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The Patrol
Alex1guy
post 30 Jul 2016, 6:38
Post #1


The Whimsical Story Teller
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September 19th, 2040
Somewhere in "The Zone"
The Former Republic of Central Africa


Soundtrack: Cry In Silence



Hassan rubbed the dust from his eyes once again, a somewhat futile effort considering the reddish cloud which hung over the convoy as they bumped their way down the desolate track. The young Mercenary shifted for the umpteenth time upon the hot metal, trying in vain to untie the knots in his legs. The back of the pickup truck was an uncomfortable place to be, especially when riding the poorly maintained roads of the former Central African Republic. This land was very old but it was hard for it's inhabitants to remember a time when it was not embroiled in conflict. Though long gone were the days of arrogant European colonialism, it's effects were still being felt almost a century later; the weak central government having long since given way to the madness of Suleiman and his "Warrior state".

Politics were however an alien topic to Hassan. He had grown up in an age of brinkmanship, paranoia and violence which taught him only one thing; with chaos came opportunity and like so many young, disenfranchised men, Hassan had found peerage as a soldier of fortune. Let the nations of the world bicker over politics, religion and ideology, as long as there was money to be made none of it bothered him. He and his comrades carried out the grim task of wiping out resistance to Suleiman's local lackey with an air of detached professionalism.

Unable to to relieve the cramps plaguing his muscles, Hassan stood up, steadying himself against the cockpit of the truck. Peering through the dust he could make out the other members of the convoy. Behind them were several vehicles similar to the one Hassan rode in, beat up pick-up trucks of every origin held together with welded metal, duct tape and the collective willpower of everyone who ferried in them. Ahead of him roared the diesel engines of two flatbeds, each sporting a menacing four-barreled anti-aircraft gun. Not that they encountered any aircraft of course, they were mainly for scaring the local villagers into giving up precious food or supplies for their GLA "protectors". There were those in the company that reveled in such tasks, they seemed to find pleasure in tormenting the farmers and villagers; executing with sadistic glee those who were did not (or were unable to) comply with the GLA's rackets.

Hassan pulled his bandanna up over his mouth as another cloud of dust broke over him. While no stranger to killing, Hassan did not relish in such tasks and made a habit of avoiding those that did. He knew the type, every man that had ever fought in war knew the type. They were the kind of men who could exhaust themselves killing with a smile on their face, collapse into their cots and detach themselves into a comfortable slumber.

At the head of the convoy, was another flatbed truck spluttering and banging along like an old generator. Unlike it's peers however this one did not sport any guns; instead a large iron barred cage was welded to the back. Even over the coughing of engines, Hassan could make out the demented barking of the cage's inhabitants. They were supposedly hyenas, but they were far larger than any beast that Hassan had seen. He could picture them in his mind's eye, a pair of snorting savage creatures that howled and snarled at everyone who came past. They belonged to the warparty's leader, Saleh Adoum and if there were those in the company that enjoyed killing, Adoum seemed to live for nothing but. He was an boar of a man that festooned himself in the tattered remnants of a military officer's uniform. Despite his lumbering size his face was small and his eyes were cold, shifting and shallow, reminding Hassan of a desiccated corpse. With Adoum rode his second in command, Oumar, who's features resembled a cross between a rat and a snake. Unlike Adoum, Oumar was small and wiry however for what he lacked in size, he made up for with callous brutality which he routinely demonstrated. On patrol he flitted around Adoum like a fly near shit, barking orders and reprimanding those who did not follow them. It was undeniable that both were men dangerous, each were pumped up with the ideological fervor that senior leadership in the GLA demanded.

Hassan recalled an incident where a local farm boy with more bravery than sense had defiantly attempted to refuse the body of his wife for Oumar and his men. Oumar caved the boy's face in with his rifle before Adoum unleashed his "pets" upon the hapless pair. They had both died screaming as the savage beasts tore them limb from limb and despite the African sun, the memory still caused Hassan to shiver.

As they rode on, the dense bushland gave way to dusty orange plains which stretched for miles in every direction. The land was punctuated every so often by the unmistakable shapes of Boabab trees and thorn bushes. Hassan could make out the the shapes of animals grazing beneath the what shade could be found and had it not been for the acrid pillars of black smoke that rose in the distance, the scene almost looked idyllic.

Before them upon a plateau sat a rough collection of corrugated shacks surrounding a dusty colonial era Church. The road upon which the convoy advanced cut the small settlement in half, coming to something of a square just before the church steps. Privately Hassan hoped that they might stop for a few minutes so he could stretch his legs, although he knew that it was likely their visit would incur some sort of misery for the-

The sudden crack of a rifle forced Hassan to plunge to floor, he smacked his head against the glass of the cockpit as the driver instinctively swerved. The vehicles of the convoy all pulled over to the side of the road and the company clambered out into the ditch which ran parallel. His head spun but it was better than being dead. Hassan pulled his FAMAS close and peered over the edge of the ditch looking for their assailant. There was no sound save for the buzzing of insects, the vehicles engines all being silenced as the company scanned for the enemy.

Hassan could feel the adrenaline coursing through his body and he suddenly realized it was too quiet. At the head of the column, he could make out Adoum and Oumar, the former of which was crawling towards the truck despite the urging of nearby men to stay put. No shots followed and Oumar soon rose to join his commander in throwing open the cage doors on the back of their truck. Cautiously, Hassan moved forward so he could get a better view and suddenly understood why it was quiet. The two great beasts that normally made nothing but racket were lying prone in their cage. One was clearly dead, it's body splayed awkwardly against the corner but the other was breathing heavily, blood and foam frothing from it's mouth and nose.

Their company commander climbed onto the back of the truck kneeling beside the wounded animal and taking it's head into his lap. He began stroking the hyena's head softly singing to the dying beat, his voice barely audible. It was a surreal image and the first time Hassan had seen anything resembling compassion upon the man's face. Slowly and intimately he pulled a knife from his combat belt, then with sudden but deliberate swiftness he jammed it into the top of the creature's skull killing it instantly.

He stood up his back to his men and for a moment his head hung down. Suddenly he spun around, his face dark and menacing.

"ON YOUR FEET" He bellowed. "I WANT THAT SHOOTER FOUND!"

The men scrambled into action, Oumar barking orders for them to mount up. Hastily the company clambered back into their vehicles and hurried after their commander as he tore towards the village.

The streets were seemingly deserted, likely the inhabitants had fled into their houses the moment they saw the convoy, however Hassan could feel the eyes of the villagers as they peered though windows and shutters. They halted in the village square before the church. It was an old building indeed, the brickwork was pockmarked with bullet holes and upon it’s steps stood a statue of the Virgin Mary. Her stone eyes seemed to survey the company as they climbed out from their vehicles.

Adoum leaped from the cab of the truck, his heavy black boots hitting the ground with a thud that made Hassan flinch. He held a gaudy American pistol in his meaty fist and surveyed the scene before him.

"SOMEONE IN THIS TOWN HAS FIRED UPON THE FORCES OF SULEIMAN AND THE GLOBAL LIBERATION ARMY" his voice echoed through the empty streets. "IF THAT INDIVIDUAL DOES NOT STEP FORWARD IN THE NEXT THIRTY SECONDS WE WILL COME AND FIND HIM".

The next half a minute seemed to take an eternity, the men of the company all peered nervously around. Suddenly a door opened and a single figure came creeping out holding a white peice of cloth over his head. He was visibly aged, small and walked with a gait; probably a local elder. He nervously approached Adoum who glared furiously down upon him.

"My, my name is Babikir" the man explained "Please we are a peaceful village we pay our tributes on time" He spoke with heavily accented French. He paused to take a nervous breath "Please these are good people in this town, we are not harboring any rebels we swear, we don't know who shot at you no one here would dare do such a thing."

"SOMEONE FROM THIS TOWN TRIED TO KILL ME AND I WANT THAT COWARD BROUGHT FORWARD NOW!" Adoum boomed.

"I don't know who shot at you" the elder pleaded, his hands wringing the cloth fragment in his hand. "We are... We are loyal to Suleiman and his cause..."

“Loyal?” Adoum whispered. “Loyal?” The elder flinched.

“Do you know what loyalty is peasant?” Oumar chimed, creeping around from behind Adoum like a cat cornering a mouse. “Those loyal to the cause of the GLA do not harbor those who dare to launch such cowardly attacks upon the forces of Suleiman.”

The old man was shifting uncomfortably, sweat dripping down his balding head. “P-please... We don’t... I don’t...” He fell to his knees. “We don’t know who did this, we don’t know...”

Adoum levelled his pistol to the older man’s face. “You have until the count of three to present the shooter or we will come and find him. One...”

The elder began to sob. “We don’t know who did this, I swear we don’t..”

“Two”

“PLEASE!” the man begged.

“Three.”

A shot rang out and the village elder was thrown backwards by the .45 caliber round that tore through his face, blowing out the back of his skull in a haze of blood and bone matter. He lay splayed upon the dirt, a large dark pool began rapidly staining the earth. From one of the houses the wailing of a woman could be heard.

Hassan and his comrades stood silently as Adoum rounded on them, his voice a low growl.

“Oumar take half the detachment and surround the village, if anyone tries to run gun them down. The rest of you I want every male aged between sixteen and thirty and I want him dragged out and shot. We will continue this until the shooter is brought forward, now spread out!”

Hassan and his comrades followed Adoum as he kicked in the door of one of the shacks. There was shouting and crying as two of the mercenaries dragged out a boy probably no older than eighteen. He was flailing wildly and woman whom Hassan assumed was his mother was being held back by another one of the men, screaming and pleading. The boy’s face was a mask of fear; he looked on at his mother as Adoum leveled this pistol to his head and fired.The woman began to sob uncontrollably before Adoum, almost lazily, turned his gun to her and shot her through the chest.

“WHAT ARE YOU MAGGOTS STARTING AT? KEEP MOVING!”

The next house the squad rounded on was locked. Adoum kicked at the door and the panicked screams of a two women and a child rang through the little shack. Hassan could hear the sound of a back door opening as the house’s inhabitants fled. They didn’t get far however, the thunderous “BOOM, BOOM, BOOM” of one of the quad cannons saw to their escape. Adoum pulled the pins out of a pair of grenades and tossed them into the window.

“NEXT HOUSE!”

Hassan’s mind seemed to go blank as the men continued with their fell task. The routine was the same, kick in the door drag out the men if there were any, execute them and move to the next home. Every so often the report of the technical machine guns and quad cannons could be heard, cutting down those who attempted to flee, the open terrain offering the perfect killing field. Fire had started to spread between the huts as the men flung firebombs or grenades into the dwellings that were to difficult to enter.

As they came to one of the larger houses, Hassan stood by as two of the other men kicked in the thin piece of metal that served as a door and rounded inside. A shot rang out and one of the men yelled out his voice a mixture of pain and surpise. Hassan took cover just in time as buckshot flew out of the entrance.

And then it was on.

Hassan threw himself to the ground as sporadic gunfire broke out around him. His throat seized as he saw the villagers come streaming from their houses wielding shovels, pitchforks and the occasional firearm, anger and desperation writ upon their faces. If they were all doomed to die, then they would go down fighting.

“KILL THEM ALL! KILL THE TRAITORS!” Adoum screamed as he fired wildly into the mob. “KILL THEM ALL!”

Hassan raised his rifle at a knot of villagers who had brought two surprised mercenaries to the ground. They impaled the screaming men with machetes and were proceeding to bash their skulls in with rocks and fists. His gun barked in short controlled bursts, dropping the villagers in a heap upon his wounded comrades.

The cries of the dying filled the air like some hellish choir and the smoke from the now fiercely burning houses choked the tiny streets. Hassan found it difficult to see through the gloom and chaos. The heavy machine guns of the vehicles were firing wildly and the quad cannons were tearing through the ramshackle huts cutting down friend and foe alike. He saw one of his comrades struggling with a pair of villagers over a grenade before an explosion sent all three of them flying.

Suddenly out of the fog, a villager game charging at him with a sledge hammer. Hassan raised his gun to fire but he was a second too slow and the villager smashed his rifle from his hands and into the dirt. The villager swung the butt of the hammer into Hassan’s gut, knocking the breath from his lungs and sending him reeling to the ground.

Hassan glared up in horror as the villager raised the hammer above his head and swung down. Hassan rolled at the last moment and the hammer came down with a crunch inches from his head. He searched frantically for his sidearm as the villager raised the hammer again. Time seemed to slow down and Hassan was able to briefly study his assailant. Like many of the villagers he was skinny from undernourishment with gaunt features. He was only young but his face betrayed the aggression of someone much older. Hassan closed his eyes as the hammer began to descend down.

There was a gunshot.

Hassan felt the villager collapse on top of him, knocking the wind from his body yet again. The hammer clattered down next to his arm, it’s heavy metal head just missing his hand. Hassan looked up at his savior. Adoum stood above him a wisp of vapour rising from the end of his gun. His face was impassive but he held out a massive hand and helped Hassan to his feet.

For a moment their eyes met and Adoum gave Hassan a heavy pat on the shoulder before handing him rifle from the ground. It was dented from the impact but probably still workable. Words stuck in Hassan’s throat as Adoum turned and stalked off into the haze.

The “battle” was clearly turning in their favour as the villagers were killed virtually to a man, the shock of their sudden assault having worn off. Hassan stumbled through the smoke and found himself back in the square now littered with the bodies of the dead and dying. Wanting to look away Hassan cast his eyes up and caught the gaze of the Virgin Mother which by some miracle remained unscathed throughout the duration of the skirmish. They stared coldly down upon him and something deep within Hassan wanted to weep, but he seemed to have trouble summoning any sort of emotion.

All he could do was shiver, his legs giving way beneath him. He tumbled to the ground, unable face the statue as she glared her silent judgement.


****************************************************************

This peice of fan-fiction is inspired by the excellent writer Sebastian Breit who I recommend everyone check out.

This post has been edited by Alex1guy: 31 Jul 2016, 7:43


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"Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory. Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat" -Sun Tzu
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3rdShockArmy
post 30 Jul 2016, 12:35
Post #2


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If you ever decide to invade Russia, for the love of God, bring some warm clothes. We don't want you to blame the "evil Russian winter" when you get crushed, like everyone else who tried.



Finally! This was so great. The way you describe things! Oh boy! I've seen such way of description only when reading top-notch authors. Kudos, Alex1guy! biggrin.gif I thought you forgot about this forum. Will we see more parts of this awesomeness, or at least new stories in the future? Also, do you plan on continuing the old stories you wrote here a few years back?


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Damfoos
post 30 Jul 2016, 16:41
Post #3


"Ha! I could do this with my eyes closed!"
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This is really great. I expected a "happy ending" with Adoum being killed, but that'd be to clishe I guess.


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Alex1guy
post 2 Aug 2016, 3:28
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The Whimsical Story Teller
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Appreciate the support everyone. In regards to my older stories sadly I'm not sure I will revisit them, but I hope to periodically write these vignettes. Life has changed and I have more time to focus on writing once again smile.gif


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"Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory. Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat" -Sun Tzu
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3rdShockArmy
post 2 Aug 2016, 9:46
Post #5


Chat Nick
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If you ever decide to invade Russia, for the love of God, bring some warm clothes. We don't want you to blame the "evil Russian winter" when you get crushed, like everyone else who tried.



That's great to hear! As long as we get to read anything you write. biggrin.gif I'd just like to know, are you a writer? I'm asking because I'd definitely buy any of your work, regardless if it's a novel or a toilet-paper usage-instructions. tongue.gif


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Air war in Europe

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chemisthypnos
post 3 Aug 2016, 17:04
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Wow. This was amazing. The way that the story unfolded along with the great attention to detail makes this a very enjoyable read. Thank you so much for posting this.


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3rdShockArmy
post 6 Aug 2016, 16:00
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Chat Nick
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If you ever decide to invade Russia, for the love of God, bring some warm clothes. We don't want you to blame the "evil Russian winter" when you get crushed, like everyone else who tried.



This topic. So relevant now.

This post has been edited by 3rdShockArmy: 6 Aug 2016, 16:01


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Alex1guy
post 7 Aug 2016, 7:29
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Wow guys that is both humbling and flattering, this kind of writing is a hobby I like to indulge with but it's always great to see people enjoy it. smile.gif While I do write in my job, it's not that exciting (mostly user guides for the company). As said I do have more time for writing and I enjoy helping with the world building of RoTR so ill hopefully keep these coming.

This post has been edited by Alex1guy: 7 Aug 2016, 7:34


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3rdShockArmy
post 7 Aug 2016, 12:52
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Chat Nick
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If you ever decide to invade Russia, for the love of God, bring some warm clothes. We don't want you to blame the "evil Russian winter" when you get crushed, like everyone else who tried.



Those are the facts. smile.gif
Just keep the stories comin'. biggrin.gif
Can't wait for more. Cheers, bro! beer1.gif


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