could begin to see the dark, indomed noses of the mig's. Suddenly, a burst of yellow, blue and red flashed out, some sort of countermeasures that was fairly effective at jamming enemy radar. It was a waste however, as Parker suddenly felt a huge shift in altitude. The plane jerked to one side, and it sort of span and began to make that noise that they were always supposed to make. Parker could see the forest getting closer.

By this time, anyone on the ground could see the small plane screeching through the air, fire raging on it's tail and smoke bellowing from it's rear and it's left engine. Coming into a long dive, the plane tipped the engine of an especially large tree, turning it to one side and snapping the left wing. off dropped one, then two, figures.

Parker jumped. As he fell, he activated the chute and the small parachute activated as he slowly fell down. Catching in a tree, he could see the co pilot about twenty feet away from him with the same dilemna. Cutting himself free he grabbed onto a branch and swung himself down. He promptly helped the co pilot, a man by the name of Adam Cadanzer, down from the tree.

"You alright?" Parker asked.

"Not bad, just a few minor scratches."

Parker nodded. He turned and unclipped his rifle from the chutebox, and slung it over his shoulder, tossing a handgun to the co pilot.

"Then let's get finding that wreckage. Better make sure the enemy don't find out who this stuff belongs to."

"Hutchison?" the sargent's voice rang out.

David Hutchison, a younger man of 22, stood, grabbing his rifle, and swinging it over his back, exiting the truck. He had come from a military family, and like his father, his father's father, and so on, he had join the Proletarian Gaurd. He sauntered away from the truck, a sinking feeling in his stomach, his eyes searching the forest in the distance. He sighed, and hefted the rifle off his back, and to his side. "Here sar major," he replied.

Hedgewood mentally ticked off the last name and unconsciously shuddered as a chill wind infiltrated his cheap cotton uniform, the battle overhead had taken a turn for the worse as the shield wall of ominous clouds barred the subdued orb of life residing in the heavens. The shadow in which the squad was darkened only emphasized the light elsewhere and the seemingly particular absence of at Hedgewood’s location, the sergeant allowed his gaze to wander to the rolling hills beyond the gravel road by which the squad had come and noticed that the road in particular was lit up by the shining luminance, as if that wasn’t an obvious enough instruction, the fact that a visible full moon was already conquering the sky over the forest added to the omen.

However, the squad had little time for such contemplation as a roar filled the air, drowning out such subtle environmental factors like the wind or the distant cheery twitter of the diminutively sized native birds that took up residence in the usually harmless forests of Kriegorgrad, where the most dangerous creatures would be nothing more than a small pack of wolves. Following the distinct bellow of failing engines, it came into view, an aircraft that, to the trained military eye, could be identified as a “C12 Scout Plane”, one aircraft that Hedgewood knew the Kriegos military didn’t have in its employ. Smoke was following the failing craft’s descent with determination being scattered on the merciless winds of the highlands.

Hedgewood’s paranoid, propaganda addled and military imbued mind kicked in, the underlying message of the propaganda addled half of his brain told him to find out who the people flying in Kriegos airspace and what they were doing, the second, military half told him to find them and wreak vengeance upon the enemy for having the audacity to not even have the honour of treading on Kriegos soil but rather the cowardice of flying over it. The inherent leadership in Hedgewood made itself known and manifested itself as orders to be said in the sharp but propaganda dominated mind of the sergeant.

”Well then, what are you lazy bastards waiting for! We’ve got us some trespassers and I don’t think Fedorenkov himself would be too bothered letting us ‘ave a go at ‘em!”

The squad set off, the crunch of dying leaves being drowned out by the quick trot of the squad and the respiratory noises it entailed. The birds twittered away with their incessant songs while the Proletarian Guardsmen made their way through the forest. Hedgewood wondered whether Thedora could keep up, to the Kriegos, women would mostly considered too weak for the frontlines, Hedgewood shared a similar concern for the government issued photographer, Mark but without the contempt he felt for Thedora. Despite all her aesthetically pleasing attributes, she was still nothing more than a fragile woman in a predominately male unit.

However, such petty things didn't have a high rank of importance in the now purely military mind, all that was of Hedgewood's concern was that a foreign aircraft had crashed in Kriegos territory and the loyal sergeant wanted to know what business such a plane as a C12 had hovering over Kriegos soil...

She was supposed to stay with the truck. That had been part of the orders that Corporal Falk had given her. Theodora stood still as the others started off, debateing the conflict in her mind. She wanted to go so badly, despite the forest ominous darkness. Theodora found herself wanting to see the outlanders so much that it frightened her a little.

Then she caught the look of contempt on Sergeant Hedgewood's face as she hesitatied, and that gave her the last rational to join the others as they headed into the forest. A sergeant's orders over rode a corporal's anyday, and Theo moved quickly to join the others.

She was not chilled by the wind, her coat took care of that, and the rising sense of excitement over seeing the people that had piloted the strange plane, warmed her further. The bird song, anticipation, and the company of her fellow soldiers momentarily over shadowed her earlier foreboding.

And the rising moon threw silver shadows in the night

Click.
The safety clicked off the rifle as the two airmen traipsed through the wood, towards the long trail of smoke about a kilometre in the distance. They had lost good visibility some twenty five - or could it have been fourty five? minutes ago, when the treetops looked like they had almost caved over like a roof over the moist forest floor. Parker (http://www.mediocreminds.com/04q4/reviews/games/metal_gear_solid_3/snake_3.jpg) was sure he heard something - although it could have just been a rustling he could vividly remember a scratching sort of sound. having realised the possibility of a Kriegos military patrol, the two moved with haste, not exactly being stealthy about their position, to the crash site. It was imperative all information there was destroyed.

OOC: 4;32 AM. gtg finish post tomorrow.

Flannigan jogged up to Hedgewood and saluted smartly.

"Sah, permission to scout ahead?" He asked. As the squad's pathfinder, he had an almost pathological fear of having to march with them without knowing what was ahead. It was a fairly major handicap for when they were all ordered to march in unison.

Hedgewood turned to the pathfinder, a position rarely, if ever used in the Kriegos military and gave him a stern look.

"No. The last squad that came through here disappeared altogether, so we should stay as a squad, we'll have to let your paranoia fester but we ain't splitting up as a squad!"

The steady trot became an outright run as the battered Hogsweatian aircraft came into view, flickering in and out of sight between the tall tree trunks. Something was amiss however, the stench of an ambush hung in the air but with their quarry so near, Hedgewood discarded the notion, he finally came to a halt, panting, at the ruined aircraft. Only then, did it strike him that he had only the most basic idea on how to access the plane's photographs, however, Hedgewood did know that a member of his squad did know about the imprints of imagery.

The photographer.

"Hanks, take some shots of the wreckage and then get to accessing the photos in the aircraft."



It saw them flee. The soldiers, the non-natives, the ones who came from the sky. They had shinier boom sticks than the natives but that did not deter it. It leapt from tree-to-tree far above the new comers' heads, following its quarry to a destination. They stunk of foreign, the stench of a new group entering its domain.

However, it knew that without help from the rest of the pack, the new quarry, combined with the old quarry, could prove an unnecessarily difficult prey.

It let out a psychic howl to the rest of the pack. And the one, the half-breed who'd yet to give into their baser instincts and become a part of the pack.

Private Hanks nodded and proceeded to begin rapidly taking pictures of the wreckage from different directions. At last, he was satisfied and strode closer. With some effort of no small part, he managed to pry the door open and enter. Inside, the smell of death was prevalent, causing him to swallow hard and instinctively stop breathing in through his nose. He made his way to the cockpit and did a quick search until he found the black box. In minutes, he pried it free and brought it with him as he sought another part of the plane for the compartment in which the camera reels were located.

He finally spied the small compartment and grunted as he shifted his position to reach for it past the dead pilot's bloodied body. Finally, he pried the door open and unlatched the holds on the camera, pulling it free at last.

With both of these items under his arms, he departed quickly, wanting to put the stench of death behind him.

"Here you go sir, I've taken the liberty of grabbing the black box too."

He held the two items forward to the view of the commander.

Flannigan got back into formation with the squad and tried to keep his mind on the task ahead. He gripped his Enfield tightly and gave his shoulders a stretch.

While they waited for the photographer to do his work, he glanced around and noticed that the driver, Private Kalder, had come along with them. He walked over to her and gave her a polite nod.

"Forgive my asking, but isn't the truck... that way?" He asked, pointing back the way they came.

Hedgewood shuddered, the uneasiness present in the forest sent a chill down his spine. Wind wound its way through the tall trunks, rustling up leaves all colours of autumn. The loud, audible crunch of dead foliage announced Hanks had completed his task.

"Well done Comrade, I think you'd best hold onto those."

The sergeant didn't wait to hear the acknowledgement of his command, his gaze already attracted by Flannigan and the company he was presently keeping. Hedgewood was particularly zealous when dealing with all things moral in his squad and he thought that Flannigan would've known better than to make his advances with the driver all so obvious, well, according to Hedgewood's viewpoint. He didn't even hear what the other soldier was saying to the female demi-soldier.

"Flannigan, stop flirting or I'll have you sent to the Ministry of Love!" The threat was a dire one for any member of the Kriegos public, let alone a member of the Kriegos military. The Ministry of Love was the well known "re-education" centre of COMSEC, the Kriegos secret police. Torture, agony, fear and imprisonment were all that one expected from the ominous structure.

Hedgewood contemplated what to do next with the squad, they were ordered to look for the missing squad but this new factor caused Hedgewood a great deal of irritation, not only at the absence of the squad but the complete lack of pilots, even Hedgewood could tell that such a craft required more than one pilot to function properly...

Theodora was panting as the group raced pell mell through the woods in a strangely disorderly fashion. Segreant Hedgewood led the pack, and while she was the last one there she was hard on the heels of all the rest.

As she neared the place where the strange plane lay crumpled every fine and downy hair on the back of her neck rose, and spider prickles ran up and down her body. Her eyes were wide as she looked around the dark forest, alarmed at how little of the moons eldrich light penetrated the tall thick boled trees. Death floated on the air, she could smell it over the rich scent of disturbed loam and crushed leaves

She jumped noticeably as one of the others - she had been lost in the scents and shadows of the early night and spoke practically in her ear

"Forgive my asking, but isn't the truck... that way?" pointing back the way they had come.

Blushing furiously at being caught out, Theo took refuge in a snapped "Sergeant Hedgewood ordered all of us"

She flushed more, but her intrinsicly kind nature had her mutter an apology "Sorry ...I wanted to see the plane, and he did order.." Her voice was barely audible, and faded off as the moon slid behind some clouds eraseing what little light remaind.

"I thik the people in the plane must be dead. He's only brought out things, no...one" She said softly as a wave of sadness swept over her, one that became a shiver which swept her entire body

"There are ...people...things...out there though, can't you feel them Liam? Watching us, hating us"

Liam nodded grimly, gave Theo a kind grin.

"The place is pretty eery. The golden rule here is to stay close to the rest of us. We won't get very far if we lose our driver, will we?" He added with a grin.

"Anyway, the Sergeant didn't seem too happy about me having a chin-wag with you. Pleasant as it was." Liam gave Theo another polite nod and got back into a position to see Hedgewood.

"Flannigan, stop flirting or I'll have you sent to the Ministry of Love!"

Theodora flinched at the Sergeants vile threat. Private Flannigan had been doing no such thing, nor had she. 'But you did use his name' she started to castigate herself silently then stopped. She found she could care less what Sergeant Hedgewood thought. 'I'm looking at a dead man' she found herself knowing

"Be careful Liam" She said as he moved away

Then she marched to the noncomissioned officer's side "Sergeant, should I take the equipment back to the truck and radio the information of the incurssion back to headquarters?" She inquired stiffly, ignoring Private Flannigan's advice, feeling trapped and wanting nothing more than to return to the safe familiarity of the truck and her origional orders. Away from the dead.

It leapt from tree to tree, it was hungry. It was dark. The full moon was overhead. It was time to hunt, soon, it was time to hunt...

Hedgewood felt a shiver run through his being, his countenance mustered the image of discomfort just as he heard what seemed an angel's voice to his nervous temperment. The tromp of feet announced and the rustle and crunch of decaying leaves alerted the on-edge sergeant to Private Flannigan's presence, the soldier placed himself square in Hedgewood's view, as if ready to demand something.

"Sergeant, should I take the equipment back to the truck and radio the information of the incurssion back to headquarters?"

Hedgewood furrowed his brow in thought, then, for a moment, considered his response.

"Why would I let a demi-soldier leave me sight?" He chided, then added the suffix with mock sincerity, "comrade."

The sergeant exhaled, turning to Flannigan, hot breath forming mist in the chilly night time air, the moon's rays piercing the now looming canopy of the thick trunks, which, unknown to the soldiers squad below, a shadow leapt from tree to tree, landing with a barely audible thud as claws dug into trunk after trunk...

Private Kalder was stung by the Sergeants mockery, but said nothing untoward. Women recieved short shrift in the military, and she knew it well. She saluted the Sergeant with barely veiled contempt, but was glad that the darkness mostly hid her expression. To further add insult, in a perfectly permissible way she added a crisp

"Sir, yes, Sir, Comrade Sergeant Hedgewood" 'Asshole' was her unspoken addition, as she stepped back from the corpse that didn't know it yet. She did not question her assessment, in no way sure of how she knew this, but certain.

Ther were sounds in the forest, sounds that part of her remembered, and wished to forget. Sounds that part of her unconsciously hungered for. Deep beneath her placid surface the wildness was stiring, rouseing her blood, heating her with desire.

Desire for what she knew not.Haunts the ashes of your dreams

Hanks saluted and deposited the items into his sack, then sat down to the side to await the next group orders.

ooc: sorry it's short, I'm at the university library and the keyboard sucks like hell.

Sorry, I was in Florida on vacation for the past week.

Corporal Delaney kept quiet. He stalked the night and the forest like a predator, hunting for prey. Killing satisfied some morbid addiction within him. He kept a scarily precise look on his face, scanning the forest as he crouched beside the squad. He had his Enfield almost at the ready. The butt was against his shoulder but the barrel was pointing down. At any instant he could raise it and fire. That was what he was trained to do; that was what he loved to do.

They had just scanned the wreckage of a downed craft, the photographer doing his miniscule and unimportant task of taking pictures. What moron can't take pictures. He thought to himself as he stood up. Another lost squad to find. What useless citizens. If they did their job we would not be here looking for them. He moved with the squad, stalking the night and the forest, stalking his prey, stalking those he kept company with, stalking himself.

Then he noticed something, something that wasn't right. While everyone was deciding what to do with the truck, to go back, to bring photographs, he noticed something else. "Sir. Six hundred meters west. No positive visual but there is something there." He looked back at the squad, Incompetants! He crouched back down and raised his Enfield, trying to get a look. "No idea what it is sir."

Parker swore under his breath. He had made too much noise - he was sure he had been spotted. Cocking his rifle slowly he gave a nod to the pilot who was lying prone behind a bush, with his pistol drawn. Parker fumbled in his kevlar vest, picking out a smoke grenade and tossing it in the air. He fired three rounds in succession following it, before darting off into the darkness, closely followed by the pilot.

He was sure the Kriegos would follow his sign.

"Quick, split off and come back in a circle when they're gone. I'll lead them away. That evidence MUST be destroyed!"

He fired off another round from his rifle again hurriedly in the general direction of the Kriegos soldiers before running off, certain that they would be following him up.

Jake moved quickly after he heard the shots, moving quickly from one piece of cover to another. He could see smoke coming up from the ground.
Now we know exactly where they were, he thought, that wasn't the smartest thing to do.
He continued to move quickly, ducking instinctively as another shot rang out. He looked around and saw Delaney moving ahead of him and Flanigan following close behind, with the rest of the squad following up.
This is moving too fast. There's something going on here. We could be walking into a trap.
As he got closer to the line of trees wher the grenade was, he slowed up, paying more attention to the areas of cover where he could hide, or where enemies could be. He listend carefully to the sounds of the forest, easily hearing the sounds of the squad behind him, but not noticing the small sounds coming from the trees above.
He also thought he noticed running from ahead of him. Someone was running flat out, not caring if they crashed through bushes, moving quickly but quietly, he continued after the sounds.

OoC: Yes you may, however, convert that post to an IC post, sorry for awful post by the way.

IC: "Could be anything corporal", then, noting the gleam of metal, "or it could be a Hogsweatian pig!"

Hedgewood barked an order of pursuit and quickly enough, the crunch of leaves announced the Proletarian Guardsmen chasing down the fleeing Hogsweatian pilot, already carrying the evidence needed to condemn Hogsweat and Kriegorgrad to war, Hanks unknowingly carried the fate of thousands of lives in his hands. Unbeknownst to the squad, high above in the trees above them, two large eyes watched them with interest. With intent. With hunger.

Flannigan sprinted with the squad, chasing the target. This was what he didn't enjoy; a squad of men running blindly after an enemy. For all they knew, they were charging straight into a machine-gun nest. He'd seen the results of those sort of acts of suicide, and they were invariably nasty. Why the hell hadn't the Sergeant let him scout ahead?! That was his job as the pathfinder!

It didn't really matter now; if there was going to be an ambush, there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it.

"Sir! Are we to shoot to kill?" He shouted as he ran.

Theodora screamed as a bullets whizzed past and smoke seemed to spring from every where about her. No one had ever shot at her before - this was certainly nothing like the firing range, though little time she'd spent there.

Then before she could recover her wits the sergeant bellowed an order- he and the others racing off into the darkness. Theo stood stunned. She was not one of the platoon and certainly not combat trained. 'I need to go back to the truck. I need to radio the base.' she thought as she looked around the empty clearing wreathed with smoke and foul with the scent of spilt aviation fuel, oil and more unpleasant things.

Slowly she turned a complete circle looking from low to high, seeking something, but unsure what. Slowly she took of her bulky coat, far, far too warm to bear being enrobed in it.

you dare not speak, no where to run...

The crunch of leaves hid the muted thump of a thickly muscled form leaping from tree to tree over the unknowing squad, the full moon's luminescence concealed by the thick canopy of leaves, branches throwing distorted shadows of the adrenaline filled men of the Proletarian Guard. Then, the distant shadow of the Hogsweatian pilot was consumed by the absence of light and disappeared into the darkness; free from the pursuing Guardsmen but unaware of the predations of the night keeping a carnivorous eye on the soldiers and pilots.

It felt hunger. It felt an intense hunger. The urge to rend. Bite, slash, gnash and grind filled it. It was the beta male and it wanted the suffix to change to alpha. To become the alpha male. It would prove itself.

Hedgewood halted and held a hand up to the loosely knit semi-column, his eyes darted to and fro as he sensed something amiss. The panting of their former quarry now lost to the wind and another set of lungs breathing. Lungs not belonging to a man or a woman, or even a child. A set of lungs belonging to something strangely akin to a dog.

A shrill, primal howl pierced the orchestra of panting and heavy breathing, a happenstance gust of wind shifted enough of the canopy to allow the beaming gaze of the moon penetrate the ceiling of nature, warning the squad below of the danger now illuminated in the tree. It was huge, about nine feet tall and every square inch was packed with muscle and sinew. Ragged dark grey hair told Hedgewood that he looked at something deemed fantasy in all of Kriegorgrad save the Highlands.

He looked at a lycanthrope. A werewolf.

A blur and an intensely heavy form was atop a screaming Hedgewood, pain wracked his form as talons bit into shoulders and it took every bit of Hedgewood's adrenaline fuelled strength to hold back the gnashing teeth of the beast, seeking to meet his face. Two yellow eyes glared mercilessly at its prey: Hedgewood.

It was all the sergeant could do to struggle, all intentions of keeping up the image as a strong leader was abandoned as fear and desperation forced all else out of Hedgewood's mind. Then, an ear splitting scream pierced the night, not one of death but a plea that begged his squad to help in any way they could.

The bullets whizzed by and he could hear the distinctive hiss from them. Now look what these fools have done! He swore to himself as he hit the ground in prone position. He had his rifle ready, the butt against his shoulder, the bolt armed and ready, the safety off, the sights on the flashes in the distance. Smoke was definitely on the horizon but even still, the three flashes of the three shots lit the up smoke. He had them sighted even before he was in prone position but the shots came by fast, very fast.

But he wasn't down for long. The squad began sprinting towards the fire. Great let us run to a trap! He got up and began to follow, sprinting to catch up. He saw the beasts running and looked at them from an outside perspective. They were hunters, the Hogsweatians the hunted. He was about forty meters away from them, running to catch up, running towards the beasts that lay ahead. He heard Flannigan yell out, requesting permission to open fire. What a dumb question! He thought to himself as he waited for more shots but none that come, yet.

His rifle wasn't shouldered anymore, it was pointing to his left, ready to be shouldered, fired, and reloaded. He still had ten rounds in the magazines, the bolt having one in the chamber. All it required was for him to pull the trigger, a little squeeze, and a tight grip. It would send the bullet hundreds of meters in a single second, piercing whatever it encountered along the way.

Then there was the scream. He could see something descend from a tree, something large with glowing eyes, wierd glowing eyes. What the bloody hell! He looked closely and stopped immediately. He was only about twenty-four meters away and though it was night time, darker than dark, he could see something attack Hedgewood, something large, something beastly. He dropped to a crouch and looked through his sights. He needed a shot, a clean shot...

Theodora stopped in her tracks as first a wierdling howl then a scream reached her ears. It was faint with distance but she was sure she recognised it. Sergeant Hedgewood. He would never bother her again.

She looked about, suddenly unsure of exactly where she was. Thoe realized that she hadn't exactly paid attention to the path they had taken to reach the clearing the downed plane rested in. The moons nacreous light scarely reached through the thicknees of the trees. Then she caught sight of a large boulder that she was sure she remembered. Scarecly realizing she had moved she found herself sitting on the massive rock, her uniform hat tumbled at her feet, her dicke undone.

you feel your soul is lost.

Corporal Delaney crouched there, still as the stars in the night. He had his rifle raised and his sights on this thing that was, from where he was and from where he could see, mauling Hedgewood. He took in a breath and squeezed the trigger. Slowly, as the bullet was in flight, he released the bolt and ejected the spent cartridge, loading another one in the chamber. He looked for movement and kept still. The bullet had to have hit something, now it was just a matter of time before he could find out what it was. Still he remained, silent as the grave, his breathing controlled, his heart-rate lower than average, his pores dry.

Tycos was...afraid. Never before in his career had he ever been so fearful; running through a darkened woodland, bullets whizzing by and little puffs of dirt pockmarking the ground all around him had set his heart beating two or three times the normal rate, and adrenaline was pumping through his body, moving him faster but making things seem blurred, indistinct.

With a grunt he hit the ground and raised his Bren to his shoulder. He could see Sergeant Hedgewood on the ground, grappling with...what in gods name was that?. He frowned at mentioning the banned deity's name, but shook his head, cleared his mind of unpure, traitorous thoughts; he raised the Bren and aimed at what seemed to be the creatures flank, braced himself, and fired.
Brass casings flew out of the ejector system and the gun bucked savagely against his shoulder, bruising it but causing little pain after all the times he had fired one, both in practice, and in wartime. He continued to fire, the flare from each round being fired blinding him a little and causing spots in his vision which he tried to blink away, and noticed Delaney doing the same. Hopefully their combined fire would drive away the creature and allow them to deal with the Hogsweatian sabouteurs...

Theodora could hear more gun fire now, and the screaming contiued. A song came into her mind, and she found herself humming, for she did not know the words as she unbuttoned her high necked and most demure uniform blouse. Her mind was filled with images, images that had to be memories, but memories that could not be hers, could they? Images no young Kriegos woman should have, images that called to her so seductively.

Forest canopy dark in the moonlight, starshine dappling her flanks as she ran, feeling the wind riffling her hair, sending goospimples racing over her. Racing over her as she raced the wind following the scents that called to her so. Following the scent to a field heavy with another scent, the dark scent of Aconitum Vulparia, true wolfsbane. The memory...or was it dreaming... brought, a tiny smile to Theodora's lush lips

Sanderson had turned at the snarl of the creature as it leaped down onto Hedgewood. After a moment or two of disbelief he levelled his weapon in it's direction but held off firing for fear of hitting the sargeant. What the hell is that thing? Then, as Delaney and Tycos opened up, he aimed carefully and joined in firing at the figure, now wrestling on the ground with Hedgwood.
Even while he was firing, Jake's mind reeled trying to come to grips with the situation it had been put into. First the gunshots and smoke grenades in the trees, Hogsweatian spies no doubt, and now this, this monster, there just wasn't any other word for the thing. Something was amiss here, he just didn't know what.

Hanks could barely grasp the situation around him as bullets suddenly began firing, and howling broke into his hearing range. It was hell on earth, or so he had immediately thought.

He caught sight of yellow eyes, causing him to freeze and watch in disbelief as a large...beast attacked another soldier.

"Holy mother...the dogs of war are loose..."

He brought his camera up almost instinctively as he snapped photo after photo quickly. The flash illuminated the creature, causing it to look up and snarl at him.

He froze again, his finger hovering over the button once again. Fear lay in his eyes as he suddenly dropped the camera and brought out his pistol to bear. The pistol barked sharply with each depression of the trigger.

The beast roared in agony as it leapt of Hedgewood's terrified form, dark liquid oozing from its wound where the .303 Enfield bullet had entered the side of its chest, the repeated crack of pistol fire following the click and poof of the aging camera opening and shutting its retina, then the echoing boom started, the Bren light machine gun opened up the side of the primal daemon, its yellow eyes scanning the soldiers in a form of hateful rage and a hint of contempt. Like a lion being beaten down by a kitten. It defied nature, that was what the beast thought but nonetheless, just because nature didn't want the beast crippled, it didn't stop the lead-peppered form of the lycanthrope to collapse to the floor with a dull thud. The world seemed to hold its breath until the thickly muscled form's chest stop rising and falling, the last struggle of life seemed to leave the horror as its eyes turned a paler shade of yellow.

Breathing heavily, Hedgewood struggled to his feet, fear embossed in his glistening eyes, swallowing hard, the sergeant began to bark in a half-hearted tone to move out. When asked whether they should take the demi-wolf, Hedgewood gave it a fearful look and bid they leave it.

"I think I saw a light in the distance, just before...just before we were attacked, I suggest we move there post-haste, it may even be an outpost, though a country cottage is more likely."

Not waiting for the confirmation of his order, Hedgewood started off towards the now visible light, the comforting yellow light that told of a cottage with its lights on in this dark hour. Not visible to the rest of the squad, was the cruel, gently bleeding wound underneath the shaken sergeant's shoulder...

The distant crackle of small arms fire ground to a halt, the screaming ceaseing along with it. Theo (http://www.atddm.com/g1.jpg) halted in her humming and sighed. They had made quite a lovely counter part to one another. Slowly, taking care with each action she rebuttoned the ones that had come undone, and slid from the rock.

The night had grown cruelly chill and with out thinking about it she returned to were her coat lay. Once she was warm in it's bulky embrace she moved to where she could see the crumpled remains of the plane in what little moonlight the dense forest canopy let threw. She felt sorry for the man who had died in the crash, for by the scent- though it was scarecly noticable over the stronger, cruel to the nost scent of avation gasoline, there was only one dead with in.

"The others must have parachuted out. They were the ones firing at us, and threw the smoke grenades" She spoke softly in the night, unsure why she felt the need to. She stood looking at the plane for long minutes then hesitatntly stepped closer. Slowly she reached out to touch the mangled wing that had come to rest partially embeddded in a tree trunk at nearly head height.

She'd never seen a plane upclose, only as nearly indistinguishable dark specks again the sky. She'd learned the basic principles that kept them aloft in her classes in school, but to her it was almost majickal. Something she suddenly found herself hungering to do. "Oh why can't I fly far away from here, away, oh, away?"

Delaney was still twenty-four meters away when the group began to move. The echoes and cracks of gunfire told the entire forest that they were there. A single shot could, in theory, be mistaken for a shot of a hunter. Sixty shots was an army. These fools! He thought to himself. Whatever they had fired at was dead, very dead. As everyone ran, Delaney slowly stood up. Run ye fools and basque in the fear you all face. He walked towards the beast, his rifle still raised.

The darkness obscured his vision but he could make out an outline of a creature, perhaps a wolf. It was tough to tell and he didn't stay around for long. He looked down at it and pointed the rifle at its head and fired a shot. That will make you dead! Then he took off on a slow job towards a faint light in the distance. "We are running towards a light in the middle of a forest that nobody knows holds nor nobody knows is. Smart." He muttered to himself as he picked up the lead from over forty meters to around ten.