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A new nation is forged
Topic Started: Feb 16 2006, 02:19 AM (82 Views)
Tristan da Cunha
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Science and Industry
Capt. Arend crossed into the Sudan at noon, departing from a CNNP border town with 100 commandoes, a few weeks worth of supplies. His men were a typical gang of urchins found in the Trilateral Commission's paramilitary, full of passion and adventure - middle-aged people who dropped out of the rat race in search of a purpose in life, suburbanite young men struck by wanderlust, here and there a broken heart who has taken to a military life to ease the pain of rejection ... supplemented by assorted psychos, pervs, and loners handy with a gun.

Each man had immense training in his art. Melanchthon and 47 others were great with the sniper rifle, Janos blew stuff up, Irshad had a knack for surviving in crappy environments. It was your stereotypical company of elite special forces dudes.

Arend himself was not much of a shot and not much of a knife fighter, but he had a good set of lungs and an invincible set of legs, from his days as an amateur marathon runner, so he set a pace for his men. Plus, he was sharp, charismatic, and he picked up languages - fast. He would be the one on the spot, charming the tribals, speaking Dinka or Amharic or Berber or some other clickity-clack tongue.

*****

This was Darkest Africa - a savage land where life and death did not matter. THe only thing that mattered was avoiding the goddamn flies everywhere...

Of course, not all the savages around here were black; a bunch of them were white folks of RUssian descent - they used to run the Tonguskan Republic, before civil war set in. Arend's troop was sent in by the Trilateral Commission to clear the area of natives and secure Sudan for the neverending war effort against Asherton and Sistan. This particular mission wasn't very clear; the ultimate objective was simply to meet up with some Congolese sympathizers in a town called "Yg". As food for thought during the march, the orders also included "massacre uncooperative villages along the way" and "try to find native allies".

So into the west they marched, into the tremendous, blood-soaked sun that the Sahara swallowed every afternoon.
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