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Post by 2t2crash on Jul 6, 2018 2:34:55 GMT -6
more of same chapter. figured MOAR is welcome even if piecemeal at the moment. Meanwhile at Camp McCoy We had decided to take up the Army’s offer for support and training, plus the offer from the Town and the Sheriff. Rather than accept a massive influx of recruits we had decided to start with veterans first, and then we added others. Rather than try to retrain the veterans from scratch we had decided to see what their MOS had been and try to go from there. Our volunteers ranged from young men and women who had recently gotten out of the service, all the way to a few Vietnam veterans who were accepted as trainers. The oldest to try and join was one very pissed off Korean War vet who was none too happy when we tried to explain to the man that at 90 years of age he simply was not going to be able to help fight.
One of our most important additions was a retired Army Master Sergeant who had been an 11C/Mortarman (or as we had been clued in by Brad… a “Charlie or a Chuck”). Master Sergeant Tom Brady (yeah… we all laughed our asses off at his expense) was well versed in using mortars in both flat and mountain terrain. His career had included 8 tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, a few of which were spent lugging and lobbing 60mm mortars in the mountains.
One of the first deliveries we had received from Camp Petry had been a six pallet C-130 airdrop consisting of 60mm mortar tubes and projectiles, M240L as promised, two M2 Brownings plus demolition and in enlisted terms… a “metric shitload” of ammunition.
Jake, Brad, Rich and I were sitting around shooting the shit during a break in training when the dull bang of a mortar landing in the distance causes me to start. “I wish those fuckers would practice somewhere else.”
Brad laughed “Get used to it, and quit being a bitch”.
My retort was quick and in the voice of a character from a cartoon we all watched when it was still younger. “Heeey, f*** you buddy!”
Rich: “I’m not your buddy, guy!”
Jake: “I’m not your guy, pal!”
Brad: “I’m not your pal, friend!”
And of course, It was up to me to finish it. “I’m not your friend, guuuuuuy!”
We all fell out laughing, tension relieved. South Park quotes were abundant around camp, along with Team America and other off the wall comedy flicks from the past. I placed my hand on my knee and grunted as I stood up, immediately getting attention from Rich.
“You good dude?”
I wince a little. “Yeah, my back is sore from lugging that damn .50 cal barrel out to OP One, plus my knee is sore from that damn ruck march but it’s been getting better over the last month.”
“Yeah, that’s because you’ve lost a lot of weight, fatass!”
I looked down towards my feet… my gut had most definitely shrunk but who knows how much wait I’ve lost since we didn’t exactly have a scale way the hell up here. “Dude I might be able to see my junk now!” I joked.
“Not likely” from Brad
“Bullshit” Jake
Rich just held two fingers up, about a quarter inch space between them and shook his head “no”. Who needs enemies when you have friends like this?
“f*** you guys. I’m going to go see how MSgt Brady is doing with his boot ass Chucks.”
The trip to the Mortar range was a 20 minute drive, about a quarter mile down the canyon, they had setup at the lowest point of the ravine to fire on one of the higher elevated targets today. As I pulled up to the 100 yard marker from the mortar pit I could see the team prep and then fire another round, resulting in another impact, this one on the other side of the ridge, which was being spotted by another mortarman. I got out of my truck, grabbed my ear muffs and started walking as Tom went through another series of commands.
“Drop 30, left 20”
One of the younger veterans turned the dials on the tube.
“Ready”
A different man prepped the high explosive round in his hand
“HANG!”
SHIIINK… THOOMP!
What should have happened was the soldier hold the round, and wait for command. What happened was he held it and then dropped it directly down the tube.
MSgt Brady immediately shoved the soldier off his feet and stood over him, screaming. “You stupid f***, did I give you the command to fire?!”
The troop knew he fucked up. “NO MASTER SERGEANT!”
“Get on your damn face and push!”
The soldier immediately turned and started doing pushups as his trainer looked at me and headed my way.
“Having fun yet?”
Brady smiled. “Oh yeah! That round slipped out of his fingers, but this lesson will ensure it doesn’t happen again. Hell it’s happened to me before.”
“How’s the training going?”
“Good, they are naturals. That was actually our last round for the day… excuse me.” Bradey looked over my shoulder. “RECOVER!”
With that the young man jumped up from his pushups.
“Sounds good, you guys want a ride up in the truck?”
“Sure!”
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Post by htfiremedic on Jul 6, 2018 11:45:10 GMT -6
That was an ear scratch for the MOAR Hounds!
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Post by texican on Jul 7, 2018 21:49:15 GMT -6
That was an ear scratch for the MOAR Hounds! ^^^^THIS^^^^ Thanks 2t2 for the chapter.... Texican....
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Post by htfiremedic on Jul 7, 2018 22:20:41 GMT -6
Tex, Gob sounded good this AM.
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Post by 2t2crash on Jul 9, 2018 2:25:53 GMT -6
Last part of Ch 21. As the mortar team packed their equipment and loaded it into the bed of my RAM Bady and I continued to shoot the shit. He tried to explain the math of mortars to me but who am I kidding? I suck at math, unless it involves calculating an aircraft’s center of balance or can be read on a tape measure I was lost… angles, charges, azimuth: might as well be speaking Japanese to me. I think he realized my eyes were glazing over from the topic so he switched it up just as the mortar team piled into the truck, one of whom made the poor choice of sitting in the turret that we decided to leave in place in the bed. His curses after the first few bumps in the dirt path entertained us.
Brady started with his new topic. “So what are we doing with the 16 and 17 year olds that joined up?” “Well we don’t want them in direct combat operations yet so we’ve been training them with the positions around the camp. Observation Post duty, radio training, medical training and other general support. All are learning how to drive the big transport trucks so they can aid in logistical support when needed as well. They’ll get the same combat training as us, but they won’t be put with a line unit until they hit 18, hopefully this shit doesn’t last that long.” “I’d rather it be my generation’s fight, than my children’s” “Exactly. Unfortunately, my son has already been involved in a firefight when we ambushed the column at the Pass, but I’d rather he not know the weight on your soul when you take a person’s life.” “True. My 17-year-old daughter Cloe is out here, she keeps talking about wanting to become a Corpsman. The training Doc Rios is giving has really impressed her and I think it might be her calling. She turns 18 in three weeks.” “Good to hear, we have Doc, plus a Medic from Nam who’s in charge of behind the lines treatment and transport. I can’t remember his name but I know he has a prosthetic leg so he can’t exactly move well enough for combat duty.” “God help me, but Cloe wants to be up front. “ “That’s tough MSgt, but you know there isn’t anything our guys wouldn’t do to keep their medics safe.” “True. So if I may ask, I’m obviously from a mortar MOS but I hear you used to load planes but we don’t have any. You don’t seem the type to sit on your ass so what have you been up to?” “Furthering my Machinegun training, as well as operations at the TOC for days my back is feeling messed up. Matter of fact after I drop you off I’m grabbing my Browning and headed to the training area. Well, here we are. Take it easy and I’ll see you around.” “Sure thing, thanks for the ride and conversation.” “Any time.” After I parked my truck I retrieved my belt fed baby from my tent, I muttered a curse as I positioned the 32 pound gun onto my shoulder. “I shoulda made a damn MG42 and saved myself a good 10 pounds of weight.” I hadn’t heard Zach walking to the tent but he heard me complaining. “Quit bitching you old fucker, that thing saved our ass on the way over.” “You love it because you got to have all the fun. Here… you carry it, I still need to grab the Bipod and spare parts kit.” “Fine, give her to me, I’d hate for you to pretend to throw your back out again.” “f*** you.” “later, if you ask nicely.” Good God we had issues. All of us. But it made the shitty situation tolerable… hell who am I kidding, we were like this before all this shit started. Zach looked at me impatiently. “Hurry up, the other teams coming to train are already at the 2.5 ton.” “I know. We better hurry because SFC Caldwell is training us today and he doesn’t like when we are on civilian time.” The drive took about a half an hour, not because of the distance but because of the terrain. One section was a steep grade which needed to be driven with care. The area we set for machine gunnery training was atop a ridgeline to the east of the camp. The gun positions were at the very top of the main ridgeline, looking down one of the larger canyons. We had plywood sheets painted white with black circles as targets set at 300, 500 and 800 meters, these allowed the gunners to get a visual on what the impact area of the bullets looked like. This is known as the “Beaten zone” and the longer the bursts of fire the larger the beaten zone got due to gun movement. Once we arrived Caldwell had us all hop out and circle around him before he got started. “Alright, last week we trained on using the guns during ambush, and then patrol movements. Today we are going to use them in static defenses with the tripods. We have seven of you here because that is how we set up a two-gun weapons squad. One squad leader, two gunners, two assistant gunners, two ammunition bearers. You are all familiar with your roles, set the 240L on the left, the .30 Cal on the right. Squad Leader, take control of your crews. You have 2 minutes to setup. Go!” Rich Immediately got everyone’s ass in gear. “Get your shit and get moving! Brad on the left, Jim on the right! I want those Bipods set correctly and I expect those guns ready to roll!” There was no slow movements on my team, I was gunner, Zach the A-gunner and one of the new dicks from town was our ammunition bearer. Zach Hauled ass past me, carrying the tripod and spare parts bag. He had sprinted the 25 feet to our gun pit and setup the tri-pod by the time I had managed to get to him. I moved the gun into position as Zack slid the mount pin through the receiver, securing it to the mount. The new guy Paul had a belt of .308 out of the can and shoved the pull tab in place which was followed by me pulling the charging handle twice and shouting out “Gun two up!” Rich responded “Standby! Gun one hurry the f*** up!” We looked over and snickered as Brad’s team struggled to load the 240. He looked pissed. Finally, he had it set and reported up just as SFC Caldwell called time and approached Rich. “You barely made it in time. What was the problem?” “Gun one was a little slow on the loading. Brad, what was going on?” “Dipshit here tried to load my belt in backwards!” Brad had been assigned two of the town’s veterans who had not had machinegun experience. One thing we had taken into consideration while assigning training fields to the volunteers was not only prior experience, but also prior injuries. Guys who had gotten their bells rung too many times during deployments from IEDs were put in spots where they were less likely to experience another TBI, too many could be debilitating. His assistant gunner had been supply guy but he wanted to contribute and be a fighter. We were all learning. Caldwell approached Brad’s team and addressed the A-gunner. “Make sure you feed those rounds properly, lives could depend on these guns so we cannot afford to f*** this up. Take a can of rounds back to the tent after the training. Practice pulling them out and make sure you have it right. Every can has the tap on the same side with the bullets facing the same way, the key is to orient your can before you open it. Handle in your left hand with the locking hasp facing the gun, open with your right and the rounds will face forward. Oh shit, you’re left handed that explains it. Practice it tonight, learn to use your right to open the cans and not your dominant one and it’ll solve the problem.” “Yes Sergeant.” “Awesome. Brad pay attention to this shit, don’t just get pissed.” “Got it, my bad.” “Alright, guns are up. We are going to go over how to talk the guns, burst lengths at different distances and the effects of the beaten zone at range as well. Each man in the teams WILL be firing and rotating to the other two roles. We will be changing barrels so I hope you have your heat protecting gloves or else you’ll get to visit Doc after this.” Caldwell reached for his radio’s push to talk button and held it in. “Range control, Range Master one.” “Go ahead Range Master One.” “Range 5 requesting permission to go hot.” “One, permission granted, report when finished.” “Copy, RM one out.” With the Range hot he looked at Rich. “Squad Leader, I want both guns up and a belt fired at the closest target, and I want those guns to talk. Proceed.” “Guns ready!” “One Up.” “Two Up.” “On my command! FIRE!” We spend the next few hours expending rounds provided to us by our new fledgling government. One of the benefits of Missouri joining the FAF was that it brought with it the Lake City ammunition plant which had been a major ammunition supplier for the US Military since 1941. Ammunition was not currently a problem. Training like ours isn’t the only one going on, at any given time we have multiple classes occurring, everything from basic weapons familiarization to combat tactics, engineering and demolition to construction. We are most definitely not a calm camp. After training had ended we policed the area of brass, links and trash then all loaded up and took the drive back to camp. As we pulled into the parking are by the trees we could see two flags being risen on our newly added flag pole. The first being the original Stars and Bars of the US because it was our goal to reunite and re-establish the United States of America, the second was a new one. The banner was all black save for a white rectangle in the upper left corner, within which were four stars of different colors. Green for Army, Red for the USMC, deep blue for the Navy and Coast Guard, and a light blue for the USAF, these represented the four service branches from which we all came from. On the right side of the banner were two different insignias, the top most was a white rattle-snake with “Don’t f*** With Me” in yellow. The lower right had a white skull and cross-bones with “Get Stacked” under it, a warning to would be aggressors. Someone in the truck with us asked the question. “Get Stacked, the hell does that mean?” Zack spoke up. "It means we will stack the bodies of our enemies like fucking cordwood.” I looked at Brad. “You finally finished the design huh?” “Yeah, it’s based off the banner of the Veterans Exempt unit from the war of 1812, a bunch of Revolutionary War veterans too old to join the military but still wanting to serve.” “I like it, it’s fitting.”
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Post by htfiremedic on Jul 9, 2018 8:25:02 GMT -6
Nice! Heck yeah, the MOAR Hounds got a full meal!
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Post by texican on Jul 9, 2018 14:32:17 GMT -6
Thanks 2t2 for the chapter....
Texican....
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Post by 2t2crash on Jul 16, 2018 0:34:38 GMT -6
crude humor alert for this chapter, if you have a twisted sense of humor you'll laugh, if not... well it's a fun part of the story.
22. Joint Special Operations Air Detachment 2 Air Delivery Center Grant County IAP, Moses Lake WA
The JSOAD AD shop newly established at the “Moses Hole” as it was referred to had been busy as hell since being stood up for operations. Their sole responsibility was rigging material for air delivery along the western border of Eastern Washington. Due to a lack of available CH-47 Chinooks the small observation posts and combat outposts along the cascades had been supported mainly through small pickup trucks, and air delivery depending on the location. The dated yet still used C130’s had been working their wings off to deliver supplies such as MREs, water, sandbag or HESCO barriers, ammunition and anything else needed to build a base from scratch. Normal build time for what had been built in weeks would normally take months but the American Federation did not have that sort of time on their hands and thus relied on every air asset available to deliver the “Beans, Bullets and Boxes” needed.
With Fairchild AFB being already overcrowded with aircraft and personnel as it was, the influx from McChord had created a massive real estate problem. Moses Lake ended up being an easy fix for the Air Delivery operations as it was between Fairchild and Camp Petry. Cargo was shipped to the airport where it was prepared for its intended mission. Cargo was tied to an air delivery platform, rigged with a parachute and then loaded onto a C130 to be eventually pushed out of the plane midflight. The small shop of Army and Air Force Riggers kept busy enough to make life interesting.
“Master Sergeant Duvall?” “What is it Airman Bright?”
“Sir we just got another mission order in, a bunch of Ammunition, MREs and other random crap is going to be delivered to another outpost.” “Okay. Which one?” “That’s just it Master Sergeant, it just says “To the 1st Triple M” and I don’t know what the hell that is.” Master Sergeant Duvall stood up from his desk and reached out for the paperwork on the new load. “Shit that’s the Mountain Minute Men, my old supervisor Sgt McCoy is in it.”
Duvall had met Jim McCoy in Japan years ago. Sgt McCoy had taught him a lot, in particularly he had taught him to stand up for himself and his troops. Duvall laughed to himself, causing the Airman to become confused until Duvall spoke. “Jim tried like hell to get me to cuss, three years he tried. I guess he figured he could get a Kentucky boy to sound like a sailor but not once did I cuss that he knew of.” MSgt Duvall looked up from the mission paperwork. “I got a job for you.” Duvall started scribbling on a piece of paper at his side before handing it to his troop.
“200 of them Sir?!”
“actually, get $500 worth, rig them with the sand bag chutes, send them on the mission. I’ll brief the Loadmaster myself. Here’s my credit card.”
“Yessir!”
The Airman turned around and hauled ass out of his shop chief’s office, grinning like a damn madman. It’s about time they got to have some fun.
Camp McCoy TOC
Jake sat at the communications desk monitoring the radios, pissing and moaning like he does when stuck on radio detail. “God this shit is boring as f***” he muttered to himself. This technology bullshit was not his idea of fun, he’d rather be at the range practicing or out in the woods running training patrols or setting up ambushes for the trainees. They had received a shipment that included “Simunitions” which were basically paint bullets for training, they stung like hell when shot with them but were a great training aid. Jake was well versed in manning the radios, he just hated it. His boredom was interrupted by their new VHF radio.
“MINUTE CONTROL, HUSKY ONE FIVE OVER.”
Jake reached for the handset, that was a C130 callsign radioing the camp.
“HUSKY One Five go ahead.”
“Roger, Minute Control we are nine – zero mikes out with four pallets of mixed cargo and two bundles with packed explosives, requesting a target beacon set with an air controller on site, how copy?”
“Loud and clear; HUSKY One Five, ninety out, AD beacon will be set within thirty mikes with comm on site. Over.”
“Good to go Minute Control, over and out.”
Jake grabbed his radio and relayed the message to Jose who was the primary Forward Air Controller. Jose’s Marine Recon days made him a bonified badass in the eyes of the entire camp, but he had also spent ten years as an Air Force Combat Controller which was literally talking with and directing air assets from the ground.
Within five minutes Jose came strolling into the TOC and approached Jake. “Can you call up a bunch of the FNGs for me? I’ll need a few trucks plus some troops to load the cargo we are about to get.”
“The new dicks are already on their way, they should be able to drive the 2.5 ton we stole from the FFACA, plus Rich and his truck are going along as well, I don’t know what ordinance we are getting but the pilot said “Explosives”, not ammo so you might want to take a pickup or jeep too.”
“Okay. I’m going to set the target on the plateau east of the camp, should be safe enough and hopefully nothing gets blown into a gully by the wind, otherwise the pack out will suck.”
“Eh, it’s good exercise.”
With that established Jose left the TOC to grab his team and his radio. The drive to the DZ sucked, the 2.5 ton trucks could easily travers the steep and rocky eastern road but it was not a smooth going one. Jose had chosen the eastern ridge because of the short time till delivery and it’s proximity to the base.
He had the infrared beacon set and his radio on with fifteen minutes to spare before expected delivery, and none too soon as his radio barked at him.
“Minute control, Husky One Five.”
“Husky One Five this is Minute FA here to guide you in, how copy.”
“Minute FA I copy, we are within visual of an IR strobe, approaching from the east to west can you confirm it is a valid DZ?”
“That’s an A-Firm Husky One Five, we have a 5 mph north to south cross wind but the beacon and drop zone are confirmed ready for delivery.”
“Roger that FA, we are lowering the ramp now and will have do our best to get it as close to your marker as possible. Out.”
Jose watched the C-130 through his binoculars as the cargo came falling out of the back of the plane. He counted five bundles of cargo under properly deployed shoots and began looking for the other. As the plane passed overhead he cursed as a smaller box came flying out of the back of the bird. He immediately keyed his mic. “MISS DROP, MISS DROP, MISS DROP! Husky One Five I need to know the contents of the last pallet.”
“Minute FA it’s a special delivery for Jim McCoy from one MSgt Duvall out of Moses Lake. Non-explosive, not heavy and will come in on chutes, over. Enjoy the presents boys.”
As Jose watched the box fall a small drag chute deployed, ripping the main container off the top of the plywood platform. Hundreds of small objects flew out and caught under small 3-foot diameter parachutes designed to drop sandbag practice loads. Jose figured he’ll find out just what the hell is going on when he got back to camp.
As he looked back at the other incoming loads he observed that they would land close to his drop zone, then groaned when the first one landed right on top of his beacon. They NEVER got that close to target, how the hell did they manage to kill his only marker?
I was headed towards the TOC for my turn on the radio when I heard the familiar drone of a C130 flying low and slow. I looked up to see an air drop being made on the east side of the ridge, then a shitload of small chutes heading directly at the camp. Jake’s voice came over camp loudspeaker system.
“Standby for non-hazardous incoming delivery.”
“The f***?” I wondered to myself.
Jake stepped out of the TOC tent and looked up, along with at least a dozen curious onlookers. As the chutes dropped to within 30 feet of us their distinct shapes began taking form. They were between 6 and 24 inches long of all colors and had an obvious cylindrical shape. The first one to reach us was snatched out of the air by an overly ecstatic Jake who was laughing his ass off and waving the object around as he ran towards me.
“Dicks! It’s raining Dicks! HAHAHAHA!”
Then one by one the training chutes tied to male shaped sex toys began to hit the ground all around us, bouncing and sliding off tent tops.
“Someone was bored as shit.”
I leaned down and picked one up and read a note in sharpie pen. “To TSgt McCoy, special delivery from your old friend MSgt Duvall.” I looked up and then the note hit me… my old troop! I started laughing so hard it began to hurt. Men and women alike were clutching their sides or stomachs in their mirth, the twisted sense of humor of the military knew no limits and my old troop had just boosted the morale of an entire camp of un-paid volunteers who had been training their asses off for over a month.
All training was canceled for the rest of the day as we retrieved the parachutes from trees, tent tops and ridge tops, by the time it was done we had a pile of them in the back of my little Willys jeep and no idea how the hell we were going to deliver them.
When the task was done I sat down in front of our radio station and chuckled. The days event was one that would be remembered by all who were there, and the tale would never be believed or understood by who wasn’t. We needed the break in seriousness, because unbeknownst to us the winter months were going to be bloody and very tiring.
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Post by 9idrr on Jul 16, 2018 19:46:05 GMT -6
Some folks might not believe that such a thing would ever happen. Maybe not in the new PC services, but goin' back a few years... Thanks for makin' me grin, 2t2crash.
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Post by 2t2crash on Jul 16, 2018 22:39:54 GMT -6
Some folks might not believe that such a thing would ever happen. Maybe not in the new PC services, but goin' back a few years... Thanks for makin' me grin, 2t2crash. truth.
My buddy was working the Drop Zone out by Little Rock, he started blaring "Its Raining Men" on the stereo just as a bunch of paratroopers were coming down, he said he could hear them all laughing their asses off as they hit the dirt.
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Post by texican on Jul 17, 2018 0:10:28 GMT -6
2t2,
Funny chapter....
Could just see the molded male pieces falling out of the sky....
Would give one a goo laugh during war....
Texican....
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Post by 2t2crash on Jul 23, 2018 2:18:22 GMT -6
Made you look!
you'll have MOAR story shortly, my proof-reader/SME needs to double check and proof read some things for me so I dont f*** certain key details.
thanks for reading.
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Post by supermag on Jul 23, 2018 8:44:46 GMT -6
Made you look! you'll have MOAR story shortly, my proof-reader/SME needs to double check and proof read some things for me so I dont f*** certain key details. thanks for reading. That's not a nice thing to do to us
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Post by texican on Jul 23, 2018 14:00:01 GMT -6
Made you look! you'll have MOAR story shortly, my proof-reader/SME needs to double check and proof read some things for me so I dont f*** certain key details. thanks for reading. That's not a nice thing to do to us 2t2, Feeling your oats today.... A little mean streak coming out?.?.?.? As SM stated: "That's not a nice thing to do to us." But, Another chapter would fix everything.... Texican....
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Post by 2t2crash on Jul 23, 2018 15:09:29 GMT -6
Three weeks has gone by since the “Phallic Bombing” as it was come to be known. The Triple M has grown from an under strength sized platoon to a full blown Company which now sports three line platoons and a weapons platoon plus a small Recon squad and then support personnel who ended up being either specialized volunteers like the town’s two doctors plus a half dozen guys who were so busted up during their service that they were not mobile enough to fight but still able to help around camp.
The old codger that was so pissed at us for turning him down months ago had ended up joining us because rather than go home he put up an honest to God pup tent right next to the trailers. We couldn’t let him sleep like that, and we couldn’t make him leave… hell the only reason we said no in the first place was out of concern for him. His name was Frank and he ended up being one of the Frozen Chosen and hell of a help around the TOC. Frank had spent his time after Korea in the intelligence field and retired as a full bird Colonel. He wanted no part in leadership, but he made a massive table top map of our area of operations using topographic maps that he marked key roads, plus dirt paths and other transportation routes. Somehow the Colonel knows where our units are at all times, even the general area of the ones out on exercise. I can’t figure out how the hell he does it.
Much to the dismay of more than a couple of us original group the Army pulled a fast one on us as well. While the term Minute Men put the picture in our heads of the original anti-British fighters we ended up being setup like a free-lance Reserve unit… then the fuckers came up and promoted a few of us. General Moore himself flew in by Blackhawk and had a meeting with Uncle Leo, when they came out of Uncle’s Trailer we knew something was up because the General was smiling, Uncle Leo had a mischievous grin that we rarely saw and then the TOC intercom call EVERYONE to the camp for an announcement.
Once everyone was assembled Uncle Leo addressed us.
“Listen up! You all serve here on a voluntary basis, and that will never change. We have fighting ahead of us and Salmon Pass plus the town are key strategic points. You are not only being trained to protect the new nation but your very homes and families. This unit, the Triple M has grown well beyond what any of us expected and has thus begun to cause confusion when it comes to organization. To remedy that General Moore and I have handpicked a few key personnel to serve as our officers. This helps us, as well as the units at Camp Petry as it seems they don’t know who in our band to talk to which could be a serious problem during joint operations. When I call your names, please come forward. Brad McCoy. Rich McCierney, Corey Brown, Jose Santino, Tom Brady, and Jake McCoy.”
As the men lined up I knew why they were chosen, all were combat veterans with specialties in combat MOS’ or in the case of Jake: a natural leader and fighter.
“Each one of these men has been chosen for a reason, and each one is now one of your Lieutenants. Tomorrow at 0730 rosters will be posted with what your assigned platoon is and who your LT will be. That is all.”
General Moore spoke up. “Not quite yet Mr. Castleman. I forgot to tell you something.” The General reached inside his pocket and produced another set of officer’s rank. “The Triple M needs its leader to be obvious, and a Corporal just won’t do. Ladies and Gentleman, your CO is now Captain Leo McCoy.”
The change in Uncle Leo’s demeanor went from amused to surprised quick enough that everyone got a laugh, but what the General had said was correct. He continued with his brief speech. “Camp Petry has received continual updates from your advisors and we are impressed. The training you all are doing is not being done to appease you all, as there is a war coming. The United Socialist States have spent the last few months building an army to fight us. They are being equipped by China and Russia with arms, munitions and vehicles. Make no mistake: blood will be spilled, and lives will be lost. Prepare yourselves and keep kicking ass out here. Thank you all, and good luck.”
With that General Moore turned to Uncle Leo to shake his hand, after the shake our leader stood at attention and saluted the General.
It ended up that Brad, Jake and my friend Rich were the new platoon leaders for 1st, 2nd, and 3rd platoon, respectively. Tom had been given the weapons platoon, Cory in charge of a team of engineers and Jose in charge of the recon group. I am now in Brad’s platoon as his Platoon Sergeant plus I have Zach as one of my machinegun squad leaders. I’m having a damn fun time making fun of my brothers and friend for being Lieutenants as well. I have to admit that it is a hell of a lot easier for us to keep track of shit around here now that we are better organized.
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Post by 2t2crash on Jul 23, 2018 15:11:38 GMT -6
That's not a nice thing to do to us 2t2, Feeling your oats today.... A little mean streak coming out?.?.?.? As SM stated: "That's not a nice thing to do to us." But, Another chapter would fix everything.... Texican....
Sorry guys, I couldn't help myself. wont happen again.
My proof readers/technical advisors are pissed I made them Lieutenants.
also I realize the chapters are shorter, I'm trying my hand at developmental aspects of the story to push it along so that it does not read like a 1980's action movie where it's nothing but shooting and such.
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Post by texican on Jul 24, 2018 11:25:16 GMT -6
2t2, Feeling your oats today.... A little mean streak coming out?.?.?.? As SM stated: "That's not a nice thing to do to us." But, Another chapter would fix everything.... Texican.... Sorry guys, I couldn't help myself. wont happen again. My proof readers/technical advisors are pissed I made them Lieutenants. also I realize the chapters are shorter, I'm trying my hand at developmental aspects of the story to push it along so that it does not read like a 1980's action movie where it's nothing but shooting and such.
Sorry guys, I couldn't help myself. wont happen again.Only until next time, 2t2.... Thanks 2t2 for your dedication to your writings.... Texican....
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Post by htfiremedic on Jul 24, 2018 19:11:06 GMT -6
Bery Bery Interesting
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Post by 2t2crash on Jul 30, 2018 1:42:55 GMT -6
23. I woke up with the sound of family activity this morning and felt great. Sitting here now at a coffee table across from my wife and daughter, son by my side it is almost surreal. The house we had been given was an old two story stick built place with a wood burning fireplace and a renovated interior. Apparently the previous owners had packed up their belongings and headed west after the announcement of cessation. Their loss and our gain. The house was in an older neighborhood and as luck had it my brother Brad and his family were our neighbors.
The platoon weekly R&R rotation had been going for about a month now and its 1st Platoon's turn again. The Monday through Sunday rotation for our breaks had kept operations around the camp smooth plus allowed everyone to go home and spend time with their families or friends and to just get away. Being away for two weeks straight sucked especially since it was now mid November and everything was cold and either muddy or covered in snow all around us.
Raquel took a sip of her coffee and smiled at me. “You slept well, no snoring and you didn’t toss and turn as much as you used.”
“Yeah, the mouth guard for my apnea is awesome… no more hose or getting crappy sleep when out in the field. Camp Petry really hooked us old bastards out. When they sent a couple of their med staff over.”
“What about your back and knees?”
“They ache from the cold, but not as bad as they used to. I’ve dropped 50 pounds since this all started so I’m sure that’s a part of it, a few of the guys introduced the benefits of CBD based weed to DOC and now he has a lot of us using it. With no VA to send prescriptions anymore we had to do something. My anxiety is way down and when joints ache I rub some balm on the area. No getting high, just treatment. My stomach isn’t all messed up, no more sleeplessness or other side effects. I don’t know why the hell the old USA wouldn’t let us use the stuff. It’s even helped a few of the guys with really bad PTSD settle down.”
“I haven’t smelled anything since you’ve been here, are you just not using it?”
“No, I’m using it but rather than the camp smelling like Woodstock we have been getting it in either edible form or as a topical for joint pain. We eat a brownie or whatever they made for the week in the morning or as needed. I never would have tried it before all this happened.”
“I see. What’s new out there?”
“We’ve done some joint operation exercises with the Army, plus now that we have squad and platoon movements down pact we have moved onto company sized operations. Petry received intel that those scumbags on the other side of the mountains have built a hell of an army and are being equipped with weapons and vehicles from Russia and China. Funny isn’t it, years ago they wouldn’t shut up with their accusations that the Republicans were working with Russia to steal an election and here they are being buddy buddy with them. Anyhow… apparently, they are preparing for an assault soon because not only has the USSA stepped up its propaganda machine, but it’s been sending out scout parties all up and down the Cascades. One of our long-range scouts ran into a squad of them by accident last week and the Recon group has as well.”
“What happened?”
“They didn’t survive. General Moore found out and called Uncle Leo trying to convince him to have us keep some alive for interrogation.”
“What?!”
“Yeah. I get he wants the intel… unfortunately the prisoners seem to have unfortunate accidents if they are wounded or surrender.”
Raquel looked over to our son. “What have you been up to?”
“Working the Observation Posts as well as learning the communications center in the TOC. Great Uncle Leo and Colonel Frank have been teaching me command and control operations and how to keep the maps updated and have a general handle on the battlefield during the exercises.”
I smiled at my daughter “What have you been doing my little love?”
Jessica looked up from her scrambled eggs and smiled. “I’m going to school Daddy!”
“Wow, already! What’s your favorite part?”
“I get to paint and have play time!”
“And are you making friends and being nice?”
“Yes daddy! Everyone wants to be my friend because they know my Daddy fights the bad people.”
Oh shit.
“And are you telling them, or do they already know this, Honey?”
“They know, sometimes I tell them.”
“Sweetie this is important, you can’t tell people what I do okay? It’s not safe.”
Jessica’s smile turned to a frown in a heartbreaking manner. “Why Daddy?”
“Because if the bad men are here and they hear that they might try to tell other bad people, and we don’t want that because it’s not safe.”
A knowing look passed between my wife and I. “Are you carrying all the time my Love?”
“Yes, the pistol concealed and the M1 Carbine openly. Nobody bats an eye around here since most have started doing the same ever since the Sheriff shot and killed an ANTIFA member who was trying to gather intelligence on us. The guy went for his gun but wasn’t fast enough.”
“Okay, keep aware of your surroundings please. Ya’ll are precious to me.”
“Yep. You too!”
Our conversation and time together was cut short by the sound of our in house-communications radio linked to the TOC blared to live with the sound of Uncle Leo.
“ALL PERSONNEL THIS IS CASTLE ONE ACTUAL, RECALL. I REPEAT. RECALL. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.” Ten seconds later the ancient air raid siren at the center of town started its warbling call for a thirty second interval.
Rather than freak out Jessica I stood up slowly. “I’m sorry Sweetheart but Daddy and Jimmy have to leave early to go to camp.”
“Are the bad people coming?!”
“No sweetheart, they probably have a special visitor coming in and need us all there.” I hated lying to her, but she didn’t need to know. I leaned over and gave her a long hug and a kiss on the forehead. “I love you little girl.”
Jim Jr followed suit, realizing why I had not jumped up and rushed right away.
“I love you too.”
“I love you Honey, don’t worry, I’ll be back.”
She looked at me and smiled. “With your shield or on it, old man! I love you. Be safe.”
I gathered my Kit and my AR15, plus my old M1D out of the gun cabinet… She looked like she wanted to taste Commie blood again. As we walked out the door Brad was doing the same, looking over at my son and I.
“Ready big brother?”
“Yeah, throw your shit in the Willys, we’re taking it because we might need it over the truck.”
“If you say so. This bitch is slow though.”
“Yep.”
Brad looked at the M1D as I slid it into the rifle rack attached to the inside of the windshield and locked it in place. “Really dude?”
“f*** you, it wants action, and I’m bringing bandoleers of AP along with ball and hollow points.”
With that we were off like a shot, moving at a seemingly slow ass 55mph, yet still exceeding the speed limit. I glanced at Brad before looking back at the road. “Has the platoon recall been initiated?”
“You mean beyond that loud ass siren? Yes, I’m not some fucking shaved tail butter bar that is new to this shit. We’ll see how many show now that the shit gets real.”
“It’s just a question puto. They’ll show. We’ll see after the first fight though.”
“Yes, we will.”
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Post by texican on Jul 30, 2018 17:40:09 GMT -6
2t2,
Thanks for the chapter....
Fixin to get real....
Texican....
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Post by htfiremedic on Jul 30, 2018 21:25:24 GMT -6
Thanks for feeding the Hounds! It’s gettin real!
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Post by 2t2crash on Jul 31, 2018 1:03:38 GMT -6
my muse is singing to me tonight. 23 continued. Fourty five minutes after our departure from town Brad and I finally arrived at the TOC. All of our officers save for Jose where standing around Col Simms’ map as the old Colonel updated known positions of friendly and enemy forces. Bravo, Charlie and Weapons Platoons were all assembled in separate areas cleaning their personal weapons and gear while waiting for the briefing they knew was coming. Half of Alpha had fallen in line behind the old Willys as we drove the main roads but quickly fell behind on the rough trail into camp. I looked over at Brad as I shut down the engine. “I’ll start organizing the platoon and will have accountability for you when you come out.” “Alright.” Brad went straight into the tent as I looked back at Jim. “Alright kid, get your gear and report in with whoever is manning the communications center, I’m sure they need some help.” “Dad I want to fight!” “Not today Son, not yet. I need you in the TOC helping with comms.” Jim was none too happy, and like an eager Boot forgot how shit worked. “DAD!” “I SAID NO GODDAMNIT! You aren’t 18, them’s the rules now get your ass in there and do your job like we need you to… MOVE!” I was not ready to risk losing my son yet, not while I still had the choice of putting him or any under 18 in direct action. I ignored the muttered “f***” that came from him as he walked away disappointed. To be young and dumb again. As Jim Jr walked towards his assigned location members of 1st platoon were gathering behind me. “Listen up! Lt. just joined the brief and we need to make ready to fight. Everyone check your gear, inspect your weapons. Zach get your squad and go draw their belt feds from the armory trailer plus ammunition and spare parts kits. Grenadiers go grab your 40 mike mike rounds and make sure you have plenty of HE and a parachute flare each.” The 40MMs brought something to my mind and I turned back to Zach. “Zach grab one of the Mark19’s and set it up on the Willys, belts of HEDP and HE. I want it over the .50 this time. Alright, get your shit wired ladies and gentlemen, it’s going to be a long fucking day. Brief others as they come in.” I looked towards the center of the field everyone was assembled in and saw our company field medics in the center, perfect. I headed in their direction. I needed to know who our medic was going to be. My cousin was going over everything in the field packs with his troops, ensuring all were ready. He had managed to bring our medic/corpsman count up to half a dozen, himself and three others were prior service medical fields, the other two being Chloe Brady and a new guy I wasn’t familiar with. Ryan looked up as I approached and stood up. “Kumusta Pare?” “Mabute. Ikaw?” “Nervous, excited. Haven’t felt like this since Fallujah.” “Ryan who am I getting, is it you?” Ryan shook his head no. “Not this time Cuz, I’m going with Lt. McCierney and Bravo, you’re getting Brady.” I didn’t like the idea of a green medic, not that I didn’t trust her or Doc’s judgement. Chloe, hearing her name turned and stood up and approached. “Tech Sergeant McCoy, I wont fail Alpha. I’m not experienced in battle yet but HM2 Rios has already had me training on live animals to treat serious wounds. You can count on me.” Ryan spoke in her defense. “She’s right cuz, I wouldn’t send a new Corpsman solo unless I was fully confident in their ability. I don’t have enough to give you two.” I sighed. “I understand, Chloe please know my reservations are not based on any doubt of your medical capabilities… as I’ve learned in the last few months, combat can do strange and unexpected things to us. I want you to stay close to the veterans and do as they do. Understood? Brady smiled. “Yes Sir.” “Alright Ryan, I’ll take care of her. I gotta get back to the Platoon, it looks like the briefing is over in there and they are coming out.” As I walked back to towards my platoon’s staging area I saw Brad heading towards the Jeep followed by Corey, he looked my way and gave me a “Come hither” pull of his head, thus I followed him to the hood where he laid out a map. Thank f*** it wasn’t raining today, or freezing ass cold. “Alright, here’s what we got Jim. Petry has passed on to us that satellite surveillance picked up light armored columns heading towards Salmon Pass, another towards that long ass bridge only the logging companies us, plus a heavy armored column moving up 90. Bravo and Charlie are taking Salmon Pass, we are heading to the bridge. The Army is going to have its hands full on this one, apparently, they are facing off against tanks supplied by the Russians.” I looked at the map. “How the f*** are we going to hold a bridge with one platoon?” Corey spoke up. “We’re not, I’m going to blow that motherfucker up. It’s an old steel trestle railway bridge that had been converted for trucks back in the day. My squad is going to rig the bridge with charges and blow it, hopefully before that column arrives.” I looked at Brad. “Okay, who are we taking?” “1st, engineers, plus two mortar teams. The anti-tank squad is going with Jake so we need to draw a few AT4s and a Javeline. Our timeline is short. It will take us a couple of hours to get there, plus the time for the engineers to set and detonate the bridge. The column is moving slow and has an ETA of four hours, so we will be cutting it close. What’s Alpha’s accountability at?” “We are at 90%, just missing a couple of the guys who live a bit further out.” “As soon as the weapons are drawn and everyone present is geared up we move. If we run across them on the way down they follow us. Otherwise we fight with what we have. Corey gather your men and your gear. We need to load up and get our asses moving ASAP.” “On it Brad… DEMOLITIONS SQUAD ON ME!” the group of explosives experts and destruction junkies were fast to move. “We have a 500 ft long steel trestle bridge to destroy. Grab C4, detonators, a shitload of det cord and tape and everything else we need. You have ten minutes to load our Deuce. Go!” as they hauled ass towards their vehicle and then the storage location for our 1.1 explosives storage location Corey looked back at us and smiled. “We live for this shit!” I shook my head. “Crazy motherfuckers.” Zach and his machinegunners came walking towards us, the Mk19 grenade launcher slung over the should of a former US Marine 0331 Machinegunner only known as “Tiny”. Tiny was 32 years old, 5’8” and 240lbs of muscle… he was built like a brick shit-house and didn’t even struggle with the 77 pound weapon. Zach looked at Tiny “Mount that fucker on the Jeep Tiny. You get to ride with the boss and the Zoomie with it.” Tiny gave a universal response that the USMC loved so much “RAH!” Zach approached me. “I have a 240 and the 1919, plus tripods, parts and over 3000 rounds of 7.62 for each gun plus 500 rounds of 40 for the Mark 19.” “Christ dude, we are going to blow a bridge, not fend off a Banzai charge.” “You never know. We’re going to load up in the 2.5ton we jacked from the FFACA last summer.” “Alright. Make room for Mortars squad too, they’ll have two of the 60mm plus rounds and whatever else LT Brady is sending with them.” “Copy” As B and C platoons were moving around drawing weapons and ammunition as well Brad, Jake, Ryan and I came together for a quick goodbye. We all shook hands and gave subdued words of encouragement and to be safe. Brad stepped forward a half step. “Bow your heads fuckers. Lord guide us in this struggle against tyranny and oppression. Grant us the courage to stand in the face of evil, the strength to do what is necessary to destroy the wicked and the steadiness of spirit to handle what we must live with afterwards. Lord be our shield in battle and protect us from harm. In your name we pray.” And astounding “AMEN” arose from around us, we did not realize over half of our men had circled around in prayer as well. The butterflies and anxiousness I had been feeling washed away and was replaced with a steadfast calm. I walked back to the Willys in silence, then saw Tiny sitting behind his Mk19 on the Jeep. He had written something on the barrel and I read it aloud. “Thor’s Hammer”? Tiny smiled. “I will honor Odin with it today.” I shook my head. “Fucking Marines… I’m glad you’re on our side Tiny”. Before we left I ran to my tent and grabbed two items I had stashed away and brought them out to the Jeep. On the left rear of the Willys I mounted our Company’s banner, the skull and the snake both dancing in the breeze, then I mounted an old US flag on the right. As all our vehicles lined up and started our engines for the drive, unbeknownst to me a figure hauled ass from the TOC to the rear most vehicle and was helped aboard by one of the engineers.
BREAK BREAK: a bit of translation for you readers. “Kumusta Pare?” = "How are you doin, good friend"
“Mabute. Ikaw?” = "Im good, you?"
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Post by texican on Jul 31, 2018 13:17:55 GMT -6
2t2,
Great long chapter....
Now the poop is hitting the fan....
The next chapter will be bullets, mortars, shells, explosions, rounds and blood and guts....
Texican....
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Post by 2t2crash on Jul 31, 2018 16:50:06 GMT -6
2t2, Great long chapter.... Now the poop is hitting the fan.... The next chapter will be bullets, mortars, shells, explosions, rounds and blood and guts.... Texican.... it sure will be. I showed my cousin who Corey is based off a picture of the suspension bridge I had in mind (totally fake so for the readers who know the area dont bother looking for it). "With a squad... I could rig and blow that bitch in a couple of hours or less". My WAG timeline was accurate. I'll take the win on that one!
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Post by htfiremedic on Jul 31, 2018 22:22:20 GMT -6
Oooohhhh Rah!!!
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