Neo-Soviet Russia
21-11-2004, 22:58
(OOC: The purpose of this topic is to give some form of legitimacy to a newly established branch of the United Socialist States Neo-Soviet Russian armed forces. All info viewed here is strictly secret IC info. With that said, none can claim knowing of this when none possibly could at this moment.)
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Through the rainstorm traveled a small convoy of modern age 5-tons. The heavy diesel powered trucks drudged through the mud. While the drivers and navigators were atleast semi-confortable inside the cabs the occupants in the back were having to deal with the brunt of tropical weather. They'd been dealing with it for atleast an hour or two as it was.
The joys of Gulf weather, thought Randal Foster. A member of Force Recon, Soviet Marine Corps, he had seen the best, and worst of weather, had already adjusted to the varieties. Still though, the soldier wished he had a cigarette and a poncho. Instead though he had fatigues and a light backpack with little more than basic supplies of food and medical aid. What had he signed up for? Something that he awas told was a bit higher than the typical special forces. Something that was in itself a new branch of the Neo-Soviet Russian armed forces. Something that would be pulling and recruiting from everything, from the Army, the Air Corps, Naval forces, the Marine Corps, and some who even came from the Co ast Guard.What he knew was that they would be trained in a variety of fields, and this was only basic. Some would split off into special use naval divison, others into aircraft, other mores into land based.
---
Standing at parade rest was one of the instructors of this newly established training facility. Secret and well hidden, it in a way stood for the mission of this new force.
"Lovely weather we're having, yes?"
A cigar-holding smirk raised up on a second man's lips. Standing at a simple 5'9, Dallas O'Reily's fit frame was covered in a simple insignia-less set of jungle fatigues. Short gray hair was hidden under a wet cotton cap as blue eyes glanced. A strong hand rose, fingers gripped the cigar before flicking the ashes off.
"If you want to think of this as 'lovely' go ahead. If it puts out this damned cigar though I'ma be pissed"
"You need to quit smoking anyway, you know."
"I'm old enough to be your father...I think I'm allowed to do what I wish."
Alexi Nikomev smirked. The joys of working with the oldies. Bastards. The younger man, about 37, gave a small shrug.
"Whatever you say, master. When're the boys supposed to be here?"
"Any minute now."
---
Moments passed. Moments that still seemed to go for a bit. Biting at his lip, Naval SpecFor Alexander Finney, blinked then lowered his head. Cant we just get to the bloody place? As if by command the convoy of trucks stopped after a brief slowing. Raising his head, eyes glanced around briefly with ease before shifting to a more aware glance.
Stepping foward one of a pair of older soldiers raised his hand straight into the air. Fingers gripped at a service issue .45. Giving a few sequeezes of the trigger, lips parted.
"Move! Move! Move! Get the fuck out of my trucks, you neglected !"
Rounds woke the men up more than any cup of coffee could hope to. With the cracking of each round fired from the Colt made firearm, men were moving. Jumping from the truck, some ran and hid in the brush surrounding both sides, a few others close to or under the truck while a few stayed within the beds on their bellies. That wouldn't have been the smartest thing to do but...they'd learn to do something different.
With a move of fingers the empty magazine dropped to the mud. O'Reily slid in a fresh set. His hand then went to his belt, the pistol to a holster. The same hand then raised to his lips and freed the cigar before tossing it away.
"On your feet and in file, boys."
Only rain was heard for the next seconds. Rain then a shift of men. Some were slow, others rushing, sliding in the mud.
"NOW, you slow little bastards. If you can't do this properly I'll personally have you strapped to a chair then I will beat you till you wish you could stand!"
That gained the attention of those that were cautious. All men, one hundred all together, were formed into ten rows of ten...the perfect square.
"Good...welcome to Hell, gentlemen. These next few months are going to be some of the most trying if not the most trying in your entire lives. You've all been through the system once before so you atleast have some idea of what'll happen. What though...that will be left up to us to decide. What is known though is this: While each and every one of you will be doing different jobs in completely different settings, you will know the job of the basic man of this force. You will know the art of Guerilla warfare, you will be a guerilla, a terrorist, a freedom fighter. With that said, I'll continue this rant in somewhat better conditions..."
Nodding then taking a step back, O'Reily turned his head to Alexi.
"...Nikomev, lead the men out."
"Sir. Form up four lines and prepare to move out!"
A loud echo of 'sirs' played forth, overpowering the rain in terms of volume.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
(OOC: Not the best but atleast a start.)
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Through the rainstorm traveled a small convoy of modern age 5-tons. The heavy diesel powered trucks drudged through the mud. While the drivers and navigators were atleast semi-confortable inside the cabs the occupants in the back were having to deal with the brunt of tropical weather. They'd been dealing with it for atleast an hour or two as it was.
The joys of Gulf weather, thought Randal Foster. A member of Force Recon, Soviet Marine Corps, he had seen the best, and worst of weather, had already adjusted to the varieties. Still though, the soldier wished he had a cigarette and a poncho. Instead though he had fatigues and a light backpack with little more than basic supplies of food and medical aid. What had he signed up for? Something that he awas told was a bit higher than the typical special forces. Something that was in itself a new branch of the Neo-Soviet Russian armed forces. Something that would be pulling and recruiting from everything, from the Army, the Air Corps, Naval forces, the Marine Corps, and some who even came from the Co ast Guard.What he knew was that they would be trained in a variety of fields, and this was only basic. Some would split off into special use naval divison, others into aircraft, other mores into land based.
---
Standing at parade rest was one of the instructors of this newly established training facility. Secret and well hidden, it in a way stood for the mission of this new force.
"Lovely weather we're having, yes?"
A cigar-holding smirk raised up on a second man's lips. Standing at a simple 5'9, Dallas O'Reily's fit frame was covered in a simple insignia-less set of jungle fatigues. Short gray hair was hidden under a wet cotton cap as blue eyes glanced. A strong hand rose, fingers gripped the cigar before flicking the ashes off.
"If you want to think of this as 'lovely' go ahead. If it puts out this damned cigar though I'ma be pissed"
"You need to quit smoking anyway, you know."
"I'm old enough to be your father...I think I'm allowed to do what I wish."
Alexi Nikomev smirked. The joys of working with the oldies. Bastards. The younger man, about 37, gave a small shrug.
"Whatever you say, master. When're the boys supposed to be here?"
"Any minute now."
---
Moments passed. Moments that still seemed to go for a bit. Biting at his lip, Naval SpecFor Alexander Finney, blinked then lowered his head. Cant we just get to the bloody place? As if by command the convoy of trucks stopped after a brief slowing. Raising his head, eyes glanced around briefly with ease before shifting to a more aware glance.
Stepping foward one of a pair of older soldiers raised his hand straight into the air. Fingers gripped at a service issue .45. Giving a few sequeezes of the trigger, lips parted.
"Move! Move! Move! Get the fuck out of my trucks, you neglected !"
Rounds woke the men up more than any cup of coffee could hope to. With the cracking of each round fired from the Colt made firearm, men were moving. Jumping from the truck, some ran and hid in the brush surrounding both sides, a few others close to or under the truck while a few stayed within the beds on their bellies. That wouldn't have been the smartest thing to do but...they'd learn to do something different.
With a move of fingers the empty magazine dropped to the mud. O'Reily slid in a fresh set. His hand then went to his belt, the pistol to a holster. The same hand then raised to his lips and freed the cigar before tossing it away.
"On your feet and in file, boys."
Only rain was heard for the next seconds. Rain then a shift of men. Some were slow, others rushing, sliding in the mud.
"NOW, you slow little bastards. If you can't do this properly I'll personally have you strapped to a chair then I will beat you till you wish you could stand!"
That gained the attention of those that were cautious. All men, one hundred all together, were formed into ten rows of ten...the perfect square.
"Good...welcome to Hell, gentlemen. These next few months are going to be some of the most trying if not the most trying in your entire lives. You've all been through the system once before so you atleast have some idea of what'll happen. What though...that will be left up to us to decide. What is known though is this: While each and every one of you will be doing different jobs in completely different settings, you will know the job of the basic man of this force. You will know the art of Guerilla warfare, you will be a guerilla, a terrorist, a freedom fighter. With that said, I'll continue this rant in somewhat better conditions..."
Nodding then taking a step back, O'Reily turned his head to Alexi.
"...Nikomev, lead the men out."
"Sir. Form up four lines and prepare to move out!"
A loud echo of 'sirs' played forth, overpowering the rain in terms of volume.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
(OOC: Not the best but atleast a start.)