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Warfighter 2000: World War III RP IC Thread

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Major Mario

Major Mario

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Apr 26, 2014
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(( Authorized by Hawkeye. ))
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"You're on your own now. Good luck."

It would have been a revitalizing thing to say after a harsh training regimen, or perhaps after earning one's jumpwings or some other decoration, but those words came right out of left field and took everyone by surprise with just how batshit insane it all was. The Soviets and their allies were still out there licking their wounds like tigers waiting in the brush while the environment, the concrete jungles these NATO soldiers were in, shook and crumbled all around. The smorgasbord of military types, drawn from elite pools to reserves to whatever body could fill the space, was skilled enough to handle an enemy force, but with the world so totally fucked as it was, there would be civilians, looters, human scum and who-knows-what-else lurking around looking for someone, anyone, to make a wrong move. For the NATO forces in Frankfurt an der Oder, a German city positioned right on the Oder river/German-Polish border, luck wouldn't be enough to get them out of this shithole.

Some of the soldiers might have relished the challenge, perhaps felt a sense of pleasure or pride at the prospect of fulfilling their purpose. Marcia Cervantes was not one of them. She stared at the radio that had given them their final message and twitched in anger and anticipation, yet she didn't dare speak. Apparently, though groomed for a position as a logistics officer, she was still an officer and thus was expected to keep her composure in front of the enlisted. Her latino blood boiled, and it was her hope that someone from their ragtag platoon would say what was on everyone's mind at that time.

Thank goodness they were in that Observation Post at the time, and even better that it had a roof on it, for things were surely going to get slick with shit.
 
”You’re on your own. Good luck.”

Private Aiden McNab’s head snapped up at the words coming across his headset, a look of confusion crossing his youthful features. Perched as he was above his conpany’s camp in a tall building’s window, keeping an eye out for enemy patrols, he couldn’t immediately reply. Flipping the covers on his scope down and slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he clambered downstairs and out of the building, grunting as he shouldered the heavy door open.. “Shit...” he muttered, heading into the camp. “Shit, shit, shit... That had to be NATO.”

Soldiers all over the camp were emerging from their tents, similar expressions of confusion and dismay poised on their faces. Murmurs filtered to Aiden’s ears as they chatted quietly; they were still deep in enemy territory, and sound carried on the wind. Aiden made his way to where the commanding officer was and rapped his gloved knuckles on the doorframe. He snapped a smart salute when the few officers crowded around the radio looked up. “Private McNab reporting.” At the soft “at ease,” he relaxed, a worried look crossing his face. “Is it true, sirs? Is NATO really abandoning us?”
 
As the camp was coming alife with people starting to talk about the message from NATO HQ. Arvid Eriksen, a member of the Norwegian Special Forces group known as the HJK. The Sergeant Major was cleaning his AG-3 with HK79 grenade launcher attached, which was Norwegian made HK G3. The rifle was his life as any rifle was a soldier's life and if they didn't take care of it, they were dead. He was clearing the chamber running a cleaning cloth through the barrel before running some gun oil to lubricate the parts. As he finished, he racked the bolt handle afew times to allow the oil to lubricate the parts. Once done, he loaded a fresh mag into the mag well of the rifle racking it and loading a load into the chamber before setting the gun on safety. He stood up putting his clearing gear away in his tent. He began to walk through the camp they house the new team he was with until he was placed with another HJK team. As he walked, he began to hear people talk, some weren't at their posts like they should be. "All of you, get back to your posts. If your on ground duty, get back there. Don't forgot the enemy is just outside the wall and will kill you!" He yelled causing some to run off to their posts and their jobs. Great, just want we need" he through as walked.

He eventually talked and called over a soldier that had heard as asked him to tell him what happend. He sighed nodding letting the soldier go back to doing what he was doing. The blonde hair Norwegian ran his hand through his hair wondering what the Colonel and Officers would. He knew that cause of this new so call 'Order' the morale of the troops would drop. He would do his part to help, he made his way to where he thought some of the officers were at. He entered the observation point giving Marcia a quick salute as he saw Private McNab in there as well. "What are your order lieutenant?" He asked her standing at eat with his arms behind his back.
 
Wasn't there somebody- anybody- who could take this hornet's nest out from Marcia's hands? She was a 2nd Lieutenant, akin to being an honorary, lower-class officer given the title out of pity instead of any real effort on her part. The chocolate-haired Latino glanced around at the uniforms of other men and women to search for silver bars, oak leaves, birds and stars and other symbols, and while she could have sworn that she had seen a few around, nobody was making an effort to speak. The air was tense and people looked as if the floor was about to collapse under their feet at any moment. Somebody had to say something, and despite Marcia feeling heavier than any sandbags she placed down in basic, she figured she needed to step up.

The two enlisted men, a US Marine and a European, possibly Norwegian, were the catalysts that pushed Marcia into the spotlight. She played her part with as much reservation as she could muster- a hand went out to run through her brown locks, her features smoothed to a professional level and her stance, though rigid like a mouse caught before a tiger, retained some relaxed attributes.

"We don't know that, Private," Marcia replied to McNab after a hurried, flustered salute back to the Sargeant Major. "We're here on the front line, and High Command is back quite a way. We'll see about clearing the message up when we reconnect with HQ. If we reconnect."

Oh Christ, Marcia hoped this wasn't the case; she didn't want NATO to abandon her.

"Either way, we'll have to do some research, stay on the radio or send runners to figure out what's going on with NATO if they're-" The Lieutenant cut her speech short and looked over to Eriksen as if she just had a dismal thought. "Sargeant, have you walked the perimeter recently? Do we have men at their posts watching the line?"
 
The Norwegian nodded as he replied to Marcia's question. " Yes ma'am, I have some. The men are worried about what happending. They heard about the message" he explained before continuing. "I have ordered them back yo their posts and to keep a eye out. We may get attack if the enemy thinks something is wrong." He said sighing softly looking at the 2nd Lieutenant and the private. "What's your order ma'am?" He asked her wondering what she would do with this chaos that dropped in her lap. He would do his best to keep the enlisted in line and follow the order from the officers. It was the only way they could makenit to another day.
 
Well, the first and most obvious answer to the Norwegian's question was a flat-out: "I have no fucking clue," followed by the old favorite, "I'm a Logistics Officer, not a Combat Unit." But Marcia, even as she opened her mouth in preparation, chose wisely. She couldn't say that- she wouldn't, not with her being stuck between a rock and a hard place. The enlisted man, the rock, would crumble and the hard place, the upper echelon, would bring a righteous hammer down upon her head long before they got their heads outta their asses. Marcia needed to think, and what she lacked in experience she made up for with the burning desire to avoid embarrassment.

Simply put, it was like being put on the spot to answer a question from a teacher in high school.

"That's the thing, Sgt. Eriksen," Marcia remarked upon glancing at the soldier's rank/nameplate. "We don't know about the enemy. Command dropped a bomb over the radio for us to dismantle, disarm, whatever, all without telling us about enemy movement." She shook her head and threw her line of thought aside. Now was not the time to speculate. "Uh, nevermind that.

So, until these orders are superseded by a senior officer, you will do the following: one, get the men on the defensive line with them looking over the river for any movement. Garrison the taller civilian structures if need be. Two, alert any civilians near our DL to move west into the city; keep non-combatant casualties to a minimum that way. Same applies to any rear-echelon or support." Marcia paused, clicked her tongue and then continued that thought. "Unless they insist on staying and reinforcing the main line, then leave them be. We shouldn't start turning away volunteers at this time. And finally, my third order, when you get the chance I'd like a munitions inventory. Rifles, heavy machine guns, grenades, magazines, etcetera."

Turning to Private Aiden McNab, Marcia gestured to the Sargeant.

"Private? You should find your squad, or any squad needing an extra man, and hunker down on the line, unless Sgt. Eriksen here could-" Again, Marcia second-guessed herself. "Actually, why don't you go with the Sargeant? Assist him with the inventory?"
 
Aiden adjusted the sling of his rifle, getting it into a more comfortable position on his shoulder while he listened to Lieutenant Cervantes and Sgt. Eriksen talk. He didn’t feel that it was his place to say anything- they were officers, commissioned, and he was just some rookie private.

His eyes flicked up from the radio sitting on the desk, and he straightened up, nodding, at Maria’s orders. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, snapping a smart salute. “Assist the Sergeant with inventory.” He then turned to the older man, waiting at attention. “Awaiting orders, sir.”
 
Corporal Perry, USMC, did not think much of the announcement over the radio. First, because she was numb to bad news by now. Second, because she had been on the frontlines for the last six months and anyone who had been around that long knew what was going on to a pretty good extent.

Long gone were the days of massive maneuver battles between high-tech armored formations as the skies roared, trails of fire raining down in the form of aircraft shot down in the dogfights going on overhead. All that had ended years ago. The attrition rates in men and materials could not support such efforts for long. When she came back to Europe after a lengthy stay in the US to heal from a nasty leg wound, the M1 Abrams had become a martyred saint of armored warfare. The last Apache helicopter anyone had seen in the last year was a blackened wreck on the other side of the river, which people used as a landmark when spotting enemy movement over there. Fixed-wing aircraft had been pulled back even before that, never to return. Perry guessed they would be hoarded for homeland defence.

Shame they had not decided to do the same with the troops.

Perry sat on a firing step in a trench, next to a dugout with a dummy machinegun on it. The weapon was actually a broken assault rifle she had bulked up with bricks packed into cloth cut from a rucksack to simulate an ammo box under the broken gun. The dugout could not be entered from the trenches because the entrance was blocked with a steel plate to protect the trench. The idea was to entice the Russians or their Eastern-European allies to hit the dugout first with their heavy weapons and reveal their positions or intentions. The plate would protect the trench itself from the shrapnel, and Perry was just done reaffirming it in place, packing some more earth around the base, when she received the message. The MARSOC operator dropped her shovel blade-first and sat down to have a breather.

The way she looked at it, the message simply meant that the chain of command had broken down completely. Usually, it had been a temporary thing. Radio transmissions from command posts would attract artillery fire, so the more undisciplined officers died first. Then, the veteran ones bought it when the enemy got lucky guesses or staged frighteningly good ambushes. Thwarting those had been the job of Perry´s unit when they first came to Europe. And then, well, it was just a long and slow string of skirmishes, pitched battles, ambushes, artillery barrages and air attacks. Oh, and desertions, of course. All of which meant that officer academies in the States could not keep up with training replacements, and the ones they sent were worse and worse. A nasty issue that worried Perry to no end, because nowadays you just didn´t know who was competent and who wasn´t. Perry wondered if she was competent herself, having entered the service in the last third of the war, more or less. Was she up to task like the professional soldiers from before the war started had been?

Who knew? Who cared anymore?

The woman was tired of war. She did not know what came next, so she simply stared at the command tent, waiting to see what the officers intended to do. As for herself, she had a clear about it: if there was no mission anymore, warriors went home. Simple as that. So Perry watched, a part of her too numb by the calm around her to react, and another part eager... no, starved for a reason to pick up her things and start walking west.
 
The string of loud and explicit profanities in both french and English would have been enough to sour the ears of even the most hardened solider for half a kilometer around the regiments command tent.
"Make me a colonel and then tell me to go take it up the." He cut himself off as he slammed his fists so hard on a table he cracked the water warped wood. He took in a few angry breaths and let them out and slowly calmed down. The other officers inside the tent looked on at their commander in silent aw. He had been a tired old man until recently, cool under fire and effective, but the war had been draining on a man who didn't even want to be there. They had certainly never see him explode like that. "Well everyone, we are on our own. Someone give me a report on what we've got here. Some yankee's and another half regiment right?... Okay and the wounded?" Someone handed him a report and he skimmed it. Two hundred, not to mention the civis to take care of. "Alright, put out a call to whomever's listening and ask them to rally on us. Or at least give a rep." There had to be a lot more lost guys out there, no doubt just as miffed as the french right now, and they need to pull them together somehow. "Send it out in whatever languages we speak, accept Russian. Say Colonel Joffre, 2 Regiment Foreign Legion is assuming command of the situation in the absence of a higher authority. Anyone who disagrees can come say so to my MG okay." he then stormed out to light up a cigarette and take a smoke break. He probably woudln't get to do that much more and he needed one right now. "And send out a few patrols to look for the idiots who have turned their radios off."
 
Arvid looked at the young American Marine as the lieutenant gave them the order to check the inventory of the camp. The Norwegian nodded and gave a quick salute before turning and stepping out with a nod to the private to follow. Once outside. He sighed before walking to the base's supply dump. "What's you name Private?" He askrd as they headed to the dump. "Let me give you a little word, don't mean to sound bad. But don't call me sir. I work for a living and quite happy being a NCO." He said smirking letting the young man see that he could joke. Then, his tone change shaking his head. "The lieutenant is in shock and second guessing herself. We need to help her makr the right choices and as long as she and us follow the Colonel's orders. Most will make it" he said as they got to the dump. "Start counting the food and medical suppiles. I will get the ammo and fuel" he said as he began yo check the inventory of the ammo that was at the supply dump.
 
Aiden chuckled at Arvid’s words, following along with him. “Private Aiden McNab,” he said, offering a casual salute. “And I agree. Assisting the higher-ups is a priority.” The private nodded in response to the sergeant’s orders, grabbing a clipboard and heading for the other side of the depot to take stock of the food and medical supplies. So far, there hasn’t been any major injuries that he knew of, so the medical supplies had barely been touched.

Taking stock of the food was a different story. With troops from several nations all camped in one spot, rations were dwindling rapidly. Aiden cursed softly when he noted just how low the food supplies were getting, shaking his head as he moved from crate to crate. Taking off his helmet, the blond soldier ran his gloved hand through his hair. “Jeez... We really need to resupply...”
 
So the Sargeant and Private banded together like brothers to carry out the Lieutenant's orders. Marcia wanted to smile at that- she really did- but with all the doom and gloom and grand speeches being flung about, the woman settled for a tired, relieved grimace. She plucked a few strands of chocolate-colored hair and tucked them behind her ears before turning back to her post and to logistical reports, radios, documents and runners with much to talk about but very little to say. But there wasn't anything new to mull over, and with the threat of an enemy invasion looming over the heads of every soldier, even if there was the opportunity to double-check notes and logistic reports, there were better things to do. Even a Sargeant and Private could see that- perhaps they knew it all along and jumped at the opportunity to get out of this Observation Post.

In due time Marcia would have to seek out her weaponry hanging near the exit. She had fired her weapons many times before, but she had no combat experience. Perhaps in the coming hours that would change.

"Colonel Joffre?" Marcia was only able to hear the tail-end of what the French colonel had to say before the man stormed outside. She wanted to follow him and perhaps get a little advice out of him, but from the way he moved and brandished his cigarette it seemed clear that he needed a moment to himself. "Hmm. Well, aren't we just a smorgasbord of countries?"

The colonel had assumed command, and with his gruff nature and assertive personality, Marcia supposed he was the best man for the job. She also heard about his order- sending out a few patrols to find men and women who had turned their radios off- and thought about going out to find some more sergeants who could see all that through. Hell, with how little things were changing at this point, Marcia had the urge to pick up her guns and attach herself to a patrolling squad. Before she knew it, the Latino had her pistol in hand and was making sure that she didn't have a round chambered.

As she stood in the tent flap opening, Marcia caught sight of a ghost. It was an average blonde thing with pale, peachy skin, and though anywhere else it would look alive, out here the thing looked dead. Marcia could tell this woman was American, and like the young private from before, this was someone from the Marines. A veteran from the looks of things too, as no woman could pull off that tired, numb look without having seen a lot of shit. And yet here she was as a Corporal while an obviously green Lieutenant looked on. It was almost humorous.

"Corporal?" Marcia spoke to the blonde as she lowered her weapon into its holster. "Corporal," she tried again, "how are you holding up?"
 
Perry watched as the French colonel, a Norwegian sergeant and another Marine left the command post soon after the radio announcement, followed by other staff going about their jobs. She noted that there was no message on the radio other than to establish the French officer as the new CO. No orders, no evaluation on the situation. The corporal knew the men would soon be asking questions because she was asking them to herself already. Things were actually worse than they looked, and would not improve if command was not more decisive. But it was not her job to second-guess or play backseater to the officers. And honestly, maybe some uncertainty would help a little. Get people back on their feet instead of their asses. The sector had been too calm and people had gotten too sloppy.

A little bit of implied danger might be just the thing to get them rolling.

Speaking of which, Perry saw a US lieutenant with a pistol out. A latino woman, 101st Airborne. Perry had seen her around before, but the MARSOC people mostly kept to themselves. Made sense, seeing how they were among the last competent people left around. They went out on patrol, checked sectors, sent reports, and since they were obviously doing their job and didn´t abuse logistics, the officers allowed them to do as they please, assuming they were being professional. And that was true, for the most part.

It did not occur to her that they might be about to get new, far more dangerous work to do until the lieutenant called out to her. Saluting the officer right here in the frontline would have been the stupidest thing to do. Instead, the woman straightened her posture into what passed rather convincingly as a `sitting at attention´ position. The corporal listened to the lieutenant, noting the name on her tag. Cervantes? Wasn´t that the name of a famous Spanish writer? Her Spanish lessons back in high school were very far now.

"I´m doing fine, lieutenant. Thank you for asking." Perry answered with her Southern accent and slow enunciation, which made her sound like she had to put effort into speaking correctly, but was actually a way to buy herself time to think. She nodded respectfully as well, not noticing the cool stare her blue eyes directed at the officer. It was the kind of stare that the quiet Marines had. Not the ones that screamed `Semper Fi´ at the top of their voices, but those who whispered it to themselves before doing something very violent to someone. That, unfortunately, was a look Perry had had no means to get rid of for some time now. "What about you, if I may ask?"
 
Woman to woman, Marcia would have loved to sit down and spill her guts to Corporal Perry. At times she wanted nothing more than to talk about inconsequential things as she sat back and relaxed, but with the way the world was now, such things couldn't come to pass. On the bright side, this meant that the quiet moments spent talking about friends and family back home weren't just cliche, tell-tale signs that someone was about to kick the bucket. Now they were bonding material and messages of hope. Marcia hesitated with her answer, as if choosing the right words, before finally speaking.

"I'm doing alright," Marcia lied. In truth, Marcia was worried, and it showed in how she stood as if she was expecting a mortar to come crashing down on her at any second. "From the looks of things, our defensive line is set and the men are loaded for bear. It's only a matter of when and where the enemy decides to hit us, or if they bother in the first place."

The Latino came closer and got down on her haunches in a squatting position so she could speak to Perry in her personalized trench. Her brown eyes flicked over to the sandbags and supports, then to jury-rigged dummy machinegun in that flimsy dugout. From a distance, the foxhole looked impressive enough to be targeted by indirect fire, but from up close, Marcia figured it was more of a grave with a broken gun as its motif. Having dug a few trenches and foxholes herself in basic, Marcia had a rough idea of what Perry was doing and allowed a smile to form on her lips. She nodded, hummed in thought and then turned back to the Corporal.

"Nice work, especially with that plate."
 
Perry nodded at the lieutenant´s response, and her obvious attempt to steer the conversation in a different direction. Or perhaps she simply had better things to do than engage in self-pity and did worry about the state of the defenses. These were... well, they were in much the same state they had been for several days now. There was only so much earth you could dig and broken rubble to move around before you came to the conclusion that at some point you were just playing with Legos at a scale most children wished they could play at. There had been talk of extending the trenches back, but there were already two lines behind the first one. Anything that got through them would not be stopped by a fourth line, and if the commies had anything like that, they would have used it already.

The Marine noted the way the paratrooper surveyed Perry´s little DIY work on that section of the trench. As the officer did that, Perry dusted her hands off on her knees, washed them off with a little water from her canteen, dried them off on her pants, and put on her combat gloves. It was her equivalent of a martial artist´s meditation routine. It calmed her down and prepared her for combat, but she did it for rather simple and non-intellectual reason: her combat gloves were too precious to get torn apart digging trenches. She still had a spare pair, but you just never knew. And the message from command seemed to imply that having gloves or anything else in good condition was soon going to be a luxury.

Perry received the compliment on her dugout with a tired smile. It was not that long ago that she received compliments for her clothes or her prettiness, back in the US. For some time now, it had all been about marksmanship scores, grenade throwing, night navigation and the more day-to-day stuff like stitching uniforms back together and knowing a couple civvies with useful stuff to send to the frontline in exchange for food or medicine. The blonde caught herself right at the moment when she knew she would slip into homesickness, and rebounded with a quick nod at the latino officer.

"Those reds must be pretty goddamn bored. Might as well give them something to look at. Something unimportant, but that´s what we know. Speaking of which..." Perry hesitated before asking, but... her curiousity was justified, the way she saw it. "What´s the plan now, el-tee? We going to hold position?"

Perry´s question went one way, but her hopes were running in the opposite direction. And the tense, almost needy stare she directed at Cervantes was not that difficult to pick up on.
 
The Major, no colonel, he corrected himself with a bitter taste, was calming down finally, enough to function anyway. Time to go get a look at the state of things first hand. He stuck his head back in the tent.
"Pick me up on my phone if anything happens." He said, referring to his radio. He clapped a helmet on his head and rested his arm along the spine of the machine gun that was hanging from the sling on his shoulder and started walking. His weapon looked like something from WW II and almost was, but when wars happened you often had to put old guns into knew hands and old ones because it was all you had on hand. Another legionnaire followed behind him. A young woman with dark Moroccan skin. "This is a great freaking day for the world to fall apart. Me said bitterly." What had the brass been thinking, what had everyone been thinking. Well he would be damned to hell before he took this sitting down, and if he had his way he would march right back to Paris, promote himself to general, and then have the whole army staff rounded up and host before giving himself a medical discharge and a hefty pension. He caught site of a young officer and marched over to you.

"Hey yankie, what's your name... Alright lieutenant, well looks like I'm your new commander since your own commanders have all soiled themselves and run off." He said with a tired look in his eyes. "Get this position cleaned up, and get that peace of garbage out of here and get yourself a real machine gun..." He held up a hand to silence any retorts as he called his logistics and told them to bring a 7.62 machine gun down there. "I'll give you 500 rounds, don't waste it and don't loose it because it's all you get until we capture more okay? You get your people together and get ready to jump when I tell you because I don't intend to sit around and wait for the Reds to come and shoot us. So, as soon as I know what the hell is going on with NATO forces we're going to secure Berlin and I mean really secure Berlin. Then I'm going to march this army back west and I'm going to shoot all of those idiots you Americans call staff officers so I hope you don't have a problem with that." He spoke so dryly it was hard to tell if he was joking." After that he turned around to goo check out something else and the woman following him shrugged apologetically.
"Look, he's as grumpy as an old badger but he means well. He's a good commander trust me." She said and hurried after him.
 
If the Reds were bored, then that meant they would soon be upon the Allied lines. Marcia figured the Russians and their cheery friends would have had a ball raping, looting and pillaging any towns and villages they came across, if the propaganda was to be believed. To be honest, if that were the case, there would be a hell of a lot more smoke billowing in the distance and crying refugees piling in.

"Can't say, Corporal Perry," Marcia replied without missing a beat. She had no orders last she noticed, so besides the unsettling "you're on your own, good luck" to keep her company, the lieutenant was forced to think on her feet. "Personally, I'd like to stay put and hold the line. We have our lines mapped out and we know who's on them, so in that regard, we have the advantage." Marcia patted her kneecaps and stood up to look towards the east. "Buuuuuut... The best defense is a good offense. Between you and me, we don't know what's out there. A recon pa-"

She shot a double-take towards the approaching Colonel, and once Marcia realized who he was and why he was talking to her, she swiveled on her heel and snapped a crisp salute with great speed and precision as expected of a novice officer amongst bigger fish.

"Sir!"

This man was Colonel Micheal Joffre, or 'Napoleon' to those who knew him better. Apparently he was a Major a while ago before command bumped him up. Marcia hadn't read the man's file; she only knew of him from what the others said. But now that he was here and barking orders at her, Marcia found herself standing there in stunned silence. The Frenchman told her to clean up this trench/dugout position, dispose of the dummy machinegun that Perry rigged up and... besides blather on like a lunatic itching to bust a cap in some incompetent officers, wherever they were, basically told her to use her influence to get her people together.

What the fuck?

And then there was this FFL woman wandering after the Colonel like a lost puppy, or more accurately, like the old man's caretaker (which wasn't fair, considering the man looked to be in his mid-thirties). Though she outranked Corporal Perry there, the way she... Marcia felt bile build up in her system as her head spun. Her immaturity threatened to shine through, but professionalism demanded to be in control.

"Yes sir," Marcia replied. She could see shuffling in the distance and noticed some logistics or rear-echelon personnel bringing up an M240G, a 7.62 MG, for her- or rather, for Perry- to take care of along with boxes of ammunition. "Thank you sir. We'll deploy the MG as soon as this fighting position is cleaned up."

Thank goodness the Lieutenant didn't hiss anything under her breath. She was tempted; devilishly tempted. She didn't want to get on the Colonel's bad side, but at the same time, she questioned his order. Surely someone else needed that M240G, and Perry's dugout seemed perfect to her untrained eye- a big shining target for the enemy to waste their munitions on and reveal their forces. But on the other hand, should things get worse, the fighting position could do with some firepower. In the end, Marcia was a Lieutenant following orders, and she had little insight to how others around her thought.

Marcia took a few steps forward to stop the Colonel before he could get too far away.

"Sir! Permission to send out a reconnaissance patrol?"
 
The Colonel stared at her for a moment, before turning to the woman behind him and saying something to her in french, then to Marcia. "Take the Corporal here, considering our situation I think we all need to be learning to work more closely together and she's a good woman to have so use her how you see fit, besides it's about time you all learned what makes a french backside different then a soviet one. There very nice you should probably pay attention." He gave a weak smile which was the only tell that the last part might have been a dry joke considering that he said the whole thing in the same tone. Yes, the colonel did still have a sense of humor, though it was rare for him to bring it out. "Be careful not to go out to far, the Red line isn't very far in front of us, and we are moving operation to the casino so be aware." He then turned and kept walking. He went around their rear line sectors and checked things out, sent troops to officers and officers to men, as long as they spoke the same language he didn't care, and if they didn't follow orders he had no use for them. If they wanted they could leave, but the only thing they could take with them, was their uniform and a canteen. After that he went back to his command tent to help move it out of the city park where it was set up and move it into the Spielbank Casino. It was funny, they were not far from the Berlin wall, they had pushed this far, only for their lines to stop on the edge of east and west.

Adrea was not a large woman, but she was strong and many would say pretty, not that she cared what people said one way or the other. She adjusted the sling of her captured AK And saluted crisply to the lieutenant. "Well, the commander told you to learn what my beautiful ass looks like, so my ass is reporting." She joked.
 
Abandoned... admittedly they'd had a checkered past with just about any nation in the world but this really just stung. first supply convoys were getting rarer, then no more planes flying overhead and finally the roads were getting deserted. That was what the German people that hadn't evacuated westwards were faced with, the war grinding down the superpowers of the world and finally getting too expensive, leaving lots of soldiers with lots of guns functionally marooned in their homeland.

sure, the ones at the frontlines would maintain discipline, they still had their original enemies to worry about and couldn't afford to slacken in discipline, but in the back a few cowboys apparently thought they could make like marauders and loot whatever was not tied down.

that was of course something the large number of german volunteers found to be disagreeable, and Rammstein, the famed US airforce base and european stronghold became the site of a new somewhat haphazard coalition of armed civilians, volunteers and a few hardy NATO forces that chose to stay.

This new force would do their very best to clean up the western hinterlands while Wolfrid, one of their speakers, would lead what armor and supplies could be spared east, hopeful to link up with the remaining NATO troops in germany.

"alright, we're making good time as is, we should soon come into their range so get me a radio." the young man told one of the few actual soldiers under his lead, the officers had jumped the sinking ship, leaving any rookie that wasn't in the chopper at three behind, and least of those had particular ambitions to lead.

as he receives the microphone he begins a broadcast to any units on the NATO frequencies.
"all remaining NATO forces in Germany, this is the voice of the resistance, we are not ready to give up, and if we have to hold our homeland together with staples and tape. we're currently dealing with the looters and thieves back in the west but are sending whatever manpower, vehicles and supplies we can spare, we're approaching Frankfurt from the west in US vehicles, kindly don't shoot."
 
Aiden finished up his supply check and returned the clipboard he’d been carrying to the soldier guarding the makeshift depot’s door. Reporting to Sergeant Eriksen would be a bit of a problem; while the supply depot wasn’t particularly large by any means, if one got turned around in there, the best thing to do was to get the hell out. Which is exactly what Aiden did, choosing to disassemble and clean his sniper while waiting for the sergeant to finish his checklist. Sunglasses flipped down over his eyes, he hummed a soft tune while he worked over his rifle, making sure the metal workings were clean and ready for action.
 
"Voice of Resistance, this is Foreign Legion HQ in Berlin, our commander has assumed NATO command on the ground here. What's your bearing on us?" Said a male voice crackling across the air waves through the static. "If you have any updates on the rest of Europe that would be nice, especially why Command lost their damn heads?"

A head stuck through the door and then a body in a Foreign Legion uniform came through. "Français anglais?" The soldier asked him.
 
"our bearing on you? i hope we mistranslated that because our bearing on you is that we are the only thing resembling an authority bigger than our own camp in europe.
your commanders packed up, abandoning everything and everyone too slow to ride out on the only wave of cargo planes. the situation in the rest of Europe is best described as a clusterfuck, we got lots of soldiers and no central authority to reign them in, just about all the states have gone broke. the men at arms try to maintain order now but until either they coordinate themselves or go up in smoke from the strain it's all in the air."
 
Knowing that suppiles would be next to impossible to receive for awhile, The sergeant major took his times getting a full count on the ammunition and fuel numbers. If they ran out of ammo for the weapons that everyone had on base. They may have to start using the enemy weapons inplace of their own. Gas could be used from different sources, but th3y took would run out soon. Once the number was recorded, he marked it down and handed the paperwork to the deport's personnel so they could have records. Arvid walked out of the deport to find the young American working on his rifle, the Norwegian NCO smirked, "Ready for action private? He asked him. "Lets head back and report our findings. How are we on the food and medical suppiles?" He asked as he began to walk heading back to the officers. As he got back, he saw the lieutenant with two Corporals, one American and one French. He saw the Colonal go into the command tent. It was probably better if he reported his find to the Lieutenant first then the colonel. "Here is the report of the suppiles Lieutenant," he handed her a paper sheet that had the list of their suppiles that he had finished up on their way up to her. "We have enough ammo if we don't burn through it like madmen. We should be fine for about two months. Fuel about a month or more. But about the same if we don't burn through it fast." He reported before letting the private give his report ad well.
 
"By bearing I meant where are you relative to us." Said the voice on the other end of the line, slightly annoyed. "If it makes you feel better we've all been thrown for the same loop you have and are just trying to get control of our own situation."
 
Aiden snapped a smart salute when Arvid came out of the makeshift depot, rising from where he’d been crouched, working on his rifle. “Sarge! Food and medical supplies are accounted for!” He shouldered his rifle, then continued. “If we pace our rationing, our food supplies should last another three months. Medical supplies are, well...” The blond private’s voice trailed off, and he sighed. “We’re horribly undersupplied medically. I mean, if we don’t get shot, we should have enough to last about the same time.” He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “What am I saying? This is a war zone- of course people are going to get shot.”
 
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