Resistance
BadKarma
The Advanced Literature monsters burned my house and gave me a 7 Join Date: 2002-11-12 Member: 8260Members
The Advanced Literature monsters burned my house and gave me a 7 Join Date: 2002-11-12 Member: 8260Members
Resistance
The morning was cold and damp. The early mists still persisted in the hills and valleys of the Ukrainian countryside. It was the middle of May and it was unusually warm. The locals called it a strawberry spring, that is to say, a false one. The winter snow and winds would return in a flurry of storms shortly, Nature giving a short tease of warm weather.
Karl Junker was perched in a small hedge, on top of a cleft of rock overlooking an old cracked stretch of highway. He was wearing surplus Rhodesian camo; the rest of his twelve man squad wearing a mishmash of Russian, German and Yugoslavian gear. He had 220 rounds of 7.62x 51mm in 20 round magazines stuffed away in his web gear. A bit much to hump around, but they have three of those wild assed dune buggy’s to take off in. Assuming everything went right.
The Combine patrol was only a few minutes away, but they still couldn’t hear the APC’s on account of the poor acoustics of the fog. There were four American made claymore mines along the roadside and Karl had the “clacker”, the detonating device. There were supposedly two Combine APC’s and eight soldiers on foot. Plus the four in the APC’s you had sixteen soldiers, not counting the drivers and gunners on the APC’s.
In Karl’s squad there were three RPG-8 launchers, for the vehicles. Normally the rocket would just bounce right off the Combine armour, but the Resistance eggheads had done something to them. Antimatter charges or something like that, Karl was no scientist. He was a damn fine soldier though, and was **** that the enemy that had routed the entire planet was so soft. In Karl’s mind, Earth could have easily taken these bushwhacking pukes in a straight fight. But they had just zapped in, behind the lines, those monstrous Citadels going up in the middle of city centres. Hundreds of gun ships, strafing airfields before the fighters could get airborne. It was over fast.
But now the humans were giving some back. They had organized, underground systems ferrying refugees out of the cities. All the ex-military types had been gearing up to run raids on the Combine patrols, and Karl’s group was going to be the first one. In Europe at least.
“Hell,” thought Karl, “we could be the last ones to get moving.”
The Resistance leaders had no real contact with the other continents or even that far within Europe. A Portuguese man was always broadcasting on a long distance AM band, but it was always weird code. Maybe he’d gone crazy, enough other people had.
The APC’s were in earshot now, about to round the corner. Karl placed his hand over the clacker.
It was just as recon said, eight walking, two APC’s. Four guys walking out front, four behind the rear APC.
“flipping traitors.”, Karl thought to himself, the same sentiment running through the heads of the rest of his squad.
The lead portion was just in line and Karl slapped the clacker. A split second later, all four mines went off, ripping the four lead soldiers to shreds. The explosion kicked up a storm of dust that obscured the convoy, but it didn’t matter. Karl’s two RPG’s fired the second the mines went off, both rockets finding their targets. A strange flash appeared on the hulls of the APC’s, or rather, a lack of a flash. The APC’s seemed to implode, like a crushed beer can. Then they exploded, sending shrapnel into the rear four soldiers. Karl brought his Belgian FN up to his soldier and sighted in one of the still standing soldiers, hitting him right in the chest. He didn't go down though, and got off quick burst with his pulse rifle before his squad’s PKM machine gun cut him down. A thrown grenade killed the rest of the Combine soldiers.
“Clean up!” Karl called, and his squad emerged from their hiding places overlooking the highway. A few badly injured Combine were crawling from the wrecks of the APC’s and were shot. All the gear that could be had was taken, pulse rifles slung. Karl had three dangling from his back. Before he ran back up the hill, he looked at the Combine he shot. His armour had stopped the heavy 7.62x 51mm bullet. Karl quickly stripped the Combine of his vest and draped it over his back. It was amazingly light. He then ran back up the hill towards the buggies. Col. Cubbage would be pleased.
It is what it is. Maybe more to come, but then again I always say that.
The morning was cold and damp. The early mists still persisted in the hills and valleys of the Ukrainian countryside. It was the middle of May and it was unusually warm. The locals called it a strawberry spring, that is to say, a false one. The winter snow and winds would return in a flurry of storms shortly, Nature giving a short tease of warm weather.
Karl Junker was perched in a small hedge, on top of a cleft of rock overlooking an old cracked stretch of highway. He was wearing surplus Rhodesian camo; the rest of his twelve man squad wearing a mishmash of Russian, German and Yugoslavian gear. He had 220 rounds of 7.62x 51mm in 20 round magazines stuffed away in his web gear. A bit much to hump around, but they have three of those wild assed dune buggy’s to take off in. Assuming everything went right.
The Combine patrol was only a few minutes away, but they still couldn’t hear the APC’s on account of the poor acoustics of the fog. There were four American made claymore mines along the roadside and Karl had the “clacker”, the detonating device. There were supposedly two Combine APC’s and eight soldiers on foot. Plus the four in the APC’s you had sixteen soldiers, not counting the drivers and gunners on the APC’s.
In Karl’s squad there were three RPG-8 launchers, for the vehicles. Normally the rocket would just bounce right off the Combine armour, but the Resistance eggheads had done something to them. Antimatter charges or something like that, Karl was no scientist. He was a damn fine soldier though, and was **** that the enemy that had routed the entire planet was so soft. In Karl’s mind, Earth could have easily taken these bushwhacking pukes in a straight fight. But they had just zapped in, behind the lines, those monstrous Citadels going up in the middle of city centres. Hundreds of gun ships, strafing airfields before the fighters could get airborne. It was over fast.
But now the humans were giving some back. They had organized, underground systems ferrying refugees out of the cities. All the ex-military types had been gearing up to run raids on the Combine patrols, and Karl’s group was going to be the first one. In Europe at least.
“Hell,” thought Karl, “we could be the last ones to get moving.”
The Resistance leaders had no real contact with the other continents or even that far within Europe. A Portuguese man was always broadcasting on a long distance AM band, but it was always weird code. Maybe he’d gone crazy, enough other people had.
The APC’s were in earshot now, about to round the corner. Karl placed his hand over the clacker.
It was just as recon said, eight walking, two APC’s. Four guys walking out front, four behind the rear APC.
“flipping traitors.”, Karl thought to himself, the same sentiment running through the heads of the rest of his squad.
The lead portion was just in line and Karl slapped the clacker. A split second later, all four mines went off, ripping the four lead soldiers to shreds. The explosion kicked up a storm of dust that obscured the convoy, but it didn’t matter. Karl’s two RPG’s fired the second the mines went off, both rockets finding their targets. A strange flash appeared on the hulls of the APC’s, or rather, a lack of a flash. The APC’s seemed to implode, like a crushed beer can. Then they exploded, sending shrapnel into the rear four soldiers. Karl brought his Belgian FN up to his soldier and sighted in one of the still standing soldiers, hitting him right in the chest. He didn't go down though, and got off quick burst with his pulse rifle before his squad’s PKM machine gun cut him down. A thrown grenade killed the rest of the Combine soldiers.
“Clean up!” Karl called, and his squad emerged from their hiding places overlooking the highway. A few badly injured Combine were crawling from the wrecks of the APC’s and were shot. All the gear that could be had was taken, pulse rifles slung. Karl had three dangling from his back. Before he ran back up the hill, he looked at the Combine he shot. His armour had stopped the heavy 7.62x 51mm bullet. Karl quickly stripped the Combine of his vest and draped it over his back. It was amazingly light. He then ran back up the hill towards the buggies. Col. Cubbage would be pleased.
It is what it is. Maybe more to come, but then again I always say that.
Comments
The action is realistic, what I would expect of normal guerilla attacks. I would like to see how this continues.
One thing I'm not clear about. I <i>think</i> you say that the combine soldiers are traitors. In HL2, they are not traitors but captured humans that were "upgraded" with combine technology. Please clarify that part for me.
Yea, it was typed up nice in Word when I wrote it, but the forums murderlized it. I don't really know how to fix it.
And BadMouth, that's just the opinion of the characters, so far anyway.
NLO wasn’t much to look at, even in the middle of the night. It was a humble collection of buildings perched near a beach. A few looted “thumpers” were placed near the beach, to keep the new alien vermin out. They wouldn’t go near them, and the soil was too thick for them to burrow through, so they were stuck on the beaches. If you were smart, you’d be fine.
Katrina Ordorva, NLO’s resident doctor, lost a child to the ant lions. Little Urda was one of the few children still alive after the Combine arrived and set up the dampeners. She simply wandered down to the shore to play in the water. They had got her before anyone could do anything, his screams bringing everyone to the dock. Katrina had to be sedated, and was put on suicide watch for a week.
She was working on a new City17 refugee who had caught a 9mm bullet in the right lung. She was a young girl and probably wouldn't make it. She had been shot two days ago and the wound was badly infected. Katrina sighed and gave her a shot of the precious supply of morphine.
A truck full of refugees had been brought out of the City that night, 30 of them. Dr. Vance’s daughter had been driving and had sped off in one of the buggies when she dropped them off, going back to Black Mesa East. Katrina moved on to the next patient, a middle aged man who had a chunk of shrapnel in his leg from a mine. It would be a long, sleepless night.
Col. Cubbage was a little older than middle aged. A retired British Marine Colonel, he had been in Germany when the portal storms had started. He had managed to get himself in charge of the barricaded city of Munich, packed to the brim with over 30 million European refugees from other countries. Just as the military had begun to pick itself up, the Combine had zapped in and decimated them. Cubbage had managed to escape with a group of local Bundeswhere, Maj. Karl Junker being one of them. After living off the land for three weeks, eating whatever alien they could kill, they had set up NLO and a supply line running out of City 17. Shortly after that, the refugees had started coming in and satellite bases were set up, like Lighthouse Point. Now Cubbage had organized the first serious raid against the Combine, with Junker at the helm and they still weren't back. Cubbage was worried.
No radio contact of any kind had been made, although that was to be expected, Junker ran a tight operation. If they failed to return by daybreak, he would send two scouts out on foot, as much as he was loath to. The scouts were good men, though, Yanks. He sent a runner for them.
Sam Taylor, Moose to his buddies, was from Biloxi Mississippi, and hated this place. He was sitting on top of the watchtower in a plastic lawn chair he had gone to great lengths to drag up there, cradling his SVD sniper’s rifle. Every now and then he’d peek out the infra red scope into the darkness, but see nothing. It was damp and cold. He longed for the Mississippi Delta, the heat and the relaxation.
Sam was a Army grunt stationed in Germany and had managed to make his way to the Ukraine during the portal storms. He had dodged all kinds of hideous alien monsters in the European countryside. If he was a city boy, he would have never made it. He had found an old Soviet era armoury and had holed up there for awhile. He had found some disgusting Soviet rations and had lived off them for a few weeks before Cubbage and his boys had shown up, looking for ammunition. As bad as the Soviet stuff was, it was better than headcrab. Eating headcrab is a lot like eating a seagull (Sam had done both, out of desperation), the meat was stringy and greasy, even when cooked. The pale yellow ones were alright to eat, but the black ones would kill you stone dead.
Busy reminiscing about past culinary experiences, Sam didn't notice the rumble of engines until they were very close. He quickly brought up his weapon and looked through the scope. There were three buggies tearing **** down the beach, being chased by what looked like a cloud of ant lions. There must have been thousands of them. Sam grabbed the crank to his left and began winding the Klaxon with everything he had.
City 17 is actually in eurpe!?!? i thought it was in the U.S.
I just wished that you could have described the environment more. Like how the area they were in looked like.
I would guess City 17 is placed somewhere in Russia. Take a look at the square right when you get off the train station in the begining. There is an old Russian sign there....thats my guess.
"A few badly injured Combine were crawling from the wrecks of the APC’s and were shot."
<i>A few badly injured Combine crawled out from the wrecks of the APCs and were shot.</i>
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You have a nice style of writing, sorta like Hemmingway.
Karl was perched in the back rack of the lead buggy, cradling the bleeding head of John Kelly, his machine gunner. His face was badly lacerated and there was an antlion claw right through his torso. Karl figured it had missed his liver or he'd be dead by now.
The trip back from the succesful raid on the Combine patrol had been uneventful, even pleasant. They had managed to kill a bullsquid. Bullsquid meat is not unlike venison, very gamey and lean. It made good jerky too, so it was a boon for the refugees starved for fresh food, even when it came from another world. It was during the small feast that Karl had allowed himself to relax.
He had donned the Combine armour and had placed his cammies and web gear over it. It was surprisingly comfortable. He had also managed to get one of the ugly pulse rifles apart and was struggling to put it back together when the antlions struck. There were twenty of them, screeching and buzzing. Sarah Inglis, the Irish medic, had been killed outright. Two more men were wounded before the vermin could be fought off and the buggies secured. One man would lose his left hand and Kelly was in danger of losing his life.
Sam Taylor was winding the Klaxon with everything he had, sending a winding alarm througout N.L.O. Every man and woman capable of firing a weapon had placed themselves on the docks, just incase the thumpers and the Vorts could'nt hold them back. The three buggies on the beach were only twenty seconds off and the Vorts were slinging "bugbait" everywhere, hoping the dominant pheremones would calm the swarm.
Karl's buggy was the first past the thumpers. The other two followed shortly after and miraculously, the swarm stopped well before the thumpers, even before the pheremone patches made by the Vorts.
Karl fairly leaped from his buggy with Kelly in his arms, screaming for a medic. Katrina Ordova appeared from the basement of the CP building, calling for him to bring the wounded Kelly downstairs.
Sam was relived when the swarm was stopped, and was glad to see that Junker's patrol seemed intact. Most of the assembled crowd below him had rushed to the geurilla's to tend their wounds and relive them. Sam was staring at the swarm. It had stopped alright, but it was all wrong. They had stopped too well. Almost uniformly. They were completely silent, not a chitter amongst them. Sam was officialy creeped out. Then he saw them. Maybe eight of the huge female antlions, pounding up the beach.
"Hey! Lookout for christ's sake! Git on yer guns!"
He sighted in the lead female and squeezed the trigger.
But enough about controlling your story. It would be nice to see some dialogue between characters, though. So far it's all been background story and action.
It lets you showcase emotion, and can liven up scenes.
I had the paragraph problem too, had to manually hit enter to separate all the paragraphs.
Was also kind of surprised to find a HL2 fanfic here, but it never said it could only be about NS fan fics!
Keep writing, there are some basic errors in there, or the words don't really flow. You'll just have to practice and read more to make your prose more natural.
anyway, i think you may be lingering too long on the backstory. so far, i havent seen any "real" storyline yet.