Post by REDKITEBAIT on Oct 28, 2011 8:28:55 GMT -5
This is totally random, and if you've never heard of or played the Gears of War series, then you're going to get lost. XD I won't be suprised if you all go 'TL;DR' on me... Here we go:
Each day the number of numbers of soldiers in the army steadily declines. The locust forces are advancing each and every day, and the human race is being threatened towards extinction. The current leading party, the Coalition of Ordered Governments, had organised a meeting with all the Colonels on the situation of new recruits.
At the head of the conference table, stood a broad-shouldered man heavily decorated with medals. He appeared to dominate the room and everyone around him. This man was Chairman Prescott, the head of the COG. In front of him were all twenty-six Colonels in his command, frowning and grumbling at the state of affairs. Things were getting desperate.
“As you may know,” Started Prescott in his gruff yet proud voice, “The numbers of our soldiers are dramatically decreasing, with the rate of new recruits coming in even smaller numbers. This dilemma must be solved.” This was followed by grunts of complaint and shifting chairs from the Colonels. Most of them hated the Chairman. He was the cause of the loss of their families, wives, and close friends. The closest things to a family to them now are the teams of squads under their command.
“I suggest we take fewer risks in our procedures to lose fewer men.” Stated Colonel Hoffman, the Chairman’s right-hand man, making him a target of hatred by the others as well. The response was a series of groans. They all knew that if they didn’t take risks, they would be destroyed by the locust hordes.
“What’s the progress of recruits in Basic?” Demanded another Colonel near the other end of the table. He was quite young compared to the others, yet had more than his fair share of experience on the field. He wore aviator shades on his messy light brown hair; his thick armour was covered in traces of ricochets.
“None of them are ready to be sent out into the field yet.” Confirmed Hoffman.
“So?” The young Colonel stood up from his seat violently, upsetting his chair. “We need more recruits; where else do you think we’re going to get people? We all know very well that the Stranded are unwilling to cooperate voluntarily. And we all know the best experience is out in the field.” The room remained silent. They all knew he was right, much to their disappointment. There was a brief silence.
“I wish to deny your suggestion, Colonel Smith.” The chairman said suddenly after a moment’s reflection. “We need capable soldiers, who are able to fight and survive the hordes”. At this, Colonel Smith, as that was what he was named, placed both hands on the table in front of him in a dominating stance, about to make a defensive remark, then hesitated as the entire room had eyes upon him. He knew he had lost, but the twinkle of determination in his eyes did not fade.
“Whatever, I’m doing what I want with my own squads.” And with that he stormed out of the room. Striding down the corridor, he booted up his Tac/Com device, enabling him to remain in contact with his squads and his higher ups in contact with him. “Sierra 9,” He started, “Get here ASAP. My idea’s gone down the drain, but it’s not stopping me from doing what I believe is right.”
“Wilco Colonel.” Was all he heard as he burst through the oak doors out into the streets of Jacinto. He would join them in their Armoured Personnel Carrier to go to the Basic Camp when his squad arrived. They were only on patrol around the city, so it wouldn’t take long before they arrived.
He looked at the landscape around him. Jacinto: the last stand for the human race. The boulevard that ran down parallel to the coastline was in a state of disrepair – huge cracks crawled all over the tarmac surface, with skid marks of vehicles in urgency criss-crossing these making an elaborate pattern. The building he just left was made of marble, and probably the only building left in this city that was kept in pristine condition. But even all the cleaning and repairs in the world couldn’t remove the scars of war that covered the building, physically and morally as the hardened warrior descended the broken stairs at a much more relaxed pace. The view here was spectacular- clouds lit up by the sun shone a fiery yellow over the cold grey waters of the sea, and transformed the marble building into a honey gold colour. This sight warmed up the heart and mind of the Colonel; it was probably one of the only good things to happen any more in these harsh times of war.
Colonel Smith only had to wait 5 minutes until he heard the sound of locked brakes. With a roar, an APC skidded round the corner of the City Hall, screeching to a halt in front of him. Smith chuckled. His squad, Sierra 9, had always been a bit reckless, but then again, it was this factor that had helped them win many battles. The door opened and three men hopped out and stood in a line before their leader.
“What’s the situation then?” Asked the Sergeant in charge.
“Well Dawson, We’re going to Basic and I don’t give a damn what the others say.” Smith hopped down the last few uneven steps, and led the others into the Carrier.
“Sir, what if the Chairman demands you don’t do it? You could get locked up like that Fenix guy in Delta a few years ago.”
“Private Stoppard, where the hell have you been, there are no prisons anymore. All criminals have been pardoned to fight in this god damn war. To Prescott I’m not worth killing, and to stop me they’d have to do just that.”
The Colonel took the wheel of the APC and drove off with his squad towards the Basic camp, where they trained the new soldiers. The journey took a day or two, leaving the familiar grounds around Jacinto and around towards an isolated area mounted on bedrock similar to Jacinto. Here there was a small military camp surrounded by dense forests and rocky outcrops, and strongly defended. As they approached, all four men in the APC smiled in sight of the outpost.
The Corporal Burlow broke the silence, “Ah... what great memories of Basic... shame it’s all lovey-dovey there with no threats.”
“Yeah.” Replied Smith sternly. “As long as they know how to shoot, and got a decent idea of things, then I’m taking them.” The three passengers watched the driver in silence and respect. After all, he was nearly always right and had saved their lives and other men in the Sierra squads countless times. “Squads two and seven were hit badly not too long ago, and you guys need one more member too.”
“How many people are we taking out in total?” Asked Stoppard out of curiosity; squads don’t usually interfere with the business of other squads, even if they’re under the command of the same Colonel. He replied back gruffly;
“About 5 I reckon.” With a grunt he began skilfully swerving to avoid mines he knew were there.
As they approached the gates, several sentry guns swerved rapidly onto them, locking onto them, in case it were locust or stranded commanding a stolen vehicle. They were aiming to kill with no warning. Knowing this, Smith slowed down cautiously. He switched on his Tac/Com. As they approached he said:
“Zulu Zero, this is Colonel Smith and Squad Sierra 9, requesting Sentries to stand down ASAP and allow entry to Basic.” With a crackle, they replied;
“This is Zero command, access granted, sentries are now covering your entry into Basic.” Now the machine guns had averted their aim and the APC picked up speed, jumping about on the now rocky dirt path. The reinforced gates opened slowly just enough to let them in, and closed quickly as they passed. From the small windscreen the squad saw to-be Gears clambering over obstacle courses in full armour, shooting dummies with various weapons including enemy ones, low-hovering King Ravens and Centaurs racing around the base, attempting to shoot moving target boards set up here and there. They pulled over at the biggest building there – a small reinforced metal hut.
Getting out, they were met by a man dashed with medals – one of the Officers of Zulu Zero. He saluted the Colonel, to which he just nodded.
“We're here for some recruits.” Smith said blandly.
“I received word from the Chairman that-” Colonel Smith threw him to the wall, holding the scruff of his collar aggressively.
“I want some recruits. Now.” He let go of the officer, and with a gulp, he rushed back inside the building to switch on a bell that signalled to all the trainees to regroup. Centaurs skidded to a halt near the building. Footsoldiers making their way tiredly to the front, standing in formation. King Ravens landed elsewhere behind the main block, the pilots and gunners arriving soon.
Sierra 9 was shocked at how little recruits there really were. They remembered when they were in Basic, there must have been ten times the numbers of what there were here. There must have been only twenty footsoldiers, and ten vehicle pilots. Colonel Smith began to understand what Hoffmans and Prescott had said. He turned to the officer.
“Which ones are closest for recruitment?” He asked, with a frown. He hadn't got all day. He needed five of the best they had – the squad leaders can train them even more.
“They're nearly all fresh off the block, I'm afraid. There's only four trainees here with a decent amount of gun talent.” He called them up, his face becoming strict. Smith's frown etched itself further into his face. Even these soldiers, as advanced as they were, appeared unsuitable for battle. Words of the chairman were slowly seeping through to the Colonel. He shook his head. He had no choice.
“Fine, we'll take them.” Nervous smiles broke on the faces of the trainees, exited that they were entering battle early, worried their inexperience would be the end of them.
“Sir, we're missing one more...” Dawson informed.
“I can count.” Smith growled. Already the four best soldiers were at most amateur, so he had to take drastic measures. “And what about your KR unit. Don't they have ground combat training?”
“Well, we only have one good KR pilot right now, and the only weapon she can deal with are the chain guns and other mounted weaponry on the Ravens.” The officer described.
“She can work the guns well?”
“Yes.”
“That's good enough for me. Let's take her.”
Calling forth a 'Jennifer Harrison', a young girl, probably no older than seventeen years of age, stepped forwards. She didn't look strong at all. Compared to the other trainees, she could have been considered a runt.
“You've got to be kidding me...” Stoppard muttered, ceasing his words as Colonel Smith held up a hand. Something about this girl intrigued Smith.
“We'll take her.” Groans could be heard from his squad behind him, Stoppard even dared to face palm. “I'll train her personally so she's just as good as those other recruits.”
Please tell me what you think! All feedback and crits, clubs and zippo lighters welcome to beat and mould my crappy writing into shape
Each day the number of numbers of soldiers in the army steadily declines. The locust forces are advancing each and every day, and the human race is being threatened towards extinction. The current leading party, the Coalition of Ordered Governments, had organised a meeting with all the Colonels on the situation of new recruits.
At the head of the conference table, stood a broad-shouldered man heavily decorated with medals. He appeared to dominate the room and everyone around him. This man was Chairman Prescott, the head of the COG. In front of him were all twenty-six Colonels in his command, frowning and grumbling at the state of affairs. Things were getting desperate.
“As you may know,” Started Prescott in his gruff yet proud voice, “The numbers of our soldiers are dramatically decreasing, with the rate of new recruits coming in even smaller numbers. This dilemma must be solved.” This was followed by grunts of complaint and shifting chairs from the Colonels. Most of them hated the Chairman. He was the cause of the loss of their families, wives, and close friends. The closest things to a family to them now are the teams of squads under their command.
“I suggest we take fewer risks in our procedures to lose fewer men.” Stated Colonel Hoffman, the Chairman’s right-hand man, making him a target of hatred by the others as well. The response was a series of groans. They all knew that if they didn’t take risks, they would be destroyed by the locust hordes.
“What’s the progress of recruits in Basic?” Demanded another Colonel near the other end of the table. He was quite young compared to the others, yet had more than his fair share of experience on the field. He wore aviator shades on his messy light brown hair; his thick armour was covered in traces of ricochets.
“None of them are ready to be sent out into the field yet.” Confirmed Hoffman.
“So?” The young Colonel stood up from his seat violently, upsetting his chair. “We need more recruits; where else do you think we’re going to get people? We all know very well that the Stranded are unwilling to cooperate voluntarily. And we all know the best experience is out in the field.” The room remained silent. They all knew he was right, much to their disappointment. There was a brief silence.
“I wish to deny your suggestion, Colonel Smith.” The chairman said suddenly after a moment’s reflection. “We need capable soldiers, who are able to fight and survive the hordes”. At this, Colonel Smith, as that was what he was named, placed both hands on the table in front of him in a dominating stance, about to make a defensive remark, then hesitated as the entire room had eyes upon him. He knew he had lost, but the twinkle of determination in his eyes did not fade.
“Whatever, I’m doing what I want with my own squads.” And with that he stormed out of the room. Striding down the corridor, he booted up his Tac/Com device, enabling him to remain in contact with his squads and his higher ups in contact with him. “Sierra 9,” He started, “Get here ASAP. My idea’s gone down the drain, but it’s not stopping me from doing what I believe is right.”
“Wilco Colonel.” Was all he heard as he burst through the oak doors out into the streets of Jacinto. He would join them in their Armoured Personnel Carrier to go to the Basic Camp when his squad arrived. They were only on patrol around the city, so it wouldn’t take long before they arrived.
He looked at the landscape around him. Jacinto: the last stand for the human race. The boulevard that ran down parallel to the coastline was in a state of disrepair – huge cracks crawled all over the tarmac surface, with skid marks of vehicles in urgency criss-crossing these making an elaborate pattern. The building he just left was made of marble, and probably the only building left in this city that was kept in pristine condition. But even all the cleaning and repairs in the world couldn’t remove the scars of war that covered the building, physically and morally as the hardened warrior descended the broken stairs at a much more relaxed pace. The view here was spectacular- clouds lit up by the sun shone a fiery yellow over the cold grey waters of the sea, and transformed the marble building into a honey gold colour. This sight warmed up the heart and mind of the Colonel; it was probably one of the only good things to happen any more in these harsh times of war.
Colonel Smith only had to wait 5 minutes until he heard the sound of locked brakes. With a roar, an APC skidded round the corner of the City Hall, screeching to a halt in front of him. Smith chuckled. His squad, Sierra 9, had always been a bit reckless, but then again, it was this factor that had helped them win many battles. The door opened and three men hopped out and stood in a line before their leader.
“What’s the situation then?” Asked the Sergeant in charge.
“Well Dawson, We’re going to Basic and I don’t give a damn what the others say.” Smith hopped down the last few uneven steps, and led the others into the Carrier.
“Sir, what if the Chairman demands you don’t do it? You could get locked up like that Fenix guy in Delta a few years ago.”
“Private Stoppard, where the hell have you been, there are no prisons anymore. All criminals have been pardoned to fight in this god damn war. To Prescott I’m not worth killing, and to stop me they’d have to do just that.”
The Colonel took the wheel of the APC and drove off with his squad towards the Basic camp, where they trained the new soldiers. The journey took a day or two, leaving the familiar grounds around Jacinto and around towards an isolated area mounted on bedrock similar to Jacinto. Here there was a small military camp surrounded by dense forests and rocky outcrops, and strongly defended. As they approached, all four men in the APC smiled in sight of the outpost.
The Corporal Burlow broke the silence, “Ah... what great memories of Basic... shame it’s all lovey-dovey there with no threats.”
“Yeah.” Replied Smith sternly. “As long as they know how to shoot, and got a decent idea of things, then I’m taking them.” The three passengers watched the driver in silence and respect. After all, he was nearly always right and had saved their lives and other men in the Sierra squads countless times. “Squads two and seven were hit badly not too long ago, and you guys need one more member too.”
“How many people are we taking out in total?” Asked Stoppard out of curiosity; squads don’t usually interfere with the business of other squads, even if they’re under the command of the same Colonel. He replied back gruffly;
“About 5 I reckon.” With a grunt he began skilfully swerving to avoid mines he knew were there.
As they approached the gates, several sentry guns swerved rapidly onto them, locking onto them, in case it were locust or stranded commanding a stolen vehicle. They were aiming to kill with no warning. Knowing this, Smith slowed down cautiously. He switched on his Tac/Com. As they approached he said:
“Zulu Zero, this is Colonel Smith and Squad Sierra 9, requesting Sentries to stand down ASAP and allow entry to Basic.” With a crackle, they replied;
“This is Zero command, access granted, sentries are now covering your entry into Basic.” Now the machine guns had averted their aim and the APC picked up speed, jumping about on the now rocky dirt path. The reinforced gates opened slowly just enough to let them in, and closed quickly as they passed. From the small windscreen the squad saw to-be Gears clambering over obstacle courses in full armour, shooting dummies with various weapons including enemy ones, low-hovering King Ravens and Centaurs racing around the base, attempting to shoot moving target boards set up here and there. They pulled over at the biggest building there – a small reinforced metal hut.
Getting out, they were met by a man dashed with medals – one of the Officers of Zulu Zero. He saluted the Colonel, to which he just nodded.
“We're here for some recruits.” Smith said blandly.
“I received word from the Chairman that-” Colonel Smith threw him to the wall, holding the scruff of his collar aggressively.
“I want some recruits. Now.” He let go of the officer, and with a gulp, he rushed back inside the building to switch on a bell that signalled to all the trainees to regroup. Centaurs skidded to a halt near the building. Footsoldiers making their way tiredly to the front, standing in formation. King Ravens landed elsewhere behind the main block, the pilots and gunners arriving soon.
Sierra 9 was shocked at how little recruits there really were. They remembered when they were in Basic, there must have been ten times the numbers of what there were here. There must have been only twenty footsoldiers, and ten vehicle pilots. Colonel Smith began to understand what Hoffmans and Prescott had said. He turned to the officer.
“Which ones are closest for recruitment?” He asked, with a frown. He hadn't got all day. He needed five of the best they had – the squad leaders can train them even more.
“They're nearly all fresh off the block, I'm afraid. There's only four trainees here with a decent amount of gun talent.” He called them up, his face becoming strict. Smith's frown etched itself further into his face. Even these soldiers, as advanced as they were, appeared unsuitable for battle. Words of the chairman were slowly seeping through to the Colonel. He shook his head. He had no choice.
“Fine, we'll take them.” Nervous smiles broke on the faces of the trainees, exited that they were entering battle early, worried their inexperience would be the end of them.
“Sir, we're missing one more...” Dawson informed.
“I can count.” Smith growled. Already the four best soldiers were at most amateur, so he had to take drastic measures. “And what about your KR unit. Don't they have ground combat training?”
“Well, we only have one good KR pilot right now, and the only weapon she can deal with are the chain guns and other mounted weaponry on the Ravens.” The officer described.
“She can work the guns well?”
“Yes.”
“That's good enough for me. Let's take her.”
Calling forth a 'Jennifer Harrison', a young girl, probably no older than seventeen years of age, stepped forwards. She didn't look strong at all. Compared to the other trainees, she could have been considered a runt.
“You've got to be kidding me...” Stoppard muttered, ceasing his words as Colonel Smith held up a hand. Something about this girl intrigued Smith.
“We'll take her.” Groans could be heard from his squad behind him, Stoppard even dared to face palm. “I'll train her personally so she's just as good as those other recruits.”
Please tell me what you think! All feedback and crits, clubs and zippo lighters welcome to beat and mould my crappy writing into shape
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