36 replies to this topic

[southsidediablo]

(OCC:The First few posts are the day of the attacks. I'll launch the attack on Friday or Saturday to give people some time. If anyone joins after that, well, they can just say in thier first post I guess.)

Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. June 20th, 6:00 P.M.
Transport ship, Victoria

General Ivanov paced his office on the cargo ship. Two guards stood at the door. He sat at his desk as another officer walked in. The officer saluted and said in Russian, “Sir! Moscow has announced the attack will be at 8:00 o’clock on the morning of June 25th.” The general looked pleased, “Excellent comrade. Tell the officers to ready their men.” The officer seemed to jump to the door. “A bit jumpy comrade?” The general said. “No sir. I’m going to tell the officers….” The general cut him off, “Make sure the gas-masks work. I don’t want to waste my troops.” The officer left as the general lit one of his cigars. “The eagle shall burn as the hammer ascends” He said to himself quietly.

Los Angeles California, June 25th 5:30 A.M.
California Army Base, Fort Angel

Master Sergeant John Doe woke up in bed. He took a shower and put on his uniform. He was going for a drive so he didn’t put on his full uniform. Just his army pants and a black shirt. He put his weapons in his jeep and went back inside. He grabbed his lighter and cigarettes and looked up. 6:00 A.M.. He went back the jeep and drove towards the desert. He was completely unaware of how lucky he was to leave early that morning.

[Pastinator]

Sam Michaels got up out of bed, and got dressed that morning in his usual apparel. Going downstairs he flipped the sign on the front door around, and and unlocked the glass door. He then lit the fireplace, heating up the room from the morning chill, then sat behind his desk, opening his copy of 'The Divine Comedy' the canto he left at the day before. Sure he didn't get many customers, but he was enjoying life, and today was just going to be another, relaxing, peaceful day in America...

[Blodo]

Pacific Ocean
June 25th, 0400
Unidentified cargo ship

- "Get your lazy asses up and out of bed." - a sergeant was walking among the bunks, kicking each of them with his army boot as he passed.
- "Today is the big day, move it. Inspection in fifteen."
The soldiers slowly crawled out of their bunks and started making themselves useful. Not one minute passed when two other people came into the barracks.
- "Officer on deck!"
- "Thank you sergeant.. Listen up, all of you! This is the day. Today we bring freedom to the people of America and make no mistake about it, we will be greeted as heroes. Those that aren't shooting at us are our comrades and as such I will not stand for pointless violence, do you hear me? You are to conserve your ammunition as much as possible, for we may not have enough shells on the front at a given moment and you will end up without means to fight the enemy army. The briefing is at 0530. At ease."
The officer started walking past all the bunks to the other exit. On his nametag one could see the inscription in cyrillic: Пол. Александр Грачэв - Colonel Aleksander Grachev. On his face one could see that he meant business.

The sergeant took everybody's attention again.
- "Excersize in 10 minutes."

[MSpencer]

1st Infantry Division Headquarters (1ID HQ)
Fort Lewis, Washington
25 June
0515 Hours

It was already a shitty day. It was raining, pouring really, and Harold Stevens didn't have the foresight to bring a poncho to put over his combat uniform. The US Army Lieutenant Colonel was stuck now, standing outside of the officers' quarters waiting for that Sergeant he had dispatched to come back with a jeep. There wouldn't be enough time to go back inside and rummage the damn thing out of his closet anyways, so, Harold would stay wet. It didn't really matter, he was going to his office and planned on staying there the entire day, catching up on paperwork and doing odd jobs that the General passed off to him.
It would be a shitty day. It was another day of peacetime, another day of sitting around and doing... nothing extraordinary. Another day of paperwork, another day of dealing with this horrible billet...
He really didn't have a clue of just how shitty the day would actually be.

[southsidediablo]

(OCC: I hope you know that right now this takes place on the west coast, and not the East coast. So if you could please change that to somewhere on the west coast that would keep it in line.)

[MSpencer]

(OOC: And here I was thinking we were going to be annihilating Washington D.C.)

[southsidediablo]

(OCC: Never said I wasn't. But I'm thinking military stratagy for the invasion.)

100 miles off the coast of California June 25th, 5:30 A.M.
Transport ship, Victoria

General Ivanov picked up a microphone that would send a message to all of the other transport ships. He spoke into the microphone, "Comrades.....This is the greatest moment of your lives. We will be invading the United States. I expect nothing but complete victory. For far too long these Americans have lived with the fear of the Soviet Union attacking thier so called "unbreakable country". We shall show the world our might and fight the Americans on thier soil.... We will fight them in the woods, in the desert, in the marshes and swamps. We will fight until they surrender or they die trying to save themselves. On ward to victory comrades! Do not give up! Do not stop until victory!" The general sat back down in his chair. Victory was at hand.

John was driving north now. He had recived orders to pickup a Lieutenant Colonel by the name of Harold Stevens. He was to be an escort for this guy. John lit up a cigarette and inhaled. He suddenly jerked the wheel as he almost hit a tree. "Damn tree. Gotta watch the road." John said aloud. Going to slow. Gotta go faster. John put the pedal to the metal as he went down the highway.

Edited by southsidediablo, 24 February 2007 - 03:44 AM.

[Pastinator]

Turning over the page of his book, Sam lifted a bookmark and placed in between the pages. He had never been able to sleep for long, and people wouldn't usually come at five thirty to buy books, but he didn't mind. it gave some time to himself, and people knew he would always be there. Going into the back room he turned on the gas, put some oil in the pan, and started cooking breakfast.

[southsidediablo]

(OCC: Since no one has posted, and I have way too much time, i've decided to continue.)

100 miles off the coast of California June 25th, 7:30 A.M.
Transport ship, Victoria

The young officer walked into the cabin, saluting the general that stood with his back to him. "General! The missles have launched and will strike on time. Moscow tells us to wait a day after the strike to invade." The general turned and looked at the officer. "We shall not wait. If we wait, they will regroup and would have a chance of defeating us..... We strike three hours after the strike. Make sure the troops wear their correct gear. No use in wasting troops."


John kept driving. He'd been driving for hours now and he was getting bored. There was no chatter on the radio, but then again it was a quiet day so far. He figured he was about 20 minutes away from the base he was supposed to report at.

[MSpencer]

All around Colonel Stevens, things quickly degraded. An alarm sounded, a drill or the real thing? Two more klaxons began wailing, and then a voice came over the intercom following a long whooping alarm.
"ALERT STATUS ONE. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. ALL UNITS REPORT TO STATIONS. ALERT STATUS ONE. THIS IS NOT A DRILL."
"Crap," the now sopping wet officer said sedately, as he walked into the buzzing barracks. Officers scooped up gear inside, throwing on ponchos and running out into the rain in a frenzy of activity. Most of them would head to the bunkers, Stevens would be needed in the Command Bunker for the 1st Division near the west perimeter of the base, ten miles away. He would have to wait for the driver to show up, and he was already late.
This was certainly not good.
Across the hall, past all of the individual doors for officers' quarters, the phone on the desk for the barrack guard rang. Nobody was there, it was likely whoever got guard duty had run off to a permanent duty station with everyone else, the last of which were just scrambling out now. In a rather trance-like state, Harold walked over and picked up the phone.
"Senior officers' barracks, Lieutenant Colonel Stevens speaking, go ahead."
"Sir! This is Captain Wilson over at the CP," the person on the other end of the line shouted over background noise, mostly shouting and phones ringing. Harold had instantly recognized his voice, it was the division admin officer, and he seemed a bit stressed out.
"The General needs you here ASAP. When is the soonest you could be here?" he finished, shouting out the last couple words as the background noise increased again.
"I'm not sure, Captain. I'm still waiting on transport, but I should be there soon," Stevens said into the receiver as a horn sounded outside.
"Cancel my last, ride's here, I'll be there in ten. Out." he finished, replacing the receiver on the hook. This was not good, things could not be going well if it meant calling a full base wide alert...
Finally walking out of the office and shutting the lights, Harold quickly stopped in his room to grab that damn poncho and some emergency gear before stepping back outside into the rain.

[Blodo]

Pacific Ocean
June 25th, 0810
Unidentified cargo ship
Barracks deck

The situation was rather intense, and yet virtually none of the soldiers looked like they were feeling the pressure. Some of them were looking at family pictures, others were writing letters, and yet others we're sitting around a table, doing what?...
- "Five rubles, open."
- "Seven."
- "I'll pass."
- "Peeing yourselves already, Ilya?"
- "Hey, I'll take the whole bank when you aren't looking."
- "Sure you will. Anybody else?"

Then somebody from the back spoke.
- "What is this?"
As the soldiers turned their back, they saw the sergeant in charge of their platoon.
- "Do I need to remind you that gambling is punishable?"
All of the "gamblers" stood up at attention. The soldier closest to the officer stepped forward and started talking in the most obvious military shout.
- "It can't be gambling if there is no money, comrade sergeant."
The sergeant came closer to the standing soldier.
- "I'm not stupid, Retzko. I won't report you all to the commanding officer only because you are about to stand as heroes of the Soviet Union. Gambling is a capitalist thing, Retzko. You know what the comrade commisar would do if he found out?"
- "I am sorry, comrade sergeant. It will not happen again."
- "I sure hope so. The original point of my visit was to tell you that we have exactly two hours and fifty eight minutes before the operation starts. Make sure you remember the drill. At ease."
As the officer walked out, all of the soldiers sat back at the table, evidently uncomfortable. One of the newly drafted in the platoon waited till the sergeant left and used the situation:
- "Asshole.."
Awaiting a burst of laughter, he was surprised when he heard none and instead the soldier sitting opposite of him at the table slowly stood up.
- "Don't you try and call sergeant Manekov like that, he saved the lifes of us all tens of times over, back when the Japs were raiding our eastern border."
- "Hey.. didn't know." - the conscript defended himself. All he heard in return was:
- "Make sure you do from now on."

Then the other soldier sat down.


Grachev's quarters

- "To victory."
- "To victory..."
Grachev and Manekov quickly bottomed their shots of vodka. They were used to it. Years in the army made them like that. The silence afterwards was almost awkward, but lasted for about four seconds. Grachev broke the silence.
- "I really have a bad feeling about this, Sergei. Ivanov took this operation over completely a few days ago. He will not be himself if he won't try to aggravate the enemy first."
- "I know.. If the brass has any of their tactical brains left they will cool him down a bit, so maybe he won't deliver that terror doctrine of his onto the Americans."
- "Still, we can't forget our responsibilities. General Ivanov is the commander, betraying him would be like betraying our motherland."
- "You are right of course.. the question is however: how long till the general betrays us all instead?"

Both knew they had a point. Neither wanted to continue, so instead the lieutenant filled up the two shot glasses with vodka again..

[Pastinator]

San Fransico Coast Line
Micheals Book's
0815 Hours

Sam sat in his chair, closing his book, and just getting up from his chair. Reaching out towards the frying pan he listened into the distance. Yes, there it was, a high pitched keening noise, growing ever louder and more noticable. Standing up he listend out, the noise growing to a crescendo of high pitched proportions. Just as Sam was reaching back for the pan the nise stopped for less than a second. Then it hit. The earth shook, shaking the very foundations of his house. His pan shook on the hob, boiling hot sunflower oil poured upon his right hand, sizzling skin. Plates crashed and shattered on the floor, his many bookcases fell over. Screaming in pain Sam watched as the oil set fire to his many books, starting a blaze. Running outside screaming he escaped the collapsing bookshop, to see the houses of his street in vareying degrees of destruction. the missile had hit over three hundred yards away, yet most of the street destroyed. Sam looked on in horror, as he saw a man crushed by his door, just as he was escaping.

[Cheshire Fox]

Neil scrabbled over the mound of rubble towards where his bedroom had been. He clawed at the stone frantically, like an oversized yellow - crested rodent. A look of delight spread over his face, before his usual wide grin took its place. He stuck both hands into the rubble. The grin grew more intense and drops of sweat appeared on his forhead as he pulled. With a loud splintering noise, his prize came free. He held up the top to his bedside table proudly, examining the battered thing, before tearing the drawer out. He grabbed up the extra bullets and shoved them into his pockets before pulling the massive revovler itself. He was immensely glad to have it back. It was his most valued possesion. He had terribly upset at the prospect of giving it up upon returning to the army. He was a little upset about losing his rifle. He had liked it, but not as much as the revolver, he concluded. He turned his head to examine the state of his neighborhood.

It was not good. Most of the houses had been destroyed. Neil frowned. He had seen things sort of like this in the War. Someone had clearly attacked them. Who would want to? What had his country done wrong? After a tedious thought process, he concluded it was probably Communists, Jews, or blacks. In the army, it had been clearly instructed to him that none of these were good.

He walked into the street, pistol dangling loosely at his side. He scanned the area closely for a Commie, Jew, or black. He approached one of his neighbors who was staring at his collapsed house. He inquired as to which had attacked, and if he had seen a member of any of the parties.

[Pastinator]

(( DISCLAIMER: Darkskul himself is Jewish, do not take his post as thinly vieled racism, it is in character, and shows views he(I hope) doesn't hold for himself))

[Cheshire Fox]

((Quite so. Thank you very much for that, I probably should have added something along those lines...))

Edited by Darkskul, 03 March 2007 - 06:07 PM.

[Copaman]

Somewhere in the Rocky Mountains
0845 Hours

Damn. I'm supposed to be at a company conference three hours from now. In San Fran. How the hell am I going to make that?

Ryn had been driving his pickup for the last three hours, trying to go as fast as he could without being caught by the law. The conference he was supposed to be at in three hours was the biggest event ever to happen to him in his bland life. At this conference, he was going to be given the opportunity to take his business nation-wide. As in fifty shops or more per state. As in he'd be off easy for the rest of his life.

But he had forgotten that he was still in his typical dress, not some fancy business suit. And that he had enough survival gear in the back of his truck to last him roughly one month in the wilderness, providing he could find food. Not that it would matter in three hours anyways. Not after he heard this over the radio: "West coast under attack. Losses sustained. Attacker unknown, missile impact roughly one half-hour ago"

Oh, shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck the meeting now. There's a gun shop - one I was going to take over - about three miles from here. If I get off now, I might have enough time to pick up a gun and then get over and help. Maybe.

Ryn pulled off the exit he was nearest to - he had almost passed it - and proceeded to the gunshop.

[southsidediablo]

John watched as the Lieutenant Colonel got into the jeep. "Sir! Sorry for being late. This was a last minute thing, as I was supposed to be on leave." John got his head back in the game and drove towards the direction of the command bunker.

10 miles off the coast of California June 25th, 10:50 A.M.
Transport ship, Victoria
General Ivanov picked up the microphone, "Comrades, Now is the time to load into the transports and invade America. Cowards and traitors will be shot. That will be all for now. To victory comrades."

Edited by southsidediablo, 04 March 2007 - 04:22 AM.

[Cheshire Fox]

The answer to Neil's question came soon. After leaving his dazed neighbor standing by his house, he decided the best course of action would be to proceed into the nearby city, the name of which he had not bothered to figure out. He set out in the direction of the burning and shattered skyline.

After an hour or so of crossing jammed highways, fences, roads, yards, and a variety of other things he found himself in what he could only assume to be the "city" as there were more buildings here than anywhere else he had been and more than in the other directions. This fitted in nicely with the cities he had seen during the war. It was here he saw his first Communist soldiers.

The first sign of them he saw was two dead police officers in the street, which were strangely empty. He quickly dodged back into an alley and crouched behind a dumpster, revolver cocked and ready to fire. Not long afterwards, two men in uniform appeared a few blocks down. The uniform was not American, Neil concluded. The soldiers headed down the street in his direction, ducking into stores and checking all around them. They both were wielding rifles, but were not close enough for Neil to identify the weapons, to his disappointment. As they drew closer, Neil managed to catch a glimpse of the insignia on the helmet of the soldiers. They were communists. Unfortunately for Neil, he had underestimated how much his intense hair color stood out.

In broken English, one of the soldiers cried out: "Throw down any weapon you is carrying! Place hands on head!"

Neil did none of the above. Neil heard the gunshot and flinched a bit as the bullets dug into the tar next to him. "Come out, NOW!" The two soldiers conferred quickly in Commie - speak. Neil pressed himself against the wall and began to slide out of the opposite side of the alley, still hidden by the dumpster. He could hear one of the soldiers approaching his former cover. Neil quietly slipped out onto the street, then leaned out slightly into the alley, revolver pointed at the dumpster. The soldier stuck his rifle around the corner of the bin and fired 4 shots where Neil had been hiding. He peered around quickly to check to see if he had hit, and Neil blew his brain all over the dumpster with equal speed.

[Pastinator]

It had been about an hour since the bombs hit, and Sam had spent much of the time bandaging up his hand, then trying to drag his neighbors out from the rubble. Those who had survived had headed off, and he was about to when-

"Throw down any weapon you is carrying! Place hands on head!"

It had come from the end of the street, and he saw two communist soldiers standing, facing a dumpster. Reaching into his pocket he placed his kitchen knife he had taken from his home in his left hand. He'd have preffered to have used the pistol, but he was right-handed, and his left was shaking too much to use the revolver with accuracy. He heard the shots and ducked down, then looked back up, seeing a man decapitated. Collapsing behind a corner he threw up, trying with might to remain hidden.

[Copaman]

Approaching San Francisco
1000 hrs.

The obtaining of a gun wasn't too hard. A 12 gauge with lots of ammo would do fine, Ryn decided.

I've gotta get there soon... I might already be too late...