Leroy Binks
Retired Handle
Registered: Oct 2000
Location: Illinois
Posts: 1217 |
 Guard Shack Stories
Welcome to ground zero. Nothing is what it seems here. You learn to love the chaos, for out of it comes joy and warmth from those who wait for you back at the homefront. Here, however, madness reins.
Preparation for the great battle began days before the onslaught occurs. The booty is delivered by frigates loaded from hull to hull. Having survived the trip unscathed by the soon-to-be mauraders that lurk "out there", it is sorted and temporarily stored. Even the soldiers who are set to see it rightly home are kept away. The greed for this treasure is much to great.
The night before the battle, the last of the booty has been sorted and the battle gear is laid out stragetically. Propaganda meant to sooth the wild beastial enemy called "flyers" linger near the front lines. These would not have the effect that they intended. Four wheeled transports are lined up as an attempt to appease the horde. These would disappear long before the main forces would arrive. And last but not least, the defenders are all provided with "bullet-proof" blue vests. The officers recieve red ones. In a few hours none of this would matter.
Time: 0300 hours
Mess hall has been cleared and an eerie silence fills the fort. The first gate opens and the booty spills onto the open ground. It is covered with a tarp, in hopes that there would be no reconnisance missions made during the deployment. Due to miscalculations however, there would not be enough tarps to cover all the bounty.
Time 0400 hours
The last of the bounty has been deployed and now they wait. The first reconnosance mission is deployed and moves in an out like a mosquito nipping here and there. It is now they realize the futility of the tarps. Too late in the game, they begin to search for battle helmets. Time is always against them.
Time 0500 hours
The real tribulation starts. Not a rushing tide, but a trickel. The four wheel vehicles and "flyer" propaganda slow them, but the malicious element is too strong. The first wave makes a scan of the booty, weaving in and out in formation like a delicate flight team that they are. Growing steadily stronger, the soldiers began to throw themselves in front of the masses armed only with propaganda. This does nothing. The four wheeled vehicles are gone now. The mass does not care, it swarms to the booty.
Time 0555
The snarling echos and rumbles like a storm on the brink as the soldiers huddle by the booty. They do nothing to dissuade the enemy. Instead of moving away, they remain, trying to reassure the visitors that there is booty to share.
Time 0600 hours
The tarps are whipped away and the madness begins. The four wheeled vehicles colide. The propaganda falls to the ground, forgotten in the seething hunger. The carnage is unreal. The booty disappears faster then it took to sort and store. Injuries begin to show. At first it is feelings and morals, and then a sore rib or a jammed foot. Pain does not slow them. The soldiers do everything they can to ensure the proper distrubution and recording of items, but there is little they can do. I can't stand anymore, so I flee the battle.
No, this is not the feeding of some dictator ship or taming of the hungry in some African nation, or the housing of refugees in a wartorn country. This is your own mothers shopping for Christmas. Damn your wishlists to hell!
------------------
Pickle beets are not treats,
no matter what they say.
Yes I know I'm inane/insane.
[This message has been edited by Leroy Binks (edited 11-24-2000).]
Report this post to a moderator |
IP: Logged
|
![[new thread]](/images/vb/button_newthread_off.png "Post New Thread")
![[post reply]](/images/vb/button_newreply_off.png "Post A Reply")
11-24-2000 03:32 PM
