NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: Signup Thread here : http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=487812&page=1

IC:

The wake-up alarm chirped happily as Harold Fisher catapulted out of bed. His meaty right hand grasped the alarm and it confirmed what he hoped to be true.

It was 4 hours before morning rally.

Whistling with manic glee, he quickly dressed into his neatly folded Tanisian combat greens. Around him, his fellow Sergeants moaned and opened one eye and ensured it it wasn't their alarm going off.

All except that blastit' McCowell, he doesn't sleep with us regular NCOs. 'E sleeps with the rest of his lads. I'll never understand how that bugger keeps discipline

He sheathed his sword into its simple scabbard, hooked it onto his belt and also grabbed his laspistol from his bedside table and holstered it. Slapping his holster onto his thigh, he finally looked to the mirror to quickly take in his appearence.

Harold towered over the desk that stood beside him, at a height around six foot six. Cold grey eyes flitted over his large form, ensuring no button was left undone, no metal unshined and most importantly, everything properly pressed. He brushed his flaming red hair back as he slipped on his combat helmet.

The one thing Harold didn't punish men for was above regulation length hair. If it obscured sight, then he had issues, but men could have theirs slightly longer than normal, and he had come to this conclusion after a brief spell of duty on Valhalla, before it came too hot for his training squadron to remain any longer. Hair could come in handy in cold climates.

He reached over to Karlsson's bedside and took his Bugel, for he was the one who normally woke the men up.

Closing the door with a bang (and waking his fellow Sergeants up and curse his hide), he dashed over to his squad's barracks house. The light of dawn was in the far distance, behind the hills, but was dark enough for him to feel he was being suitably cruel. The sun should be up and blazing down on them and blinding them as they lined up.

This is the bit he really enjoyed.

With extreme gusto he kicked the door open and screamed :

"TIME TO GET UP YOU YELLOW BELLIED BLOWFISH! YES ITS DARK, BUT THATS BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T CLEAN YER MESS UP LAST NIGHT. SO ITS PLAY TIME BEFORE WE DISEMBARK FOR OUR NEW TRAINING LOCATION. YOURE GOING TO BE UP AND READY IN HALF AN HOUR, FULL COMBAT GEAR! LUKIN! GET OUT OF YOUR BED OR YOU'LL BE ON LATRINES DUTY ON THE SHIP! "

"I've got a nice walk planned for you miladdo's." he continued, speaking out in a more normal volume after his ranting had the desired effect. "12 miles should do the trick. We should get back before nightfall, to catch our lift to the Thunderhawk Gunship."

No-one muttered. Nobody ever muttered their displeasure in Fisher's Section. You just dug deeper, and often, it'd be your own grave you'd be digging... The men clambered to try to be ready in time....

Skelter's Platoon had already gotten ready. They were excited. Today, of course, was War Games day. They were ready to embarrass the scrubs of the 5th Platoon, and show their combat prowess to their superiors.

Skelter ordered them by squad, and made them stand at attention in front of the 5th platoon's barracks, as they listened to Cpt. Fisher awaken his men. The men stretched, and got ready for their 12-mile, full-gear run.

Sergeant Mikil Sloben entered his squad's barracks at 0630 hours.

"Alright men, wake up." He said in his usual calm voice. One man stirred, and sat up in his bunk. He shook another, who did the same, until all fifteen men were awake.
Once awake, they lined up along the road outside in their green garrison utility fatigues.
"Mornin' Sarge!" they chorused. He smiled, the scar running across his cheek disfigured the left portion of his face, leaving it a one sided smirk.
"Good morning to you boys too. Today, we're bording the thunderhawks, and leaving for our assignment. No Kowalski, I don't know where it is." The men laughed as a medium sized fair skinned kid turned beat red. "Unlike your other platoon mates and their squad commanders, I don't hate you all, so you were exempt from the 12 mile forced march. You have passes to the town. Be back at 11 PM though, or i'll make your lives on the ship alot harder." They men cheered, and ran off to a waiting bus, which would take them on their leave.
"Sergeant Jacobs? Would you come with me to get the equipment ready?"
"Aye sir," He said. " Right away."
"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not an officer. The "sir" isn't necessary."
"I know si....Mikil, but it's just...eh....unusual that a person in authority in the Guard doesn't feel the need to be addressed as such."
"Eh," Mikil thought about it, "I figure that since the men always obey me, and never question me, it isn't needed. I'd more strict if it were necessary."
Jacobs face grew dark. "You know though, they've never seen battle before. Just those training skirimishes with the PDFs."
Nodding, Mikil said, "Yes, but we've seen our share of battle....Emperor knows....more than our share...." his face grew dark, eyes glazed over for a moment, remembering...he shook it off.
"Thats in the past." he thought.
"You okay mate?" Jacobs asked.
"Wh...yes..yes i'm fine."

The roll-up rebounded off the tree trunk, and Sergeant McCowell observed his troops sitting around the campfire. Where they were on the Planet, many miles out in the hills, it was dawn, and he had roused his men from their catnaps.

Their tents, seemingly random, but to his elites, it was a well formulated camp. Once you knew the key, you could find all the camoflaged hidey-holes. Shaking his head at Jenkin's tree-hut, he resisted the temptation to light another cig.

The men saw their Sergeant scratching his unshaven stubble in thought. The sergeant was a gruff middle-aged man, scarred and bashed from life's anvil. His black hair was matt and short, but there was a bald area where an old war wound made it impossible to grow. His normally calculating brown eyes stared up into the trees in deep thought, slightly glazed over.

"I need two volunteers" he said in a light tone.

Immediately all his men volunteered. No surprises there. They knew he wouldn't mess them about like other NCOs messed around their squads. They'd been together too long for that.

He picked out Jenkins and Anton by deftly pointing at them. " I need you lads to observe the wargame from a distance. Treat this as an exercise. You're not to be seen, and i'll need you to record our men in action and give me some basic analysis. If you are caught... well, just don't get caught." he waved his hand absent mindedly to Jenkin's tree hut, "Don't worry about your gear, the rest of us'll sort it out. Head to Echo Ridge, I've sent our Chimerea Transport there to pick you up and shuttle you to the zone."

He ended it with a nod, and the two men stood, grinned and started jogging to the rendeazous.

Sergeant McCowell sighed, he just knew they were going to get beaten again...

Once they had made planetfall, Skelter's unit moved quickly. The Sniper squad under Grout had moved forward quickly in an attempt to find a vantage point that would allow them to rain fire on the "enemy" camp. Meanwhile, Rack's snipers were posted as sentries, covering most of the approaches to the main platoon camp. McMurphy's squad had been sent forward, in the direction of 5th Platoon, with the grudging support of Shrike. The rest of the squads had set up camp, and waited for contact.

Skelter watched his forward unit through his binoculars, grinning as they moved up to the enemy. "Alpha Section, be wary. You're almost upon them..."

Mikil led his squad in a single file staggered column through a forest trail. Each man had five meters in between so that one grenade would not harm anyone except the first, and they could scatter easily. He held tightly onto his Lasgun, continually scanning for any signs of movement. He spied a ridge, with some scattered trees on it.
"Fire team bravo," he said in a quiet yell, "Set up on that hill. See if you can see anything."

"The men returned tired, but bright eyed and bushy tailed. Ears pricked and trigger fingers ready for action sir! Just give the word and we're on our way to the warzone! Sah!" Harold ripped off a perfect salute, if not a tad over-enthusiastic. If he tried to straighten anymore, Henry was worried he might take off.

"At ease little brother. We're out of ear-shot, its not like they can hear you," Henry said to the Sergeant, his eyes rolling, " No need to do with all the pomp when its just us."

"Ah sir! They may be out of ear shot, but they're definately in eye-shot. Got to set a good example sir, else they'll end up a right bunch of wastrals and make no mistake. Even the Emperor himself wouldn't shed tears for that shower."

Henry chuckled dryly " Very droll Sergeant , take your men to where they're meant to be."

As the Captain turned and bean to walk off, his younger brother interrupted him, "Can i grow a moustache?"

"Only if its not a hedgehog after a fortnight. Standard. Then i'll let you keep it. Dismissed, and good luck"

Henry span on his heels and marched off toward his squad, ready to berate and brow-beat them onto the Gunship, so they could finally get some shut eye.

Sergent Zins made a slight step foward and stoped, something had moved on up ahead. 2 men were leaving the camp they were about to raid, for fun, to mess with the other squads mind a bit. He made a barely visable hand gesture and then went prone. The rest of his squad followed suit. All 10 bodies of DP1 S1(Deathworld Platoon 1 Squad 1) were in full jungle cammo.

Sergeant McMurphy caught sight of 2 Section's bunker and grinned. The squat construct was only twenty meters ahead of his squad. "Contact." He spoke into his comlink. "Give me supporting fire, 20 meters ahead of me." He waited for the support in the treeline, ready to give his squad the signal to charge once the heavy fire came in.

With a pair of whumps, two Rocket Propelled Paint Rounds were launched at the bunker windows.

The second squad was also out on patrol but for a diferent reason. They had seen at ship land and had gone to investigate. About 20 yards from the estimated LZ the stoped making a crude semi-circle, Sergent Reick took middle. He whistled, 1 high 2 low, hoping for a response and not an attack.

"Sir," Lance Corporal Klin, the Bravo Fire team leader said quietly over the comm link, "We can see a thunderhawk LZ from our position. We can bombard it from here with a grenade launcher."
"Negative. Keep watching." Mikil said. "If more hostile troops move to that location, then engage. I want to trap them."
"Roger sir, out."

With no reply second squad moved toward a ridge they had seen on the way in to try and locate any other teams.