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Post by Munin on Jan 25, 2007 14:14:10 GMT -5
Okay, the time has come for all of you would-be wordsmiths to step up. We need people to show the community as a whole just what true tales of valor should look like. As such, I announce the first ever Tales of Valor contest. If you think you have a good tale, post it to this thread (not to the ToV forum, let's keep things uncluttered). Deadline for submissions is next Friday, 02 February. All entries must follow the rules put forth in the sticky at the top of this forum. Failure to comply with the rules is described therein, and applies to this contest as well. To give you folks an example of what we mean by true Tales of Valor, look here or here as a starting point. The second one is good because it contains two stories in one. For an example of what NOT to do, look here. The winner of the contest (as judged by the mods) gets their very own brand spanking new shiny custom title. You have your mission gentlemen. Good luck!
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Post by Thor on Jan 25, 2007 17:10:44 GMT -5
MODERATOR EDIT hotcarl wrote: "Ok everyone, here is the story that will win. ;D"Car, carl, carl. You clearly did not read the rules in the sticky. To save you the effort of actually having to click, I'll quote the relevant piece for you: "1) Your account on MIA must be at least 6 months old to post a story in Tales of Valor. If you're new to the community, take a little while to get a feel for the place before jumping in. NOTE: if your account is younger than 6 months old and you have a tale that you feel merits sharing, simply PM me. If I agree with your assessment of its worth, I will gladly post it here on your behalf." And the part about what happens to people who don't follow the rules: "Failure to adhere to these rules is grounds for a 7-day ban. You stand forewarned." hotcarl wrote: "Now, if you don't mind, my custom title please. "Well, you're disqualified from winning a good custom title, but I'll give you a bad one to draw public shame. Your posting privileges will be restored in 7 days.
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Post by O'Dwah on Jan 25, 2007 17:35:01 GMT -5
Mine as well give it a go! 0659 Hours, January 13, 2004 Operation: Flying Hatchet The snow had been falling ever so slightly since Midnight, as the sun started to rise above the trees; they glinted as the light hit the ice that had been brought forth from the cold night before. Foxtrot lay three hundred yards North East of Second Squads position by a little bushel of trees. Second Squad was patrolling along side Trail Six, which was the only viable way of transportation in and out of Altec Point, the vital city at which we had lost only seven hours before. Foxtrot had been put on scout recon before the city was taken, and only afterward did he decide to stay and observe the town of enemy movement. With no contact from First Squad in the last five hours, we had two objectives on our hands, take back Altec Point, and find any remaining elements of First Squad. These are the events that followed. “For all we know they’re all dead or have been captured inside the city, and patrolling this trail isn’t going to get us anywhere but an early grave. We should be planning our retreat if anything.” Delta whispered over the com. “We are not going to leave First Squad behind like that, and you’re crazy in even suggesting such a thing. If we do that, we mine as well forget about the whole damned operation.” I replied in anger. Partially he was right, we where running out of time, and we had to make a decision fast, even if it would cost the lives of our fellow players. Delta had just been recently put into our squad and had a very cocky attitude about how long he has been playing and the amount of experience he has had from other night operations. Second Squad was compiled of six men, Me, Delta, Whiskey, Omega, Bravo, and Charlie; we had only been together on two other missions and with Delta being new, we had to totally change the movement at which we worked. “Oakey come in, this is Foxtrot, there is heavy enemy movement on the south wall of the city, be advised over!” “Foxtrot hold your position, Second Squad will move in to engage, keep us updated over!” “Roger, over and out!” The cover of night was quickly fading and only silence and surprise was on our side. We moved swiftly through the left side of the forest watching our steps but keeping pace. We could see the East wall and started slowing to a crawl; Whiskey pulled out his binoculars and scanned the area, no movement detected. One at a time we moved to the side of the East wall, keeping our eyes out for any enemy movement. I was the last to move toward the wall, moving through the forest was easier with the small coating of fresh snow powder on the forest floor. We lined up against the wall and started to move towards the southern point of the city. As we neared the South wall I called for a halt and got on the com. “Foxtrot come in, this is Oakey, in need of a Sit-Rep, over!” “Roger that Oakey, there is still heavy enemy movement on the South wall, they seem to be gathering munitions and supplies, over!” “Roger that, over and out!” Delta peered around the long wall, but saw nothing. We moved towards a small foxhole about fifteen yards south of our current position. Sprinting as if being chased, each Squad member gathered in the hole ready for a fight. “OK guys, this is it, Delta and I will move to the entrance of the south wall. Whiskey, you and Omega take up firing positions and give covering fire if need be, but do not engage until necessary, understood?” “Will do.” “Alright good, Bravo and Charlie bring up the rear on Delta and I. You will move in with us, and get to point immediately.” “Alright, understood.” “OK, we need to do this quickly so try not to get hit, after we are in position Bravo and Charlie bring up the rear. Let’s move!” Delta was a few feet in front of me as we approached the entrance of the south wall, Charlie and Bravo moved in seconds later. I signaled to Bravo to move into point with Charlie. As soon as they where in the door the shit hit the fan, a wall of plastic hell cracked against the door wall as well as Charlie. Bravo managed to find some cover and lay down heavy cover fire so that Delta and I could move in to extract Charlie. I ran in and grabbed Charlie by the leg dragging him towards the door, a few sporadic shots where fired from the enemy but nothing hit thanks to the cover firing coming from Bravo as well was Whiskey and Omega. Delta was a medic and quickly treated Charlie for his wounds. “Reloading!” Bravo cried out as he dumped his empty mag and loaded in a new one. Bravo continued to fire at the suppressed enemy, Charlie moved into position with Bravo and Delta and I ran into the city. We got behind a large abandoned car about thirty feet away from Bravo and Charlie’s position. “Whiskey, move up to the South Wall entrance, we will give suppressing fire as you enter over!” “Roger that, moving, over!” Whiskey and Omega made it to the entrance and called out for covering fire, all four of our gun’s rang our as we blasted the enemy with plastic. A few shots ended up hitting a couple of tangos that had been caught by surprise. Whiskey made it to Bravo and Charlie’s position, while Omega slid in with me and Delta. “Foxtrot this is Oakey, fire at will, over!” “Roger that Oakey be advised!” “Shots rang out from Foxtrots position; several enemies went down from the high powered M21. We all moved up, advancing on the enemy position quickly. Enemy fire was coming from our right side now; we all ducked and covered as BB’s rained down on us. “Hit, hit, hit!” Delta screamed as several BB’s made impact on his right side. With our medic down we where surely screwed, Omega and Bravo fired towards the right side, as Charlie and I fired at the enemy in front of us. After five minutes of intense fighting, Omega and I both ran out of ammo. “Foxtrot this is Oakey, Delta is down, and Omega and I are both out of ammo. Please shoot sparingly over!” “Roger that Oakey, be advised of enemy moving on your Eastern flank, over!” I looked over to the east as I saw a group of players moving towards us, guns shouldered and at the ready. As they moved closer, it seemed as if there wasn’t any hope and god how I was right. Our position was overrun in seconds, after the arrival of the new opposition. We met up with First Squad in the holding blocks inside the City, we where all glad to see each other again, but for us, the fight was over. Hope everyone enjoys!
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Post by Munin on Jan 26, 2007 15:13:30 GMT -5
Lookin' good, OaKeY!
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Zuk
New Member
Posts: 153
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Post by Zuk on Jan 26, 2007 22:40:40 GMT -5
old one but still one of my favorite games
The day was cold and windless. The snow on the ground, barely an inch high, crunched underneath our boots threatening to give away our position to any patrolling opposition that happened to be in the area. As a result what remained of our squad and I were constantly alert for any movement or noise other than the natural sounds of the world around us. Strangely though, the waist high grass of the field seemed abnormally quiet and I got the feeling my lieutenant thought the same for only a moment after the thought crossed my mind he gestured that we were changing direction and heading for the nearby tree line. Drastically increasing the time it would take to get to the extraction point, however, it would provide much more cover if we were to become entangled in a firefight.
With Lieutenant McPherson in the lead I, Private Bombard, followed, with Sergeant Sharpe silently trailing up the rear, and what remained of our squad began its advance to relative safety. Lieutenant McPherson brought his FA-MAS’s scope closer to his face, visibly getting anxious as we came closer to the moderately dense forest. I turned to see Sergeant Sharpe extending the metal stock of his SPAS-12 and bringing the rifle up to line up the sights on anything that may show itself. I suddenly discovered my heart was racing and I’d automatically brought my FA-MAS to bear. The three of us spread into a loose skirmish line and advanced through the tree line. . . . and nothing happened. There was a moment as we all relaxed then returned to our original column as we made our way north down a small trail in the forest.
We had marched for nearly a half hour before Lieutenant McPherson stopped the column with a quick raise of his hand, immediately per our training we moved to the left and right sides of the trail and immersed ourselves in the foliage. There we sat for almost five minutes until the Lieutenant was satisfied there was nothing there, not that I complained, the rest was much appreciated. When we finally got the clear from Lieutenant McPherson he silently motioned to move into the trees heading west. After a small amount of marching we suddenly emerged from the forest into another slightly overgrown trail that was heading north east. After another signal we began to make our way along it becoming more alert as we progressed.
Suddenly we noticed a small group of burnt out buildings in a small clearing along the trail. Lieutenant McPherson dropped to one knee and brought his rifle to bear, turning to me he whispered: “Sergeant Sharpe, Private Bombard, advance by leapfrog, covering rotation. Clear the outlying building and the three of us will converge on the main structure.”
A quick nod from Sergeant Sharpe and I was all the lieutenant required from us before we began, within moments we’d discovered the first small burnt out shed was devoid of any opposition Lieutenant McPherson was already in position on the opposite side of the larger building Sergeant Sharpe and I moved to the front, and seemingly only, entrance. After kicking down the already half destroyed doorway we advanced inside, the roof section of half the building had collapsed leaving only one large room with four large glassless windows. Immediately I noticed that these windows were on each of the three walls that lead outside the building, making holding the building in a fight almost totally pointless. Sergeant Sharpe and I met up with Lieutenant McPherson outside the front entrance; the Lieutenant declared we would take a ten minute rest here before moving on.
I dropped my heavy pack near the entrance and decided to check the load on my FA-MAS as Sergeant Sharpe leaned his SPAS-12 against a tree and went to take a leak. Lieutenant McPherson, never seeming to need rest, stood watch while all of this took place. Mere seconds had passed when I heard a word come from the Lieutenant’s mouth that I’d dreaded hearing all day: “Contact.” He moved to the stone corner of the building’s front and dropped to a kneeling position.
That one simple word caused me to place a fresh clip into my FA-MAS and leap up to cover the lieutenant, I heard Sergeant Sharpe whisper a curse, something about pissing on his hands, as he did up his pants and scooped his SPAS-12 up. Slowly, I made my way into the building and placed the barrel of my rifle through one of the large windows and waited for the order to fire. Then I saw them, 4 to 5 soldiers advancing with various assortments of rifles, from bolt action to automatic. They were holding position just outside of my effective range causing me to become infuriated. Then, from out of nowhere a rifle barrel came up pointing skyward from underneath the window! Shouting a curse I threw myself backward onto the hard floor of the building firing off a quick burst in the hopes of frightening off the attacker more than actually killing them. I then leaped to my feet and sprinted out of the deathtrap of a structure, shots hitting the floor behind me as I ran.
I emerged outside to find Sergeant Sharpe and Lieutenant McPherson in a large firefight. Shots were coming from the right side of the entrance where the lieutenant was stationed, and from inside the building as well now. The Lieutenant called for us to fall back when suddenly from the caved in roof of the building shots began to come, some kind of sniper had managed to scale the roof in the confusion and was trying to lay down fire. We were effectively surrounded with our only safety being a tree line behind us that was a 40 yard jog distant with a sniper was perched just waiting for such an event.
I then realized what I had to do. I immediately took a quick count of enemies, one on the roof, three to four on the opposite side of the building shooting through the windows and past the wall on the side. All of that left one from my original estimate unaccounted for, however, I had all the information I required. I moved over to Sergeant Sharpe and without a word handed him my FA-MAS, taking up his shotgun I simply said: “Wish me luck.”
I simply broke out into a full on run down the side of the house and around a large pine tree that stood at the back corner, the enemy was obviously taken completely off guard by the blatantly suicidal maneuver, their slow reaction to the unexpected allowed me to get off two killing shots before anyone reacted and then the third before he could bring his rifle to bear. Watching the three round bursts from the SPAS-12 land squarely on my opponent’s chests was quite satisfying. Surviving the encounter was even more satisfying, quickly I returned to my squad discovering that there were two unaccounted for soldiers and they had taken the long way around the building and were flanking Lieutenant McPherson and Sergeant Sharpe. As I arrived I saw Sergeant Sharpe lying dead at the Lieutenant’s feet, taking another shot from the SPAS-12 for cover I slung it back over my shoulder and scooped up my FA-MAS from his lifeless hands. As we began to make our way around and back to the original trail I noticed movement from INSIDE the house, too late I saw that the sniper had climbed through a hole in the collapsed roof and crawled on his belly through the fallen rafters and emerged into the main room of the house as I brought my FA-MAS to bear I saw his finger pull back on the trigger and the round fly forth and impact me square in the stomach before I could get my barrel over.
I hit the ground hard, I could hear the lieutenant’s voice over the gunfire cursing, with my last strength I loaded in a fresh hi-cap magazine and tossed him my FA-MAS. I watched as the Lieutenant duel wielded the FA-MAS rifles, taking out the sniper inside with mine and using the last of his ammo from his FA-MAS taking down one of the two opponents coming from the far end of the long building. He let his FA-MAS fall and brought mine to bear and planted a shot on semi-auto right into the last opponents forehead as rounds missed him by the slightest margin.
Despite the loss of my life we had won the day. . . . barely.
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Post by Enkidu on Jan 27, 2007 3:52:17 GMT -5
I want to enter the contest, but I'd prefer not to compete. My custom title is exactly as I'd like it - let someone else have a chance. I'm just going to exercise my writing skills for fun. Glory isn't the kind of thing you earn from a deed that any man could perform. Glory arises from an act that could only have been manifested from the hands of the superhuman. And so it is that on the fields of battle we glorify only the most legendary of us all - the ones who rise above mortal accomplishment to achieve the impossible. Napoleon, Zhukov, Mannerheim, Richthofen and Rickenbacker - these are the men history shall never fail to vindicate.
I was not one of those men.
My deeds are not deserving of everlasting glory, nor indeed of the slightest recognition. I innovate little, rarely win against all odds, and am remembered by very few. What victories I can scrape together I hold dearly to myself, but no historians of any note catalog them. Still, there yet remain stories to be told. Stories which may yet entertain, inform, or even enthrall those that follow in my profession: the mad tinker.
That's right, dear reader, I am an inveterate inventor. An enduring engineer, a constant creator, a tenacious technician, a habitual handyman, if you will. Nothing brings me more joy than to create something of fearsome power out of the toil of mine own hands. Sometimes, in the course of combat, my creations avail themselves in entertaining ways worthy of recording. This is the tale of just such an occasion, the last of such.
It's funny what you remember of traumatic times. If movies are to be believed, what endures are images of suffering, sacrifice, and heroism. The only things I can reliably dredge up out of my trauma-locked memories are the smell of stale sweat and the sight of muddy hillsides. Those memories bring me right back, though, to the harrowing afternoon I spent participating in the largest and most secret invasion into North Korean territory ever undertaken.
I remember the smell of stale sweat because that's what filled my nostrils as I crouched behind a shallow rise immediately before I pissed all over myself. And I remember the sight of a muddy hillside because that was what stood between me and oblivion. Not two minutes before, I had been dashing across a yawning expanse of open ground, thumping across a ramshackle wooden bridge, and scrabbling up a sheer hillside. Mind you, I'm not exactly the most in-shape soldier in the Armed Forces, but when the General commands that his Special Weapons squad lurch into battle, I doth obey. And so it was that I threw myself against the ground, sweating profusely, and near-blind from the heat blasting off my reddened face.
Another thing I remember about that day is feeling a kind of crazy calm. Despite my fear sweat and vision-hampering and soiled trousers, I knew I possessed the most powerful weapon on the battlefield - a weapon of my own design. A gun to shatter the enemy resolve, and a gun to win the war. My pride in the design was so high I felt no sadness that my efforts would never be recognized. It was a secret kind of war my unit waged, one the outside world would never know - could not know. Our victory was absolutely necessary, for if we lost, the world would never know peace or security again - forever plunged into a darkness I dare not imagine.
It was exactly those kinds of thoughts, black thoughts of all-encompassing destruction, that were banished from my mind by the object of incredible power I wielded. On my back I carried a tank of high-performance mono-molecular organic propellant. The device of my own design converted this compound into a high-pressure collimated jet that ran down a reinforced hose from the frame I wore on my back down to the venturi chamber I held tight against my rapidly heaving chest. Inside its quarter-inch thick prismatic steel shell, the chamber secreted over eight thousand armor-piercing ballistic flechettes. With but a press of the propellant release, a storm of hellish destruction would lance forth from the venturi to rain upon our foes. Nobody could hope but to stand against it. My squad-mates dubbed it "The Terrible Thing", a fitting appellation if ever there was one.
So you can see why I was calm as long as I held it against my quivering body, laying in a shallow trench while enemy bullets whined and cracked above my head. The human brain is spectacular in it's capacity for rationale. Mine must have been thinking that with a weapon of such power, there was nothing that could possibly stand against me, not even bullets.
I think I spent about two minutes in that fetid hole, awaiting the order to advance. It felt like a lifetime, though, as stale sweat ran down my fevered face and my brothers died around me. Did I mention that? The constant death? Yes, even while I cowered, my comrades took insane risks paid for in the utmost, hoping to protect the free world one bullet at a time. I distinctly remember, now, how a platoon mate of mine inched up the rise to get a view of the enemy, exposing himself for less than two seconds before his helmet leaped off his head and his skull dissolved into a pink mist. I'm pretty sure some of his brains got on my venturi chamber, because I recall wiping grey goo off the output port, absentmindedly clearing it of any obstructions. Gotta be safe, after all.
Try as I might I can't even remember his name, now. What does that say about me?
I suppose at some point my squad received the signal to attack, but I don't remember that. I do remember a spreading warmth around my crotch, though, as I lost control of my urine at the moment of my greatest terror. I also recollect grinning like a maniac at the same time I pissed my pants, in a schizophrenic instant of conflicting emotions, because my finger had applied exactly twelve pounds of pressure to the pressure release valve of the venturi chamber. Even I was surprised at the sound that issued forth from the business end of my creation. Imagine a fairy-tale giant ripping a phone book the size of a Taco Bell, and you'd have an idea of the sound you'd hear before your eardrums popped from the force of the weapon I wore on my back.
I estimate I blew out the hearing apparatus of 47 men at the moment I activated The Terrible Thing that day in North Korea. The rest of my memories for that terrible battle were limited to sight and smell. The sight of a cloud of supersonic projectiles impacting enemy fortifications. The smell of blood. The sight of enemies scattering, fleeing before an unimaginable assault. The acrid stench of The Terrible Thing's organic propellant. The image of mud churned up by the boots of my comrades, charging toward the retreating enemy. The smell of cold dirt. The feeling of the gun ratcheting against my bones as it did it's dirty deed. The vision of men gunned down indiscriminately. The smell of blood. The smell of all that blood. Oh, God the blood. So much blood.
Blackness followed.
What felt like a thousand years later, I awoke in an aid station. My hearing restored, I could hear the murmuring voices of nurses, indistinct. I could also hear the low moans of the wounded, the burned, and the damned. I think one of them was me.
Blackness again.
Voices, voices saying something about "last one in his platoon,", and the word "hero" over and over. I remember vomiting blood onto my starkly clean hospital sheets, and a nurse looking down at me with calm but concerned eyes. In my nostrils I smelled stale sweat. I saw a doctor glancing down in worry before sprinting away, pursued by a distinctly Korean silhouette who shouted something in a distinctly Pyongyang accent. I see it all against a backdrop of a muddy hill. My hill. The last hill.
During the infinite of internal solitude and darkness that followed I recall this story of non-glory. This story of terror and humiliation and death. What lies before me I know not. What I know for sure is that I deserve no remembrance, no glory. I'm just an inventor, after all.
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Post by Talisman on Jan 27, 2007 13:57:13 GMT -5
Great.
Simply put, Great.
I don't know why, but I imagined the old comic-book style movies while I read that... with the detective sitting at his desk, cigarette smoldering in an ashtray, telling the story. Sin-City/Max Payne-esque.
Awesome storytelling - Would-be participants, mark that story well, because that's how it's done.
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Post by Munin on Jan 31, 2007 10:20:42 GMT -5
Good entries so far. There are only three days left in the contest, so polish your stories and get them in!
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Post by O'Dwah on Jan 31, 2007 15:00:25 GMT -5
Are we allowed to edit the stories and re-enter them? Or is it in stone?
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Post by Munin on Jan 31, 2007 15:56:04 GMT -5
Editing a story is okay as long as you get your edits in before the contest ends (at which point I'll lock the topic until we pick a winner).
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Post by Munin on Feb 2, 2007 13:20:16 GMT -5
This entry comes to us from Weekend Warrior. Enjoy!
It was 0700 hrs. I am leading a small team of United States Special Forces to a small section of woods in Zvornik, in the heart of Herzegovina, to recapture stolen military technology from a new Herzegovina insurgent force, knows as the H.K.S. Our objectives are to infiltrate the H.K.S owned area, capture the technology, arm explosives on the missile silo, and leave on the evac chopper before the bomb detonates. We move towards the enemy position to overview there movements. When we move up, we realize something is wrong. The insurgents are nowhere in sight. Suddenly, we hear talking behind us, and realized they crossed to our rear flank. We shoot at them and fall back.
We decide to split up because we notice them all bunkered down in a tree line about 300 feet from out position. So as I head towards the position they were in 30 seconds after we split up, I realize they aren't there. So I move to the other side of the field where it drops about 8 feet and hid behind the "trench". I survey my surroundings, and notice 2 insurgents moving at the opposite end of the field where I think one of my men is located.
So I move closer.
Suddenly, I hear wild-firing in that direction. Then I see an insurgent run out of the brush and one of my men goes down. A death. Unacceptable.
My only option is to fall back to a tree in the trench. They still don't know where I am. Then I hear more shooting, and my last man goes down. I obviously underestimated the minds of the insurgents.
They begin moving towards my position. I make some wild shots at them and move even farther back in the trench, behind a large tree with some rusty steel attached to it. So I hear an insurgent yelling at them. I peek over the trench, and there's an H.K.S member staring me in the face at about 10 feet. I shoot and kill him. Then the other 2 insurgents start shooting at me, so I fall back, yet again, to another tree. I hide there, and then I see one of them at about 150 feet away, and shoot at him.
A clear miss.
So they move up and hide behind a small mound, and we have a small firefight. I hear them reloading, so I haul my ass back to a small brushpile. I see one of the insurgents sneak up to my old position, and I shoot at him.
Then the fun begins. There was an object in my line of fire, and I hit that instead of him. I start running back. I look behind me, and his support weapon is mowing down grass behind me faster than a lawn mower. So what do I do?
I begin yelling to attempt to intimidate my pursuer. At this point, I have no clue where the other insurgent is. As I'm running, I see the second insurgent sitting behind a little bush in the middle of a big open field. He shoots at me, and I see him reload. I shoot at him, and run out. I attempt to reload my SIG 552 before my enemy.
The insurgent reloads first. He shoots me in the back. I fall to the ground, thinking about how stupid I was to attempt an assault on such well-trained enemies, with such a small force, without any reinforcements. I die, thinking of my girlfriend back at home, and how she will react to this. The insurgents move to collect the ammo and weapons from my fallen men. They don’t notice the detonator in my hand, the activation button pressed. The bomb we planted without them noticing detonates. The entire H.K.S force is obliterated. The stolen weapons technology is destroyed, never to be used by the hands of the insurgents. My mission is complete.
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Post by Munin on Feb 2, 2007 13:21:10 GMT -5
Tales of Valor contest is CLOSED. Give us a day or two to decide who the winner is and we'll announce it here.
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Post by Munin on Feb 5, 2007 18:28:20 GMT -5
And the winner is...
OaKeY!
You'll have your new custom title in mere minutes! Congratulations to everyone that participated, all of the stories that were submitted were definitely a cut above. For all those of you wanting to post your Tales of Valor, look to these fine examples of "how it's done."
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