Skeletons of society...(closed: see OOC)

[Abaddon]

That one. I lowered the binoculars and indicated a short dark-skinned man by a six wheeled ATV waving at a group of others .
Officer?
Ja.
A barely perceptible nod and my companion moved lower, his body prone sighting down the high powered IOR scope atop his rifle. I looked around the tableau beneath us through my binoculars, the target's pale blue helmet swinging by it's chinstrap on his wrist as his other hand moved in the air silently directing his troops.
Beside me the sniper rifle barked once, it's short song of death and I saw the blue helmet fall to the ground, a crimson smear on the ATV, a hole the size of a coin less than a handsbreadth below his larynx.
Nice shot. I commented.
Any idea if they know we're here? he queried, ignoring the compliment.
Negative. They've all hit the deck and are looking real scared.
A sniff from beside me.
Seeing your boss get taken down nearly a click from the nearest cover will do that.
A movement in the bushes a distance away caused both our heads to snap around and fall silent. I signalled that I was going to recon and moved away silently, eyeing my own rifle regretfully as I unslung my sidearm, a suppressed MP5 chambered for 10mm rounds.

[Abaddon]

Flashback a ways...

The rifle?
An Oberndorf made K98 chambered in 6.5-300mag, he said. With an IOR 4-14x scope, the V-mark, write it down!


And your sidearm?


A CA 3800.


A what?


A CA 3800, a beefed up 1911-A1, yanno, the old 45? Just in the 38 casull round. Shame the grips aren't up to duty work, had to replace them with Hogue grips with palmswells and a fingergroove insert, yanno.


Right...

[Abaddon]

CHECK FIRE CHECK FIRE!! Abaddon called frantically over his headset radio, scrambling for cover as the howitzer shells rained down barely 20m from their position, shrapnel and branches whipping through the air. A muffled grunt of pain from beside him and he turned to see his partner flinch, a small crimson stain on the shoulder of his ghillie suit.
You ok? He queried.
Just a scratch, he replied, and grabbed Abaddon's arm and pulled him down. Moments later a tree branch, it's support flayed away from the artillery barrage, came crashing down behind him, showering them both with dirt and leaves.
Quick thinking 99.
Shut the fuck up and tell that fuckwit arty command to quit shelling us already.
Battery Commander directing fire mission at map alpha-three-five, grid echo-one-four, friendlies in area, I say again, friendlies in area. QUIT FUCKING SHELLING US! Zulu niner one twelve, out.
That was suitably by the book, mon, Arioch noted drily.
I thought so..

[Abaddon]

Darkness. The base camp is quiet - the only sounds from the night insects and creatures, coupled with the occasional muffled sounds of human activity within. From the treeline nearly eight hundred metres out it appeared two parts of the forest had come to life and were slowly shambling towards the base.

Halt, this is a restricted area controlled by the Free American states! Advance, and be recognized. A voice boomed out across the open expanse.

Ya think he wants us to stay still or keep going? The taller of the two shapes spoke quietly to the other, his voice further muffled by his face mask.
I don' think he knows what he wants, was the terse reply.

The two men halted nonetheless. A bustle of movement could barely be discerned from the perimeter as the soldiers there attempted to identify the two formless shapes against the treeline.

Raise your arms over your heads and advance slowly. Be warned, you have rifles trained upon you, the voice continued.

The taller of the two looked over to the other, who shrugged. Shaking his head slowly but quite clearly refusing to comply, any sort of vocal communication impossible over the distance.

Negative, kiddo. No can do there...ya fucking retard.
A muffled titter emanated from behind the shorter of the two figures.

The voice at the perimeter showed unchecked incredulity.

Negative? But, this is an outpost of the Free American states. If you fail to comply within 60 seconds you will be fired upon.

Trigger happy little fucks aren't they?
Can't say I blame them. Positive I saw at least one RSA recon team operating in that last sector.
And you didn't tell me?
RSA ghosts don't wear them blue helmets you so adore perforating, and they were too far for even you to hit with that Obendorf of yours.
The shorter one snorted.

Forty-five seconds! the voice boomed out

Time to finish this little charade, 'baddon, ol' buddy, ol' pal, before the goon squad over there make this little carpark look like the fourth of july.
I hear that. He nudged his transceiver with his jaw, beneath the facemask. Firebase Golf Alpha one five zero, this is Zulu nine one two, requesting access to firebase to re-arm and re-supply, over.
Stand by Zulu nine one two while confirmation with-
Confirmation my ass, you know who we are, just tell those trigger happy bluelegs on the perimeter to let us in. I'm really not in the mood to play, it's cold and wet and I think my sense of humour got shot off a couple days back by some arty pukes.

An audible pause as the net went silent, broken by the loudspeaker on the perimeter: Thirty Seconds!

Roger, Zulu niner one two, you are cleared for entry into Firebase Golf Alpha one five zero.
Firebase Golf Alpha one five zero, this is Zulu nine one two, received entry clearance, Zulu nine one two, out.

Fiftee- aw SHIT!

Hey, Arioch, ya reckon these kids will ever learn ya can't visually ID anyone wearing one of these ghillies?
A snort was the only response as the two men began trudging towards the firebase perimeter.

[Abaddon]

The staccato rattle of the machine-gun filled his ears, muzzleflare and the light from tracers dancing in his eyes.
Left! Fuckya, you've got all the men, take out that fucking truck now, his companion shouted over the din.
A grunt and he twisted, the tracers tracking left through the halflight followed moments later by a muffled boom and a fireball as the truck's fuel tank lit up.
Ok, that's them done.
He relaxed, the hammering of the machinegun ceasing, pulling his own pair of binoculars out for a brief bodycount.
RSA troopers?
His companion shook his head.
Look closer, mon. Once the retina burn fades, that is, he commented.
I count two G3s, a couple AK pattern weapons and what looks like an MG3. Pakistanis you reckon?
The other man simply nodded, pausing and crouching down beside the machinegunner.
Diesel. Heavy engine. he muttered softly.
Nodding in affirmation the gunner quickly flicked the safety on his weapon and adjusted his webbing straps.
Track toads ya think?
Yeah. I think this area's gonna get real unfriendly real quick.
Aw, shucks. And I was just beginning to have fun too.
His companion laughed and clapped him lightly on the shoulder.
Time to get the fuck outta here man.
He nodded and hoisted the HK21E up off the ground and rested the barrel over his shoulder, his eyes roaming over the brass casing strewn over the area. Shaking his head he turned away and followed the other man, loping through the dense foliage trying to put as much distance between the incoming armoured patrol as possible....

[Baishuu]

Hey, ya hear that?
He strained, his hearing not quite as acute as his partners', months of lying behind a machinegun taking it's toll.

Now that ya mention it yeah. Couple petrol engines - two strokes. What gives, ya think?

Sounds like outriders, trail bikes. Best get under cover - Free states don' use two stroke bikes.
Roger that.

[Sariel]

Leaning on his side in the thigh high mostly dieing grass Gregg Locke waited for the enemy while he munched on some rations. He and his partner had hit two night patrols so far, one of which had been nice enough to give him the food he now eat. Dry and tasteless Gregg drank water with it just to get the stuff down.

Laying half in his hand Gregg's MP5 A2 rifle seemed almost fragile, to fragile to be a brand of weapon that had killed more people than had been present in the Roman Empire at its height. Gregg snorted as he thought of the major in history he had worked towards for a short time. College had come before his time in the ATF as a SWATer, than the army training that had followed after the attack on American soil.

Without warning a small voice directly in his ear spoke up.

"Hey Felix put down your gun and pick up your rifle. The foxes are in the hen house."

Gregg knew the reference his partner spoke on, the fellow seemed to think he had been looking at one of the Play Boys they had found earlier. Speaking into the mouth piece that hung against his neck Gregg responded.

"Understood Oscar, meet you in the middle."

Grabbing his M79 Grenade launcher Gregg Crawled to the rim of the depression in the ground. From the look of it, it had once been a ditch or retention pond.

Only now seeing the lights close in Gregg smiled, his partner had been right the patrols had been stepped up. Usually only a single truck with a dozen supporting troops went out on patrol but this time Gregg could see two sets of head lights.

Stopping his forward crawl 200 yards from the road where he was sure the trucks would pass Gregg leaned to his side and set the MP5 nearby as he spoke at a whisper into his the tiny mic. hanging at his neck.

"More chickens this time around, what do you think Oscar.

--

Listening to his partner James Taylor followed the lights with the small scope set on the top of his M16A2. Sitting on top of a mostly destroyed wall he could see most everything for a few miles around. James, JT to his friends, put down the rifle and picked up a pair of high tech binoculars. He looked closely not want to miss any as he looked around and in the trucks with the lenses.

Speaking in the mic. to his partner JT laid it out.

"Two dozen, moving slow Felix. You have a group of four sneaking 90 Taps at 2 'o clock from you. Deal with the Sneaker, if the main force doesn't move over the Spot we'll just let'em pass on by."

The reply came.
"Confirmed Oscar"

[Sariel]

Looking out over what was once a major highway JT watched the 4 sneakers that paralleled the main force. The moved in a line each a yard or two behind the other.

JT could see Felix laying in a bush that might have once been decorative landscaping but was now over grown and made for good cover. Felix waited until the troop of 4 passed him by before moving low to the ground behind the 4 enemy troops. JT watched Felix work as the first man went down from a knife to the ribs; lungs punctured the men went down with out a peep. Felix closed the distance to the next man as the target's head slowly swiveled around. The man fell as Felix took aim and shot, the next 4 shots came in rapid secession. JT only knew shots had been fired because he had been looked for them with assited vision. Seeing all the sneakers down JT servayed the area quickly.

Pulling his attention away from Felix JT notice that the force would be moving over the Spot soon. The two Hummer like vehicles moved on a two lane road that acted as a service way to the larger eight lane highway that it stretched out next to.

JT heard his partner’s voice broke the silence.

Sneakers down Oscar.

Quickly figuring the speed and distance in JT gave Felix the run down.

We have D-day in 70 seconds, get to your position with your boom blaster and be ready, I'm going to knock out her front, the back is yours.

Moments later.

Confirm.

JT scratched his arm as he waited for the truck to move over a spot packed with explosives. Things that went boom were not as hard to find as one might think. The enemy supplied them with land mines that JT altered enough to serve a purpose. The enemy supplied most things the pair used and needed, from their ammo to their socks. JT waited until the back axel was over the bomb before pressing the button in his left hand while his rifle rested on the arm with the stock firmly to his right shoulder.

[Abaddon]

Smoke everywhere. Fuck. Too late to save these guys. Too late to do anything about the slaughter of a company of infantry - guys we never knew, guys we never would know, thanks to a troop of "United Nations" armour. Spent brass strewn over the ground mixed with the blood of a last stand against insurmountable odds. Scorchmarks from grenades; discarded LAW tubes, the shattered remains of a Soviet-bloc T-85 with the insignia of Pakistan's army. Nearby the gutted shell of a BTR-70 in identical colours still burned.

The man known to the world only as Abaddon wrinkled his nose.
What a clusterfuck.
You said it mon.
Looks like the fuckers rifled the bodies for food. Ammo's still there.
They don't use five-five-six. 'Sides if you ate curry and rice, wouldn't you?
I happen to like curry and rice!
All day every day?
Erm, no. I like real food too.
See?
Well for fuck's sake... his voice trailed off, nothing more to say.
His companion shrugged, a gesture more meaningful than words.
They ain't coming back I don' think.
Thank fuck for that. Between our two popguns, I think we represent the esteemed Herr Rommel's left shoe in anti-armour firepower.
Another shrug.

Daylight fading, the pair flitted amongst the dead, quietly removing the dogtags from the corpses before digging a hasty mass grave for the dead, the two saying a quick prayer for the souls of those fallen.

Poor bastards...even if they were bluelegs.
Yeah. what do you think happened? Not like tankers sneak up on ya yanno?
Fucked if I know. Mad LT?
An ironic chuckle.
Who knows. More fucked up things have happened. Maybe he had some TOWs and didn't notice the mechinfantry?
Irrelevant now I guess. His sarge is prolly kicking his ass for him somewhere in the afterlife....
Heh. More than likely.

[Sariel]

Felix slides the silencer fitted hand gun into its holster where it set in the hollow of his lower back. His MP5 and M79 attached to his vest by cords so they hung at his sides with in easy reach of his hand Felix messaged his partner.

Sneakers down Oscar.

Felix pulled a few grenades from the bodies of the dead men and took one of their helmets and an AK 47s with two banana clips taped opposite ended together.

Getting a message from Oscar that he should be in position in 70 seconds Felix moves off low to the ground with his new equipment. Felix knelt in a depression in the ground 120 yards from the trucks as he dropped the AK and unclipped his M79. He had a direct sight to the trucks and mostly clear view to all the land the enemy soldiers would have to advance on.

Taking aim as he reached 70 in his head Felix pulled the trigger on his M79 and immediately broke the chamber to put another shot in. As Felix tossed the empty shell out light bloomed 120 yards away as Oscar's landmine bomb went off. A moment after the BOOM of the explosion another accompanied it, a smaller one that Felix had caused. The lights from the trucks out Felix sighted by the light from the fires as he shot again aiming for the second truck to make sure the 50 caliber mounted on it would be out of commission.

Felix was loading the chamber on his boom blaster for the third time when Oscar spoke to him.

"Good deal, both trucks are out, looks like there are about a dozen and a half troops left."

Sighting 10 yards closer to himself at a spot half way between the truck Felix fired another shot just incase they had not figured out what was going on yet.

Felix reloaded his M79 and reclipped it to the cord at his side. Picking the AK 47 off the ground Felix pulled off a few shots at the cement barrier that had once separated one direction of traffic from the other.

Felix flattened himself to the ground as many shots rang out and the air around him turned deadly. In the confusion Felix could hear Oscar talking, he must have the volume all the way up to be heard.

"They are taking a position behind the barrier, five of them are moving south to flank you position."

Felix was blind firing a few shots at the barrier the men were hiding behind when a series of explosions rang out in the ground around him, one as close as 7 or 8 yards away. Felix knew what that meant; one of the fellows had a multi-shot boom blaster, not the weapon you wanted to meet up with if you could help it.

~~~

Watching controlled anarchy break out 90 yards from him Oscar smiled. Some of the men took positions around the destroyed trucks while most moved threw a narrow stretch of grass and over the 4 lane of asphalt before crouching behind the barrier between the two sides of the highway.

Relaying information after jacking up the volume on his mic Oscar hefted his rifle into position with it rested on his knee pointed at the enemy troops.

Oscar only noticed the enemy boom blaster after the solider had shot a nasty salvo in the direction of Felix. Making hast Oscar sighted in the man threw his scope as the soldier looked to be preparing to fire more explosive rounds. With a squeeze of the trigger three shot flew from the M16A2, two striking the soldier. Sighting in the man next to the dieing soldier Oscar killed again before moving on to the next man in line. After a dozen seconds and 5 soldiers being shot dead the other 4 solider move back to the relative protection or the bombed trucks. Reloading as he spoke Oscar filled Felix in.

"The barrier is clear.

[Abaddon]

There's brush all around us. Experimentally I peer down the sights of my HK machinegun; it's ammo box and belt feed traded out for a clip adapter. A tap on my shoulder and I lower the weapon, swivelling to see my partner similarly attired as me; all in black fatigues, cam obscuring facial features so that only the slight white of his eyes is visible in the gloom. A full rifle is cradled almost lovingly in his hands, the distinctive 'banana' shape of a Kalashnikov magazine breaking the outline that is otherwise invisible against his clothing.

[Abaddon]

Which of you fucking bluelegs threatened to open fire on me?
Uh..I did sir..I didn't realize it was the Dae- er, you two sir.
What did you call me, soldier?
N-nothing sir.
Yes you did, and you keep calling me it. But if you call me sir one more time I'm going to make a modification to that Hasbro plaything you call a rifle that will necessitate you bending over to the enemy to fire it. Do I make myself clear?
Hey you're not an officer... the man fixed the soldier with a stare that could have broken rock Uh, yes s- er, what should I call you, then?
Being a 'professional volunteer' had it's drawbacks. Intermittent support, potentially getting fired upon by friendly forces not realizing you're operating in an area, getting executed as a spy or terrorist if captured. But discomfitting regular soldiers had to be one of the best perks.

I know what you guys call us behind our backs, and the reasons why, he began in his lazy drawl, some of the reasons done amuse us both, we wish we had done 'em. Anyway, I ain't givin' yer my handle. To you blue legs, we are collectively Zulu nine one two. I am zulu nine one two red, my buddy there is white. On base you can call me Red. My buddy you can call white. Should piss him off enough he might just frag one of y'all f'r the helluvit. Just don' talk to him. He don' like it, an' you won't like what happens when he don' like something.

By now quite a few off-duty soldiers had filed into the mess tent that the two irregulars had taken up station in. The shorter one was hunched in the corner over a plate of steaming mess food, a fork barely visible in his hand as he picked at it. Most of the soldiers here were young and originally hailed from Florida, and were itching to get at the people who'd occupied their state, but in the meantime would take comfort in the stories of those who'd been 'out there' and got back.

You do love to tell a story, dontcha.....Red? came his buddy's voice from the shadows.
Only when I've got a full belly, mate he replied laughing as a young PFC handed him a plate of what looked almost, but not completely unlike food. At least it was hot.

He commenced scooping some of the alleged food into his mouth and was into a second mouthful when the unmistakable 'thunk' of a mortar was clearly heard, closely followed by two more.

Arr, FUCK! he exclaimed, dropping his plate and snatching his weapon up, his partner already in motion.

[Abaddon]

Halfway out the door the sniper threw over his shoulder,
Sounds like mortars, eighty two millimetre jobs.
Manportable old sovietbloc units. Remember what level they were deploy-SHIT! his partner began to reply, his words cut off by a mortar round detonating between two bivouac huts nearby, throwing up a shower of dirt.
Mortars. Min range?
Hundred metres. Max about 3 clicks. My guess is they're about half a click inside the treeline there with a bunch of fodder in front directing fire. Two platoons, three tubes each. We gotta get some counter- another loud explosion from mortar fire drowned out the sniper for a moment -on to those mortars or we're just going to get pummeled.

By now the two men had made their way to the edge of the firebase and return fire from the infantry had begun in earnest. The attacking force was reluctant to advance from the relative safety of the treeline to assault the well dug in Free States forces, but plenty of small arms fire still traversed the five hundred metres of beaten earth between firebase and treeline.

Facing south, the direction the mortar fire seemed to be coming from, were Alpha company - the best armed and trained regular infantry on base, their M4 carbines practically useless at this range, a rifleman occasionally leaning his rifle over the parapet for a few rounds for effect. The M240 gunners were putting in more duty, a constant hammering from all down the line as the gunners took turns in briefly peppering the treeline.

Leant over at a shamble the pair of irregulars moved down the line to the east of the firebase's perimeter arriving at the embankment just as the first of the firebases own mortars, one of eight weapons available to the understrength battalion that made up the firebase's troop complement. The other two full strength companies were defending the flanking perimeters Charlie the bulk of the eastern perimeter, Bravo the Western. Delta company, undermanned and only partially trained was guarding the northern section.

This ain't my idea of warfare, Abaddon, the sniper commented barely under his breath.
The machinegunner grinned. Think of it as a target rich environment, he replied.
With a visible grimace the other crawled to the embankment, two soldiers from charlie company moving aside as the one known as Abaddon followed close behind. A rousing cheer erupted from the men of Alpha company as the second salvo from the battalion mortars impacted along the treeline.

Moments later a return salvo from the attacking mortars hidden in the forest howled overhead, annihilating the primary HQ radio antenna array and throwing more mud into the air.

All right. Time to see what we're up against, the sniper muttered, cycling the action of his Mauser rifle. He turned to his partner and grinned wolfishly. Find me some targets, bro.
Unstrapping his binoculars Abaddon quickly focused them with familiar ease to about 500m and briefly raised his head over the embankment, scanning in a rapid arc and sitting back down again. He draw a line in the sand perpendicular to the sand wall, and commented tersely, Two at half past one, riflemen. One at two o'clock, rifleman. Two men with a PKM GPMG, three o'clock. More past that but outside a 'safe' field of fire. Indistinct figures all the way from two o'clock through four, but further in the tree line.
The sniper nodded, looking down at the line in the sand for a moment before quickly leaning over the embankment. Two rapid shots barked out from the Mauser before he returned beside his partner once more. No more PKM, he commented matter of factly.
The machinegunner pulled his HK21E machinegun around to a ready position and grinned, tossing his partner the binoculars. Direct my wrath?
You crazy fucker. Readying himself alongside the machinegun he nodded, leaning over the embankment to observe the fall of fire.
In a fluid motion Abaddon had the machinegun over the embankment and braced on the integral bipod, it's staccato song of death starting almost as soon as the legs hit dirt.
Right, RIGHT! Elevate, STOP! Right through ten degrees! shouted orders came thick and fast as the stream of bullets streaked downrange to the treeline. RPK RPK! TRAVERSE RIGHT FUCKING NOW RIGHT!
The sound of bullets impacting dirt nearby, increasing in tempo and frequency signalled for sanity to prevail and the two slid from the top of the embankment almost in unison, dust covering the faces of the pair kicked up from the relentless blast of the HK machinegun.
That was fun, let's do it again! the gunner cried exuberantly to the amusement of the men of Charlie company.
You're sick Red, sick - seek help, his partner replied as bullets whistled overhead, the attackers indignation and fury at sustaining heavy return fire, if only for a few moments, readily apparent.

[Abaddon]

You're slipping Arioch, the machinegunner mentioned casually as they walked up to the cuban soldier holding his shoulder, blood and bone visible through the pulped mess. Yeah, musta clipped a twig on the way in
The soldier lying on the ground scrabbled backwards, panic flaring in his eyes as the two men dressed like woodland daemons approached. He babbled in spanish frantically, rising to a scream as the one known as Arioch pulled his Casull pistol and shot once, deliberately into the fallen soldier's forehead, the scream ending as abruptly as the pistol's report.

The pair swung around as one at the sound of breaking twigs, the noise of frantic flight receding from them. Arioch raised his rifle briefly then lowered it in disgust, the thick underbrush precluding a clear shot.

Fuck.
Fuck.
Not like those cuban pukes would ever let us live if they caught us anyhow...
Jah-neeva kon-ven-shun?
The two men snickered for a moment before quickly and economically divesting the dead soldier of identification and other personal effects. Ammunition for the poorly maintained Kalashnikov rifle Arioch took, a round from Abaddon's HK21E into it's receiver quickly rendering the rifle itself useless, the added bulk of the weapon too much to add to their already ample load.

Lifting the now disabled rifle Abaddon slammed it into the soft forest floor barrel first between the dead soldier's legs.

Adios, chilito...

Arioch raised his eyebrows momentarily and shook his head as the pair walked away, fading into the underbrush once more...

[Abaddon]

Simultaneously over the guard channel both were tuned to and now audible directly were the Russian voices they’d heard for the last few hours. An Mi-24 assault helicopter, it’s sides rent with holes from ground fire sat nosefirst in the thick forest, smoke still pouring from it’s ruined engines; smoke which coupled with the clearchannel Russian communications had led the pair here in the first place. Two men in flight jumpsuits sat beside the ruined helicopter dejectedly while 6 others, clearly soldiers from their forest BDUs and various weapons, watched a seventh talking animatedly on a manportable field radio. Finishing the conversation by slamming the handset back on it’s cradle the speaker turned to face the other six with the muttered imprecation “Tuvohya maht!’ The gender of the speaker was revealed as the Russian issue helmet was removed to reveal long hair the colour of blood.

[Abaddon]

'Papa charlie lead, this is papa charlie eight. Report all clear this sector'
'Roger papa charlie eight, good copy, out.'
'Papa charlie lead, this is papa charlie two. Report all clear this sector'
'Roger papa charlie two, good copy, out.'

"Chatty fuckers..."

'Papa charlie lead, this is papa charlie five. Possible enemy contact this sector. Requesting additional support for sweep and clear.'
'Roger papa charlie five, negative additional support, maintain position at weapons tight at this time.'
'Copy papa charlie lead, papa charlie five out.'

"Jeezus, if it wasn't for the yarpie accent you'd mistake them for legs"

A snort from the speaker's companion resting against a large oak tree, an ancient looking rifle with an equally modern looking telescopic sight mounted on it rested within easy reach.

"Real legs don't use unencrypted channels or sound like B-grade Top Gun wannabes. Even so, smells fishy to me. And your accent isn't exactly that fuckin' easy to understand over comms."

The first speaker stood up with a pained expression, stretching languidly resulting in noisy crackling from various joints.

"One speaks the Queen's english with poise, precision and per-fect pro-nun-ci-ation."
A roll of the eyes from the still prone one.
"Just cos you fuckin' septics bastardized the lingo coupla hundred years ago sure a' shit don't mean you've got any room to talk."
"But the 'fuckin' septics' within the nearest hundred clicks can understand me!"
"They understood me plenty fine when I told them to stop shelling us!"
There was restrained laughter from both of them at that.

"How's your arm?"
"Still there."
"Fair 'nuff"

'Papa charlie lead, this is papa charlie four. Report all clear this sector'
'Roger papa charlie four, good copy, out.'

"Reckon they're nine, ten clicks from here"
"Reckon you've got...that black shit you sometimes eat...vegemite on your brain."
"Hey!"
"What? It's black and it's shit! Don't know how you can stand that stuff, looks like black cosmoline, and tastes worse."
"You routinely eat cosmoline?"
"Tastes better than vegemite, and serves more purpose."
"Bah. How far away do you think they are then?"
"In this weather....." The sky loomed above them, an impenetrable grey mass. "anywhere between twenty and fifty. Thought you said you used to be a comms expert?"
"Used to be, rusty these days. Someone fucked the world royally, and someone else thought I'd make some fucking guerilla fighter..."
"And you'd rather be in a labour camp in Irian Jaya? At least much of this country is still free..."

The one standing's face flared, a flash of red spreading across his cheeks, fists balling futilely for a second. He bent for a second, snatching up a bulky assault rifle and looping the sling over a shoulder before heading into the forest.

"Going for a look around."
"You won't find much out there" his companion called after him "nothing you need to find anyway..." he added softly.