Reading tropes such as You Know What You Did
"I am a pilot," Brittaney replied, "I'm just not sure if that would be where I would be operating or if they had something else in mind." She had tried to hint that a instructor or advisary role would be good, or giving aid to Hawarri civilians as a soldier. Killing those who threatened them or setting up relief for those affected, either would help. "Anyway my name is Brittaney, I'm a former Marine Lieutenant and I want to help the best way I can."
Currently reading up My Rule Fu Is Stronger than YoursAmelia got a quick sandwich and tin of soup from the PX, briefly saying hello to both sergeants before heading for home. Her quarters were just as she'd left them; there were a few replies to her salvo of messages on her laptop. Nothing from her parents in Australia, since it'd be predawn in Melbourne; some acknowledgments signed from Poland wished her luck and safety. Never out of touch for long, Amelia thought. None from Krakow, however. With a pang Amelia recalled that Frantisek would be busy helping to teach evening classes tonight. Despite his youth, some two or three years younger than she was, he was an outstanding tutor, able to turn a slight stammer and an understated Czech accent to memorable effect in debate or lecture; yet away from the lectern that same stammer increased, and the confidence and directness dropped away to reveal a poetic, almost shy sensitivity...
Oh for God's sake, Amelia, get a grip on yourself, it's only been less than a day, she thought, somewhat irritatedly. You're not a teenage girl any more...come to think of it, "girl" might be stretching it by now.
In the bathroom there was a small mirror. Even before she looked Amelia knew what she would find there: without the habitual devil-may-care jauntiness that was her usual persona, she seemed years older, grim and knowledgeable and dangerous despite her small size. Napoleon before Austerlitz, Frantz had half-joking called her expression; Amelia herself associated it more with the hot, dry hills around Kandahar...
...the 122mm rockets shrieking in on nearly horizontal trajectories, the muffled rattle of automatic rifles interspersed by the steady thump of a grenade launcher, all punctuated by a massive crash as a Grad exploded less than five meters away from her armored MRAP; the pounding pain in her skull made sticky by blood and matted hair under her helmet, the nausea born of concussion causing her to sway as she tried to drag herself back up into the gunner's turret—some indeterminate time ago she must have been knocked down the turret well, striking her head against the rim—with only one thought in mind: pray to God the Browning hadn't been wrecked by the blast...
Amelia didn't usually wear make-up out in the field, but there was one exception. With a finger she wiped away a smudge of concealer, revealing a long-faded scar that paralleled her eyebrow, from the side of the ocular ridge across the temple and into her hair. She pulled off her hat and turned her head to the left, and the figure in the mirror did likewise; with a hand she traced the continuance of the scar through a messy mane of straw-blonde hair, stopping just above and behind her right ear.
When the blast of the Grad rocket had thrown her against the turret's rim, the impact had torn free a handsbreath of skin there. At the hospital the surgeon had stitched her scalp back into place with nearly perfect neatness, leaving only a patch of gray hair the width of two fingers, the indelible souvenir of her near-brush with death that sunny Afghan afternoon. Amelia knew others who would've considered it a badge of honor: "then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars/and say, 'these wounds I had on St. Crispin's Day'", she remembered reciting to a quiet audience.
As for herself, she preferred to keep it under her hat. With a last glance at the mirror she dropped the grim, pensive cast from her expression, with practiced ease returning to being the irrepressibly cheerful Lt. Walewska, atcher service, mate.
Tomorrow would start early.
edited 3rd Mar '15 11:14:40 PM by SabresEdge
Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.Jacques sits down on his bed, and looks at an old photograph of him and his sister from when they were younger.
I hope I make it back to you, sis. You were always the stronger one out of both of us. And boy, did we get into fights. Still, I miss home already.
He puts away the photograph, and pulls out a book to read.
Adam has finished up his own little curry formula and is eating away. Debating what type of weapon and uniform he should requisition. He's good with carbines and staying stealthy.
Adam sighed to himself, he should ask the M Ps.
"Pleased to meet you." John shook hands with Nathan. "If you need more time to look around here, I suggest you get up after 6:30 in the morning." The ex-Irish Army officer then added. "I can let you guys see the vehicles we have for active use before your debriefing."
"Of course." The mechanic replied. "I suggest you come here to the hangar after 6:30 in the morning and we will be happy to show you around. I believe it should be set for 9 in the morning, but an announcement should be made later. The commander, I believe, has a debrief about an upcoming operation."
He then requested to Brittaney. "Just don't tell them that you heard it from me. That what most of us are hearing so far, but we believe that they're just unconfirmed information."
The time on the clocks in the base read 9:29 PM for a few seconds it hit 9:30 PM.
As Mark went to sleep, he was glad that he turned on the radio to help himself sleep. Not to mention the overhead fans helped him cool down in contrast to the heat of the desert.
He'd have to wait until tomorrow to figure things out.
All right, next post would be for tomorrow morning.
Reading tropes such as You Know What You Did
Brittaney didn't reply to the request to keep quiet, but gave a nod, narrowed her eyes a little, her body language showing she knew a thing or two about keeping secrets. Hell, she was one of the ones tasked with punishing wayward recruits in Alaska, taking them on a training exercise and showing how outclassed they were.
"With all this travel an early night would probably be a good idea," she told them, hinting at taking them up on the offer. "I'm most keen on one thing if I would be in a flying role, avionics." It had been her experience that they made all the difference in the world, and firmly believed the aged FA/18 with good avionics was on par with the Super Hornet or even, despite her limited first hand knowledge, next generation fighters. "But we can talk about that tomorrow." It occurred to Brittaney she hadn't even unpacked and settled in, and thought to decide whether to lay out the uniform she'd packed which would maybe give her more authority. "You two have a good night okay, if I will be flying there's a bit of ground I want to cover."
Currently reading up My Rule Fu Is Stronger than YoursThe military police contingent in the base have began to double their patrols as the time was now 10 minutes before 10 PM.
Both Mark and the two BBC employees were now fast asleep in their room, awaiting for the next day.
Somewhere in the Harrawian-Djiboutian border, two armed men wearing gray and white keffiyeh that covered their heads wore desert yellow BDUs with old military boots and AKMs were seen dragging away someone who wore a white shirt, jeans and sneakers. The man appeared to have a black hood worn over his face with his hands tied behind his back in a corridor of an old mansion.
<"The commander says we need to move him to the next area as soon as possible. Our ransom demand's not working."> One of the AKM-armed men said to his colleague in Harrawian.
<"Indeed. I thought we were suppose to execute this guy."> The other man replied. <"I guess he wants another round before he reports back...">
<"I hope so. This is going on for too long now.">
They stopped in front of a door that led to a room in the mansion. They threw him inside before they locked the door from the outside.
Reading tropes such as You Know What You Did
Stone stared at the funnelweb, trying to fight back the feeling of arachnophobia as the spider stared back menacingly, it's stance aggressive. As vicious and violent a predator as there had ever been. Stone's captors had brought it in from Australia specifically to place with prisoners, Stone being taken captive after a routine training mission in Fairbanks. The last thing Stone remembered was being with Arthur, Krysa, Francesca and that giant woman, before their transport was hit. The next thing Stone knew was waking up in a cage, someone wearing a hood placing a box before the officer, and Stone tried not to squirm upon learning what was inside. the captor looked away staring off into the snow, before a noise jolted him back to reality and saw that someone had fired off a shot, aimed not at him but the spider. He began looking about trying to see where the shot came from when another one sounded, and Stone saw the figure crumple to the ground and tried to spot where the sniper was, seeing several figures in the distance wearing Arctic camouflage, one decidedly large and tall wielding a suppressed P-90 machine gun, firing several times and Stone looked to see the guards drop one by one.
"Hey," Stone called out, waving towards the soldiers, "over here." Stone jumped as one more shot rang out, blowing off the lock on the cage door. The biggest of the group made their way to it and Stone knew instinctively who it was.
"Prisoners?" Stone heard on the soldier's radio. The soldier replied, and Stone recognized the voice as Brittaney.
"Just one. Bring them?" Stone wanted to thank her, but paused, unsure of what was going on.
"No," the reply came after a moment. "We cannot afford to be slowed down."
"Roger." Brittaney turned her back on Stone, ignoring the pleas for rescue and demands on why the officer was being left behind. "Mojo One, Mojo One, we have recovered the package, awaiting pickup."
That training exercise with Stone was one of Brittaney's first, happening some fifteen years ago, and it still served as one of her lullabies. Stone was a particularly nasty case of abusive officers who had enrolled at ORCA, and was quickly placed in SOAR training. The little exercise Brittaney dreamt of was the unit's little hazing ritual for such individuals, in reality the funnelweb was the only casualty with the soldiers willing participants and shot at with blanks, how Arthur was allowed to use spiders as part of tormenting the likes of Stone she would never know, as a way of busting them up and, hopefully, force a little humility. Despite the brutality of some of it Brittaney remembered the times she'd done so fondly, believing it made better soldiers. The memory fading must have meant that she was waking up and she checked her tablet to see that it was some ridiculous early hour, even for her. Cursing, she rolled to the side of the bed, grunting at the sudden stiffness she felt in her back, before playing Bawitdaba, an oldie from Kid Rock but a goody. Brittaney downed what was left of one of the drinks she purchased the night before before lighting a Kretek, gathering her thoughts. The blue and yellow Marine uniform was laid out for the day ahead, and as well as the music helping cut through the stages of waking up a shower sounded like the greatest idea in the world to prepare for whatever she might face.
Should I go all formal? Brittaney wondered for a moment. Maybe it would appear pretentious. Finishing the cigarette the ex Lieutenant looked through her case and found the old Marine flight suit, thinking that might be a better option. At least I won't feel so self concious. Harrawi would likely place her as a pilot if they thought that was the best place for Brittaney regardless of how she dressed, and on that thought she stood up to have a shower.
edited 8th Mar '15 9:24:27 PM by tsstevens
Currently reading up My Rule Fu Is Stronger than YoursAmelia was up early, pounding around the inside perimeter of the base in running shoes and PT gear—and, of course, her head covering, in this case a black baseball cap. In the predawn cool, the kilometers slipped by easily; with minor differences this could have been the Australian outback, or the sands of Iraq, or the lowland Afghan bases.
The only real difference was that she was running alone, not part of a company formation. Strange life, the mercenary gig, she thought, passing a sentry on patrol. She had to stifle a yawn as her phone indicated seven kilometers and she dropped to marching pace for the last few hundred meters back to quarters, taking a swig from her water bottle, watching for the base to come to life.
Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.Phoenix was also up early, checking through his own equipment.
Khaki hat, check. USP.45, check. Spare clips for the .45, check. Silencer for the .45, check. .45 in good order? Check.
He instinctively pulled the slide back on the USP, making sure the action was smooth. After emptying the gun, he took an empty shot, making sure the trigger wasn't sticky and the hammer was alright. He flicked the safety on, and reloaded. He put on his hat. They'd be damned before he took off that hat. This was always his morning ritual down at the game parks back home, making sure all his gear was ready for the day ahead.
If you look after your guns, they'll look after you.
He gathered up his water canteen, and stood outside the barracks for some fresh morning air, waving as he sees someone jogging by.
edited 9th Mar '15 8:53:20 AM by UndyingPhoenix
Adam stepped out having just dealt with his showers, enjoy being clean while it lasts. Back to the dirt soon, time to get that assignment and get to work.
Best to ask the M Ps where the armory is for requisition and what rifles and carbines are available.
edited 9th Mar '15 8:58:32 AM by EchoingSilence
Nathan bids his farewell to the armored officer before briskly returning to his quarters before lights out. Up well before the dawn, he sits back on the bed typing on his notebook for a few minutes before closing it and hitting the showers. Emerging temporarily clean, he gets dressed and consults the handwritten note in his pocket about their meetings for the day as known.
Let God do His work, we will see to ours. Bring in the candles.Aside from a few patrols being done to check base perimeter security, a few foreign volunteer soldiers working as mechanics were now checking the locks on the doors leading to the long motor pool/hangar building as a security check.
Afterwards, they gave hand signals to one another that they can open the place up. The locks were now unlocked and the doors were now being opened up slowly, due to their weight.
The time was now 5:20 in the morning.
edited 10th Mar '15 4:03:55 AM by Ominae
Amelia slowed as she marched by the men's barracks, returning the wave of the burly man outside. "Wotcher, mate," she said, coming to a stop. "Enjoyin' the sunrise?"
Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.5:31 in the morning.
A Harrawian Air Force C-130J was seen making an approach towards HMB Abdurashiabon. The base's control tower informed it to use the middle runway when it prepares to make a landing.
The runways were already partially lit since it was still a bit dark and sunrise was not expected to come until 6:15 in the morning.
Mark heard the sounds of the C-130J coming, so he got up from bed and peeked outside when he slightly pushed the curtain aside to see if it landed or not.
"Ah. Ain't much of a huntin' type, me," admitted Amelia. "Never 'ad much luck in the Outback. Still, it's always a little bit different wherever you go, ain't it? The sunrise, I mean."
She was interrupted by the noise of the Hercules as it thundered across the sky, followed the buzzing roar as it presumably reversed props. That was a deeply familiar sight; Amelia grabbed onto her cap to stop it from blowing away.
"Anyhows, 'veld', you said," she continued, over the noise. "South Africa?"
Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.Jacques can't help but smile a bit, recalling his home fondly.
"Yep, born and bred. It's a beautiful country, for the most part. Can't get a more natural place than the veld. 'Course, we have cities and all that, but the veld...so amazing in the mornings and evenings...like the Outback, but with more bushes and trees. That is, if you don't mind the big cats lurking around."
Oh, he'd had encounters of that nature before. Really humbled a person in the wild.
"I take it you're an Aussie then?"
"Lieutenant Amelia Walewska, latterly of the Australian Army, 'appy to meetcher," she confirmed, sticking out her hand. "Armored Cav."
Charlie Stross's cheerful, optimistic predictions for 2017, part one of three.

Sergeants Lee and Zuma were busy manning the customer service counter and the cashier of any late night visitors.
One of the mechanics faced Britanney after the doors to the hangar was closed. He appeared to be of Caucasian descent with blonde hair.
"You are the new recruit, yes?" The mechanic spoke with a slight Tajik accent. "We are closing up for the night. I assume you are pilot for the volunteer brigade?"