Welcome To Gridiron (Closed, IC)

[The Mizarian Empire]

Dragonian Arms Caravan
Evening/Early morning

---

Mikhail had been heading back to his home on wheels when he got word of some approaching individuals from the perimeter guards, garbed in Commonwealth trooper's armor. Before anyone could so much as blink he headed for the entrance and exit to the makeshift compound when one of them motioned for him to come closer, Mikhail noted the rank on his armor and took note of the man's name. Sergeant Will Supinger, he listened to the man carefully before nodding "Understood gentlemen, a load like that will most likely be at least 40 or 50 lbs of steel and water for....shall we say 3 day's time for my men?" he asked carefully. In his mind he was racing to figure out whether this was some clever ruse to try and catch him in the act but Mikhail's gut told him otherwise. It had kept bullet-free for nearly 8 year's time in the trade so he was willing to listen to it as ever when it told him this was a genuine deal.

To say Mikhail was surprised by his luck as he rushed back to the inside of the caravan's compound was to say his trade was dangerous. 20 rifles and....300 rounds? surely he meant a piece, either way he quickly set about waking up the men as weapons were brought out in spades. Weapon's cases and crates alike were cracked open as fragmentary, smoke and phosphorous grenades were put out on display, at least a half dozen different models of assault rifles with full combat loads of anywhere from 270 to 320 rounds per weapon and a Carl Gustav Recoilless Rifle. he'd personally made sure each of the assault rifles and carbines had 20 separate weapons a piece to allow the Marines what was on sale. Any complaints would be dealt with as quickly as possible. After all; a deal like this could mean future business with a standing force in the area, and any time he got the chance to arm BOTH sides in a conflict only meant more profit and deals he could broker. The caravan's armsmen, it's guards, stood watch over the precious supplies, waiting for the Commonwealth troopers to return for their part of the deal.

[The Capital Commonwealth]

-snip-

A group of about forty Marines emerged from the dusty Citadel gate, walking towards the Dragonia Arms tents. All were clad in their olive green combat armor, their helmets on and lens polarized, glowing red. However, the lead was in a special digital, desert camouflage pattern, and without a helmet. The Lance on his shoulder signified his place as a member of Kingston's Knights, and the gold bar on his chest as a Second Lieutenant. They rolled a cart to help in the transportation in the more sensitive materials. While all the Marines were armed, it was in the more antiquated M16A4 assault rifle which had been developed more than a hundred years prior. Some were even armed with weapons developed in the 1930's. However, their combat armor was top notch. Co-developed by Research Station Io and the Western Reaches Desert Lance Marines, it was the top of its class.

The Lieutenant walked up to the table and was met by an arsenal of weaponry. He reviewed them, and pointed at a rifle which looked like a mix between a futuristic M16 and a marksman rifle.

"Alright. The situation has changed. Our new deployment is a bit more hostile than it was yesterday and we now require 60 assault rifles and 4,000 rounds of ammunition. We'll take that recoilless rifle you have there, and 50 of those fragmentation grenades." The Lieutenant lifted a relatively heavy suitcase onto the table. It was surrounded by titanium and kevlar, and was lead lined. "We have five gold bars from a raid on a bank that some raiders took. Each weighs about 8 ounces. We'll throw in a couple gallons of water if that is not enough."

[Soviet Ruk-Tsan]

This was Theodore Keye's first time in Gridiron. As he drove through checkpoint delta in his government nuclear car, and overheard some radio chatter about an attack on firebase pheonix. Poor bastards. He muttered. He shut off the radio when a guard asked for his registration, to ensure he was who he claimed. He handed his badge of office to the guard thoughtfully. When he was set to go, he drove far around firebase pheonix to avoid the battle. He turned to the map on his side. Portside, eh?

[The Mizarian Empire]

Dragonian Arms Caravan
Morning

---

Mikhail had been out to greet his guests once he got word that the marines were returning, now properly cleaned up and dressed he met his clients. Weapon slung over his stomach he walked out to meet them and guide them into his compound. As soon as he heard the order had been increased his mind was screaming with joy, while the gold had little value to his men he could pawn it off to some of the raiders for steel, they had a thing for precious metals. the water would certainly do wonders "Extra weapons will be no problem, as for payment, 8 gallons and the gold and you have yourself a deal, I'll even throw in an extra 500 rounds, free of charge to sweeten the deal" he added. He kept his emotions hidden as he watched the Lieutenant's face, 'free' always perked up his clients and could easily ensure repeat business, In this case possibly even a short-term contract.

"If this is to your liking all I need is your signature here, for liability reasons you understand, simply ensuring that you understand we have indeed inspected each of these weapons, which I can assure you we have." he stated reassuringly "This prevents any sort of legal backlash that might occur should any malfunctions occur, if a weapon does malfunction, we suggest you have it sent to Dragon's rock, our headquarters due south of here. It will be repaired and examined, as these weapons were developed and constructed by our own gunsmiths." he stated calmly and politely as ever.

[The Capital Commonwealth]

-snip-

The Lieutenant quickly scribbled his name on the piece of paper and waved his Marines over. Within minutes of their arrival, three armored trucks rolled in from The Citadel with the 8 gallons of water and racks for the weapons, as well as space for the other 40 Marines. The urgency of what was occurring at Firebase Phoenix was pretty evident. The Raider bands unified? Shit would be neck deep if they broke through that base. All the free towns to the west would fall and be subject to the slavers of four raider tribes. All twelve companies of the 1st Knights Marines and even a company of the 2nd Palladin Marines were called in to help defend the Firebase, but Alpha Company would be the first to arrive and assist Love and George Companies.

The Lieutenant tossed one of the eight jugs of water over to one of the arms dealers. "Alright Marines, load this shit up! We're moving out to Phoenix in 15 mikes!"

[Escalan Corps-Star Island]

Decuiralis also realized the absolute danger of the situation. The Observers took shelter behind the gutted remains of a truck. He made a decision that would change their lives.
"Move out," he ordered. "We can't stay here under such heavy fire; our light weapons will be of no help to Kingston. We'll give him our orders, then attempt to blend in with the raiders.

Kingston was nowhere to be found. The swirling dust obscured his view of the Knight Battalion. The three Observers threw ragged clothes over their armor, then ran steadily towards the raider camp.

"They need your help in the charge," Decuiralis yelled to a nearby raider. It was better to assert his authority now, he figured, than to be treated like an expendable. "Who can I talk to? I have some important intel!" he yelled at another. He pulled Derek Imrahin, his second-in-command, to the side and whispered, "You try to establish contact with headquarters. Tell them we have to reschedule the supply drop. Also inform them that this could be far bigger than we imagined. The rest of the Commonwealth could be in danger."

He walked into the command tent. It was deserted. He jogged back towards the attacking lines, fully aware of the risk he was taking in doing so. There seemed to be no obvious chain of command. Decuiralis was bewildered at this seeming lack of organization. "Get down!" he roared, throwing another raider to the ground. A whine and a clatter sounded overhead. A Vertibird spiraled lazily down and a cluster of tents erupted in an immense fireball. The raider lying next to Decuiralis lifted his head. He dazedly said, "They got the primary ammo dump, damn them! But we'll show them who the real force in Gridiron is. And it's not their ridiculous Vertibirds and fancy guns."
"Yeah, and there'll come a day when the law realizes that its very presence here is anathema to these lawless lands and it has no place in the current culture."
"What's that? You talk real pretty, don't ya? One of them high-class bastards from the Murder Isles, perhaps?"
Decuiralis shrugged. "I'll be going," he muttered, then leapt to his feet and began to retrace his steps.

Derek was waiting in the tent. "I contacted Admiral Amilar on the Inika. A magnetic storm blocked my call to S.I., though. He says he has a Flare in position and Comet bomber support. We'll see what needs to be done. He says he'll support us fully, though." Derek was skeptical.
"Good," said Decuiralis. "We may need it. . ."

[Camicon]

*snip*

Goddamn it, I thought to myself. If the battle didn't end soon, this is what the rest of the day would look like. Amputated legs, eviscerated men... the worst sorts of injuries. I took off sprinting, and was the fist medic on scene. I dropped down to the man who'd lost his leg, Jason Hobbes. The tourniquet was inexpertly done, so I replaced it straight off. A quick visual inspection, and test of autonomic nervous reactions, told me that the missing leg, and hurt throat were the only injuries that Hobbes had sustained. His armour had blocked what little shrapnel had hit his torso (most HE mortar rounds that the bandits used were designed to throw shrapnel up and out, as far away from the epicentre as possible). He was breathing shallowly, quickly, but regularly. "Patient Lieutenant Hobbes, left leg traumatically amputated three inches below the knee. Lacerations to the neck, purely superficial. Tourniquet applied. Currently unconscious. Lacerations sterilized, dressed, and bandaged. No medication administered. Currently unconscious, presumed from Grade 3 blood loss." There wasn't anything else I could do for him until help arrived, so I turned to the other two men, oblivious of the shells landing and bullets flying.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I checked Thomas McNamara. When I pulled off his helmet I saw blood seeping out of his ears, and both nostrils. I pulled his lips apart and found thick red blood pooling in his mouth. His pupils didn't respond to any stimuli. He wasn't breathing, so I pulled the chest plate from his armour and laid my ear against his chest. When I compressed his ribs I heard a rush of fluid, and blood overflowed from his mouth, coating his neck and chin. "Patient Sergeant McNamara, deceased. Presumed trauma induced massive pulmonary hemorrhage." The overpressure wave from HE explosive could initiate that sometimes, if you were close enough. It was largely dependant on the state of the individual's lungs at the time of impact. There was nothing to be done for the man anyways. Almost all of the capillaries in his lungs would have been irreparably destroyed.

I turned my attention to the last man, Corporal Lau, just as three other medics showed up on scene. They'd been using the same channel as I, so two of them immediately assembled a stretcher, loaded Hobbes onto it, and took off running back to the field hospital. We were close enough that Hobbes would have a better chance of survival there, than attempting to repair the damage to his leg in here. I and the other medic, Specialist Blain, got started on Lau. It was immediately apparent what he problem was. The midsection of Lau's armour was practically shredded, and a chunk of shrapnel was visibly lodged in his abdomen. As I checked Lau for signs of spinal damage or cerebral trauma, Blain cut away the uniform across his stomach, and started cleaning away dirt a debris from the wounds. Lau started stirring as we worked, so I gave him 30cc's of Morphine. "Patient Corporal Lau, trauma induced lacerations to the abdomen, Grade 2 blood loss. Shrapnel is visible throughout the gastrointestinal system. Rendered unconscious by overpressure wave. No signs of serious neurological damage. Pressure wave induced concussion presumed. 30cc's of morphine administered. Immediate surgery required to prevent the loss of the patient." Moving Lau would only further open his wounds. We'd lose him in a matter of seconds.

Blain moved one hand to restrain Lau, while his other worked to keep his wounds clean. I would be removing the shrapnel from Lau's stomach, and then stitching him back together. My latex gloves were quickly slippery with blood, and became sticky as it started drying. My fingers flew, Blain handing me all sorts of tweezers, tongs and needles that I required to pull the shards of metal from Lau's intestines. A mortar shell landed ten yards away, and the two of us used our own bodies to shield Lau from any debris contamination. It was a tense and frantic twenty minutes while I searched and followed entry wounds to the source, extracting the bits of metal through the same way they'd gone in, stitching closed tears in Lau's intestines and flesh. My forearms were red with blood halfway up to my elbows (thankfully our latex gloves went all the way up to the elbow, if we stretched them all the way), and the dirt around us was a rusty red. After removing each pieces of metal, Blain would inspect them, and then set them to the side and match them to the corresponding entrance wound. He was checking to see if any piece had sheared apart after entering Lau, but he could find no evidence that any had.

"Patient Corporal Lau, surgery completed. Patient in stable condition. Prepping for transport. Transfusion recommended upon arrival. Blood Type B, Rh positive."

As I finished stitching Lau's abdomen together, and applied dressings and a thick cotton bandage, Blain reached into his bag and began assembling a stretcher. Blain took Lau's feet, I took his shoulder, and in two movements we had Lau safely on the collapsible stretcher. I tightened the straps across his chest, and Blain got the ones across his legs and hips. Blain and I picked up the stretcher, and with short low strides, jogged towards the field hospital. At the doors a different pair of orderlies met us, taking the stretcher from us and disappearing back inside the tent. I could hear moans of pain, and the stench of death emanating from within. Shaking our heads in utter disgust, Blain and I turned back and started making for the front line again.

[Sulamalik]

Paul felt the weight of the eyepiece in his palm.He turned it over and began appraising it from diffident angles. He grimaced and then let it fall through his fingers. "Junk." He said.

Paul put his hands on top of his wares. "You probably see nothing but junk here." He shook his head, "I've risked my life for these things and you come to me with that stupid green glass. Do you think I'm an idiot? The difference between my junk and your junk is that I only offer things that have a purpose. First you insult me, saying I'd accept fucking you for a wrench... A wrench has many uses, but what you offer me is useless."

He spat milky white phlem and turned to the man. "Huh, the liquids? The red container holds gasoline, siphoned off a crashed car a few weeks ago, the second is alcohol... mixed with battery acid I think. The third is a mystery... no one knows what it hold. Well, I mean I do, but you don't and that's whats important."

[North Banrodesia]

OOC: Damnit, you posted just as I finished this post... Just say that she ignored him or something

Sofia Weston
Portside, Heading out towards raider colonies

After five or so minutes looking through the scraggly mans rusted shopping trolley, I decide to steer clear for now and stop by the Weapon shop to see if Mac has got any raiders that need putting in the ground. The store looks like a classic 'Wild west' store you might see in one of those video disc things, With the swinging doors and all, Not that anyone has seen these movies these days with most disc players being pilfered by raiders for no good use. Honestly, Raiders go round killing people and stealing shit they will never find a use for like a phone or some withered water-logged empty lockbox or something. Talk about sustainability. Nonetheless, I push open the doors of the store to be greeted by Mac, The thin-haired stout man who sells all the firearms round Portside. He always seems jolly or happy to see something; I think he's just constantly high.
'Morning Miss Weston!' He beams, Waving me through the two ailes of weaponry locked up in boxes tighter than the Commonwealth citadel. As I approach the counter dotted with posters featuring huge men carrying huge multiple-barrel miniguns and rocket launchers, Mac drops the shotgun he had seemingly polished to a perfect state before rubbing his hands and producing a crumpled sheet of paper folded into neat corners for it's condition. Yanking out from his grasp a little too roughy I unfold the paper, Torn around the edges, To reveal the scarred face of a rather ugly raider with some kind of goggle on his right eye. Below read the following:

RODERICK TUCKSONE
COMMITED:
ARSON
MURDER and
VARIOUS OTHER OFFENSES TO THE COMMONWEALTH OF GRIDIRON
REWARD: A MINT CONDITION L77 JUH-s MARKSMAN RIFLE

Folding the paper and tucking it into the pocket of my shirt, I shake hand with Mac before leaving the store without another word, The squeaky sound of the old man cleaning firearms still glued to my ears.

On the way out to the disused petrol station where I like to rest my vehicle, I encounter a trio of Portside Law enforcers apparently shoving around a young man. Twats. I've always hated the Portside guards; most of them are volunteers with minimal training who think policing is just hitting criminals. Not like the Commonwealth forces, who are always well conducted and trained, And usually only use force when nessecary. Approaching the three men, I clear my throat to draw their attention away. 'You wouldn't mind just letting this fella into town, without giving him a hard time?' I say defiantly, Ready to unslung my gun should the situation arise which I highly doubted.

[-The Desert Rangers]

Paul felt the weight of the eyepiece in his palm.He turned it over and began appraising it from diffident angles. He grimaced and then let it fall through his fingers. "Junk." He said.

Paul put his hands on top of his wares. "You probably see nothing but junk here." He shook his head, "I've risked my life for these things and you come to me with that stupid green glass. Do you think I'm an idiot? The difference between my junk and your junk is that I only offer things that have a purpose. First you insult me, saying I'd accept fucking you for a wrench... A wrench has many uses, but what you offer me is useless."

He spat milky white phlem and turned to the man. "Huh, the liquids? The red container holds gasoline, siphoned off a crashed car a few weeks ago, the second is alcohol... mixed with battery acid I think. The third is a mystery... no one knows what it hold. Well, I mean I do, but you don't and that's whats important."

"Well,given the things I've seen in the wastes,I'd rather not know"

Fredrick started to turn,as if to leave.

"Well thanks for the tape and everything........by the way,do you know any where I could find weapons parts and maybe even a Geiger counter?"

[The Mizarian Empire]

Dragonia Arms Caravan
Afternoon

---

The Merchants were out in full force by now, the flag had long since been raised as the occasional citizens from The Citadel came out to browse through the dealer's wares. Mikhail had sat inside his RV for now, his radio tuned in to the various convoys along what they'd come to know as "Satan's square", the main roads and highways that connected most of the region's major power-players. Many of his contacts came from the permanently rooted shops and various contacts he had gained from making friends all over. Reports were coming in that the raiders out by Woodward park were causing unholy hell for the commonwealth, but that wasn't anything new. The 2 forces had been at each other's throats like a pair of bitter old lovers with steak-knives for as long as they'd been in here together.

What interested him was the traffic he got back when he asked for further information regarding Portside. Talk around the non-existing water-cooler mentioned more unfamiliar faces coming into Portside. Unfamiliar faces could mean mercs, and where theres mercs theres new deals to be made and people to be talked out of their valuables. He nodded approvingly to himself, now more than ever he was sure that would be their next stop.

[Sulamalik]

Paul leaned against his shopping cart, eyeing the man suspiciously. "Why do you need all of that? Your planning to take on a bandit camp or something?"

"If your planning on going somewhere... I can help you out. Or, what I mean to say is, I can accompany you... if you want. I'm a decent shot and I've got food I can share with you. And if it so happens that we come across some prime time loot, well..." He shrugged.

"What do you say Fredrick?"

[The Capital Commonwealth]

-snip-

CAPT David Kingston - 1st Knights Battalion
Day 1, Evening - Firebase Phoenix

---

Mortar rounds continued to hose the ridgeline as Love and George Company sat atop it, perched just below its highest point which they would have to cross in the coming moments. By then, Alpha and Juliet Companies had arrived at Phoenix, preparing to leap on top of the hill and provide a base of fire while Love and George advanced into whatever mess the raiders had. Eventually, these companies would be the second wave and watch the flanks of L and G Companies. A five man special forces team out of the 2nd Palladin Battalion had been transferred from Checkpoint Gamma for this task. They had brought with them a fast moving, off road vehicle with three machine guns mounted around an armored up roll cage. They would deploy with the rest of the first way, blitzing the raiders, making them confused and disorganized. Vertibirds from Checkpoint Delta were flying in non-stop for the past hour, transporting the wounded and the dead out of Phoenix. Total casualties: 15 wounded, 4 dead. Included in the dead was 1LT Hobbes and 2LT Locke, platoon leaders of Love Company. Without incident, the platoon NCO's quickly stepped up and replaced them. 20 high powered assault rifles purchased by Alpha Company from some Citadel arms vendor were issued to the lead members of Love and George Company, the remaining to the weapons platoons of Alpha and Juliet to provide a base of fire. The ridge was a miniature valley with an opening that lead into Raider territory. The top of the ridge formed a bowl around a flat area where a force could easily set up a camp. About 300 meters away from their position was the Firebase, shinning bright in the night as artillery crews and field medics did their job.

Kingston gathered the Hospital Corpsmen of the battalion and assembled them with Love and George Company. They would need them. "Alright, Young, Garner, stay with the rear of Love Company as they advance. Pick up any casualties and transport them back to the ridgeline and rejoin the force. Johnson, Newton, you two have the most surgical experience. I want you to stay back at the ridgeline and stabilize casualties. King, Baxter, stay on my ass and make sure we don't have any fatalities with the spearhead on the advance." Kingston pressed the button on his replacement helmet, activating his commlink. "Whiskey Battery, I need air burst at Grid 669945 and illumination over Ridgeline Foxtrot."

"Everyone ready!" Kingston waited for the thunder of Phoenix's artillery battery and the hiss of shells over head. In moments, whatever was on the other side was being showered with shrapnel. The flares were in the air, and Kingston blew his whistle. "Everyone, let's go!"

He leaped up, thrusting his right leg over the hill, the 500 men of George and Love following him in. What met him terrified the lot. Immediately, their left flank detonated. "Tank!"

[The Capital Commonwealth]

-snip-

The young man who had only been a member of the Portside Sheriff's Office for about five months was not phased by this show of force. "Careful there ma'am. There's a squad of Knights Marines sitting in that bar over there and they don't take kindly to people killing local law enforcement."

[-The Desert Rangers]

Paul leaned against his shopping cart, eyeing the man suspiciously. "Why do you need all of that? Your planning to take on a bandit camp or something?"

"If your planning on going somewhere... I can help you out. Or, what I mean to say is, I can accompany you... if you want. I'm a decent shot and I've got food I can share with you. And if it so happens that we come across some prime time loot, well..." He shrugged.

"What do you say Fredrick?"

"Sure,why not? ...and if you need to know about why I needed such supplies,I don't plan on taking on a bandit camp..yet,I just like to be prepared"

He paused,inspecting the shopping cart and its contents.

"I'm not sure about the cart thought,we'd need to stay on roads with that thing,and from what I can tell most of the roads here are full of bandits and craters. Of course I could carry some of that stuff or we could find some sort of pack animal,if there are any to carry it for us"

[The Western Reaches]

Red
Portside

That did it. The guards backed off with a final sneer in his direction, leaving the street all but empty aside from this strange woman who had helped him. She was quite the character, with a well-maintained and obviously modified Springfield on her back and a patchwork of interesting equipment strapped about her body. He guessed she was some kind of bounty hunter judging by her apparel, but it was more than that. A stench of blood emanated from her, not literally of course, but it's not hard to tell killers apart. They walk confident and tall even as the world burns around them, Red knew her type.

Perhaps he should get a less identifiable set of equipment too, people weren't exactly eager to start conversation with Union personnel from the Reaches, especially the lethal Desert Lance. Everyone knew the Union was constantly looking to expand its wealth and Gridiron was ripe for the taking.

"Ma'am." Red gave a half-hearted salute, more habit than anything. "I'm Red." He extended his hand. "I hate to think why they backed down so eagerly..."

[Ceannairceach]

"Sure,why not? ...and if you need to know about why I needed such supplies,I don't plan on taking on a bandit camp..yet,I just like to be prepared"

He paused,inspecting the shopping cart and its contents.

"I'm not sure about the cart thought,we'd need to stay on roads with that thing,and from what I can tell most of the roads here are full of bandits and craters. Of course I could carry some of that stuff or we could find some sort of pack animal,if there are any to carry it for us"

Hearing the idea of a small group forming, Jezebel threw the carton back into the mans carriage and dug out her pen and paper. Being a mute who lacked any knowledge or understanding of sign language, paper and pen were truly her only true means of communication.

Quickly, she scribbled a short message in amazingly clear handwriting for something so swiftly done whilst standing an with only a palm for a "flat" surface. When finished, she tapped one of the conversing men on the shoulder and placed the paper in his hand, quick and reflexive. The paper merely stated that she would carry some of the equipment, if she could join the trip and take a share of anything scavenged or earned along the way, with a signature reading J Dumia, "Machete Jean", towards the bottom. A fair trade, in her mind; Practical service in exchange for payment. She had enough room in her satchel to fit a dozen or small items if she tied her second pair of pants around her waist and filled her pockets with her own small items.

It was not that Jezebel desired companions for any sentimental or emotional reason, or adversely; Being unable to speak and express major verbal emotions made her somewhat of a recluse, though it was always interesting to have someone who talked often and liked a good listener. Rather, she valued companions strictly for their value to her person. Jezebel was skilled mainly in melee combat, hand-to-hand and knife fighting techniques mainly. She could handle most any animal in the wastes and almost any cheap raider. But her specialization left her open to attacks with guns or similarly ranged weapons; Her own gun was weaker than average, and as such, she would need to use stealth, evasion or diplomacy to get past sufficiently armed individuals. Since the later was not an option and the first of the former was often unavailable, she was often stuck with the center.

But if she had companions, both of which had guns and seemed proficient in them... That could level the playing field. She could deal with short distance enemies while they dealt with those at a distance, or keep raiders or beasts at bay while she salvaged from a ruin. It would, in theory, be an advantageous to all. If they agreed to her proposal. She had included her common nickname at the bottom of the note, as a last-minute ploy to force their hands; If they were from around here, they may just have heard of the knife-wielding adventurer, or at least the exaggerate stories of her.

[Escalan Corps-Star Island]

Decuiralis was faced with a dilemma. To stay for much longer would risk discovery and would be tantamount to suicide. Now that the attack had turned into a full-scale bloodbath, he worried that Kingston would be overwhelmed and Phoenix would fall to the raider forces. He could either attempt to stay here and get to the bottom of this mess or carry out the previous plan of visiting the towns and raider bases to gather intel on their strength and numbers. He thought for a long moment.
"Listen," he said. "We can't leave the Marines and Knight Battalionlike this. Derek, check that file cabinet over there for documents. Paul, see if you can get us a couple automatics from the arsenal."
"Yes, sir," replied Paul, then exited.
Decuiralis opened the tent flap and called out, "Get us some extra ammo, too!" He turned and looked over to where Derek was searching the file cabinet. "Any luck?" he asked.
"Just transaction records. Wait- there's something else here!" His face flushed with excitement. "Michael, it's a map!"
Decuiralis rushed over. "Excellent. But where are the troop movements? Nothing's marked. Here, I'll run a UV scan on it." He pulled out a pocket light and trained it on the map. "Much better," he sighed. Faint markings appeared under the light. "Now where has Paul gotten to?"

Paul was frustrated. None of the tents in the encampment had yielded so much as a single bullet. He broke open a locked door and stepped into a dilapidated shed. He noticed a pile of grenades. "Perfect," he muttered. He picked three automatics and slung them over his shoulder. He turned and felt a sharp blow to the head. He collapsed to the floor.

[The Capital Commonwealth]

-snip-

Two Marines, their armor streaked with burn marks and jagged from bits of shrapnel that had been lodged into it, stood over the man who had been poking through their armory. The only thing that kept them from killing him was the way he was dress. He was in combat fatigues. Not your typical raider attire. He was holding several hand grenades. Outside, everything was in chaos. Marines incoming from Zulu and Yankee Companies were moving through the camp proper and moving towards the Ridgeline Foxtrot. The artillery batteries were still bombarding the raiders, and mortars provided illuminating flares. The inside of the tent glowed red from the flares dropped around the camp.

"Shit," PVT Johansen said under his breath. "What the fuck are we gonna do now?"

"I have no idea what unit he's from... I've never seen that uniform before. It ain't that license plate sports equipment the raiders have though."

"Why'd you hit him before we could ask him?"

"Mother fucker, he was holding four hand grenades."

Johansen raised his assault rifle and pointed out towards the exit. "Make sure he's stable and pass me those grenades - Williams! Give us a hand with the armory! We need to get ammo to the line now!"

[Escalan Corps-Star Island]

Decuiralis and Derek walked hurriedly through the encampment. The lieutenant had the map detailing raider stockpiles at Portside and Redwood Cave stowed safely in his pocket. The two heard voices around the side of the next building. Decuiralis checked his pistol, then he and Derek stepped around the corner. The first thing they noticed was Paul, unconscious but supported by two men flanking him. The second was that the troops were not raiders, but Marines. "What happened? Where are the raiders, and how did this"- he motioned to Paul- "happen?"
Decuiralis lowered his pistol and waited for an answer.

[Camicon]

The day started out shitty, and it had only gotten worse since. Now, with night falling, our jobs would only be made that much harder, the flashlights we had to start using in order to see our patients making us prime targets for any raider within range. We'd been luckier than I'd thought we'd be. Those of us in the field weren't being overwhelmed by casualties, though I firmly believed that one casualty was one too many, nor was the field hospital being overtaxed on supplies or personnel. Yet. For the moment, we'd hit a sort of lull in the battle. At least, no one on our side was in need of our help.

*snip*
"Alright, Young, Garner, stay with the rear of Love Company as they advance. Pick up any casualties and transport them back to the ridgeline and rejoin the force. Johnson, Newton, you two have the most surgical experience. I want you to stay back at the ridgeline and stabilize casualties. King, Baxter, stay on my ass and make sure we don't have any fatalities with the spearhead on the advance."
*snip*

Baxter and I nodded, following behind Kingston as he made his way back up to the front. The two of us checked our weapons, which were probably going to be used for the first time all day. Baxter and I looked at each other for half a second, gave slight nods, and crouched down with Kingston just below the peak of the ridgeline. The rattle of gunfire was louder than I'd ever heard it, hundreds of weapons being fired all at once, all around us.

*snip*
"Everyone ready!" Kingston waited for the thunder of Phoenix's artillery battery and the hiss of shells over head. In moments, whatever was on the other side was being showered with shrapnel. The flares were in the air, and Kingston blew his whistle. "Everyone, let's go!"
*snip*

I felt the artillery shells before I heard them, a deep *thump* that reverberated through my gut and thighs. I couldn't see them sail through the air overhead, but I sure as hell saw huge gouts of dirt being thrown up against a starry sky as they impacted. All at once, Love Company rose up like a giant wave, and started flooding over to the over side of the hill. I heard Kingston yell just as I crested, just after a bright flash of yellow erupted across the left side of my face.

*snip*
"Tank!"

A tank? A fucking tank? Where the hell did the raiders get something like that? Absently, detached from what was happening, I thought: Well, looks like were going to have some fatalities after all. It was a gut response, the only way I could respond to a machine that had just killed someone, and injured probably a half-dozen others.
It still shamed me.
I shouted at Baxter to stay with Kingston (if I needed anyone then the other medics would be close enough to assist), before jumping to the other side of the ridgeline (no point in getting shot at before I reached the casualties) and taking off for the area where the round had just hit. Tank or no, we had injured men, and I had a job to do.

[North Banrodesia]

I look at his hand before shaking it heartily. He's obviously not from round this place, Propaly the Union by his uniform, however, I doubt he's still with them due to the lack of proper insignia. 'Sofia Weston.' I tell him my name, Then I look back to the rowdy guards heading down the street. 'You ought to go somewhere before they bring their friends along.' I inform him, Looking over to my Jeep that sits a few metres away, Sheltered under a near-ruined stable under constant siege of desert dust that whipped over the Dover. 'Nonetheless, I must be on my way. Nice to meet you Red. Stay safe out there.'

[-The Desert Rangers]

"Sure,why not? ...and if you need to know about why I needed such supplies,I don't plan on taking on a bandit camp..yet,I just like to be prepared"

He paused,inspecting the shopping cart and its contents.

"I'm not sure about the cart thought,we'd need to stay on roads with that thing,and from what I can tell most of the roads here are full of bandits and craters. Of course I could carry some of that stuff or we could find some sort of pack animal,if there are any to carry it for us"

Hearing the idea of a small group forming, Jezebel threw the carton back into the mans carriage and dug out her pen and paper. Being a mute who lacked any knowledge or understanding of sign language, paper and pen were truly her only true means of communication.

Quickly, she scribbled a short message in amazingly clear handwriting for something so swiftly done whilst standing an with only a palm for a "flat" surface. When finished, she tapped one of the conversing men on the shoulder and placed the paper in his hand, quick and reflexive. The paper merely stated that she would carry some of the equipment, if she could join the trip and take a share of anything scavenged or earned along the way, with a signature reading J Dumia, "Machete Jean", towards the bottom. A fair trade, in her mind; Practical service in exchange for payment. She had enough room in her satchel to fit a dozen or small items if she tied her second pair of pants around her waist and filled her pockets with her own small items.

It was not that Jezebel desired companions for any sentimental or emotional reason, or adversely; Being unable to speak and express major verbal emotions made her somewhat of a recluse, though it was always interesting to have someone who talked often and liked a good listener. Rather, she valued companions strictly for their value to her person. Jezebel was skilled mainly in melee combat, hand-to-hand and knife fighting techniques mainly. She could handle most any animal in the wastes and almost any cheap raider. But her specialization left her open to attacks with guns or similarly ranged weapons; Her own gun was weaker than average, and as such, she would need to use stealth, evasion or diplomacy to get past sufficiently armed individuals. Since the later was not an option and the first of the former was often unavailable, she was often stuck with the center.

But if she had companions, both of which had guns and seemed proficient in them... That could level the playing field. She could deal with short distance enemies while they dealt with those at a distance, or keep raiders or beasts at bay while she salvaged from a ruin. It would, in theory, be an advantageous to all. If they agreed to her proposal. She had included her common nickname at the bottom of the note, as a last-minute ploy to force their hands; If they were from around here, they may just have heard of the knife-wielding adventurer, or at least the exaggerate stories of her.

Fredrick didn't notice Dumia approaching him from behind and as such recoiled and turned around quickly,drawing his .45 and preparing to fire,thinking - however illogically it was a raider. When he noticed it was only a shorter women carrying a large knife and a small .22 handgun. When she handed him a notebook and he noticed she was none other than the fabled Machete Jean he almost hit himself. Not only had he failed to detect here but he had been up until recently preparing to shoot her for no reason other than his own paranoia. He then holstered his weapon and returned her notebook to here,after letting Donelly look at it.

"Holy shit your the Machete Jeane,sorry about the whole pointing a gun at you thing. I would be glad to have another person in our group,however I just want to check with Donelly to see his opinion on the matter"

He stopped and turned towards Donelly.

"Hey,Donelly, do you want her to join our group?"

He then waited for a response. While Donelly was thinking it through he ejected his weapons magazine and began to manually check the ammunition and chamber of the weapon. When he was satisfied he slung the weapon back over his shoulder and began to manually check the other magazines to make sure they were free of dirt and and other debris.

[Sulamalik]

Paul scratched his beard as his new friend stammered out an apology. He didn't know who this Machete Jean was but if her name carried weight it would be useful to have her along.

He leaned and spat, "Fine with me I guess. Bandits prefer lone targets to groups, she could be save our lives just by walking with us." He looked her over. "Yeah, I'm okay with her. Welcome to our party Miss, uh, Miss Jean. You can me Donelly," He pointed with his chin to his companion, "That's Fredrick. And you... don't talk that much. That's good Jean. I think we'll all get along together just rosey."

[Guruda]

-snip-

Luck was clearly on Anthony's side early this morning, as the voice of a recruiter caught his ear. He just stood and watched for a brief moment, considering the offer before he ever spoke to the man. The offer of transport wasn't of any importance to him, he just needed to be where the money was. However, exactly where the money was remained unclear to him, keeping irrelevant. Even though there was no telling how long the campaign would last, the promise for a 'handsome' reward was worth the risk. Even if it wasn't what he wanted, it could be a jumpstart to where he needed to be.

Anthony picked it up and walked towards the recruiter, keeping quiet until he was just out of arms distance. "What's goin' on?" he asked casually, nodding towards the Staff Sergeant and holding eye contact. He wanted to be direct as possible, showing his definitive interest in offering assistance. "If you're looking for help, I'd be happy to join."