Dontgonearthere
26-03-2007, 22:14
Private Sikorski glowered in the shelter of his booth. The distant echo of gunfire had stopped, generally a sign that the ragheads were banging their heads against the ground again. Just like bloody clockwork.
Of course, the Hindu population of the area didnt observe such conventions, but then, not all of the Muslims did either. It was a chancy thing trying to burst in a group of praying Muslims, as the local GCB had found out when they tried some stunt work with a local anti-Hindu group.
Sikorski sighed.
The interface between Perciya and Indiya was not high priced real estate. Well...most of Perciya wasnt high priced real estate anyway, its major rivers flowed from the Caspian, which had been used as an industrial dumping ground for two hundred years or so. They said the best way to get a two headed cow was to get your livestock to drink from the Caspian.
All things considered though, it wasnt too bad of a posting. Both sides tended to leave the northerners alone, provided you didnt bugger with them first. Apparently Christians were generally deemed as 'acceptable' by the Muslims, and since the last large scale Christian killing of Hindu's had been the bit where Dontgonearthere had swooped in and crushed the various Indian states...
Sikorski looked up just in time to see the pickup swerve around the corner. A trained eye quickly took in the green banners, the yelling and the AK's in the occupants hand. Sikorski dived just in time.
A steam of various calibur rounds tore through the booths glass, showering the inside with fragments. Sikorski swore as rounds tore up the back of the booth and his compuer screen.
"Virodibshiyecya mucloomancki cobak!" Sikorski grabbed his own rifle and sprayed a burst over the top of the counter. He thanked God that he had the foresight to strip a door off of an old BKC transporter and wedge it under the counter. The holes in the cinderblocks beside him told their own story abou the quality of construction. Fourtunatly those in power took their vehicles more seriously. The inch thick steel plate which served as his shelter appeared to have weathered the assault quite well.
The truck was screeching around a corner at the far end of the street, by this time the local inhabitants, both Hindu and Muslim, had taken notice of it and were variously diving out of the way or throwing things at it. Neither community particularly appreciated what the DGNT garrison called 'Coomancshayedshi Deti' or 'Crazy Kids'. Typical rebellious youth with a dash of 'religious' fanaticism, handed guns (and often some sort of stimulant) by their local crazy/fanatical cult leader, they would then cruise the streets in search of 'oppressors' or 'heretics', although most of their casualties seemed to be opposing groups of a similar nature. Unless it was a market day.
The garrison was active now, newly transfered officers were running around demanding to know what had happened, while more experienced officers waited calmly inside where snipers and rockets were less effective. Somewhere an NCO was shouting orders to soldiers in that special NCO voice while, simultaniously, attempting to talk the newer officers into returning indoors.
Eventually, things returned to something like order. This was about the point when two patrols returned and reported two very angry mobs converging on the garrison. They would most likely go after each other, but considering their present state they might be keen on taking the base as well. Frequent riots had given the local soldiery some experience with this particular aspect of Muslim/Hindu cultural interaction. Usually the mobs settled for beating each other senseless, then retired home in a meaningful fashion, but these crowds apparently had somewhat more serious weapons, and one of the patrols was short two men, while the other was carrying several wounded.
"-This is why you joined the army, lads! Youre here to kick ass and take names! And if you dont like it, talk to the political officer and he can arrange your early retirement!" The NCO was not good at pre-battle speeches. The term 'Friendly Fire' frequently passed the lips of soldiers under his authority.
Meanwhile, Farsi shouting from down the street mingled with Hindi floating up from the opposite side of town.
There was little Russian, mostly because the DGNT soldiers were busy trying to decide what to block the gate with.
Of course, the Hindu population of the area didnt observe such conventions, but then, not all of the Muslims did either. It was a chancy thing trying to burst in a group of praying Muslims, as the local GCB had found out when they tried some stunt work with a local anti-Hindu group.
Sikorski sighed.
The interface between Perciya and Indiya was not high priced real estate. Well...most of Perciya wasnt high priced real estate anyway, its major rivers flowed from the Caspian, which had been used as an industrial dumping ground for two hundred years or so. They said the best way to get a two headed cow was to get your livestock to drink from the Caspian.
All things considered though, it wasnt too bad of a posting. Both sides tended to leave the northerners alone, provided you didnt bugger with them first. Apparently Christians were generally deemed as 'acceptable' by the Muslims, and since the last large scale Christian killing of Hindu's had been the bit where Dontgonearthere had swooped in and crushed the various Indian states...
Sikorski looked up just in time to see the pickup swerve around the corner. A trained eye quickly took in the green banners, the yelling and the AK's in the occupants hand. Sikorski dived just in time.
A steam of various calibur rounds tore through the booths glass, showering the inside with fragments. Sikorski swore as rounds tore up the back of the booth and his compuer screen.
"Virodibshiyecya mucloomancki cobak!" Sikorski grabbed his own rifle and sprayed a burst over the top of the counter. He thanked God that he had the foresight to strip a door off of an old BKC transporter and wedge it under the counter. The holes in the cinderblocks beside him told their own story abou the quality of construction. Fourtunatly those in power took their vehicles more seriously. The inch thick steel plate which served as his shelter appeared to have weathered the assault quite well.
The truck was screeching around a corner at the far end of the street, by this time the local inhabitants, both Hindu and Muslim, had taken notice of it and were variously diving out of the way or throwing things at it. Neither community particularly appreciated what the DGNT garrison called 'Coomancshayedshi Deti' or 'Crazy Kids'. Typical rebellious youth with a dash of 'religious' fanaticism, handed guns (and often some sort of stimulant) by their local crazy/fanatical cult leader, they would then cruise the streets in search of 'oppressors' or 'heretics', although most of their casualties seemed to be opposing groups of a similar nature. Unless it was a market day.
The garrison was active now, newly transfered officers were running around demanding to know what had happened, while more experienced officers waited calmly inside where snipers and rockets were less effective. Somewhere an NCO was shouting orders to soldiers in that special NCO voice while, simultaniously, attempting to talk the newer officers into returning indoors.
Eventually, things returned to something like order. This was about the point when two patrols returned and reported two very angry mobs converging on the garrison. They would most likely go after each other, but considering their present state they might be keen on taking the base as well. Frequent riots had given the local soldiery some experience with this particular aspect of Muslim/Hindu cultural interaction. Usually the mobs settled for beating each other senseless, then retired home in a meaningful fashion, but these crowds apparently had somewhat more serious weapons, and one of the patrols was short two men, while the other was carrying several wounded.
"-This is why you joined the army, lads! Youre here to kick ass and take names! And if you dont like it, talk to the political officer and he can arrange your early retirement!" The NCO was not good at pre-battle speeches. The term 'Friendly Fire' frequently passed the lips of soldiers under his authority.
Meanwhile, Farsi shouting from down the street mingled with Hindi floating up from the opposite side of town.
There was little Russian, mostly because the DGNT soldiers were busy trying to decide what to block the gate with.