VFW

[Sjovenia]

Veterans of Foreign Wars:
Tell us a story from your soldiers point of view from a war. civil war, world war, operations, invasions...etc.

[Sjovenia]

ooc: dont come in all at once you guys...
IC: Colonel Daufbach of the MM reich was walking the corridors of the gulag when suddenly a bomb went off. And suddenly a stream of Mormon prisoners came running at them... Der sie wasser eh....kafen hast bauch.....he remembers that there were some Communist army helping them escape.

Sasho Detrieve said he climbed into the smoldering gap at the gulag and started firing at the GNA (Grammar Nazi Army)
and telling every one to get on the ground.....She cale cleveb su merchente di ante.....gunfire came from every door in the corridor and alot of Mormons went down.

Daufbach said he shot at the escaping Mormons and ran towards the main office to go tell the General about what happened. He got about halfway down the hall when a grenade went off and shrapnel severly injured his face.
Sasho said the commander to put the flag up to notice this was the very beginning of the civil war... ha sev flaga popotre de civilia warez.

[New Edom]

1st Congressional Militia Legion Lines, Harbourtown.

Abner Dale was sitting in a shattered office building with his squad. It was his turn to rest but at this point no one truly slept; they were all exhausted but you couldn’t really sleep, even with people on watch. The squad had been fighting off and on since February, occasionally shifting to protect supply runs or help guard while defensive areas were being built up. Civilian volunteers did the digging, the building and the filling of sandbags. They were all exhausted too. He had had to make himself recognize his older brother and actually greet him.

Zachary Clovis, one of his squadmates, was murmuring with the others; a faint smell of cooking food wafted over. Abner knew he had to eat but they had been on hard rations for over a week and tired with it—he could barely summon any appetite. Sleep. He wanted to sleep. Rest for days. The idea of bed was more beautiful than the thought of the body of a naked woman.

It had all begun for him with the strikes. Tax rates had gone up 10%, and the pay for all the work for the rising oil industry in the country—everything from infrastructure to pipeline building to rig construction—had been incredibly low. The Fabian Company had hired so many foreigners, claiming that they needed toolpushers and electronics experts familiar with the necessary work, and had bought so much foreign built equipment that almost every New Edomite employed was little more than temporary labour, paid a pittance for back breaking work. But it was a series of work related injury scandals that pushed them all over the edge. It had actually begun over a totally spontaneous protest on a payday when the computers had failed that sparked the fire that started the strikes. Outrage over men and women arrested for simply demanding answers fueled the flames, until tens of thousands took to the streets, choking the roads of Harbourtown. It got out of hand in some places. On Mynah Boulevard angry strikers stormed over the flimsy barriers of outdoor cafes—no one knew why—and turned over tables, sent the finely dressed patrons fleeing to their fancy cars. Signs made a forest of boards rising and dipping in tune to the chant of “WE WANT FAIR WAGES! WE WANT FAIR WAGES!”

The police could not contain the avalanche. Tear gas, firehoses and riot squads were pushed back. The army rolled in in apcs and landrovers.

Abner had been just one of the guys on the line. He had been one of the luckier ones, actually, with forklift training, so that he was able to make enough money to study mechanics at night after work. His brother had gone to business administration school abroad and was a supervisor at the pipeline plant. Unlike his brother he had no family.

It was strange what led to you making decisions. It had simply happened and he sometimes wondered vaguely why. When the army unit sent in to stop the riot joined the side of the rioters at first it seemed like negotiations would follow, that they would have a peaceful answer. The friendly army units made sure that food got into the city, people were full of joy. Then had come the sobering day at the plant when all the men and women were gathered there as their union leader stood up on one of the catwalks with a microphone, and two Army officers beside him.

“We need men and women who don’t have young children, who are between the ages of 17 and 50, to volunteer to serve in a citizens’ brigade to help keep order and peace in the city. If you want to help even more than you already are, and you think you are in good enough shape and can handle a rifle, then these gentlemen will meet you at the fire exit rally point to explain what would be required of you and have you sign up…”

It was hard to explain. He didn’t know anymore. He had just done it. And it had gone from being about patrolling the city to defending the city. And it had gone from something he felt fierce about to something he just did because…it was what there was.

“You need to eat something.” Zachary offered him a ration dish with some kind of steaming stew in it—it looked like mostly boiled millet but smelled slightly of sausage, vegetables and spices.

Nodding, he listlessly unfolded his spoon and took a bite. The taste of it almost hurt his mouth. Suddenly he was ravenous, and ate. It filled his senses, and he realized he might live another day.

[Terrasricas]

I suddenly became stricken with a great panic. The realization had crept up through my heart and finally into my head that I was separated from my unit. I tried to peer through the cane field to spot anything, but I was in a sea of spiky verdant plants that seemed to stretch for thousands of miles, broken only by the faint outline of one of Saint-Domingue's great mountain ranges. My heart started racing and my mouth became absolutely parched. I swallowed hard, running futilely through the tangled web of grabbing green arms, too panicked to pay any heed to the searing slashes being inflicted upon my limbs. Suddenly, a single musket shot rang out, slamming through my body like a thunderclap. I froze, my head spinning as I stared at the deceptively calm visage of the cane. Then another shot rang out, and another. Shouting. Frantic shouting. I felt suffocated, and my legs sprang into action, blazing through the field haphazardly. I tore through the plants for what seemed an eternity, until I suddenly ground to a halt. There was something appealing to my senses, but I didn't know what it was or what sense it was even targeting. Then the realization slammed into me: a great roaring wind. Fire, I thought fearfully. My legs had turned to stone, and all I could do was throw my neck around, my eyes coming upon a luminous orange mass rushing toward me from every direction. The whole damn field was burning! As the stinging heat whooshed into me, I again took off running, dashing straight ahead into a mountain of fire. I felt like I was making a prison break straight from hell. I ran so fast that I didn't even have time to acknowledge the grotesque burns propagating all over my body. And then it was suddenly over. I was out of the cane field. I looked around, seeing a foreboding jungle in front of me, but I felt relieved to see that the firestorm was behind me. I jogged forward over a small rise, and felt like I had indeed escaped from hell and made it to heaven: there were about half a dozen French soldiers crouched in front of me. I was saved! I took a deep breath as the pain from the fire slowly seeped into my mind. But I didn't care. I was out of it all! What a relief! Then I felt like I had been smacked in the face. A tremendous boom erupted all around us. Bits of bark and dirt flew up at every spot. We were being ambushed. The man next to me, Bouchad, let out a horrible scream, clutching his chest as he fell to the ground, with a great cloud of radiant ruby blood pouring from his wound. The vast jungle was a great beast, launching an endless barrage of musket balls at us. I looked deeper into the terrifying greenery, seeing sinister dark faces solemnly firing muskets at us. I was utterly in terror. I reached for Bouchad's musket, my hands rumbling with pure horror. As soon as I felt the solid wood of the musket, my heart exploded in shock. I fell to the ground, dazed. Looking down my chest, I could see a hideous fountain of glowing red blood seeping out. I tried to breathe deeply, but was slammed with an immense pain. I looked up at the sky, and it all faded...
I woke up some time later, that same sky still staring down at me menacingly. My chest felt like it had been rammed with a great boulder. I struggled to pick myself up, seeing nothing but my dead comrades circled around me. The vast jungle, the sky, the cane field all just stood silently, seemingly unaware that anything had happened. I'm still alive, I thought indifferently. Somehow, I hiked back to our camp, and I got out of that steamy hell for good.

[Sjovenia]

I remember the war in mozria well. A lot of veterans will tell you "I seen some stuff man" but whoah nothing like the shit I've seen. Bodies flying, guts every were. I was in the Marines at the time. We were storming Beach head "Drac". Man we got battered with mines, artillery, machine gun fire...every thing. The only way I made it through was keeping my head down and running from crater to crater. - John Kirk

It was awful the war in Mozria. I was a black Hawk pilot, we would land in fields to medi-vac some one and bullets went through the window. I remember going into a drop zone and this bullet barely missed me and struck my co pilot. I've seen men get on my chopper with missing body parts, guts every where, and bleeding out. Sad stuff, of the 30 Hawks in my unit 5 made it...including mine. - Sev Siva