Amerigo
03-08-2005, 21:50
APPOC: The Nightmare of the Carpathian Forest
Chapter 1
Riggs stepped off the Mark IV PTC (Personnel Transport ‘copter), slowly trying to delay the inevitable. His foot touched that dreaded soil. A shudder ran down his spine, as he finally transferred the bulk of his weight from the ‘copter to the ground. He was in the dreaded Carpathian Forest Authority. The Amerigan governmental division of territory classifies Authority to be a zone that is deemed unsafe to the general public. That could mean a lot of things. It could mean, like in the case of Finntroll Volcano Authority, that the area is simply under threat of some natural disaster and some crazy indigenous people refuse to move their homes out of there. So Amerigo keeps a few emergency troops there in case that thing ever blows. Man, my shift there was heaven... Or it could be like in the case of the Carpathian Forest Authority and it could simply be hell on earth.
He ambled after the last in line into the barely lighted concrete tunnels of this makeshift airport. The tunnels were in many ways similar to a crude metro system of a third world country. They were littered with filth from two years ago effectively ground deep into the asphalt. The two grooves on the side, which were to function as drains had been used as toilets and the reek of stale urine (and occasionally feces), stung at the passerby’s nostrils with an unceasing fury. The fluorescent lights had mostly died, some shattered and twisted out of their supports so they swung ominously back and forth from the thick frayed electrical cord. The occasional light that was still whole, flickered endlessly, emitting the annoying loud buzz that managed to echo, despite the heavy shuffling of soldier boots. The walls of the tunnels were heavily vandalized and in places demolished--actual holes filled with brick and rubble were a common sight.
Finally they reached a dreary looking room that had been recently received a fresh coat of white paint over the brick--it was very recent, since one could still smell the paint fumes. The room was almost empty except for a large wire-link cage that housed a small desk and a chair. A morbidly obese, angry-looking woman sat in that tiny chair, rather uncomfortably. She had a large notebook in front of her.
“Name?” she croaked.
“First Class Private Ri--…”
“Just your name, soldier boy,” she interrupted, glaring contemptuously.
“Ray Riggs”
“APPOC?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Just follow the last guy.”
“Yes ma’am.”
APPOC stood for Amerigan People’s Partisan Operatives Command, which was basically the branch of the military that dealt with the military's least qualified. One would have to pass very rigorous qualifications to get into a more prestigious branch, but since military service was mandatory most people had to go into APPOC. The manpower of APPOC consisted of idiots, drunks, weaklings, losers, druggies, the invalids, the crippled, the insane, the mentally disabled, and just normal people who didn’t want to be in the military—those were commonly known as cowards. It was quite obvious that Riggs was of the last category. Everyone saw it quickly and their first impression of him was very negative, indeed.
He proceeded into a similar room, which differed only in the fact that there was a row of lockers that held APPOC second-hand equipment: a ragged forest camouflage uniform with large white letters on the sleeves that read CFA, an Amerigan made semi-automatic from half a century ago (the AAR-5), a sidearm which was almost always some random foreign handgun, two clips of ammo for the sidearm and the AAR, a pack of cigarettes and a map.
This time, Riggs got a revolver for a sidearm. A revolver! A goddamned 6 shot! He couldn’t recognize the make, but it seemed likely that this ancient weapon was originally supplied by one of Amerigo’s allies during the Great Slaver War. He wondered if this gun would even fire at this day and age.
No one talked. Everyone silently put on their uniforms and picked up their dusty rifles. It was widely known that a fairly large number of them would not come back from the Carpathian Forest. They all spent their moments grasping at their brains, trying to dig out pleasant memories. Their doom was slowly creeping in. This was no time for aimless chatter.
In the blink of an eye, Riggs was outside. He didn’t even realize it for a moment. He too had lost himself in introspection and apparently he had been herded outside with the rest of his comrades. Now they stood in the grey forest that was charred and broken by recent fires. There was no end in sight to the desolate, barren landscape. The fog was there, as always, hanging overhead oppressively blocking out the sun and limiting the field of vision. A man of authority stood in front of them, a sergeant first class. He spoke to them in a solemn tone—a tone reserved exclusively to the Carpathian Forest. Riggs had missed most of the speech, but he knew the gist of it. There would be nothing new.
“…Supplies successfully make it through very rarely. The villagers have no food and no water, so do not harass the villagers. You will be relieved in one week.”
They were led down the path towards the village. They met the company they were relieving. They met all that was left of it: four people. Four people out of the original twenty five. These broken souls staggered with a glazed look in their eyes. They didn’t survive after all. They were dead inside. The images of the horrors they witnessed were still pasted over their eyes. They didn’t care where they were or where they were going. They didn’t want anything anymore, except to maybe tear those grotesque memories from their mind. They’d request the brain eraser procedure, but they were APPOC. They’d never get it. They were all going to most likely commit suicide before the year was over.
Riggs bowed his head. This was a march to certain death.
They had arrived at the village. The forest was amply thick here, the charred wasteland was replaced by a naturally grayish green forest that was far more foreboding, simply because of what lurked there. This was a village that was built with a sense of doom to it. The rickety hovels were built of wood and metal scraps scavenged from the skirmishes that had occurred nearby. The village was a place of inevitable death, but no one had the means to leave it. The villagers themselves were nothing but skeletons, starving and dehydrated, many of them collapsing as they walked. The dying moans of a few villagers emanated constantly from certain directions echoing into the thick fog, creating a harrowing symphony of anguish. Dead children with bloated bellies were arranged in a pile on the outskirts and put to the torch every year. At the moment, fortunately for the incoming company, it was but a disfigured heap of bone and ash.
“Riggs. You’re recon squad with Saer and Gunder. Check the perimeter. Don’t go further than 10 miles from the village.”
Now the sense of doom was replaced by pure, mortal terror. To go out there, into the woods, to see them first… It was too horrifying a thought.
Riggs whimpered softly, his face twisted with fear,
“Please, Sarge… I don’t wanna die out there… please.”
The sergeant looked at Riggs sympathetically, sincerely, with genuine compassion,
“Look Riggs. We’ve all been assigned to this hell and as shitty as recon might look right now, you probably are no better off here than there. They’ll come at this village soon enough. They won’t be looking for the recon guys. And the shit you’ll see… you’ll see it anyways. It sure as hell better to get it over with earlier than sit here waiting with these poor, dying, starving, sons of bitches to keep you company.”
Riggs did his best to compose himself and mumbled,
“Okay, sarge.”
With two other comrades they stealthily ventured into the forest, all of them pale with terror. They waded through the thick underbrush, passing tree after tree, their eyes alert, but dreading to see those abominations. A mutual shudder struck through them like lightning as they heard distant chanting.
They had to head towards the noise. They were trained to. It was their duty to. They had to pinpoint the enemy encampment. They all knew. They exchanged a few terror-stricken glances, questioning their duty, their orders, but the tacit answer was to press on.
The chanting grew in volume as they stealthily stalked through the forest, their eyes wide open, bulging out of their sockets, in a feeble attempt to see more and further. The layers of fog shrouded the visibility to about 10 yards, yet they could still see the dancing specks of distant torches. They were too close.
The chanting was loud now, dominating the forest, penetrating the fog with the powerful wildness. The chaotic sonorous claw tore through the shroud and suddenly they could see. Suddenly they could see the nightmare. It was right in front of them as they peered into the depth of a nightmarish ritual.
About one thousand people, all naked, covered in thick layers of dirt in a clearing in front of a cave were engaged in what can only be described as a hellish orgy of blood and sex. Three drummers, pounding on the primitive drums with their bare hands, were ululating the tribal chant. The morass of people covered in dirt and blood writhing in a perverse mass of sexual contact. There was blood at their lips as they tore into each other’s flesh with their canines. Some had torn into another’s stomach and procured the intestines; after wrapping themselves in the bloodied tubes, they began to gnaw at the other organs. Some lay dead, as bloodied messes with several relatively uninjured savages gorging on those dead remains.
Gunder vomited. Riggs immediately turned his head and stared at Gunder in a panic, at a loss of what to do. He whirled back at the orgy and found that one, relatively unscathed beast-man was staring right at them.
“Run!” Riggs hissed and broke into a sprint away from that nightmarish ritual. His heart outpacing the primitive drums, he flew through the thick bushes, never daring to look behind him. The nightmare behind him kept appearing before his eyes, so vividly. He gagged at the very thought of it every time, suppressing the urge to vomit. His legs moved with a ferocity he never thought they were capable of. But obviously they were not as dexterous as he thought, for he caught a tree root with his toe and stumbled forward into the bushes. He immediately shot his head behind him, half expecting to find those abominations with blood at their mouth reaching for him with tattered arms. There was nothing—nothing but the silence of the forest. The silence, was, if anything, very eerie, considering only a moment ago he still heard the furious drums. He gasped for air after that sprint that drove his muscles far harder than anything else. His heavy breathing was the only thing that he could hear. He got to his feet and looked around. There was nothing in sight. That was when he realized that he didn’t even remember which direction he ran.
Why don’t they at least give us a compass!?
He realized he was now lost and alone he would not be able to take out that many of those savages with the amount of bullets he had. Then his thoughts turned to Gunder and Saer.
Did they make it out of there... before that one saw them? Why I didn’t I look to see if they were with me? I’m a goddamned coward. I just ran blindly away…
He sighed and sat back down, leaning against a tree. He realized his hands were shaking violently and he could do nothing to stop it. After setting down his rifle, he turned them face upwards and stared at them and tried with all his might to keep them still. He failed. Then the horrible memories of that bloodbath orgy flooded his brain and then he too vomited. Having purged his stomach of all of its contents, he began sobbing uncontrollably.
They can’t be human. No human would ever do that. Oh God! Oh God, I’m in the homeland of monsters. I’m never gonna leave alive. They’ll devour me. Those things will devour me.
OOC: To be continued…
PS This already happened years ago. Also none of you offcially saw this.
Oh and I would appreciate some comments. Thanks.
Chapter 1
Riggs stepped off the Mark IV PTC (Personnel Transport ‘copter), slowly trying to delay the inevitable. His foot touched that dreaded soil. A shudder ran down his spine, as he finally transferred the bulk of his weight from the ‘copter to the ground. He was in the dreaded Carpathian Forest Authority. The Amerigan governmental division of territory classifies Authority to be a zone that is deemed unsafe to the general public. That could mean a lot of things. It could mean, like in the case of Finntroll Volcano Authority, that the area is simply under threat of some natural disaster and some crazy indigenous people refuse to move their homes out of there. So Amerigo keeps a few emergency troops there in case that thing ever blows. Man, my shift there was heaven... Or it could be like in the case of the Carpathian Forest Authority and it could simply be hell on earth.
He ambled after the last in line into the barely lighted concrete tunnels of this makeshift airport. The tunnels were in many ways similar to a crude metro system of a third world country. They were littered with filth from two years ago effectively ground deep into the asphalt. The two grooves on the side, which were to function as drains had been used as toilets and the reek of stale urine (and occasionally feces), stung at the passerby’s nostrils with an unceasing fury. The fluorescent lights had mostly died, some shattered and twisted out of their supports so they swung ominously back and forth from the thick frayed electrical cord. The occasional light that was still whole, flickered endlessly, emitting the annoying loud buzz that managed to echo, despite the heavy shuffling of soldier boots. The walls of the tunnels were heavily vandalized and in places demolished--actual holes filled with brick and rubble were a common sight.
Finally they reached a dreary looking room that had been recently received a fresh coat of white paint over the brick--it was very recent, since one could still smell the paint fumes. The room was almost empty except for a large wire-link cage that housed a small desk and a chair. A morbidly obese, angry-looking woman sat in that tiny chair, rather uncomfortably. She had a large notebook in front of her.
“Name?” she croaked.
“First Class Private Ri--…”
“Just your name, soldier boy,” she interrupted, glaring contemptuously.
“Ray Riggs”
“APPOC?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Just follow the last guy.”
“Yes ma’am.”
APPOC stood for Amerigan People’s Partisan Operatives Command, which was basically the branch of the military that dealt with the military's least qualified. One would have to pass very rigorous qualifications to get into a more prestigious branch, but since military service was mandatory most people had to go into APPOC. The manpower of APPOC consisted of idiots, drunks, weaklings, losers, druggies, the invalids, the crippled, the insane, the mentally disabled, and just normal people who didn’t want to be in the military—those were commonly known as cowards. It was quite obvious that Riggs was of the last category. Everyone saw it quickly and their first impression of him was very negative, indeed.
He proceeded into a similar room, which differed only in the fact that there was a row of lockers that held APPOC second-hand equipment: a ragged forest camouflage uniform with large white letters on the sleeves that read CFA, an Amerigan made semi-automatic from half a century ago (the AAR-5), a sidearm which was almost always some random foreign handgun, two clips of ammo for the sidearm and the AAR, a pack of cigarettes and a map.
This time, Riggs got a revolver for a sidearm. A revolver! A goddamned 6 shot! He couldn’t recognize the make, but it seemed likely that this ancient weapon was originally supplied by one of Amerigo’s allies during the Great Slaver War. He wondered if this gun would even fire at this day and age.
No one talked. Everyone silently put on their uniforms and picked up their dusty rifles. It was widely known that a fairly large number of them would not come back from the Carpathian Forest. They all spent their moments grasping at their brains, trying to dig out pleasant memories. Their doom was slowly creeping in. This was no time for aimless chatter.
In the blink of an eye, Riggs was outside. He didn’t even realize it for a moment. He too had lost himself in introspection and apparently he had been herded outside with the rest of his comrades. Now they stood in the grey forest that was charred and broken by recent fires. There was no end in sight to the desolate, barren landscape. The fog was there, as always, hanging overhead oppressively blocking out the sun and limiting the field of vision. A man of authority stood in front of them, a sergeant first class. He spoke to them in a solemn tone—a tone reserved exclusively to the Carpathian Forest. Riggs had missed most of the speech, but he knew the gist of it. There would be nothing new.
“…Supplies successfully make it through very rarely. The villagers have no food and no water, so do not harass the villagers. You will be relieved in one week.”
They were led down the path towards the village. They met the company they were relieving. They met all that was left of it: four people. Four people out of the original twenty five. These broken souls staggered with a glazed look in their eyes. They didn’t survive after all. They were dead inside. The images of the horrors they witnessed were still pasted over their eyes. They didn’t care where they were or where they were going. They didn’t want anything anymore, except to maybe tear those grotesque memories from their mind. They’d request the brain eraser procedure, but they were APPOC. They’d never get it. They were all going to most likely commit suicide before the year was over.
Riggs bowed his head. This was a march to certain death.
They had arrived at the village. The forest was amply thick here, the charred wasteland was replaced by a naturally grayish green forest that was far more foreboding, simply because of what lurked there. This was a village that was built with a sense of doom to it. The rickety hovels were built of wood and metal scraps scavenged from the skirmishes that had occurred nearby. The village was a place of inevitable death, but no one had the means to leave it. The villagers themselves were nothing but skeletons, starving and dehydrated, many of them collapsing as they walked. The dying moans of a few villagers emanated constantly from certain directions echoing into the thick fog, creating a harrowing symphony of anguish. Dead children with bloated bellies were arranged in a pile on the outskirts and put to the torch every year. At the moment, fortunately for the incoming company, it was but a disfigured heap of bone and ash.
“Riggs. You’re recon squad with Saer and Gunder. Check the perimeter. Don’t go further than 10 miles from the village.”
Now the sense of doom was replaced by pure, mortal terror. To go out there, into the woods, to see them first… It was too horrifying a thought.
Riggs whimpered softly, his face twisted with fear,
“Please, Sarge… I don’t wanna die out there… please.”
The sergeant looked at Riggs sympathetically, sincerely, with genuine compassion,
“Look Riggs. We’ve all been assigned to this hell and as shitty as recon might look right now, you probably are no better off here than there. They’ll come at this village soon enough. They won’t be looking for the recon guys. And the shit you’ll see… you’ll see it anyways. It sure as hell better to get it over with earlier than sit here waiting with these poor, dying, starving, sons of bitches to keep you company.”
Riggs did his best to compose himself and mumbled,
“Okay, sarge.”
With two other comrades they stealthily ventured into the forest, all of them pale with terror. They waded through the thick underbrush, passing tree after tree, their eyes alert, but dreading to see those abominations. A mutual shudder struck through them like lightning as they heard distant chanting.
They had to head towards the noise. They were trained to. It was their duty to. They had to pinpoint the enemy encampment. They all knew. They exchanged a few terror-stricken glances, questioning their duty, their orders, but the tacit answer was to press on.
The chanting grew in volume as they stealthily stalked through the forest, their eyes wide open, bulging out of their sockets, in a feeble attempt to see more and further. The layers of fog shrouded the visibility to about 10 yards, yet they could still see the dancing specks of distant torches. They were too close.
The chanting was loud now, dominating the forest, penetrating the fog with the powerful wildness. The chaotic sonorous claw tore through the shroud and suddenly they could see. Suddenly they could see the nightmare. It was right in front of them as they peered into the depth of a nightmarish ritual.
About one thousand people, all naked, covered in thick layers of dirt in a clearing in front of a cave were engaged in what can only be described as a hellish orgy of blood and sex. Three drummers, pounding on the primitive drums with their bare hands, were ululating the tribal chant. The morass of people covered in dirt and blood writhing in a perverse mass of sexual contact. There was blood at their lips as they tore into each other’s flesh with their canines. Some had torn into another’s stomach and procured the intestines; after wrapping themselves in the bloodied tubes, they began to gnaw at the other organs. Some lay dead, as bloodied messes with several relatively uninjured savages gorging on those dead remains.
Gunder vomited. Riggs immediately turned his head and stared at Gunder in a panic, at a loss of what to do. He whirled back at the orgy and found that one, relatively unscathed beast-man was staring right at them.
“Run!” Riggs hissed and broke into a sprint away from that nightmarish ritual. His heart outpacing the primitive drums, he flew through the thick bushes, never daring to look behind him. The nightmare behind him kept appearing before his eyes, so vividly. He gagged at the very thought of it every time, suppressing the urge to vomit. His legs moved with a ferocity he never thought they were capable of. But obviously they were not as dexterous as he thought, for he caught a tree root with his toe and stumbled forward into the bushes. He immediately shot his head behind him, half expecting to find those abominations with blood at their mouth reaching for him with tattered arms. There was nothing—nothing but the silence of the forest. The silence, was, if anything, very eerie, considering only a moment ago he still heard the furious drums. He gasped for air after that sprint that drove his muscles far harder than anything else. His heavy breathing was the only thing that he could hear. He got to his feet and looked around. There was nothing in sight. That was when he realized that he didn’t even remember which direction he ran.
Why don’t they at least give us a compass!?
He realized he was now lost and alone he would not be able to take out that many of those savages with the amount of bullets he had. Then his thoughts turned to Gunder and Saer.
Did they make it out of there... before that one saw them? Why I didn’t I look to see if they were with me? I’m a goddamned coward. I just ran blindly away…
He sighed and sat back down, leaning against a tree. He realized his hands were shaking violently and he could do nothing to stop it. After setting down his rifle, he turned them face upwards and stared at them and tried with all his might to keep them still. He failed. Then the horrible memories of that bloodbath orgy flooded his brain and then he too vomited. Having purged his stomach of all of its contents, he began sobbing uncontrollably.
They can’t be human. No human would ever do that. Oh God! Oh God, I’m in the homeland of monsters. I’m never gonna leave alive. They’ll devour me. Those things will devour me.
OOC: To be continued…
PS This already happened years ago. Also none of you offcially saw this.
Oh and I would appreciate some comments. Thanks.