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Realistic or Modern Ｂｅｓｉｅｇｅｄ

Day 1 - 13:03:17 FST (Femos Standard Time)
Designate: N/A
Pfc. Dimitri "Dima" Mayakovsky
22nd Division, 3rd Battalion, B Company
FOB, Grindes, Femos

"I hope you guys brought an AT kit..." mumbled Dimitri, prompting everyone to look at him before looking outwards to the sounds of tracked vehicles.
From the dusty clouds on the dirt road, emerged a couple of armored BTR-60s and cars - fanning out from their column into a wedge.

DAKAKAKAKAKA DAKAKAKAKA
Tracers threw themselves from the north at the Ambrian defenders, splashing and cracking all around them. A few explosions would follow, as the armored carriers opened up on them. The firefight would last for a few minutes before hostile infantries dismounted from the armored cars and advanced on their position alongside the vehicles.

The Ambrian defenders slowly fell one by one by the hostile forces' firepower superiority. 40mm grenades were launched at the vehicles, downing multiple nearby infantries, but ultimately couldn't penetrate the armors. A few riflemen from the FOB have arrived with an AT kit to knock out the vehicles. Before they could position themselves, a rifle-grenade landed near the crew, blowing one to bits while the other fell back, succumbing to his leg wounds. Dimitri slowly crawl over to the dead AT crew and dragged the rocket into his side of his trench.

"AHHHH AHHH HELP ME! HEL- ..."
"Oh GODD, nooo noo.... Ahhhh AGHHH!!"
"SAVE MEE PLEASE! I CAN'T DIE HERE....AGGGHHHH- ..."

Looking over his shoulder to get help setting up the AT rocket, he watched as his companions danced around the trench, trying to extinguish the flames from the molotov cocktail - before succumbing to their wounds and passed. The opposing forces climbed over the trench, just as Dimitri lifted his SKS and returned the favor.

KA-PICH KA-PICH KA-PICH
went Dimitri's rifle, dropping the attackers one by one before they could break the right flank. Quickly peeking over the trench and lowering himself, Dimitri grabbed a grenade and rigged the Trench's top with an improvised trip-wire device. He then exit the trench on the right and crouched along the riverbed with the heavy AT kit on his back. There, in the bush, just on the enemy's side of the river, he had all the time in the world to get it up and firing.

WOOOOSSHHHHHHH
K A B O O M !
Dimitri's rocket had went off, causing an explosion but misses his target - hitting a tall tree instead.

"Fucking cun-.... "

Before he could finish his sentence, the large tree fell onto the lined-up armor, breaking its turrets and covering their field of vision, giving his comrades a chance to return fire. Dimitri chuckled half-sanely before slinging his rifle and starts picking off the stragglers trying to flank via the riverbed.

Kabboom Kabboom
 
Lt. Elizabeth Forrest

As warned by the medic, the ride back to FOB has been rocky, to say the least. At some points I could've sworn one of the back-wheels were gonna fall off. Then again, the vehicle is in steady hands. Sergeant Lambert is easily among the best drivers of D Company.

The man behind the wheel jokingly spoke:
-"H-H-Hell, what a day, huh?"

Save it for Laurence Lambert to say something like that after a life-threatening disaster. I meet his eyes in the rear view mirror of the jeep.

-"What a day, indeed. Mind the road, Sergeant." - I reply.

What a day. Like that, their faces pop up in my mind with those words. Familiar faces, loving faces, people I worked with and cared for - my comrades. There they are, I can see them right now, all twisted and torn as shells continue to rain upon their burned faces and the tracer rounds tear their broken bodies into something even worse. The uneasiness I felt earlier, it isn't getting better. I feel like I could be crushed by this strange force if I carry on.

But there is still the mission, the duty that I am obliged to answer to. Closing my eyes beneath the heavy helmet, I tell myself that I could never forget their faces. God damn me if I do. We will rain hellfire upon these fools who dared to attack our post.

A sharp, spine-chilling crack of sniper rifle fire snaps me back to reality. It will be a while to get us all back to the FOB, assuming this thing can still function normally after those hits. I turn to the medic, hoping to know a bit more of my companions in the meantime.

-"So, how did you end up here with us Ensign?"

LoneSniper87 LoneSniper87
 
"Captain Wiltshire needed someone to come to the Northwestern COP, M'am. My original intention was to help extract the woman who had made defibrilators, but sadly..." I said, pulling out her dogtags. "She didn't make it." I finished, pocketing them once more. I turned and glanced out the window, eyes locked on the treeline.

"And if you meant how I made it into the military." I began, turning back to her. "Well. M'am, I'm no doctor, despite how much my parents wanted me to be. I learned real quick, the people I was helping were not the ones that needed help. Then it hit me: I'd do more good out in the frontlines than back home cooped up in some office, or some hospital. So, to my family's behest, I enlisted. And here I am." I said, gesturing to myself.
 
July 18, 2017
1:04 PM
D Company's 22nd day in Grindes

Cpt. Richter Wiltshire

Bad has gone to worse.

On my radio, through crackled gunfire and heavy static, a panicked defender of the North COP. He reports- oh, it's a she. She reports heavy enemy presence, mortar bombardment, and... tanks? No, AFVs. Whew. Thank God I ordered a few SPGs installed at that COP, I anticipated some armor that way. Would make a lot of sense. Secure that bridge with an armored strike force, for the larger main force to gain a good stronghold to attack directly into the Main bridge, which is behind us. After they pass the Main, there is no hope left for Grindes.

With my other ear, I can hear a few muffled "PUP! PUP!" sounds coming from the North COP. Must be automatic grenade launcher explosions. They're bringing out pretty recent vehicles, then. BMPs, perhaps? BTRs? Most likely BTRs, those things are popular with Femosi irregular forces.

My mind begins to run amok with speculation, about what the hell the Femosi are playing at. I'm not worried about B Company's side, because they are not the only line of defense against the rebels. Behind them, we have a few mercenary units, and at least four militia companies. Surely they have spread word back to Battalion HQ, and reinforcements will be en route shortly. But the matter at hand remains the same: What the fuck is the play here?

After a while of thorough thinking, I have concluded their most likely move: The North-East and North-West COP attacks are diversions. You can't get armor across on those sides, only infantry. The mortar is for shock value, to make us fall for the trap. With confirmed armor presence on the North COP, where the small bridge is, it's clear that they're aiming for the North COP. I get on my radio.

"Hold fast, North! Artillery support and reinforcements are on the way, over!" I then turned to an artillery officer, and the man nodded, quickly getting on a radio kit back to a nearby Firebase, recently set up in the city outskirts, 5 kilometers behind us. A trio of 105mm howitzers were delivered just now, and I'm sure the gunners are eager for some actual combat. Not sure about the loaders, though.

I peer through my binoculars again, as I faintly hear an officer yell into his radio kit. "Sniper 1! Sniper 1, pull back immediately, do you copy? Repeat, this is Base, pull back, Sniper 1, that's an order! Over!"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sgt. Lawrence Lambert

"Yeah. I got here on the jeep on his orders, to pick up the defib girl and the XO, but now I think a 50% success rate is good enough. Hehe..." I chuckled under my quick gasping. Adrenaline is rushing through my veins. That little gunfight we ran into before we got off on our way leaves my heart still beating vigorously, almost in tandem with the noticeable bumps from the flat left tire in the back. What a day, what a day, what a day...

As I swerve left in a merge from dirt road to asphalt, a series of explosions went off near us, spitting shrapnel plinking all across the jeep's hull. One landed very near my head, scraping my left ear. The windshield quickly shatters, as the engine block is more or less utterly destroyed with fragmentation. What the hell are we under fire from?

No time to learn. We're going to crash into a rock. "Hold onnnnohhhhhshii-" I yelled, as we went sideways, skidding across the dirt painfully for a good 10 meters or so, before embedding ourselves in a rock, luckily with all three people onboard alive. Though I'm not sure I can remain conscious long. I caught a rock with my head. Ow...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Faris Woods

What's that sound? A semi-automatic string of gunfire, barely audible over the deafening 40mm explosions of a BTR-60 bombarding our area. Is that an SKS? We didn't have any SKS man in our unit. Enemy forces? No, they favor AKs. Do we have... reinforcements?

Pfc. Medina, who managed to bring her half-shot ass into my bunker, informs me, with tears in her eyes, that reinforcements, along with artillery support, are coming to aid us. Thank God. Thank fucking God.

I yell out of my bunker's firing hole, trying to get everyone to hear me. "Reinforcements are coming! Reinforcements are coming!" before switching to my gun and taking out 2 rebels who are dismounting from a BTR-60, with the remainder of my magazine.

I hear loud thuds of rifle grenades going off, to the left and right. Afterwards, I heard an AT weapon go off. I motion Medina to take over my position in the bunker, before making my way out of the concrete tomb, my helmet closely scraped with a 7.62mm bullet as I foolishly raised my head a bit too high as I exited. Getting very low, my entire body 1 meter below the ground level, in this shoddily dug trench, I dragged myself through dirt and dust to make my way to the source of the sound.

After a while of crawling, with a few bullets smacking into the dirt above me, I reached the position where the AT weapon supposedly went off, hearing a few KA-PICH sounds as I encroached closer. I peeked my head up a bit, letting off a few rounds of 5.56mm at a group of rebels trying to flank this brave soldier.

As a stench of burnt flesh floods my nostrils, I yell towards the man, motioning my hand towards him. "Hey! Get in the trench! The trench!"

The Cobalt Killer The Cobalt Killer The Omen of Death The Omen of Death Illusive Illusive Loki777 Loki777 Elekta Kount Elekta Kount adrian_ adrian_ Pilgrim59 Pilgrim59 Trappy Trappy
 
Last edited:
1251 hours
Cpl Jason Crowley
3rd Battalion, D Company, 2nd Platoon

The Femosi were bringing out the big toys now: BTR-80 armoured personnel carriers with a few BTR-60s in the mix. They shot our positions to pieces with their 30mm auto cannons while infantry dismounted from their rears, finishing off any stragglers. I managed to kill one, but the rest wizened up quickly, taking cover behind the APCs. The lead BTR turns its attention towards me and my spotter, I had underestimated the range of their 24A2 cannons and we were well within their sights. The APC opened fire on our position, causing great heaps of earth and foliage to violently arch through the air before landing on top of us. Needless to say, we needed to get the hell out of here.

We collected our equipment once again and evacuated the ridge line, finally on ground level but exposed with little viable cover. We saw a friendly squad taking cover in a trench, struggling to hold back thirty or so Femosi soldiers. I managed to kill two before I realized I was running low on ammo. Gotta make them count. As I reload my rifle, I see Craig take a hit in the leg.

"Aaarrggh fuck!"

I sling him over my back and run as fast as any man can carrying 180 pounds. We dive into the trench with the friendlies, they're just happy to see friendly faces in the middle of this enemy onslaught.

"My spotter's hit, do what you can for him!"
"Yes, sir!"

I look over the trench line and I spot an enemy sniper, maybe he's the one who got Craig? I have two bullets left, I hope these guys aren't gonna run out of ammo any time soon.
 
Last edited:
Day 1 - 13:15:17 FST (Femos Standard Time)
Designate: N/A
Pfc. Dimitri "Dima" Mayakovsky
22nd Division, 3rd Battalion, B Company
FOB, Grindes, Femos


Ducking and crouching along the bushes, Dimitri kept his head low as more hostiles converge on his position. The AT kit was empty, and had to be reloaded - something Dimitri would rather avoid doing after what happened with the tree. Explosive proficiency was the last thing to work on right now, especially with his clumsiness.

"Hey! Get in the trench! The trench!"

The voice echoed in Dimitri's ears, voiding him of his surrounding, and prompting him to regroup - of which he followed. Sprinting back with the empty AT launcher, he rolled himself down the steep riverbank and waddled his way back from the riverbed as bullets cracked and whistled all around him. One of the enemy climbed up to the trench, where Dimitri rigged his tripwire, and was launched into the sky by its detonation. Dimitri got a bit too close during his retreat and was ejected from the ground, sending him into the trench. After a few seconds of the blast, Dimitri looked around him briefly, before attempting to sit up against the mounted soil.

"Hey man, are you okay? Are you wounded?"

One of the guys who had recently occupied the trench asked, looking over his shoulders, while his rifle fixed on the trench's right exit. In which Dimitri started patting himself and groping his groin for a bit before nodding.

"My nut's still intact. That's good."

Dimitri chuckled out loud, causing the others to do the same concisely. It was a welcoming break from the intense combat, keeping the guys sane - even for a brief while. He grabbed his SKS and brush off the soil clinging to his action. He then charge the bolt and returned fire.

"Are you guys from Delta Company?"

Dimitri asked loudly over the gunfire, as he got down and swapped out his magazines.


Kabboom Kabboom
 
Lt. Elizabeth Forrest

Everything fuckin' hurts. I'm still in the jeep, but my back feels as if it must've been pounded by a sledge hammer. "Jeep" . . . Well, I'm not sure I could call it a jeep anymore, judging by the state of the vehicle. Worthless-junk-good-only-for-parts, more like.

I yelp pathetically as I try to sit up, I can hardly push with my left hand, not at all actually, with blood gushing out all over my torn sleeve and vest. Some say you don't really feel the pain until you've acknowledged it - I think I might agree with them. I let out muffled moans and cries, as I stare at the terrific sight of a small metallic object - a piece of shrapnel, no doubt - having dug itself into my arm, just above my elbow. I could find no words to describe the pain at the time, it is intense, it blinds your eyes and shivers your mind. But hush, enough, shut it you cry-baby. Breathing heavily, I try to calm myself down and stand the pain a little longer, just enough to access our situation.

Some explosions. Yes, the explosions sent the jeep off-road and now here we are.That explains the little fucker in my elbow. Fuck. Right, Lambert and Doc. We're like a delicious target for those bombardments, the sooner we get out of here, then better. Find some better positions, yes.

"Out! Everyone out! We should be just behind the North COP. Friendlies are there, we'll rally with them." - I speak up.

That said, bloody hell, we're too close to the chaos. North COP is getting the punches right now. More and more gunfire could be heard as more enemy infantry, supported by AFVs rolled out from the tree-lines.

AFVs, right. Conveniently, there is a LAW in the back of the jeep. As my comrades are getting themselves up and off the jeep, I take the launcher out, load it, and lean it on the front of the jeep to aim. When I had the closest vehicle, a BMP-1 currently spraying it's coaxial machine gun at Ambrian soldiers getting into a trench, I squeeze the trigger and the hot air in front of my face was replaced by a hotter air. The shot blew the BMP's track. Well, that thing isn't going anywhere soon, hope someone will finish my job there. I leave the launcher with the jeep and start hauling ass towards friendly positions in North COP. It's getting quite hard to breathe actually, all this dust, blood and heat.

My right hand tightens its grip on my wounded left arm. The warm blood is still dripping down from the shrapnel piece. The warmth feels unusually nice, but maybe it's the heat getting in my head, it's still painful as hell, and stinky. I run as fast as I could towards the outpost, bending low and hiding in the tall grass bushes on the dirt road all dug-up by the shelling earlier. I'm starting to feel a bit dizzy, this wound is a little fucking mean one innit?

"Ay Doc . . . Mind helping me out here when we're there, pretty please?" - I chuckled. I'm not sure I'm in my right mind anymore.

LoneSniper87 LoneSniper87
 
"Errgh..." I mumble, feeling my body pressed up against the back of the front seat, my rifle between me and it. I breathed a sigh of relief, thank God I put the safety on. The barrel of my gun was positioned right next to my head, and my hand was pressed into the trigger. That surely would have been bad. I crawled out from the wreckage, landing on my feet after dropping off the side, albeit a bit wobbily. I hadn't even realized I had a fair sized piece of shrapnel in my leg, until I took a step forward and fell from the weight I put on it. I looked down to see the khaki soaked crimson, and fought the urge to panic. I stood and leaned against the jeep, seeing the lt fire a rocket at an AFV, disabling it.

I turned to look at the sergeant, still in the jeep. I made an effort to pull him out, managing it after a few minutes of working around some things. I hauled him into a fireman's carry and crouched low, following behind the Leiutenant with a limp. "Sure thing, boss. But I got my own wounds I need to tend to." I informed her, stopping in a divit to calm the burning in my leg. We were probably another 100 feet out from the main building. I grit my teeth and continued crouch-running, making my way into the building before rather haphazardly setting down the sergeant against a wall, then leaning next to him.

Kabboom Kabboom Trappy Trappy
 
July 18, 2017
1:16 PM
D Company's 22nd day in Grindes

Cpt. Richter Wiltshire

The sound of gunfire, shellfire, and general explosions ripple through the air, echoing back to the city. I can't imagine what must be going on within the city itself. Chaos and panic, people running away in horror, or standing around in bewilderment, questioning each other about the source of these awful noises, with no one having the real answer? Or have they already evacuated in an orderly fashion? I can't tell, judging by the everyday lives and demeanor of those people, as I got around the city in the back of a jeep.

As for the scene at the FOB, I can hardly even describe part of it. The security detail has gone into full alert, with many soldiers trembling and shaking. It was clear many of them are little more than cowards, who took up guard duty in Grindes as a way to avoid actual combat. They'd maybe even pose as grizzled warriors when they get back home, too. Despicable.

But the few who are doing their job, are doing so admirably. The SPGs have been manned, and a mortar, along with its crew, whose favorite pastime activity was to do everything except for actual mortar practice, have hastily deployed themselves in the courtyard, fixing their weapon in place. Within the comms rooms, with radio kits practically being the walls themselves, I count a pair or more of officers, hurriedly reporting enemy markers and fire coordinates back to the Firebase. A lot of 'I repeat's and 'Do you read me's could be heard from the room. Damn enemy have jammed our comms. Where did they even get those things? They've never employed jammers in actual combat before. But that's because this is the first reported major attack on a populated settlement in this entire region. Could it be...

My thoughts were rudely interrupted, as a single 7.62mm cartridge flew past me, missing my forehead by a few inches, instead flying to an uncertain fate somewhere behind me, in the outskirts. I instinctively duck a second late, my human reflexes only being able to go so far. Every man in this Base were initially shocked by the sound, but then, all Hell broke loose. Gunfire, automatic gunfire, began pouring into the walls, managing to fling a soldier's helmet off his head, sending the thing flying backwards, down into the courtyard. The man is okay, just shaken.

The cowards whimpered, some even screamed at the gunfire. The dedicated people, who are actually here to do their jobs, responded with more than just pathetic cries. A SAW gunner unloads into the source of the gunfire, dulling it for a bit, before others took advantage of the lull in enemy fire, and popped up to return the favor.

I'm proud of my boys for being trained thoroughly. Even with only half of our actual security detail fighting back, with the usage of alternating suppressive fire, and semi-automatic shots, we're blunting the enemy's attack, with some of the rebels actually in view, succumbing to a single or multiple 5.56mm gunshot wounds to the chest and face.

My position was then peppered with a few rifle-launched grenades shortly afterward, blowing a thick bag of sand and dust all over my torso, and also killing the man without the helmet to my left, his left hand hanging over the edge of the platform, droplets of blood slowly forming into a pool at the bottom, staining the sand of the courtyard. He died from a chest full of shrapnel.

After wiping the sand from my face, coughing like a madman, I managed to spot the culprits. Two men, perched behind a fallen tree, holding AK-47s with underslung GP model grenade launchers, one reloading his empty tube, while the other sprays blindly into the walls with his magazine. I quickly grab my FN FNC, and take aim, pulling the trigger lightly, and managing to put one in the rebel reloading his tube, right between the eyes. I briefly take cover, and repeated the process again, sending the other one into cover.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sgt. Faris Woods

"Are you guys from Delta Company?" The rugged man asked me. Tough bastard, he is. "No, but I sure as hell wish I was." I replied in a loud tone, barely audible, with the latter part virtually blotted out by a burst of AK fire, directly onto my position, sending my head down further into the trench as a result.

As I manage to get my head up, I see a BMP-2 get detracked by a lucky AT weapon shot, making the track snap in half as the thing grinded to a halt. As a result, the thing got angry, and started slinging shells at the source, probably that crashed jeep, causing it to explode. I turn my head to look, praying constantly that I don't see mangled corpses. I was relieved, when I found the jeep to be empty, its survivors having run away in time. From what I can piece together within less than a second, one survivor is carrying another on her back, making for the outpost's safe walls, while another, clutching a wounded elbow, gets under a trench, where I left Medina.

This defensive area was built with a spearhead enemy armored assault in mind, a byproduct of that unsuitable standard Ambrian defensive doctrine, the one that still harbors large-scale conventional army conflicts within its cores and principles. But in this case, I am grateful for it. The Femosi have never been so ballsy before, why the hell are they doing this now?

Anyway, I digress. There are 6 bunkers, made up of mostly logs and sandbags, dug into the ground. They provide small slits that men can fire out of, within overlapping fields of fire. Connecting these things are slit trenches, big enough for one person to crawl in and fire out of the top from a crouched position, lazily lined with a few thin planks of wood, with some sections not supported at all. We were allocated 4 recoilless rifles to hold this position, mounted in complicated firing positions, half-dug into the ground. Sadly, with enemy grenade launchers and that opening mortar bombardment, all of them are destroyed. What a shame, what a shame-

Wait a minute.

I tug at the SKS man, while beginning to make my way along the trench with my arched back proving a miniscule target for Femosi fighters. "C'mon, SKS! We gotta finish these fucking Bees off! With me!" I personally referred to BMPs as Bees, but that's not my point.

About 40 meters behind Medina's bunker lies the fourth recoilless rifle installation. It was basically left untouched, with the thing being just tipped on its side from a rifle grenade. If we can get to it, we can deal with these damn things, I'm sure of it. As I pass the bunker, I shout inside, so Medina, and any others around me who can actually hear something other than gunfire. "COVERING FIRE! WE'RE GETTING THESE FUCKING TANKS!"

 The Cobalt Killer The Cobalt Killer The Omen of Death The Omen of Death Illusive Illusive Loki777 Loki777 Elekta Kount Elekta Kount adrian_ adrian_ Pilgrim59 Pilgrim59 Trappy Trappy DanTheMan DanTheMan LoneSniper87 LoneSniper87
 
Day 1 - 13:16:49 FST (Femos Standard Time)
Designate: N/A
Pfc. Dimitri "Dima" Mayakovsky
22nd Division, 3rd Battalion, B Company
FOB, Grindes, Femos


"Bees?" Dimitri muttered under his breath, with a confused expression. Watching the man goes off towards the bunker, Dimitri followed, covering his six as they go along the dented grounds. Noting the recoil-less rifles laying on the ground as they slid into cover, Dimitri finally figured out their next plan.

PAK PAK PAK
Hostile rounds rained down on the pillboxes, as the two got behind the shallow ditch, or what's left of a messed up trench. As the pillbox's garrison returned fire to cover the two, Dimitri gathered what's left of the anti-tank ammunition and assisted his companion with loading it. The two moved further away from the pillbox, before settling their aim on the distracted armored carrier.

"Alright, you're set! Fire when ready!" shouted Dimitri, followed by a gentle, but distinct sound of the rifle going off.

WHOOOOSH
The rocket went straight via the frontal hull and the BTR was caught on fire from within. The crew threw themselves out, going up in flames alongside the burning stove. Most were shot down by Ambrian fire before they could make it to the river. Perhaps it was a merciful delivery for the suffering, or maybe it was a fair return of the Ambrian's tenacity. Dimitri kept it to himself, what he saw, and what he experienced. For no words could describe his conflicted feeling - to give in to the lust of combat, or attempt to forget all that men can do to one another here in Grindes.

"Essie! Another one! Come on! We gotta take that last one out!"

The voice rang in Dimitri's ears, as he return from his troubled thoughts, watching as one of the crewman fell to the ground, with his flesh had all but melted, giving Dimitri one final look as he pass in agony. Grabbing another warhead, Dimitri reloaded the rifle from the back, priming its fuse and patted Faris's shoulder gently.

"Primed and ready to fire!"

"Firing!"

WHOOOOSH
B O O M!
Another round would go off, this time hitting the final BTR-60's flank, penetrating and igniting its ammo rack. Its turret discharged into the sky, followed by a trail of smoke from its chassis's openings and portholes. The fiery junk of metal would lay dormant in the face of enemy fire, unable to do naught - like a beheaded beast that had seen its life departed from this world. The gunfire would slowly die out, as hostile forces began covering their retreat, having lost most of their armored support. Their dead and wounded would remain in the field, either held to their own torment or at the mercy of the Ambrian defenders.

Lowering his head, Dimitri catches his breath, exhaling and inhaling heavily from the bloody scent of the battlefield - of which had been plagued by suffocating carbons of smoke and burning metals. He got on his knees and threw up, followed by a few coughs and reticent groans. He closed his eyes, taking in all the excruciating side-effects at once, as his adrenaline had all but gone.

Kabboom Kabboom
 
Róża
Day of Deployment: Approx. 1300 hours
Arrived safely, .5 Kilos from Femos FOB.
No current orders
-----------------------------------------

She stepped off the train as it was coming to a stop, slinging her pack across her back. She could already feel her heart thumping quicker, even if just slightly. She could hear the distant popping of gunfire, and the smell of oil and gunpowder was in the air. She saluted the train officer, watching the locomotive slowly begin to pull away. Turning, she began down the path. The path heading towards the sounds of sweeping gunfire. She could distinguish the sound of a heavy weapon, standing out amongst the rest of the gun fire. A heavy 'THUMP THUMP THUMP" ringing out over the sound of the smaller arms.

"God, I hope that's ours"

Picking up her pace to a jog, she began closing the 500 or so meters to the center of operations. She needed to get this pack off of her back. She glanced towards the sky as she ran, grey clouds looming in the distance. She saw a brief flash of lightning, but knew the thunder would be drowned out by the booming of the fighting. "Didn't know that it was this bad here" She thought as her feet pounded into the dirt path. She could see the land forts now, built into the ground like stones in a dirt path. She chose the largest one and made for it, she needed to let whoever was in charge that she had arrived. Hitting the cement just before the door, she quickly knocked before slowly opening the door, pushing herself through. "Hello?" She called into the bunker, it was suprisingly dark in here. She saw nobody, and quickly ducked back out. She needed to find where everyone was stationed. She could see a few dug-in holes into the ground, and it took her a moment to realize what exactly it was. Trenches, and they reached out towards the gunfire.

"If anyone is here, they will be there"

She slung her pack onto the pavement of the doorstep, digging her spare magazines out of it. Pushing them into her pouches, adorning her belt, she quickly loaded her firearms. She slung the magazine into her pistol, giving the slide a quick rack, before doing the same to her Primary. Letting the MP9's bolt chamber a round, she slung it to her chest, the Ambrian uniform subtly sticking out, it was a good thing she changed into it earlier. She started into the trenches, the surface a good two feet above her head. Her boots thud against the mud as she made her way into them, careful to check every intersection or corner. She needed to find who was in charge

"Or what in the hell is going on"
 
Lt. Elizabeth Forrest

I make my way towards what appears to be a combat bunker converted to a field medical shelter of sorts as fighting intensifies over the trenches. Corpses and casings litter the ground here and there in the narrow trench, half-buried by the bloody mud, while bullets were exchanged overhead. All this kind of reminds me of those trench warfare documentaries I saw. Never thought I would actually experience it in person, really.

I arrive at the medical shelter, with my combat vest and uniform being an absolute mess. The left side of my shirt is pretty much soaked with blood, and my wound is starting to smell horrific. A field medic quickly notices the newcomer, and rushed by my side to check on my nasty elbow, another soon followed her.

TATATATATATATATATA

The sound from a nearby corner of the bunker gets my attention. A gunner with his sleeves rolled up is unloading rounds with his M60 upon the enemy troops assaulting the outpost through a small firing gap on the concrete wall of the structure. This medical shelter is practically another combat bunker, another advantage point to utilise when facing an outnumbering foe.

That's how messed up the situation had gone to. Oh, speaking of situation, I haven't checked in with the CO in a while now.

I pulled on one of the medics tending to my wound.

"I need a radio, the Company Captain needs a sitrep on our situation here."

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Sgt. Lawrence Lambert

Oh god... How long was I out?

I open my eyes, my entire body feeling like a brick. A very painful brick. Oh god, it hurts all over. I can almost feel my legs, but I can't move them. I can feel my bones sticking out. Oh god, mom, I don't wanna die! I don't wanna go like this...

Oh wait. I'm just being dramatic. There's nothing wrong with me. Just a lot of bruises and scratches, that's all. Yeah. We- we crashed the jeep. Well, I crashed the jeep, but we were in it together. I guess. Ow.

This is the... that girl. That uhh... my memory is failing me right now. But I guess she carried me to safety. Speaking of safety, where the hell am I? I try to stand up, using the concrete wall as my support, while my eyes try to remember how to see.

We're about... 10-20 meters from a trench line, to our right. Standing from where I am, that's to my left. I'm leaning against a concrete building, reinforced with a few metal bars and a shit ton of sandbags, although I suspect they were of any use against the Femosi mortars.

There is a doorway, with the actual door blown to smithereens right next to me. I enter through it, and almost get my eye gouged out by an AK round. Thankfully, I was keeping a rather low profile, and so it only cut off a straight line of hair on the right side of my head. Which reminds me, where's my bloody helmet?

Taking cover underneath a wooden table, which is barely standing upright, what with all the debris lying on it right about now, I began to take in the features of the room. Two large windows to the front, where the bullet came from, with all their glass blown out into the room. There's a large gaping hole in the roof, which is where I suspect a mortar round went off. There's a small fireplace, smoldering ashes lying within a brick encasement, to my front. And behind me... there is a radio kit, lying on the ground, with a part of its metal cover dented.

A radio kit! Perfect!

I crawl towards it slowly, before grabbing a hold of the mic. "Base, base, this is North COP, we're under attack, multiple hostiles! Awaiting orders, over!" I can hear gunfire outside, but I try not to concentrate on it.

LoneSniper87 LoneSniper87
 
I look up at the sergeant, urgently pulling him back down to avoid his head being blown off. "Look, sergeant, imma tell it to you straight. From the crash, you probably have a concussion, how severe it is, I can't tell. I want you to stay here and not do anything to get yourself killed, alright?" I said, then patting him in the shoulder before crouching under the window to get to the lt. "Now let's take a looksie at that piece in your arm..." I say, moving her arm to get a look at it. "Can you move your arm?" I then ask, needing to see it there was any nerve damage.

Trappy Trappy
 
Róża Helminski
Day of Deployment: Approx. 1300 hours
Unwounded, Within Femos FOB.
No current orders
-----------------------------------------

-Three minutes later-

Her boots hit the damp ground as she made her way, soft splashes of dirty water flying up occasionally. She could hear the cracks overhead now, and her heart began to thud harder. The whistling snaps made her duck her head lower, even though they were nearly five feet above her. She could hear the sounds of falling projectiles, a disting whining whistle that stood out more than anything. Mortars and artillery came to mind, and her heart was stuck in her throat.
"I see why i was transferred."
It didn't take long to find a small group, three men firing everything they had out of long rifles. There was a fourth as well, lying on the floor, gripping his chest. Or that was the last thing he was doing, anyways. She moved it out of mind and moved next to them, looking over as one reloaded his rifle, watching him slam the magazine in quickly. "What in hell is going on? Where do you guys need me?" She shouted to him, pushing herself onto an empty ammo crate, taking a knee to stay in the concealment of the trench. She looked back as he gave her a look, one of both curiosity and displease. She shook her head and disregarded him, quickly popping her head over the ridge, Just for a moment. She could see what the others were firing at by the tracers alone, and she saw what was the cause. There appeared to be thirty to forty Men, lying either wounded, dead, or prone nearly 100 meters away. She brought her gun up and quickly felt the recoil, pushing against her shoulder harshly as the gun pulled upwards.
"Gówno!"
She ducked back down and checked how many rounds she just burned, glancing to her right quickly. She saw another small group, and one of them appeared to be aiming a large, anti material cannon. She watched as the fireball bloomed from its muzzle, and heard a metallic clang echo across the trench.
 
July 18, 2017
1340 hrs
D Company's 22nd day in Grindes

Cpt. Richter Wiltshire

Goddamn this place.

I could not, for the life of me, understand how and why the hell these damn rebels are here, in such numbers, with such equipment, attacking me. Of all the people they could've attacked, seriously, wouldn't they just fuck off elsewhere and fight an Armored battalion instead? They'd have a lot more fun that way.

But wishful thinking belongs not to the battlefield, but to the furthest place from it: home. And I'm a helluva long way from home right now. My mind snaps back to reality, with the resonating click of my firing pin hitting empty air. I turn to my men, who are now fighting full strength. "Grenades! Now!" I ordered them, as I fed a fresh magazine into my FNC.

A few clicks and a few booms later, the gunfire subsides. One of our SAW gunners chase away the retreating forces with a burst, cutting down one more, blood spurting from everywhere from the waist down as the poor rebel bastard crumpled to the ground. The forest was empty again, save for the puddles of blood, decorated with leaves and branches broken off by bullets, and the actual cadavers themselves, complete with weaponry, and, if you squint hard enough, the brass casings by their sides. They really didn't get far.

After a while, the pain of exhaustion hit my body. The adrenaline has left my veins, leaving putrid lactic acid for me to "enjoy". As I sit down and rest my weary limbs, a radioman runs up to me, with a handheld radio in one palm, while another clutches a giant battery backpack. I take the call.

Oh shit, it's the North COP. They're still alive and well, but they're taking a hell of a beating. I almost yell into the radio, startling two battered medics, their helmets full of dust from rifle grenade impacts, carrying the corpse of the helmetless man down. "Good! Good! Hold on tight, North! Artillery support is on the way! Over!"

But of course, in the fabled land of Femos, things will never stay put.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sgt. Lawrence Lambert

Oh thank god. Thank the gods. Thank every god in the universe right now. FOB copies! Hell yeah! And what's this? Artillery support? Hell to the yeah!! For a moment, I forgot that there was a firefight going on around me. I snapped back with a few bullet cracks, however.

During my euphoric moment of celebration, that girl said something to me, but I don't really remember that at all right now. Time to get my head in the game. Luckily, I still have my M16 with me, strapped to my back. I unsling it, and prepared myself to pop up from the window and shoot some things, but then a few deafening noises of distant artillery hit the interior of the outpost, ringing my ears like a church bell.

This sounds... too close. Command said they'd be firing arty for us, but the arty shots sound like they came from...

A grimace befell my face as the realization of what it meant dawned upon my slow-ass mind. Confirmation came in the form of a panicked Captain yelling in the radio. "Enemy arty! Get the fuck out of there! Now!" But that didn't come soon enough, as a deafening blast to the left of the outpost hurled debris at me, with parts of the fireplace clocking me right in the ear. I took a while to regain consciousness, looking dazed as all hell, bleeding from everywhere.

I stumble out of the debris, only to be met with a fall into a small trench. I forgot that was there. Though I was lucky, as another artillery round went off to my right, and I would've met a fiery death if I didn't trip and fall. Doesn't make me feel a lot better, though. I grunt, coughing up blood. I spot a few jeeps, apparently on our side, showing up, with gunfire meeting them. I get out of the trench, despite the ongoing battle, and make my way toward the rescue force.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sgt. Faris Woods

"Artillery! Heads down!" I yelled to Essie, before pulling him down onto the ground. I clutched my head, or more precisely, my helmet, as debris from a nearby artillery round, that had landed next to the outpost, making it half-collapse, rain down upon me. One particular piece of brick managed to dent the barrel of our recoilless rifle, rendering it useless.

Before I could get up and indicate what the hell is going on, another one rang off, catching me and both my eardrums off guard. I am sent to the ground again, my ears ringing almost as violently as the blast itself. The two explosions were near each other. They're zeroing rounds, testing out coordinates. I know this tactic.

I perk my head up, and spot Femosi rebels coming out again, with newfound morale. Although they comprised of only infantry, their sheer numbers make this a terrifying sight. AK fire rippled through the air, with only a few Ambrian guns answering their call for bloodshed.

But then, through my thick tinnitus, I could hear a cacophony of return fire, coming from behind me. As I turned my head, confused as all hell, I spot 3 jeeps, loaded with Ambrian soldiers. They've parked horizontally, taking cover behind their vehicles, and laying down suppressive fire, while one, apparently the squad leader, motion his hand to signal us towards him, mouthing off something, before returning with a suppressive burst of 7.62mm from his AK.

I turn back to my fellow soldier, Essie, as I call him. "Go, Essie! I'll cover ya!" I said to him, rushing him to move, before I switched my rifle to full auto and unleashed a wall of lead. As I paused to reload, I yelled at my men, specifically a hard-headed medic in a bunker somewhere. "Medina! 4th Platoon, retreat! Now, now, now!"

The Cobalt Killer The Cobalt Killer The Omen of Death The Omen of Death Illusive Illusive Loki777 Loki777 Elekta Kount Elekta Kount adrian_ adrian_ Pilgrim59 Pilgrim59 Trappy Trappy DanTheMan DanTheMan LoneSniper87 LoneSniper87 Velkyn Velkyn
 
Day 1 - 13:45:19 FST (Femos Standard Time)
Designate: N/A
Pfc. Dimitri "Essie" Mayakovsky
22nd Division, 3rd Battalion, B Company
FOB, Grindes, Femos


"B...Bounding!"

Dimitri gathered what's left of his energy and paddled his way from cover to cover. His lungs lagged behind with every pause along the way. Shallow were his breath, and heavy were his feet. Fatigue tormented him, with sweats drenching his face, and his limbs hindered. Combat had taken its toll on him physically, burdening the soldier's movement. Looking over his shoulder, he could see relentless waves of determined Femosians, with their arms and bayonets fixed on one thing - the demise of the Ambrian defenders.

"Pozitsiy is set! Davai, comrade, davai! I've got you covered!"

Shouted the SKS operator, leaning out from a small stone fence on the side of the main road. Releasing his rifle's action, Dimitri squeezed a few precise rounds at the advancing force, prompting his companion to follow. Overwhelming the defender's front trenches and foxholes, the fight quickly became a dispersed mass of close quarter engagements, with the defenders' morale shaken by the enemy's superior numbers. The flanks were gradually pressured by the width of combat. The Ambrians slowly tighten their perimeter, covering each other as they fall back to the new line of defense.

RATATATATATATA TATATATATATATA

Sporadic gunfire greeted both sides, with the Femosians mounting casualties covering most of the Ambrian's former defenses. Yet they persisted, and with their thunderous cries, accompanied by several coordinated screens of smoke, the fight was coming closer to Dimitri's side of line.

"... -RRAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Out of the thick blanket of smoke, was a figure with a rifle bayonet, whose fiery eyes and frenzied roar were fixed on the retreating Ambrians. When his rifle had jammed, he launched himself forward at Dimitri's companion - whose attention came too late at the forward position. Flipping his under-barrel bayonet, Dimitri hurled himself over the battered fence and twirled his thrusting hands at the Femosian - stopping the latter's momentum. He swung his rifle at the man, knocking him down before stemming his rifle's sharp end through the man's heart. Dimitri cling to his rifle tightly while he stood in shock, observing the enemy's cold face clearly. The formidable foe was barely in his teenage years, almost, if not younger than Dimitri. His eyes lingered on the fallen enemy's visage for a brief while. There was no joy, no remorse, and no particular feeling in Dimitri's mind. A void had filled his heart, with him succumbing to its unpleasantly-enticing effects.

"Grenade! Move move mo- ... !"

P A N G !
A grenade had went off on the side of the road, catching the attention of the spaced-out Ambrian, whose hands were as red as the crimson fields of the riverbank. Before Dimitri knew it, someone had threw him on the ground as rounds flew past the two hugging the dusty road.


"Keep it together Essie! Come on! We gotta relocate!"


Kabboom Kabboom
 
Róża Helminski
Day of Deployment: Approx. 1300 hours
Unwounded, Within Femos FOB Defenses.
No current orders
----------------------------------------

Róża watched In horror as the man holding the large gun narrowly avoided death. Her hearing disappeared as the fireball of the second artillery shell landed just ahead of her, sending her stumbling back against the trench wall. She had no time to react as she watched one of the combatants vault into the trench, rifle in hand as he executed the wounded on the ground, his head flying back in an explosion of crimson mists.
She froze
She could only watch as the enemy raised his rifle towards her fellow soldier, before he was struck by something, sending him crumpling into a heap, a scream curdling from his throat. Loud enough to be the first sound she heard since the blast of the artillery, which had begun to pound the trenches twenty meters away. She slowly came to her senses as she watched three figures round the corner, guns in hand.
"Those aren't Ambrian.."
She snapped back, raising her gun and letting out another burst, the rest of her current magazine. She saw more of that sickening red mist sprout from the firsts chest, and saw him crumple silently. The other two she saw had ducked around the corner, she didn't know if she had hit her mark. There was a split second of silence, or at least relative calm for a trench overtaking. She pulled her sling tight, pressing the submachine gun into her chest. She could feel the warmth of the suppressor through her shirt.
An explosion of noise came from the end of the trench, as rifle rounds poured into where the two men stood. Both went down instantly, the dirt being thrown from the innards of the wall in surprising amounts.
"Retreat!" Was the only thought she had, and it echoed through her vocal chords.
She reaches for her pistol and throws herself around the next corner, determined to keep the advances at bay until the others could make it to her. She leaned out, firing before she had rounded the corner. The pistol kicked back into her palm as multiple rounds discharged, she was doing her best to aim just past the corner, to keep them covered.
"Please, get out of there"
Her slide came back with a metallic clang and instinct kicked in. Muscle memory had the empty magazine in her pouch, and a fresh round slamming into the chamber within seconds. She slammed her pistol into her holster and pulled her primary again, replacing the magazine and letting the bolt slam forward, a satisfying metallic clang emitting. She prepared herself again, gathering the bravery to stick her head out into active fire again. Making sure she was ready, giving herself a mental countdown
"Please make it."

(Sorry for the lack of italics and emphasis, and maybe some other things. Had to do this one on my phone. @Kaboom
 
July 18, 2017
1346 hrs
D Company's 22nd day in Grindes

Cpt. Richter Wiltshire

Hot damn.

Things are getting hot on the front. Enemy artillery is going hot, pounding our forces. I can barely make things out with my binoculars, but it seems the impacts are at least 105mm and above in strength. In all of the battle reports I've seen or heard from other fronts, I've never heard of Femosi rebels utilizing howitzers before; only light mortars and some ancient 75mm artillery pieces. Why the hell have they massed here all of a sudden?

But to my luck, I have the Ambrian's finest looking over my shoulders. Salvos of 105mm rounds fly across the skies above my head, before impacting, danger close, devastating Femosi forces, whom we have caught in the open. Guess they were too riled up with the whole artillery support thing.

But, an NCO quickly grabs my attention, and points to the two COPs that have gone silent. As I turn my binoculars to them, I was horrified by what I saw. Tanks. Actual tanks, not the junk BTRs and BMPs we've encountered so far. I can't really tell what they are, but they are most likely T-62s, T-64s, maybe some T-72s, something from that generation of tanks. They're taking their sweet time crossing the rivers, but no doubt they'll get across.

I get my radioman, and immediately radio back to the Firebase. The artillery officer picks up the call. "Divert fire, North-East and North-West COPs, enemy tanks, fire for effect! Over!" I know it's a bit of a waste of rounds to just call fire for effect without any zeroing rounds, but we can't afford to let them take any evasive maneuvers. Hope we can at least take one out with a lucky 105 hit. I then hit up the platoon leader who is heading that batch of jeeps in North COP.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sgt. Lawrence Lambert

As I stumbled to my feet yet again, I could hear some kind of semi-automatic pistol fire near me. A few seconds of looking around indicates that it's a female fighter, attire resembling those of scouts or artillery spotters. Either way, an ally is an ally, no matter what. I could see her mouthing something, but I can't hear over the raging tinnitus.

I grab my M16, dirty as all hell from the dust and debris. I yell to her as loudly as I can. "Go! You pull back! I'll provide cover fire for you! Then you turn for me! Okay?" And then, without another word, I peeked up from my trench position, and switch the thing to full auto.

I have to admit, the whole firing-automatically-and-hitting-more-than-two-people I've seen in Ambriwood movies are absolute bullshit. The first two shots hit a charging rebel square in the face, but then the rest of my shots just flew overhead everyone else, maybe catching one or two in the knee somewhere way behind. But that was enough to make that group rush for cover, diving headfirst into the tough soil and all.

I then begin to move, using the trenches to my advantage, as retaliation shots began hitting the dirt around me. I then heard someone calling me, all the way from the jeeps. I think that means something.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sgt. Faris Woods

I saved Essie's ass once again. The guy was busy stabbing a poor bastard with the business end of his bayonet, but then that grenade came. "Keep it together Essie! Come on! We gotta relocate!" I practically yelled into his ears, as I begun pulling him up to his feet, taking a scan of the surroundings.

Medina and the boys have begun pulling back, but two more of my men have gone down during the withdrawal. Medina got out fine enough, but I could see a trail of blood on one side of her face, droplets tainting her individual hair strands as she fired blindly behind her back with her gun on full auto. Shortly after they left their positions, an artillery round decimated the bunker she used to be in. Glad I called her out in time.

The platoon that has taken cover behind their own jeeps have now spread out, becoming alert to the enemy artillery. Their numbers are mostly intact, with some taking bullets to their shoulders. If I'm gonna have a good shot at a successful retreat, that would be the best place for me to be in.

I grab Essie by the shoulder and point at the guys, before nodding to him and then making my way out of the trench, using the low terrain and whatever grass there is left to mask my retreat. I could hear a few SKS rounds being discharged in cover of my move. God bless that guy. But it wasn't long before bullets started peppering my position, scraping my right calf, making me yelp in pain. But I had to keep going.

Soon enough, a guy from the jeep platoon grabbed me and pulled me behind his own cover, a low boulder barely enough for the two of us. He then peeked out to fire a 3 round burst, as I begun rolling laterally to the lead jeep, where an old man, most likely the squad leader, is laying down consistent semi-automatic shots with his AKM.

As I finished my stupid roll maneuver, I immediately contacted him, stated my name, rank and the situation at hand. He nodded, and yelled back at me, telling me to pull my men out. He's saying that FOB's orders are to withdraw everyone from this area back to the FOB, or else we'll be encircled. Enough said.

I slowly and carefully peeked my head over a jeep, and yelled to everyone, with my half-battered comms piece still stuck to my uniform. "Medina! Platoon 4! Get to the jeeps, we are leaving! Essie! Come, we're fucking out of here! Let's go, or you'll be left behind!" I then let out a burst of suppressing fire.


The Cobalt Killer The Cobalt Killer The Omen of Death The Omen of Death Illusive Illusive Loki777 Loki777 Elekta Kount Elekta Kount adrian_ adrian_ Pilgrim59 Pilgrim59 Trappy Trappy DanTheMan DanTheMan LoneSniper87 LoneSniper87 Velkyn Velkyn
 
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