Men At Arms.

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Gaius, Jan 19, 2015.

Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.
  1. Honorius Sigma, 3206. The men of the Hell-raisers were making there way towards the opposition, all was eerily quiet, and that was never a good sign. In the roar of battle you at least knew where everyone was. Now, however, there could be a lone sniper, or a whole squad lying in wait, and there was danger in not knowing. The scanners in Buck's eye were giving no sign of the opposition, but then again, all it took was a well trained hacker to down the surveillance satellites, which was why he preferred a feed from drones, but right now, he didn't have that luxury. Cradled in his arms was his rifle, a Sigmund and Co M386, chambered for a 7.62mm round, and fitted with optics and some sensors. "Stay low and maintain intervals" Buck whispered through the com-link.
  2. "Just another day, I suppose."

    Arron was bored out of his mind as he reviewed his target once again. As a sniper, he was used to picking off key individuals in enemy squads, but they were usually medics or other snipers. It was rarely the case that his target was a soldier on the front lines. He did understand that he was dangerous and had to be removed from the battlefield to ensure a terretorial win, however, and didn't question it further.

    As the enemy squad walked by, Arron soon identified his target through the zoomed-in scope, and moved his crosshair into position, waiting for him to walk right into it. As everything seemed all lined up and clear, he fired the shot, and started packing up to escape.

    But as he looked at the squad, he noticed something. His target had broke his movement pattern, standing still for half a second to give his orders. He had missed. He suddenly sped up and took off, knowing that it was dangerous to stay any longer.
  3. All was going well, then the shot rang out and the bullet scraped the ground. "Fucking shit. Get to better cover!" He ordered as the audio-locator in his eye let off a blip in the direction of the shot. Buck fired a few shots in the direction of the attack, for if nothing else, it would at least scare the aggressor. Buck and his men now moved to a cluster of boulders that had been broken off of a cliff in a mining excavation and took cover behind them. "Alright, new plan, lets find the shitter who tried to shoot us and capture him, or if nothing else, kill him." The men all gave an "affirmative." and soon fell in behind him as he was on the move once more.

    Buck had managed to gain a fix on the sniper, although it wasn't a very good one, and was heading in his general direction. The stock of his rifle was to his shoulder, with the barrel pointed at the ground, ready to pop up when the moment arrived.
  4. Knowing better than to stop and look back, Arron just kept on running in an attempt to lose any potential followers and get back to base. It would, however, be easier said than done. He wasn't trained to run, he was trained to make the shot and make a silent exit.

    Shooting a glance backwards, he managed to notice that the others still followed him, and were closing up, at that. He had no other choice than to drop his rifle, hoping to gain some distance. He kept his support grenades and sidearm, though, as he had a plan.

    He took one from his belt and dropped it, hopefully making his pursuers stop for a tiny bit. It was a harmless flash, but he hoped that the others wouldn't notice until it was too late. Next, he threw a smoke in front of him, to be able to throw the others off as Arron climbed up a nearby tree, hoping for the enemy to keep on chasing his would-be path.
  5. "Keep on him, we almost fucking have him!" The squad was closing in, and Buck saw a long mass drop from his hands, what he assumed to be his rifle. Unfortunately, he didn't see the other masses fall from his hands, and he was immediately blinded by the flash, then by the smoke. "Fucking shit!" lucky for him, his eye soon enough adjusted and his vision returned to normal, at least in that eye. His natural eye was still blinded, so his depth perception was a bit off. "Simmons, grab his rifle, fucking find him." By now, the smoke and flash had subsided and they were able to see again, but their prey was gone. "Dammit! Helmets and visors on, we don't know what this guy has on him." Seeing as how they had his rifle, the man was now much less of a risk, but he could still have a sidearm on him. The helmets might be able to stop a pistol round, but like any combat helmet, they were for shrapnel, not bullets, same for the visors. Although the visors were outfitted with thermal scanners. "Fan out, he has to be somewhere."
  6. As he climbed higher up, he stopped once the smoke started to clear, and readied his sidearm. It'd be enough to get his target, would it come to that, but he tried to stay hidden for now. He could get another rifle and another shot, and another, and countless more, as long as he got out of this alive.

    His sidearm, a small pistol designed to precisely hit weak spots, had one flaw. Laser sights. Would he even dare pre-aiming, he'd be dead before he knew it. All he could do was to try and limit his body and the tree that he was climbing from making any noise.

    "Come on... Go on back... Go back..."
  7. The group of soldiers fanned out more and more, scanning the landscape with their rifles. Buck wasn't to concerned, the plate carrier that he had for body armor should be more than enough to stop a round from a pistol, or so he hoped, he hadn't really had to test that, luckily. Soon enough, the thermal visor had acquired a target, some bastard in a tree, or what appeared to be. Not to far off was some heavy machinery, and the heat signature from that was interfering and he didn't have time for filtering the visor. Slowly approaching the tree, he activated his thermo-optic camouflage, slung his rifle on his back, and started to climb.
  8. While focusing on making as little noise as possible, Arron scouted the surrounding area, only to notice that he could spot one less soldier than before. Did he give up? Unlikely. He still had to be around, somewhere.

    The added tension from a missing enemy made Arron even more worried than before. If one of them found him out, he'd be almost completely defenseless. These guys were hellbent on finding him, and all he had was a couple of grenades and a sidearm. Way to put the odds against oneself...

    Not knowing of the threat approaching him, Arron kept scouting, hoping to find his reason for worry. He had to be close... Very close. Arron just knew it.
  9. Good, the bastard didn't know where he was, Which made it all the sweeter when Buck wrapped his arm around his neck and tossed the both of them out of the tree. They both landed on the ground pretty hard, and the landing was jarring to say the least. Buck moved quickly and had his knife to the man's throat as he straddled him, knees on both sides. "Who the fuck are you? Who are you working for? Answer me or you'll be choking on your own goddamn eyes!" Buck wasn't much for empty threats, and if the man didn't talk soon, he would be nothing but and empty skull with optic nerves hanging from his teeth.
  10. "Gah!" Was the only reaction that was given once the two were flying out from the tree. The landing wasn't better, leaving Arron at a do-or-die scenario, with his gun a few feet away from him and his grenades unreachable.

    He looked his would-have-been-target in the eyes... Well, eye, and just gave him a glare. 'Better die silent than live a leak.' That was just part of his training, and he wouldn't buckle.

    "I'm not telling you a fucking thing." Came his reply as he prepared to die.
  11. "Oh no, shithole. That ain't gonna fucking fly. You're going to tell me fucking something!" He roared at him as he drove the knife into his left eye socket, scooping out the eye and ripping away the optic nerve. Buck now pulled out a lighter and produced a flame, then pressed it to the now empty socket, cauterizing a good part of it. "Now, get the fuck up, one way or another, you're going to answer us." The rest of the men showed no sympathy. You fuck with the Hell-raisers, you get crushed and mangled. "Archie, hold him for a second." Buck shoved the man towards Archie, who held him while Buck dug for restraints in his pack. Finding metal restraints, he now clapped them onto the man's wrists, which were held behind him. The restraints were fastened tight, as to ensure that he wouldn't get out.

    The man was roughly patted down and stripped of everything but his clothes and boots. "March, fucker." Buck ordered as he shoved him forward. "Do you have a name, or are we just gonna go with Fucker?"
  12. A loud yell of pain rang out as Arron's eye was stabbed, gouged out, and ripped out its socket. The blood that escaped before the soldier burned all possible openings shut ran down the side of his face, dyeing a small part of his hair red as well.

    He stood up, felt the restraints get put into place, and almost accepted a new life of a war prisoner. He still clenched his teeth as he walked though, giving the others no answers at all.

    "Damnit, damnit, damnit. Why wouldn't they just kill me on the spot?"
  13. Buck let out a pissed off growl at the man. "Alright fucker, you don't want to give us your name? Fine, Fucker it is then. Lucky you, you're in for a real treat, interrogation, followed by painful torture. If you're lucky, it might even be at the same time! Doesn't that sound fun? Actually, shut-up, don't answer that, I don't care. Look on the bright side, you'll at least get a bad ass eyepatch." They all now marched on in silence, with Fucker in the middle, with Buck and his men on all sides of him, making a sort of square. As they marched, Buck made a data sheet for Fucker, filling in all the information he had about him.

    After quite a few more miles of walking, the stopped for the night. Raiding the base could wait, right now, getting answers took priority. Before dozing off for the night, Fucker was tied to a tree, with men assigned in shifts to watch him.
  14. Arron, or as he was now called, Fucker, didn't say a word during the trip, to nobody's surprise. He just silently cursed himself for not getting the shot. If he did, he still would've had his eye, and he'd still be in service.

    Instead, he was being lead towards enemy territory, where all he could wait for was questioning and torture.


    At nighttime, though, he felt the tiny area inside his now empty socket that wasn't taken care of correctly starting to bleed again, leaving a streak of blood down his face, flowing down to his chin before dripping onto the ground. "...damnit." He said quietly.
  15. The guard that was pacing back and forth in front of him noticed his complaint, and uttered an unsympathetic, "Quit bitching." not really caring if he heard or not. They would eventually get his socket fixed up, but for now, they couldn't care less. The night slowly passed and the sun rose at the end of Buck's shift. As soon as the golden rays broke the horizon, he untied Fucker from the tree and pulled him to his feet by the connecting chain between his restraints. "Off we go Fucker." Buck said as he gave him a push forward. He saw the streak of blood that was on his cheek and grinned. "You know, that doesn't look half bad on you, but then again, saying you look good would be like saying shit don't stink." The other men all let out light laughs and walked onwards. By now, they weren't all that far from the base, and a communications tower could be seen in the distance. "You see that tall thing over there Fucker? That place is now your new home, but don't get to cozy."
  16. While he could easily try to leash out and attack his captors, he decided against it after feeling the strength of the restraints. He simply quietly walked along, looking over towards the building, but remained unimpressed.

    As they walked closer, he almost felt a pulling sensation, like something was dragging him into the building, away from salvation. He still didn't fight against it, though. He simply didn't have the energy for it. He had tried to stay up the entire night, as a safety measure against the soldiers. He was completely sapped, tired and just out of energy.
  17. "Alright Fucker, first things first, we're going to go take care of that nasty ass eye of yours." Fucker was now shoved towards a building with a large red cross painted on it with a white square around it. Simmons opened the door and Buck pushed Fucker in. "Oi, Ortega, we got one for you, needs his eye fixed up." At the sound of Buck's voice, a Hispanic looking doctor walked out from a rubber curtain that was strung across a door way. Her black hair was done up in a pony tail and her scrubs were covered in blood. "I see. You know Buck, you really should be nicer to my patients." She said with a grin, not really meaning it. She knew as much as anyone that there was no such thing as "nice" in war. "Don't worry, I'll get him patched up real good." She walked back through the curtain and came back with a tablet that was used for paper work. Buck now put his hand on Fucker's shoulder. "Better not get used to it, she's the only person that will even be remotely nice to you."
  18. Arron looked towards the doctor, then to his target, then to the doctor again as he mumbled a "Thank you.". Once the procedure was finished, however, he didn't get up by himself. Instead, he figured that he'd be more of a nuciance if he simply did nothing.

    This'll better do something else than blacken his remaining eye...
  19. Ortega saw that the patient, who apparently had been given the name 'Fucker', wasn't moving. "You know, I don't really believe in violence, so there's not really a whole lot I can do to get you to move, but Wilson her does." as she said that, she moved aside as a large, muscular man walked in beside her. "You made your choice not to move willingly, so I'm going to do it for you." Wilson picked Fucker up and slung him over his shoulder. "I'm gonna take you to your cell now, you can be a little bitch all you want in there." A little bit after that, Wilson threw him onto a bed in a small cell.
  20. Well, it was better than expected.

    The one thing Arron regrets right now was not getting one of those handy teeth contraptions. He had brought a cyanide pill, if things got dire, but like everything else, it got taken away when they captured him.

    He sighed and closed his eyes. He had to rest for a long day of enduring torture tomorrow. Whatever was thrown at him, he could not speak. Time to put it to the test.
    #20 ThatDudeOverThere, Jan 20, 2015
    Last edited: Jan 20, 2015
Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.