Post by bishop on Sept 21, 2006 14:36:11 GMT -5
Corporal Bandero Tandaka, US Marines, lay flat against a small outcropping of brick and mortar. Dark earth, freshly overturned by an explosive blast, lay scattered and smoking around him. He clutched his AR-15 assault rifle in both hands, his right squeezed around the grenade launcher attached underneath. The primary fire had seemed to die down after that last blast, giving Sgt. Bishop's men a brief rest.
Bandero, code-named Forge by Bishop, looked to his left at Bishop. The big man seemed completely unfazed… not surprising, as little seemed to actually affect the man. Forge, himself, was slightly spooked. He'd seen combat before this, but here the small ten man group was vastly out numbered, and the world seemed grey and dim.
"Well Sarge… you said get to the Eastern perimeter, and here we are. I say they didn't take to kindly to our entrance music, but what do I know? Maybe all these bombs are our welcoming fire-works?" He said, his trade mark grin belying any fear he felt deep inside. Forge had long ago begun to rely on humor to get over his fear. When he was really tense, there was no limit to the amount of jokes he'd spew.
Sergeant Lucas Bishop turned his head slightly to looked down at the smaller man. He too was armed, what looked like at first glance a USAS-12 semi automatic shotgun, but which had a definite hint of having been heavily customised. Maybe it was something to do with the drum clip and the attached grenade launcher which made it that much bigger.
As was Bishop himself.
As well as the shotgun, he had a Glock pistol in each of his two thigh holsters, knives sticking out from the tips of his army boots and any number of grenades about his person.
"Covering fire," he said. "They haven't got a clue. Couldn't hit a rhinoceros with an elephant gun. Or an elephant for that matter. They're confused by the fact that we're still standing and now they'll be jabbering away to one another trying to work out what to do now they've finished the Quick Start Guide." The sergeant made a few swift signals to the rest of his team and they scattered out in the pre-arranged directions.
Bandero smirked, having been privy to a rare treat: The Lucas Bishop joke. It was not lightly that the big man tread into this territory, yet Cpl Tandaka did notice that he was usually the one to be joked with… thinking on it, he didn't quite think there was anyone else he'd seen who'd joked with the Sarge. That thought made him feel pretty good. He liked Bishop, even considered him a dear friend.
"This'll be a good field test to the auto-adaptor I put in that gun, see if we can get it not to overheat." He grinned, white teeth a contrast to the dirt caked native American face. "Just hope it doesn't blow those grenades. You'd never live it down."
Then he was off, dashing towards his pre-determined position. It was like clockwork, the small unit was a well oiled military machine, and a few other cliché's about effectiveness could be tossed in as well.
His boots ate the Earth as his mad dash brought him behind the burnt out husk of a tank, long derelict from battle in the area. It was then that the small arms fire erupted… well, it sort of began with a trickle, like a light rain. The cracking reports that sounded like fire-crackers. The *dink, dink, dink* of bullets hitting the side of the tank… it seemed so tame… but then the bigger ones kicked in. Heavy auto fire, mainly, though none of Bishop's men fired without orders.
As soon as the more heavy weaponry began firing, all it took from Bishop was a single sentence in their earpieces to set the unit to returning fire.
"Have fun, ladies."
Approximately ten seconds later, there was an almighty roar of gunfire from Bishop's position as he fired the modified shotgun at one of the more exposed enemies. The thing fired with the kind of power that a normal weapon simply shouldn't possess - and it helped that Lucas Bishop was one hell of a crack shot.
The enemy soldier cried out in a moment of pain and went over backwards, reducing one of their opponent number in a spray of blood.
"Pretty," said Bishop. "Looks like that bit of it works, eh, Forge?"
"Looks like, sir!" Forge shouted over the gunfire. "Goddam that's gorgeous, Sarge!
Forge spun around the tank, and charged up an embankment towards a gun-nest. It was currently unmanned, but a gaggle of Serb's were about to change that… naturally, Forge couldn't let that happen.
*thunk!* His grenade launcher spat sparks as a 40mm round of death exploded into them, blasting most them down the landscape. His assault rifle cracked off three-round bursts, Forge's sight being remarkable due to his mutant power. He would psychically send his sight down the barrel, so he could literally see exactly where his barrel was pointed. Still, rounds were whizzing by his head, despite the number
of troops he put under his barrel.
He barely avoided being transmuted into native American burger by diving into the gun-nest. The sandbag barrier behind him danced with the peppering of machine gun fire.
Why the hell had he taken the nest? He was no hero, wasn't like Bishop. Bishop would walk into the mouth of hell after an enemy, and do it with a smile.
Still, it was all part of the battle environment, things like that just happened out here. You did what had to be done, and worried about it later. He sent his consciousness through the sandbags, and observed the rest of the troops. They all seemed to be holding fairly well, despite being overwhelmed by enemy.
The gunfight went on for several more minutes until Bishop began to lose his patience. These tenacious little bastards were holding on far better than he had anticipated - and Bishop did not like it when things didn't go as he had planned. It was time to increase the stakes.
He ripped one of the grenades from the ammo belt he wore and tore the pin out with his teeth. He sent it with unerring accuracy towards the enemy and, just when they'd ducked and covered, sent in three more.
Then he looked through the sights of the grenade launcher. That was it. Playtime was over. The lesson was about to start.
It was about that point when Bishop took a bullet to the thigh.
Bandero saw him go down, though the wound looked largely non-lethal… at least by itself, anyway. In tandem with the sheer number of troops, the immobility would likely cost a man his life. He frowned in distain, knowing that it would be something that completely random that killed the Sarge.
In battle, though, random is the deadliest factor.
He threw another grenade, and took out another three or four soldiers, before seeing a grenade being hurled his way. Forge then found himself hurdling the sandbags just before a muffled explosion behind them shredded them. It was getting nasty.
He stood, gun spraying round after round into the surrounding Serbs.
This was getting very difficult.
The worst part was, the Sarge wasn't doing too bad, even downed as he was – but if someone didn't drag him out of where he was, he was inevitably going to die… but whoever went in there, stood a very high possibility of getting gunned down themselves, killing two soldiers where only one would die normally.
Bishop was very faintly aware of the sensation of blood pumping from the wound in his thigh, but remained calm and cool, as was in his training. He knew that the worst thing he could do to ruin his chances of survival - narrow as they were - would be to move too much and bleed to death. So instead, he dropped to one knee and simply allowed himself the simple pleasure of firing lead into his attackers.
Lucas Bishop was a strong man, a tough man, but when you take a hit to the main artery in the leg, it didn't matter how big or hard you were, you fell like a babe.
At least, he reasoned, as the pain rendered him numb, he would go out the way he had always anticipated.
Fighting.
There was no decision to be made, though. Despite the tactical fallacy, Bishop wouldn't let Forge die that way. Bishop would fight his way through hell itself to save the life of Bandero – hell, probably any of his men. So why should Forge think of doing anything less for his commander?
Letting out a reckless battle-cry, sounding more like the whooping Native Americans from the old movies, he launched himself down the hill. He ran firing, using his mutant power to aim accurately despite the rough footing.
He reached the pit the Sarge was in with an empty clip, and miraculously not injures at all. The cover fire worked, as less little shot-markers were popping up all over the area, and he could hear less. It was a very brief intermission though, he figured, but it'd give Bishop a chance to reload.
Forge was working on a quick tourniquet using a field kit he had.
Hands soaked in blood, ears ringing, he heard nothing, thought nothing. All he knew was the immediate task at hand. He didn't even see Bishop reloading and spraying back into the crowd.
He also wasn't thinking when he hiked the big man up onto his shoulders, and abandoned his own assault rifle in favor of his smaller pistol. Carrying Bishop with him, he climbed out of the small pit, and the two fired into the Serbs as Forge made the suicidal run over hot zones to bring them both to cover.
How they made it to cover was a miracle on more than one count. Bishop was fading, but with quick medical treatment – which wasn’t beyond reason – he would be alright. As Forge lay him down, he grinned up, and grabbed his radio.
“Bishop to base, the ground troops have done their thing. Let’s send in Plan B.”
“Remind me,” he said to Forge, “to have a word with you about tactics. But later, eh? Good work, my friend.”
Then he passed out.
Bandero, code-named Forge by Bishop, looked to his left at Bishop. The big man seemed completely unfazed… not surprising, as little seemed to actually affect the man. Forge, himself, was slightly spooked. He'd seen combat before this, but here the small ten man group was vastly out numbered, and the world seemed grey and dim.
"Well Sarge… you said get to the Eastern perimeter, and here we are. I say they didn't take to kindly to our entrance music, but what do I know? Maybe all these bombs are our welcoming fire-works?" He said, his trade mark grin belying any fear he felt deep inside. Forge had long ago begun to rely on humor to get over his fear. When he was really tense, there was no limit to the amount of jokes he'd spew.
Sergeant Lucas Bishop turned his head slightly to looked down at the smaller man. He too was armed, what looked like at first glance a USAS-12 semi automatic shotgun, but which had a definite hint of having been heavily customised. Maybe it was something to do with the drum clip and the attached grenade launcher which made it that much bigger.
As was Bishop himself.
As well as the shotgun, he had a Glock pistol in each of his two thigh holsters, knives sticking out from the tips of his army boots and any number of grenades about his person.
"Covering fire," he said. "They haven't got a clue. Couldn't hit a rhinoceros with an elephant gun. Or an elephant for that matter. They're confused by the fact that we're still standing and now they'll be jabbering away to one another trying to work out what to do now they've finished the Quick Start Guide." The sergeant made a few swift signals to the rest of his team and they scattered out in the pre-arranged directions.
Bandero smirked, having been privy to a rare treat: The Lucas Bishop joke. It was not lightly that the big man tread into this territory, yet Cpl Tandaka did notice that he was usually the one to be joked with… thinking on it, he didn't quite think there was anyone else he'd seen who'd joked with the Sarge. That thought made him feel pretty good. He liked Bishop, even considered him a dear friend.
"This'll be a good field test to the auto-adaptor I put in that gun, see if we can get it not to overheat." He grinned, white teeth a contrast to the dirt caked native American face. "Just hope it doesn't blow those grenades. You'd never live it down."
Then he was off, dashing towards his pre-determined position. It was like clockwork, the small unit was a well oiled military machine, and a few other cliché's about effectiveness could be tossed in as well.
His boots ate the Earth as his mad dash brought him behind the burnt out husk of a tank, long derelict from battle in the area. It was then that the small arms fire erupted… well, it sort of began with a trickle, like a light rain. The cracking reports that sounded like fire-crackers. The *dink, dink, dink* of bullets hitting the side of the tank… it seemed so tame… but then the bigger ones kicked in. Heavy auto fire, mainly, though none of Bishop's men fired without orders.
As soon as the more heavy weaponry began firing, all it took from Bishop was a single sentence in their earpieces to set the unit to returning fire.
"Have fun, ladies."
Approximately ten seconds later, there was an almighty roar of gunfire from Bishop's position as he fired the modified shotgun at one of the more exposed enemies. The thing fired with the kind of power that a normal weapon simply shouldn't possess - and it helped that Lucas Bishop was one hell of a crack shot.
The enemy soldier cried out in a moment of pain and went over backwards, reducing one of their opponent number in a spray of blood.
"Pretty," said Bishop. "Looks like that bit of it works, eh, Forge?"
"Looks like, sir!" Forge shouted over the gunfire. "Goddam that's gorgeous, Sarge!
Forge spun around the tank, and charged up an embankment towards a gun-nest. It was currently unmanned, but a gaggle of Serb's were about to change that… naturally, Forge couldn't let that happen.
*thunk!* His grenade launcher spat sparks as a 40mm round of death exploded into them, blasting most them down the landscape. His assault rifle cracked off three-round bursts, Forge's sight being remarkable due to his mutant power. He would psychically send his sight down the barrel, so he could literally see exactly where his barrel was pointed. Still, rounds were whizzing by his head, despite the number
of troops he put under his barrel.
He barely avoided being transmuted into native American burger by diving into the gun-nest. The sandbag barrier behind him danced with the peppering of machine gun fire.
Why the hell had he taken the nest? He was no hero, wasn't like Bishop. Bishop would walk into the mouth of hell after an enemy, and do it with a smile.
Still, it was all part of the battle environment, things like that just happened out here. You did what had to be done, and worried about it later. He sent his consciousness through the sandbags, and observed the rest of the troops. They all seemed to be holding fairly well, despite being overwhelmed by enemy.
The gunfight went on for several more minutes until Bishop began to lose his patience. These tenacious little bastards were holding on far better than he had anticipated - and Bishop did not like it when things didn't go as he had planned. It was time to increase the stakes.
He ripped one of the grenades from the ammo belt he wore and tore the pin out with his teeth. He sent it with unerring accuracy towards the enemy and, just when they'd ducked and covered, sent in three more.
Then he looked through the sights of the grenade launcher. That was it. Playtime was over. The lesson was about to start.
It was about that point when Bishop took a bullet to the thigh.
Bandero saw him go down, though the wound looked largely non-lethal… at least by itself, anyway. In tandem with the sheer number of troops, the immobility would likely cost a man his life. He frowned in distain, knowing that it would be something that completely random that killed the Sarge.
In battle, though, random is the deadliest factor.
He threw another grenade, and took out another three or four soldiers, before seeing a grenade being hurled his way. Forge then found himself hurdling the sandbags just before a muffled explosion behind them shredded them. It was getting nasty.
He stood, gun spraying round after round into the surrounding Serbs.
This was getting very difficult.
The worst part was, the Sarge wasn't doing too bad, even downed as he was – but if someone didn't drag him out of where he was, he was inevitably going to die… but whoever went in there, stood a very high possibility of getting gunned down themselves, killing two soldiers where only one would die normally.
Bishop was very faintly aware of the sensation of blood pumping from the wound in his thigh, but remained calm and cool, as was in his training. He knew that the worst thing he could do to ruin his chances of survival - narrow as they were - would be to move too much and bleed to death. So instead, he dropped to one knee and simply allowed himself the simple pleasure of firing lead into his attackers.
Lucas Bishop was a strong man, a tough man, but when you take a hit to the main artery in the leg, it didn't matter how big or hard you were, you fell like a babe.
At least, he reasoned, as the pain rendered him numb, he would go out the way he had always anticipated.
Fighting.
There was no decision to be made, though. Despite the tactical fallacy, Bishop wouldn't let Forge die that way. Bishop would fight his way through hell itself to save the life of Bandero – hell, probably any of his men. So why should Forge think of doing anything less for his commander?
Letting out a reckless battle-cry, sounding more like the whooping Native Americans from the old movies, he launched himself down the hill. He ran firing, using his mutant power to aim accurately despite the rough footing.
He reached the pit the Sarge was in with an empty clip, and miraculously not injures at all. The cover fire worked, as less little shot-markers were popping up all over the area, and he could hear less. It was a very brief intermission though, he figured, but it'd give Bishop a chance to reload.
Forge was working on a quick tourniquet using a field kit he had.
Hands soaked in blood, ears ringing, he heard nothing, thought nothing. All he knew was the immediate task at hand. He didn't even see Bishop reloading and spraying back into the crowd.
He also wasn't thinking when he hiked the big man up onto his shoulders, and abandoned his own assault rifle in favor of his smaller pistol. Carrying Bishop with him, he climbed out of the small pit, and the two fired into the Serbs as Forge made the suicidal run over hot zones to bring them both to cover.
How they made it to cover was a miracle on more than one count. Bishop was fading, but with quick medical treatment – which wasn’t beyond reason – he would be alright. As Forge lay him down, he grinned up, and grabbed his radio.
“Bishop to base, the ground troops have done their thing. Let’s send in Plan B.”
“Remind me,” he said to Forge, “to have a word with you about tactics. But later, eh? Good work, my friend.”
Then he passed out.