Post by Praetor on Apr 30, 2015 12:48:21 GMT -5
I noticed that it’s been awhile since a tale of valor has been told so I thought that I might offer up a tale. This story took place during one of The Bastard’s realsims back in November/December (I do not remember which one it took place during.)
The M203 launcher felt heavy in my hands as I subconsciously stroke the trigger with my forefinger. Our squad, Alpha 1-1, was departing the base camp after quickly resupplying our provisions. I had seen on the range the awesome power of a properly placed M203 round and had a thirst to translate that devastation onto the battlefield.
Our group trudged alongside the road, our boots hardly making a dent on the hard ground. The flora around us was stripped barren of leaves, all of which lay cluttered on the ground. The tranquility of nature was suddenly broken however, by the rattle of AEG fire and the roar of a motor.
"Technical incoming!” roared the man in front of me.
We knew that our survival now depended on us making our way hastily off the road and into the surrounding tree line. I scrambled to the side of the road, only to find a wall of dirt facing me. The road has sunken in from wear and I would surely give our squad away to the approaching enemy!
“Praetor! Here!” Confessor whispered as loud as he dared to.
He was a few feet away and already on top of the side of the road. He gave me a hand up as I jumped as high as I could. I could feel my hand breaching the earth as I struggled for a handhold with my left hand. With one final tug, Confessor pulled me to the top of the mound. With our makeshift ambush in place, we waited for the technical to approach our trap.
Earlier in the day we had discussed what our plan would be should this situation arise. Most of the squad would fine down onto the gunner of the technical while I rushed out and laid a M203 round into its broadside. As the vehicle rumbled around the bend I felt myself tense and my forefinger go back to its unnoticed motion of stroking the trigger.
“Alpha on your ten!” The driver alerted his gunner.
Although we had been expecting this war machine—its actual arrival put the fear of God into us. The gunner let off a burst of automatic fire into the brush on the opposite side of the road. I saw the gunner recoil from a carefully placed shot between his mouth and chin. Knowing the technical could not harm us; we diverted our attention to the accompanying enemy infantry forces. Without the gunner bolstering their forces it seemed that the technical was but another small obstacle to our victory.
I was so caught up in the thrill of our immanent victory that when the gunner started firing again I was caught off guard. It took me a few seconds to realize that a medic must be in the technical. With this knowledge one thing became clear to me. We either had to hit the medic or destroy the technical.
I knew what I had to do, I looked over at Confessor who was applying a bandage to a wounded soldier, pausing only to let off a shot with his AK-47. With him occupied I came to the realization that I would have to do this alone. I broke cover and jumped down off of the earthen bank. The impact of hitting the ground made me stumble thus I avoided the first shots directed at me. I saw the technical a mere thirty feet away. I ran into the middle of the road, flipping off my safety as I kneeled down and pointed my launcher square at the technical.
I pulled the trigger. Then I pulled it again. I pulled it a third time before I realized that the gas wasn’t working. I glanced up at the technical and the gunner’s weapon, which was pointing at me. Then I sighed, I had failed.
The M203 launcher felt heavy in my hands as I subconsciously stroke the trigger with my forefinger. Our squad, Alpha 1-1, was departing the base camp after quickly resupplying our provisions. I had seen on the range the awesome power of a properly placed M203 round and had a thirst to translate that devastation onto the battlefield.
Our group trudged alongside the road, our boots hardly making a dent on the hard ground. The flora around us was stripped barren of leaves, all of which lay cluttered on the ground. The tranquility of nature was suddenly broken however, by the rattle of AEG fire and the roar of a motor.
"Technical incoming!” roared the man in front of me.
We knew that our survival now depended on us making our way hastily off the road and into the surrounding tree line. I scrambled to the side of the road, only to find a wall of dirt facing me. The road has sunken in from wear and I would surely give our squad away to the approaching enemy!
“Praetor! Here!” Confessor whispered as loud as he dared to.
He was a few feet away and already on top of the side of the road. He gave me a hand up as I jumped as high as I could. I could feel my hand breaching the earth as I struggled for a handhold with my left hand. With one final tug, Confessor pulled me to the top of the mound. With our makeshift ambush in place, we waited for the technical to approach our trap.
Earlier in the day we had discussed what our plan would be should this situation arise. Most of the squad would fine down onto the gunner of the technical while I rushed out and laid a M203 round into its broadside. As the vehicle rumbled around the bend I felt myself tense and my forefinger go back to its unnoticed motion of stroking the trigger.
“Alpha on your ten!” The driver alerted his gunner.
Although we had been expecting this war machine—its actual arrival put the fear of God into us. The gunner let off a burst of automatic fire into the brush on the opposite side of the road. I saw the gunner recoil from a carefully placed shot between his mouth and chin. Knowing the technical could not harm us; we diverted our attention to the accompanying enemy infantry forces. Without the gunner bolstering their forces it seemed that the technical was but another small obstacle to our victory.
I was so caught up in the thrill of our immanent victory that when the gunner started firing again I was caught off guard. It took me a few seconds to realize that a medic must be in the technical. With this knowledge one thing became clear to me. We either had to hit the medic or destroy the technical.
I knew what I had to do, I looked over at Confessor who was applying a bandage to a wounded soldier, pausing only to let off a shot with his AK-47. With him occupied I came to the realization that I would have to do this alone. I broke cover and jumped down off of the earthen bank. The impact of hitting the ground made me stumble thus I avoided the first shots directed at me. I saw the technical a mere thirty feet away. I ran into the middle of the road, flipping off my safety as I kneeled down and pointed my launcher square at the technical.
I pulled the trigger. Then I pulled it again. I pulled it a third time before I realized that the gas wasn’t working. I glanced up at the technical and the gunner’s weapon, which was pointing at me. Then I sighed, I had failed.
