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Patrol; Short Solo
Topic Started: Oct 16 2010, 08:31 PM (190 Views)
Ronto
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Capt. Procrastinate
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
By the location of the sun, he was heading north-east, or at least that was what he thought. Brick was seven miles the other way and the sun hung high in the sky. He had gotten an early start to the day after a terrible night in the small settlement. His jaw ached from a late night bar fight over a simple statement. His mood was terrible, he was hungry and had no set goal as to where he was going, all he knew was that when he reached the other side of the hill in front of him, he would ponder his next moves. Until then, he walked.

As he rounded the bulge in the ground. George White sat on a rock, scratched his head and pondered on the little thoughts in his brain. He lit a half used cigarette and smiled, it was a beautiful day. George took off his jacket, it was graying up from the sun. He stood up and undid his pants, urinating on the shrub next to the boulder. As he relieved himself, George heard footsteps and content voices from down the road, they were coming from the base of the hill, opposite of the side he had came from.

George quickly did up his pants and looked towards the oncoming noise. Four men. He quickly crouched beside the boulder and looked ahead. They were walking in a loose order, grey jackets, assorted trousers and each armed with either a musket or a long pike. They were all humming a tune and chatting aimlessly as they marched up the winding pre-war road.
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Ronto
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Capt. Procrastinate
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
He adjusted his weight and shifted his body, making sure no part of him would be seen, he hoped the men would pass him by, and if they didn't, he had a light cover advantage over them. George opened the pocket of his bandoleer and extracted five shiny rounds, their brass and copper shining in the sunlight. He flipped open the loading chamber of his carbine rifle and loaded them in, snapping the the trapdoor after them. He pulled the bolt backwards and let a round peek into the firing chamber, he shut the bolt on top of it.

George wondered who they were, what they were doing and if they were hostile. They were armed too well for travelers, and the road was an unusual path for mercs to take. The man obviously designated leader by the sword at his side possessed something that scared and interested George, a machine pistol. It had been a long time since he had seen one up close, its extended magazine jutting out from the leader's side. That thing could do some serious damage.

George scrambled to re-adjust his position as the men rounded the hill and stopped on its peak. They swore to each other and mentioned 'reports' many times. George could hardly make out what they were saying and they seemed to possess strange accents, they weren't from around the area. He noticed the men had stopped to scan the horizon on the opposite side of the hill to look for something that had caught their attention. They all huddled to use the leader's crude spyglass as each one observed the anomaly and went to readying their weapons. There was something going on, on the side of the hill.

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Ronto
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George lay prone on the ground, the heat of the sun was burning his face and making his body feel weak, but it was a sacrifice he had to take. He examined each man, one by one, they were gritty, wore mismatched clothing and were heavily armed. As George slowly closed in on them inch by inch, something happened.

The leader of the group, a big man with the saber, pointed the sharp blade forward and issued an order George didn't understand. The three men raised their weapons and one by one sped down the hill, leaving only the leader on top of the hill.

George took the opportunity and slowly began to crawl forward slowly. He reached the cracked pavement and shimmied onto it, George knew if he was spotted now, he'd be a dead man. He was in the middle of the road, roughly ten or fifteen feet away from the man in grey, George took a moment to examine the man. He was a massive man, at least six feet tall, he wore a dirty grey jacket with a number of mismatched patches and a triple chevron on his arm, the high-powered pistol was at his side.

George wiped the sweat off his brow and crept forward, as he stepped toward the man, ready to pounce on him and get some answers, he stepped on a chunk of concrete and slipped. The man had heard the mishap and turned around. George turned pale, he was soon to be dead, the angry leader upholstered the pistol and aimed it at him, he cocked it and walked up to him and instructed George to stand up.

Following instructions, George dropped his rifle onto the ground but ignored the switchblade hidden in his boot. He stood up straight and raised his hands, he tried to seem brave but was flushed with fear, if he was gonna die, it would be on his terms. He moved it towards the man and eyed him.

"So, this is an awkward moment." He slowly said, the words barely escaping his mouth.

The man seemed unpleased, his gun was pointed as Georges gut, he spoke with a accented voice,"Well who the fuck are you. Either you is a 'fedder, a Ranger or a raider, either way, you are an enemy of our great organization."

"Who the fuck are you?" George asked puzzled, he could of sworn these men were a PMC or a mercenary outfit.

The man was about to answer, maybe say the last words George would ever hear, but before he could there was an explosion. The man was slightly affected by the noise, his face had changed to one of concern for his men and of curiosity, he quickly turned his head and looked over his shoulder for a brief second.

This is it, if this is how I go, so be it.

He knew he had one chance to escape, he didn't want to die, he was scared, but he knew he had to do what he had to do. As he turned his head back around, George spear-lunged at the big man hoping to catch him off guard for a split second. The momentum was to great, the man fell backwards and began to fall down the hill, as George tried to regain his balance and run, the man grabbed onto his leg and pulled him down with him. The tow fell down the sloping 40 degree hill at a fast pace, sand and dirt flew all around them as they wrestled for the pistol. George shoved, punched, jabbed and kicked trying to hold on to the pistol as he rolled down the hill, he was in pain from the fall and the blows, but he tried as hard as he possibly could to overpower the bigger man.
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