Infection / Destruction / Hope

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python

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Enemy action was not something that Roman counted as a possibility. The term enemy perhaps requires some explanation - in this context it is taken to mean anyone armed, dangerous and unfriendly. Then of course there is the other kind of 'enemy', but although they can't be described as anything other than uncompromisingly hostile; to refer to them as the 'enemy' would be to confer on them some sort of motive, or intention that from his understanding they are not even capable of experiancing. No, enemy action was not a likely explanation; sound travels very far in the open desert - if there was any firepower employed he would have heard it. Could his comrades have been taken by surprise before they had the chance to react? He knew his commander well - a more vigilant and cautious man in the field he had never met. The idea that he wouldn't have had the chance to even fire off a shot is not something that he deemed too likely. The gunner, Konstantin', he knew less well. What he did know though, was that this man certainly never had a moment of hesitation - before blasting everything in his way to shit. Somewhat, appropriate for a gunner, Roman thought chuckling to himself.

So if they weren't taken out by the living, could they have been taken out by the dead? Such a scenario is even more unlikely - almost certainly his comrades would have put up a fight and a loud one at that - quick and silent takeouts are hardly the forte of the deceased; nor of their infected cousins that still remain in the world of the living. Not that he had seen any of the later for a while. Perhaps they simply got lost? No, they took a map with them and weren't supposed to have gone out far enough out for that to be very likely either - besides which the environment was far from featurless; there were even the occasional houses that could be used as landmarks to orient oneself.

As the last of the sun's rays were fading behind the arid expanse of the small hills and rocky protrusions that characterised the expanse of this hostile realm - Roman continued to ponder these questions in his mind. It is already the third sunset with no word from the men that promised to return before the onset of the first. Roman recalled vividly, how his thoughts over the last few days had gone from expectation, to anxious anticipation, to uneasyness, to worry, to dread, before finally setting at a firm realisation and acceptance that something had gone terribly wrong. But never had he panicked. Were he the sort of person prone to do so, he probably would have perished a long time ago in this calamity, along with everyone else.

By now the sun had set, it's role now being assumed by the moon and the stars. Though they provided ample light, and the surroundings were silent and still enough for Roman to hear or smell any danger from a considerable distance away - there was still no reason to take any chances. He had after all, no idea what was out there. If he hoped to have any chance of finding out and surviving to tell the tale, he must put himself into the most advantageous position possible. Staying outdoors - in unknown territory in the middle of the night, simply didn't appeal to him. With a final look towards the now concealed horizon, he clambered into the armoured vehicle standing beside him and closed the hatch. In the protection of his steel caccoon, Roman could find absolute peace and comfort. Peace and comfort in the fact that he enjoyed absolute protection from any straggelers that could creep up while he was asleep. In practise this never happened in his former unit even when everyone slept out in the open - safety was always to be had in numbers and a reliable night patrol. However, the fear was still there, after all as much of a good shot, a sharp mind, tough guy or whoever the hell you thought you are when you were awake; sleep makes you vulnerable to anyone who doesn't take part in it. Nothing in this new world gave Roman greater peace of mind and better rest than the 10mm of welded steel seperating his small world from that of the outside. The BTR was perched on top of a small height; no more than a couple of metres high - but offering good visibility of the surrounding area. Over the past few days, he had gone to some length to smear the hull of the vehicle with mud and dirt, concealling the metalic surface that during the day hours could reflect light to worrying distances. Combined with thr surrounding foiliage that was prevelant even in this dry environment, he was reasonably sure that no-one would be able to find him unless they either knew exactly where to look, or they came close enough for him to spot them first.

As his eyelids slowly became heavier and his body sunk into the pillows arranged along the seats of the passenger compartment - Roman's thoughts turned once again to that of his 2 missing crew members. They must have been taken by surprise - it's the only explanation. Although the adversaries may have employed silenced weapons; his guys certainly didn't, and it didn't seem likely that they would have gone down without so much as a single shot that could at least serve as a warning to him. The scenario of such a firefight seemed improbable. Really, the idea that a firefight took place at all seemed improbable. They must have been captured - surrounded at gunpoint before they had the chance to draw their weapons. Well, that won't be happening with him and his BTR, that's for sure. He tried to draw some humour out of the situation - how could those 2 dumbasses go and get themselves captured? But every one of his thoughts was somber, he could not escape the grave reality of the situation, not even for a moment.

Daylight. He could see it seeping in through the open fire-ports as he fluttered his eyes open. The vivid dream that he was immersed in quickly faded from his memory as Roman stood up to orient himself and manned the gunners station. Swivelling the turret around - there seemed to be nothing either near or far that attracted his curiosity. His men had still not returned. Roman didn't remember when precisely he fell asleep, but he did remember well his conclusion. His fellow crew-members had been captured - he was certain of it, and as such they were likely still alive. There is no other choice - he must investigate what happened, ascertain their whereabouts and bust them free. What other choice did he have? To proceed onwards, low on supplies and fuel, without the men that he had served and fought with for months, his only allies in a hostile land teeming with threats intent on ending his life? No, running was not a choice. Roman had however seen his fill of horrors over the past weeks of this great nightmare of humanity, and he was certainly under no illusions. While his comrades were vehicle crew like him, both had served in numerous conflict zones before the rise of the dead, and together with Roman had survived all the killings, the dead, the infected, renegade military units - they were seasoned soldiers and could handle themselves very well with or without their BTR. The people who managed to successfully ambush and capture them would be no lesser in skill, and likely greater in number too. Aside from the protection of his BTR, the only advantage that Roman could rely on was the element of surprise, for he was sure that had the bandits learnt of the existance of him and his BTR from his comrades in captivity; they would have tortured the location out of them too, and Roman would have been found by them by now.

After a series of checks of his equipment and vehicle, Roman started the engine. As the 260HP diesel whirred to life, he double-checked the map to be sure of the directions towards the nearby settlement of Aychi. In reality, Roman soon realised that this wasn't neccessery; the tracks left by the UAZ Jeep his crew took to get there were still fresh and visible. All he would have to do is follow their lead, and covering the 4km to the village would be accomplished in no time at all.
python

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The small settlement of Aychi, of no more than several dozen houses - was peculiar in in its geographical position relative to the surrounding villages; for it was equidistant to them all, Roman noted. Probably not the best place to make a stand, Roman reasoned, the infected are as just as likely to come from one direction as from any other.

Roman's BTR came in hard and fast. He figured that although the sound of his engine would give his position away 20 secounds before his arrival, the speed and surprise of a armoured vehicle racing owards an enemy position, would far outweight the possible advantage gained of a surprise strike by a solitary man on foot; who would be just as vulnerable as any other once he decides to open fire. Roman was of course, no idiot. Prior to racing into the village, he had parked his vehicle on a ridge overlooking the village, at a distance further than he gauged possible to hear the drumming of the BTRs diesel engine from. He dared not stay long at that position as he was exposed to anyone who look too closely in that direction, rather he stayed just long to peer through the commander position's superior day sights. Finding no evidence of any enemy patrols or positions, in fact nothing but dead corpses on the ground, he reasoned that if there were any armed adversaries to be had in the village, they are probably inside, unaware, and can likely be caught off-guard under the right circumstances.

Just as quickly as the BTR screamed into the village centre at maximum speed via the main road, did it continue its journey straight out towards the edge of the village again, before Roman hastily thumbed the controls to change the tire pressure, and took his vehicle off-road to start a drive around the perimeter of the village. Once he had completed 2 full-circles, he slowed down for the first time since entering the village, and again took the vehicle back onto the road and cautiously approached the centre of the village once again; not yet fully satisfied that the village was completely unnoccupied. At any point in this routine, he was ready to jump into the gunners seat and man the 14.5mm KPVT, capable of making mince-meat of any soft target and many armoured ones too. Such a heavy machine gun could bring him a decisive advantage in any battle and invoked terror amongst anyone on the receiving end of it - a powerful psychological trait that he had personally witnessed many times at the hand of Konstantin's precise and efficient targetting. Yet although he had kept a very open eye at the various hatches and sights during his drive, he saw nothing that he could identify as a threat. He only saw that what he had already confirmed; the numerous bodies, strewn about the floor, unmoving. There weren't all that many, probably no more than a couple of dozen, but they did seem to be concentrated towards the centre of town for whatever reason. With a sigh, Roman got up of his seat, opened the side hatch of the BTR, his assault rifle in hand, and briefly regarded his surroundings before stepping out into the open and closing the hatch behind him. The engine was still running, he figured that he could sacrifice 10 minutes worth of fuel in return for the possibility of a quick getaway if necessery. Roman's attention turned to the bodies strewn around him, keeping his gaze fixed on the nearest ones as he walked past them and futher into the village. Although even from a distance it seemed obvious that most were in no state to pose a threat again, he nontheless never let himself get too close - more than one soldier that he knew had died from exactly such foolishness; incorrectly regarding a non-moving corpse, as an indicator that it would never move again. You would think that in this new day and age, people would know better - yet old habbits are hard to break. Most of the corpses had clear gunshot wounds to the head he noted, no doubt inflicted some time ago, and most of the others seemed to have had head trauma caused by blunt or sharp objects. Some of these wounds were consistent, Roman realised, with the machetes that he and his fellow crew were armed with. For sure it looked like they had been here - the tracks of the UAZ were as visible as they were along the road he previously took.

Roman continued his patrol of the town, his AK gripped tightly in his hands. Such places as this one, he reasoned, can be definition only be dominated by the living or the living dead. They simply aren't big enough for the two of them - inevitably one of these groups will wipe out the other. The trouble is, that so far he had seen no sign of either - he didn't know what he was facing. Coming across a building, he turned his attention to the open doorway, where the corner of his eye had caught the hint of movement just a moment before. An outline of a figure came into view. Roman could feel the sweat forming on his forehead as he brought his assault rifle up to his shoulder and aimed down the sights, waiting for the slightest sudden movement, or for that matter for the figure to break out into a sprint straight for him. It did neither, and instead stumbled out haphazardly into the sunlight, where its features came into view. Not wasting a secound, Roman gauged the distance between him and the undead in front. 8 metres, give or take. He swung his body around quickly 120 degrees to check in this direction. Another shambling figure in full view, only this time 6 metres away. Swinging another 120 degrees, he noted another 2, in the process of shuffling outside from yet another open doorway. Realising that giving away his position and existance with gunfire would do a great disservice to the search for his men, he let the AK drop onto its sling, and drew the holstered blade that he had instead. Making a beeline for the closest zombie, he swung his sword-arm back before bringing it back forward with crushing force, aimed right at the skull of the offender. His swing struck home, taking 2 secounds for the death of the creature to be registered by the creature itself, before it promptly collapsed on a heap on the ground, as if this whole process of destroying the brain didn't actually have any real effect at all, and was instead part of an unwritten 'rule of the game' in this great, sick practical joke that someone had decided to play on humanity. Using his foot to prevent the body from rising along with the machete as a result of the force of his efforts at getting it out, he successfully managed to withdraw the blade, before starting a brisk walk towards the secound devil that had appeared to ambush him. A diagonal strike this time, hitting the side of the forehead just above the left eye. Roman could almost recognize the hint of a momentary facial expression on the creature as the result of a strike that carved through a good chunk of bone yet failed to bring him down. Within a split-secound he rained down a secound strike, then a frenzy of another few. At sometime in the process, the creature shut down for good and fell like a rag-doll onto the floor. The next 2 were comparatively straight forward. A mother and her child. A strike each felled them both. For the next minute Roman continously looked from right to left, forward and behind, waiting for the next undead to show up. None did. Satisfied that he was safe for the moment, Roman inspected the bodies closely. Whereas the already dead bodies closer to the centre at various stages of decomposition offered no hint as to when they were put down for good and at what stage of decomposition they were at that moment - these specimens did. He could see that they were in a moderate stage of decay; if he had to guess - then perhaps 4-6 weeks is a reasonable estimate. Bite marks were visible, yet not fatal wounds, on 2 of the corpses, notably the child and one of the others, while the other 2 were significantly devoured. Once again, just as a guess, but the infection likely reached the village some time ago, some people were bitten yet the place didn't collapse straight away. Likely some sort of order was imposed; the intital source of the infection was perhaps successfully eliminated, while the bitten were cared to by people oblivious to the danger, or perhaps they were quarantined after all. Either way, the infection broke free again and consumed the rest of the village. Although some of the destroyed corpses did have fatal gunshot and melee wounds to part of the body other than the head, suggesting active resistance by the villagers against the runners, the majority didn't suggesting that that the infected population of the village was eliminated after they had already turned undead. This didn't happen until the runners expired a week or so after this event from severe dehydration. Therefore, at sometime between this event and and now, an armed group came by and shot the majority of the walking corpses. It didn't look like they stayed long though, the lack of ransacked houses and the continuing presense of some undead meant that they couldn't have been very thorough; perhaps they were ambushed here, or simply stopped to get some specific supplies and then bugged out.

This by itself didn't bother Roman. What did bother Roman, is why he was able to make such an observation at all. He knows for sure that his commander and gunner had been through here. The whole point of their excursion was to gather supplies and provisions, and from the state of the houses and the ghouls guarding them, it looks like this place is still full of them. What's more, the dead themselves. He has seen a few that look like they have been cut-down with machetes, but had those 2 taken the time to properly look around the village, they would have inevitably encountered the same characters that Roman just did. Why then where they not put down? The possibility exists that his crew had simply hit the jackpot early on, finding all that they needed in just the first few houses that they searched and then simply not bothered with the rest. Still, finding many goodies in just the first few houses that you raid, would give you good chances of finding more of the same, or even better in other places too. Certainly from all that they have been together, he knew how they operated. Smashing, grabbing and leaving was not their style. Like him, if they find something of value, especially in a place where it looks like most possible threats had been eliminated already, they will certainly take their time to look for more.

The other possibility of course, is that something grabbed their attention, leading them to leave the place. Human activity perhaps? Neither Roman nor the others had seen any other humans for over a week - but caution should nontheless prevail. Very little is certain. About the only thing that is, is that they aren't here anymore. From his search of the village, Roman came across no evidence of the car. Only of tracks leading away, to the open road and towards the next destination.
SOBChaos

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Reply with quote  #3 
More! I am enjoying this story immensely
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mexican_zombie_hunter

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Reply with quote  #4 
Impressed. i wanna know more about rogue military units

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Reply with quote  #5 
Nice start. Let's see more action..

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Reply with quote  #6 

I am really liking the level of detail you are using, and there is a deffinate sense of anticipation for something huge.  Keep going!

python

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Reply with quote  #7 
3 DAYS EARLIER

"Set her down Lieutenant" said the burly man towering over the 2 pilots seated in the cockpit directly in front of him.
"Affirmative sir, we'll be on the ground in 10 minutes" was the reply from the pilot seated on the right seat, who upon finishing his sentence turned to his co-pilot to the left.
"Peterson, radio Takeout-2 and inform them that we are beginning our approach - confirm the order of landing"

Peterson didn't need to waste any time, with the radio frequency already set he simply spoke into the comms, transmitting a signal to the huge C-17 Globemaster III aircraft trailing roughly 1 mile behind him.
"Tumble-8 to Takeout-2, are you receiving?"
"Takeout-2 receiving"
"We're making our final approach Takeout-2, is everything in order?"
"Confirmed Tumble-8, you are setting down first followed by Uganda-5 4-6 minutes later... The rest of us will stay up in the air until you have secured the airfield"
"Roger Takeout-2, Uganda-5 are you ready?"
"Uganda-5 to Tumble-8, we are always ready"
"Very well, over"

Peterson gave a quick nod to the pilot on his right, and with that the C-130 Hercules banked to its right at a slight incline, reducing both its speed and its altitude as it prepared to fly a few kilometers back away from the airstrip, before banking once more and initiating its final approach.

The clearly senior officer standing behind the pilots regarded the terrain for another half a minute, before turning on his heel and moving out of the cockpit and deeper into the aircraft. Opening the door to the cargo-hold, he met a multitude of faces, armed to the teeth, seated down all over the hold in a mix of army camouflage, 'US ARMY T-shirts', air force uniforms and civilian clothes. Or rather, it would be more accurate to say a wild mixture of all of those - making the distinguishment of Army & Air Force personnel all the more difficult. There were even some enlisted men and women from the Navy among them. Not that it mattered; over the last few weeks the military personnel of the Manas airbase, as well as whoever ended up stuck with them while transiting to Afghanistan, all merged into one command structure out of necessity; separate service branches had become a thing of the past; at least in Manas once communication to US military command was cut-off. The only real distinction that remained was between the military and everyone else; but even this line was gradually blurring. The organisation of a strict military hierarchy was advantageous to have in a critical situation; but even the senior officers among the survivors of Manas, wondered how long it would be practical not only without a military, but now without even a military base.

No sooner did the senior officer who walked in, did the Master Sergeant standing close by to the door call everyone to attention; whereupon the multitude of conversations, jokes, anecdotes, arguments, card games and activities taking place down the whole length of the plane cease immediately; replaced by a shuffling of rifles, bodies and feet as the very same disheveled mass stood quickly to attention and hushed into silence, waiting for the officer to speak his words. The officer smiled, more to himself than to anyone else; despite outward appearances it seemed that his men hadn't forgotten their discipline. Hell, it seemed that even the civilians were beginning to get with the program, adopting the same responses to military instructions and procedures as any of the men under his command.

"Men I'm going to make this short, by now you should know everything that is going on and exactly what you should be doing as soon as we're on the ground. We will be landing in approx eight minutes time"

As if on cue, the aircraft banked once again. The officer instantly realised that the aircraft is now about to go into its final approach, and no doubt a good portion of the men in front of him came to the same conclusion.

"Or perhaps even sooner than that" said the officer correcting himself quickly.
"Master Sergeant Hills will now quickly go over these instructions one final time, and as soon as he's finished I want everyone to assume their positions in the hold of this plane, sit down, check your weapons and brace for landing; it may be rough. Sergeant"

With that Hills stepped forward
"Squads 1 and 2, consisting of Manas military police and members of U.S army combat units formerly on route to front-line service, are the first out and will exit the plane simultaneously from the left and right sides of the ramp respectively. As soon as they clear the area immediately around the ramp, Squad 1 will form a perimeter around the aircraft and pick-off targets from range. Squad 2 will make immediately for the control tower and adjacent buildings, and secure the area immediately surrounding them."

Hills cleared his throat.
"As soon as Squads 1 and 2 take these positions, Squads 3 and 4, consisting of all other enlisted U.S military personnel, will fan out of the aircraft and take positions along with Squad 1. At this point, Squads 1, 3 and 4 will advance and clear the rest of the runway. As soon this is accomplished, Squads 3 and 4 will take positions along the perimeter of the runway, while Squad 2 takes its position next to Squad 1"

Taking a breath, the Master Sergeant continued.
"The civilian squads, namely 5 & 6, will at this point disembark and head straight for the vehicles parked next to the runway. At least 2 of your number know well how to start-up and hot-wire Soviet military vehicles - however if all else fails you will have to wait until Squads 1 and 2 secure the buildings and find the keys. Once the vehicles are commandeered, do not waste any time in driving and smashing the obstacles off the runway so that the C-17 can land safely; take care not to break your vehicles in the process and create more obstructions"

"As soon as Squads 5 & 6 disembark, Squad 1 will storm the control tower and Squad 2 will secure the 2 remaining buildings"

No sooner did he finish his sentence, did he and everyone else hear the low rumbling of the landing gears descending into position.
"Any questions?" The question was met with silence.
"Good, now get into your positions!" The cargo-hold instantly erupted into a flurry of activity as the mass of 50 or so people moved past each other, rearranged into lines and columns and swapped positions before sitting down and making final checks of their equipment; soon the sounds of shuffling and movement was replaced with the distinct noises made by of the movement of mechanical parts and magazines slotted into rifles.

Murmur and conversation were once again dominant in the short-time before touch-down
"God damn it Edwards I don't care if you're a rank above me, when we get on the ground you better not get any funny ideas about stealing my CDs again or else next time you'll find them jammed up your asshole"
The thin, wiry man with short cropped black hair sure didn't mince any words as he talked to a man of not too dissimilar appearance but of greater bulk, sitting right next to him.
"Hell Greenburg I figured you'd have more important stuff to worry about than a missing CD or two; but if you keep making threats next time I'll just have to beat you up and take your lunch money" replied Edwards
"Just stay the hell away from my music dude it's wor-" Suddenly the booming voice of the Tech Sergeant seated a metre in front of them drowned out their conversation
"OK that's enough play-time assholes, I need you both sharp"
Turning to the squad as a whole the Tech Sergeant continued "As the Master Sergeant said, after the first two squads disembark, we're off next and we're tasked with helping Squad 1 secure the perimeter"
"I don't want any more fuckups like the one we had back at Manas" The Sergeant added, placing particular emphasis on the word 'fuckups'
"This is a nice and easy assignment all we have to do is pick off those ghouls from a distance; it'll be the grunts who're going to be getting personal with them"
"Remember, we're taking the north side, squad 4 is taking the south. And don't you dipshits get yourselves run-over by the jet coming in right after us!"

"Better hold on tight!" came a loud shout from somewhere in the hold. The men barely had time to exchange glances before the hold was rocked with a sudden movement followed by a series of strong vibrations - the aircraft had landed and was now powering down its engines. Everywhere the men in the hold had once again fallen into silence and waited with anticipation for the battle to begin.

"Ghoul activity looks light and mild, with the possibility of heavy showers later on!" bellowed another voice from the plane, breaking the silence.

The plane rode majestically down the main runway, slowly decelerating until coming to a near stop towards the end of the runway, before making a 90 degree to the side and proceeding a further 10 metres before finally coming to a stop.

The Master Sergeant's characteristic voice once again sounded "Ramp opening, Squad 1 & 2 point-men, keep a close eye on that ramp!" just as the ramp started to open up. The heat hit everyone inside before anything else. Followed by the smell. That fucking smell. As the outside came into view a few ghouls could be seen outside heading towards the plane, one was barely a few metres from the ramp before the upper half of its body disappeared in a storm of gunfire, followed by precise shots that quickly destroyed the rest of the visible congregation outside.

"Squad 1, Squad 2, file out!" With that command the 2 squads closest to the ramp rushed out in single file spreading quickly into formation and laying down a hail of gunfire across the length of the tarmac. One squad formed a rough circular perimeter around the plane while the other advanced in formation towards the buildings 100 metres away, moving slowly enough to allow each soldier time to make precise shots along the way. Still inside the plane, Edwards could hear what started off as a slow, irregular series of gunshots quickly evolve into a maelstrom of gunfire - the air was cracking and bursting with firepower, single-shots but fired in rapid succession to each other. "Shit this is a real battle eh boys!" a shaved-head muscular man dressed in Desert BDU shouted out right across from him. Edwards couldn't help but silently agree.

The Tech Sergeant's radio cackled out with some information; hell if Edwards could understand that babble; sounded like the guy was talking through a coffee can. The Sergeant on the other hand certainly had no problems with his comprehension, as soon as the transmission finished came the call.

"Squad 3, Squad 4, file out!"
JDubs

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Reply with quote  #8 
Not bad so far.  I do have to point out that having a conversation on a C130 in flight is really not that easy.  We wear ear plugs on long flights because it's so loud.  Most conversations get lost in the engine noise.
python

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Reply with quote  #9 
Unfortunately you should expect more such mistakes, I was never in the US military you see so I'm really basing my knowledge of it off books and TV and that (and of course other zombie fiction =D).

Please point out my errors though - as this is my first story, with each post I am trying to learn from the mistakes of the past post and improve authenticity, writting style, etc...

DocT

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Reply with quote  #10 
Quote:
Originally Posted by JDubs
Not bad so far. I do have to point out that having a conversation on a C130 in flight is really not that easy. We wear ear plugs on long flights because it's so loud. Most conversations get lost in the engine noise.


Its a easy fix. Either have the Master Sergeant remember the moment he gave the instructions to the troops just before they took off for the Russian airfield, when the engines were off or have all the troops be wearing ear phones and throat mikes...Just a thought.

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python

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Reply with quote  #11 
I ain't gonna go back and change what I wrote already - a post is a post, and besides which it's AFAIK not possible to edit posts made in the fiction section over at the tacticalunderground forums on which I'm posting this story concurrently.

However, I will remember not to make these mistakes again - you'll only find new, original ones in my up and coming posts xD

thasic

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Reply with quote  #12 
I wouldn't change the lay of the story except maybe gramatical errors. Even then maybe only spelling errors. As far as realism, it is fiction. Don't get too hung up on minutia, no matter what anyone else says. Just my humble opinion.

So far I like it. A bit wordy in some places but a very interesting and captivating story, thus far. Hope to see more. It's good to see some new MS fiction going up.

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DocT

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Reply with quote  #13 
Quote:
Originally Posted by python
I ain't gonna go back and change what I wrote already - a post is a post, and besides which it's AFAIK not possible to edit posts made in the fiction section over at the tacticalunderground forums on which I'm posting this story concurrently.

However, I will remember not to make these mistakes again - you'll only find new, original ones in my up and coming posts xD



As many of the readers here already know, I don't like changes mid-stream per se, either.

I meant for these corrections to be made in some future re-posting of the entire storyline. Also, when or if you decide to actually attempt publishing in print form.  Of course, your future print editors may bring these same corrections to you for discussion, since they are not grammatical errors, but content errors.

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mexican_zombie_hunter

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Reply with quote  #14 
"jammed up your asshole" awesome line.

You should make a reference to Sherman or Ramage though. I almost forget its in MSS universe. good work.

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