1 A.K (After-Khan): A Post-Apocalyptic Military Roleplay IC

“Alright, you bunch of sorry, decrepit, mewling, saint-worshippin’ maggots, listen up! Because this is important! You are now part of the Phoenix Expeditionary Company! ‘Congratulations’. So, you may be wondering: What the hell is it that we do? I’m only going to say this once, so open up your stinking, unwashed, dust-filled ears and hear it! We, as part of the Phoenix Expeditionary Company, are tasked with the duty of contacting rallying isolated communities and forces of the U.S and reminding those god-forsaken sons of bitches which flag they are supposed to fly!”

“Your asses belong to 1st Company, 3rd Squad. Our mission objective lies towards the east. Our route takes us along John Hanson Highway. We are to contact the communities along the highway, and reach the Naval Academy at Chesapeake Bay. Write it down if you can’t remember with your shellshocked, regressed, piece of shit monkey brain!”

“The federal government, YOUR U.S government for the record, in case you don’t happen to remember, is low on supplies, so that means no air support, no vehicles, limited food and ammunition, no intel. We will have no god-damn allies except for those we make along the way, so don’t you dare hold up your hopes for a resupply. It will be a gruelling 50km if you’re lucky. Teams of signallers will trail behind us and set up communication hubs, and reinforcement will follow a day behind us in case any of you got your weak-kneed, cowardly, chicken-shit butts slaughtered!”

“The time now is zero seven hundred hours. We will move out at zero seven thirty hours. Briefing over! Now get your pathetic, skinny, flabby-hipped asses out into the square! If you’ve forgotten anything about the organization, you’d better read it up in your little handbook before I quiz your grade six, ape-brained head about it! Dismissed!”

Captain Jake Colbourne's own words in the briefing was still ringing in his own ears as he sat in a corner of the makeshift square that had been cleared for military assembly. There were still rubble here and there, but enough for a squad or two to form up... More or less. The 'briefing room' he was giving his little speech was little more than the hollow insides of a burned-out Post-Khan shack, partially damaged from a raider retaliation some days ago, back when he was still wondering what the Phoenix Expeditionary Unit was. His own words ringed in his ears-he felt that he wasn't harsh enough, that the seething hatred and rage inside of him wasn't adequately expressed. He clenched his fist, his gloves squeaking under the strain. He took a look around, observing his squad- a motley crew of mismatched soldiers, though not all of them were soldiers. Disgust was written all over his tense face as he saw in them everything he hate- how far down the country has sunk, and what accompanied that fall when the shit hits the fan. He remembered the riots, the looting, the steadily demoralised and unequipped forces that he had to command back before the meteorites struck. He was threatening to explode on the inside, but he held it down. The veteran soldier took a sip of stale river water- clean water was a premium these days, but he did not care. It helped somewhat.

The dusty winds picked up somewhat as he looked at his soldiers talking, milling about, worrying. His eyes went over to his second-in-command, Lieutenant John Khalid Shaheen. Old prejudices immediately well up in his heart, but he reminded himself that it was all past, buried away in the sands of a far away, middle-eastern country that probably did not exist anymore. He appeared capable enough. Any pre-Khan soldier beyond 30 years of age would be considered an asset worth his weight in gold now these days, if gold still exist. However, he has yet to prove himself to him.

Then there was Sid Pleasants, a marine medic of sorts, young and likely incompetent. His old prejudices welled up again, the kind that he gained after seeing gangs of looters and pillagers who went around doing their thing with a little bit of rape and murder thrown in, even as the world around them crumbled. Again, he swallowed his guilty biasness, hoping that the near-end of the world would be enough to knock some sense in kids his age.

Other than that young medic, his specialists consists of David Carwell, Trake Havers and Michael Geary. Again, he had prejudices for them too. These days, there was always something he hate in every single sentient being on the planet, ever since he saw how low humans could be, how disgusting, how insectoid, how vile they could be. He used to love working with soldiers of foreign armies, but now he could no longer trust them. Towards the end of the world, foreign relations had a crisis of its own. China was asserting itself once again as some 'Middle Kingdom', and was threatening every country around it. North Korea certainly did not help. Due to the economic crisis in the western sphere, everyone started asking handouts from each other, and everyone started rejecting each other. Cooperation was at a minimal. The EU got pissed with the US for pulling out, and the US got pissed with the EU for being insensitive to the former superpower's domestic needs. Rising economic powers in South America, Africa and Southeast Asia were more or less turning a blind eye to the sorry state the world was in, riding on reasons such as the need for them to build up their 'economic momentum before unleashing a wave of humanitarian support across the world', and there being too many countries that were reduced to poverty in too short a time.

As for Trake Havers and Michael Geary, well, they completed the picture by being members of a U.S Army that was sliding ever so slowly into incompetence, corruption and desperation. They reminded him of that, even if it was no fault of their own, and even if they were soldiers of the old pre-crisis order. Still, he could not help that he had prejudices for them as well. He did his best to swallow that, but his face was still pretty much showing the anger he had against the world.

Then there was Kaylin, Joe and James Wolf. Civilians. The word struck him as a synonym for 'whiners', 'childish babies' and 'idlers'. He remembered how civilians behave as the great United States started decaying. They weren't helping. For civilians, he knew not where to start hating from. He saw the drafted civilians as a last resort, while James Wolf was a special case... A civilian advisor who appears to be a capable businessman of sorts. He still hated James. He knew the businessman types. The few who were still wealthy enough to fit with the term 'businessmen', to him, were the most selfish sort of people who would hoard money to themselves rather than to spend their time, effort and money in trying to revitalise the nation. Those with money were always the ones with power, considering that the U.S was always analogous to capitalism.

He was drowning in hatred. It had been like this for close to a decade now. It was 0720 hours. He still had 10 more minutes before he had to make contact again with his irredeemable subordinates. In 10 minutes time, he would have to call for his squad to fall in and make a secondary briefing. He sighed angrily before taking another sip of stale river water, trying to listen to the faint music coming from a nearby building, which angers him even more, as it forcibly reminds him of everything he HATES. Out in the distance, there was always the sound of gunshots and explosions, soldiers or criminals shouting. He doesn't know which one was better- that or the faint music.

---

In the meantime, Recruit Billy Johannesburg was sitting on the sandy floor, eating from a lunch box- he was always either eating or smiling at one good memory or the other, reading his Phoenix Expeditionary Unit handbook as his new commander suggested. CPL Lulu Faust, a solitary mountain of steel and gun barrels, had her powered armour helmet folded so that it reveals her face. She was leaning against the wall of the burned-out briefing shack, nursing a rare cigarette stuck between a pair of steel-shelled fingers-the stress was getting to her, and she picked up the habit in her fallout shelter, a vault. She was quietly observing Sergeant David Carwell, a weird British who was supposed to be her fireteam leader, wondering what sort of a sergeant he was. Thankfully, she doesn't have the same prejudices as the Captain. PFC Li Xiao Lie was sitting against the wall near Lulu- unlike her, he doesn't even know which sergeant was his. He had been diligently learning English ever since he was trapped on U.S soil, but he was more of a monolingual person. He was proud enough that he could already converse in some English, however simple and broken it may be. Lastly, another foreigner, an Indian with the name of Chandra Singh, was fiddling with his manpack radio set, calibrating it. He was a natural with that machine.

Walking around the shack they were holding in, Shaheen looked around and was observing the wreckage that was created after the "Khan" hit them. Looking at the horizons was only damaged buildings and lots of dust. Trying to breath the Non filtered vault air he encountered some difficulty seeing that the air was heavy and dense due to the smoke and dust effect from the incident. It was hard but he convinced him self that he is a soldier and he must adapt to the situation.

The American government was apparently in it's most darkest hours drafting men and women on force and trying to bring order amidst chaos, it reminded him of his deployment in Iraq and the chaos that ravaged the country when they deposed Saddam Hussain. violence was everywhere in Iraq, even after the withdrawal of American troops under the Obama administration, violence continued and it seemed to be with not ending. But now, violence is in America right in the heart of it all, Washington DC. He smiled at the irony of fate. 15 years ago he was in Baghdad making sure of the safety of the people within the green zone. Now he is doing the same thing only at his own country.Thinking to him self the world was no longer its self since the incident. Looking at the men and women around him, he knew it was going to be a challenge for them to walk all the way to Chesapeake Bay.

He checked his equipment and counted the supplies, he finished checking his inventory and heads into the shack so he could be briefed by the captain all over again and to plan for their "Picnic".

He knocked on the door and got inside with a salute.

"Sir, lieutenant John Shaheen at you service". He said those words with discipline and seriousness drawing on his face.

The world had ended. Everything we had ever known was gone in a flash as fiery balls of magma fell from the sky. The grand United States, which I had defended for over 10 years, was gone in a few hours. If you had told me this was how the end was going to be several years ago, I would tell you that you were crazy. I wish I had been told that several years ago honestly. Then maybe I wouldn't be here now, trying to pick up the pieces of a fallen country that I don't know I can even fight for anymore. I see the soldiers that I have to backpack with, and honestly, I am scared. Some are not even soldiers. When a fellow brothers-in-arms falls down dead after being hit, you feel sad but you carry on immediately. A civie? You never get over the pain of watching someone not suited for war fall down dead. It sticks with you like a darkness, reminding you that you failed, and there was absolutely nothing you could do to stop it.

I can only hope that this expedition goes extremely well...

Geary stood in the small shack, his LBE and Flak jacket both secured to his ACU. Taking a deep breath but immediately coughing due to the dust, he grumbled angrily. Nothing, not even the air, remained un-poisoned in this post-apocalyptic world. Checking the chamber in his ACR one last time, Geary looked back up at the Captain to study him momentarily. He was older then Geary by two years, and had gone the route of Officer, while Geary had stayed as an NCO. They both had varying differences, and you could tell the Captain wanted so desperately for this rag-tag team of soldiers to still represent anything close to the original military. It wouldn't happen however, as most of these soldiers were green as green could come. Hell, one of them was a god-damned farmer. And of course, as fate would have it, that damned farmer was Geary's fireteam member. Just perfect.

Wiping the sweat of his brow and standing up with a light creaking in his bones, Geary soldiered up and took another breath, this one not followed by a cough. Walking over to the Captain, Geary stood at attention and started to speak. "Sergeant Michael Geary. Reporting for duty, sir." He stared forward and continued to stand at attention, waiting for the command to drop his stance. This barren wasteland might be all that is left, but Michael was not going to abandon the age old traditions of the military. Standing close by to the Marine LT, who Geary couldn't help but be biased to (Damn Jarheads).

Without much thought, HM2 Sid Pleasants stood up from the rickety chair he'd been slouched in for the past hour and shoved the brim of his helmet upwards, so he could see. He was about to walk away, but in mid-step a dull splash of color caught the corner of his eye. Damn, almost forgot the fucking boy scout handbook." He grabbed the thick packet of officially-stapled-together paper and flipped through it with a frustrated sort of leisure. Yep, yep, read it... did I read that part? ...So I did. After convincing himself he was up to speed on the Situation According to Command, Pleasants tucked the handbook inside his ballistic vest - for easy access, he reasoned. And plus, hadn't he read about some guy in World War I or II whose life had been saved by his Bible stopping a bullet? Or somethin' like that. Guess the Phoenix Expeditionary Unit handbook will hafta do. The young Corpsman allowed a huff of a laugh escape his lips at the thought of his own musings.

Pleasants deftly slung his carbine over his shoulder. He gripped the sling loosely, comforted by the familiar weight of the weapon's downward tug. One glance around the room told him that maybe he'd been too quick to get up. Not a whole lot going on - by the looks of things, an older looking Sergeant and Lieutenant were exchanging the usual military-style niceties with the CO. Nothing he hadn't seen a zillion times before in Lejeune.

And speaking of Lejeune, damn if he did miss it. And more to the point, all of his buddies from 2/8. He missed swapping off-color jokes in the Battalion Aid Station with HM2 Ortega, he missed Lance Coolie Watson's bitchin' iHome... hell, he even decided he missed good ole Staff Sergeant Meddings. An abolutely relentless shit-talker, that guy, but toward the end of his time at Lejeune, Pleasants had been doing his fair share of the shit-talking after wrapping the Staff Sergeant's knee following a 5K run which didn't end so well.

But now that was all in the past, and it was never coming back.

Pleasants eyed the rest of the Phoenix members with an indifferent gaze, but inside he was seething. What the hell was this, the crux of some cracked-out General's master plan that he drafted while pissing his pleated trousers in some underground DC shelter? He'd bonded to his buddies in 2/8 over a period of 4 years and now here he was - plopped in the middle of a fucking rabble, expected to take on the impossible with a bunch of dudes and chicks he'd never seen before in his life? Some A-team that command got assembled here, probably a good quarter of the squad couldn't shoot to save their mother's life. A doomed unit for a doomed mission. And he was going to die for it.

The freckle-faced kid took a deep breath, his heart pounding in anger of the unfairness of it all. He exhaled slowly and deliberately, shifting his weight from his right foot to his left. Inside, the flurry of thoughts in his head had begun to settle. Just breathe, man. Calm.

Just breathe.

The stuffy air was killing Trake. He had half a mind to put put his mask on, to get at least clean stuffy air. He sat and paid attention as the commanding officer, who's name he didn't know, was screaming his head off, hollering at the mostly seasoned soldiers as if they were quivering recruits. It pissed him off, enough for Trake to stop giving a shit about him being the commander. Trake would rather do his own Merc work than to work under the leadership of a bitter, old asshole. Well, he didn't know about that. The speech was finally over, and the other troops stood and milled about, while Trake remained sitting. He ran his finger on the textures of the pistol grip on his rifle, agitated. The seat was an old wooden one, uncomfortable and squeaky.

Trake leaned back in his chair, and rested his EMR across his lap. Asshole captain , Trake thought as he pulled his skull mask back over his face. He knew it was kinda corny of him to wear a mask like that, but it seemed more practical these day. He spoke up the the commander "Hey! Army guy! During your whole angry grandpa, 'you guys are piles of shit', typical boot camp bullshit rant, you forgot to tell the few of us, including me, what your name is. Now, if we're gonna get anything done, we need to know your name. And I don't know or care much if your pissed at the whole world or not, but most of us aren't cadets any more. We have combat experience, hell maybe even more than you. SO stop yelling at us like we're a buncha fuckin' recruits." Trake, expecting a big yelling comeback, sighed and stood up. He walked over to where the other two former soldiers were standing,, and stood to attention. "Sergeant Trake Havers, report for duty." He said in a firm, yet somewhat sarcastic voice. Trake new he was making a jackass out of himself, but this Army boy didn't sit well with him.

David half-listened to Colbournes' 'motivational' speech, and idly wondered if R. Lee Ermey was still alive. And if not, was he spinning in his grave, wherever it was?
He had to give the yank points for enthusiasm, but he still didn't match up to the screaming red-faced Royal Marine officers he'd been used to back home.
Home - Colbourne had said your US government. But it wasn't his government.
America might be the so-called land of amber waves of grain and purple mountain majesties, but his was the home of rolling hills, green valleys and the White Cliffs of Dover. Of course, now both were equally charred and chaotic, ravaged by the bastard Khans, and he'd heard little-to-nothing of his home. And more importantly, his family.
His left hand pressed against the square of paper he knew was in one fleece pocket under his jacket; the photo of his wife and infant son. Now dog-eared and crinkled, he kept it to keep him going; to keep moving and not just lie down where he was and just let himself drift away. There was that, and there was the people he had fought alongside. It might not be his country, but the people weren't too far off from the ones back home.

With a grunting sigh, he reluctantly climbed to his feet, and buckled his helmet on. He nodded to Faust, who'd be his first command since the day he'd turned up in DC, and found out about Phoenix. The tall women in her armour didn't intimidate him, so much as she made him curious. She was always watching carefully, which was a good sign. But something in her eyes was critical - he'd have to prove himself. Which was fair enough - he didn't exactly have charitable and warm thoughts towards the roaring bully who seemed to be in charge.
Picking up his aquired M16 in one hand, he thumbed the brim of his helmet back, and nodded toward the outside.
"Right then, Corporal," he said in a faux-cheerful accent, a hint of tiredness coming through his accent. "Let's go and give our heart-warming commander the show he's looking for eh?"
He gave a grim smile to the woman, slung the rifle over one shoulder and took up position out in the square, alongside the other teams forming up.
They were a motley bunch, and he didn't even remotely feel like a sore thumb, though his mis-matched hand-picked gear made him stand out more than anything. From what little he'd managed to glean about their group, they were a mix of civilians and military, leaning heavy toward the military side.
It made him nervous to think he'd be fighting alongside civilians. However, with the US the way it was, who knew what they'd encounter; exactly as the roaring nutter had said.
Someone began shouting back, and David struggled not to tell him to shut his mouth. Backtalking your CO, in front of people you'd only just met? That was never a good idea before the world went to hell. Now, where it was a lawless Mad Max wasteland?
That boy was asking for a bullet in the back of the head.

James sat in the shack as he listened to the…speech, if you could really call it one. Regardless, he knew what this expedition had to do. In fact, James was one of the bureaucrats who helped draft and propose this plan. The objective was fairly simple. Reconnect and reestablish US federal sovereignty in the United States. The government had to quickly pick up what remained of the left overs of the nation and use it to rebuild, or else it would be anarchy all over. By that point, it would be a grueling battle, which would waste precious resources that they could not afford to waste. So, the expedition was planned to make initial contact, and was the first step of the US government reclaiming the land. Course, on paper this plan looked great, but none of the politicians would really be doing any of the work as usual. They would just be wasting time arguing over the minor details; apparently not everything had changed after Khan. So, James willingly volunteered to be the face of the US government in this expedition since a politician was a symbol of civilization and law while the military…well let’s say that meeting the barrel of a M16 won’t feel very safe or assuring.

The rousing speech was finally over, and James looked around at the soldiers. Most of them looked like they were about to have some sort of emotional or mental breakdown, and the Captain wasn’t an exception. In fact, one of the soldiers was talking back to the Captain. If the Captain really felt like it, then he could rock the soldier’s world for insubordination. James knew that in these tense situations it was better to just let people do what they do and not bother them. Hell, he had seen some of his co-workers years before pull off all-nighters for two weeks straight, and they looked like exactly how the soldiers look like right now, grumpy and pissed off at the world. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. The US had spent more money on its military in 2012 than all the other countries’ military expenditures combined, but look at what all that money turned into. What happened to all those permanent structures that the US used to build during the Cold War? Speaking of which, James wondered what happened to NORAD? That was something that James would have to bring up later on to the 116th Congress. For now, James was ready to leave on the expedition. He had packed up last night and was ready. James just remained in his chair waiting. There was going to be a debriefing soon, so no point in walking around in the “fresh” DC air.

The temporary camp seemed empty as Captain Jake was off giving a speech. It seemed everyone was required to go and be there. Kaylin was one of the few who decided to skip. She yawned a bit listening to the music from the building not far from them as she sat at a table. "What a way to go..."

She was looking over some medical supplies inside the kit as she frowned. Kaylin glanced back and forth before taking out a bottle water and sipping slightly on it barely drinking it before she capped it tight and slid it back into her bag. She knew all too well how much people wanted clean water and couldn't imagine what the military might do if they saw her with supplies even a little bit. "Come on girl just relax it is not like this is the end of the world that already happened." She laughs a bit as she talks to herself. If it was one thing Kaylin could understand finally was how one night it was just a normal day and the next seemed to become a living hell. She was hiding above the bar for a while before this band of military nuts found her and took her in as a medic. "Wonder how long this game of drafting anyone lasts."

As people started to flow back from the meeting Kaylin quickly packed up her things and laid down on a bench pretending to be asleep to try and avoid the wrath of ditching.

At first, Captain Colbourne was nodding contemptuously with his squad officers and specialists until one of them, who introduced himself accurately as Sergeant Trake Havers, started shouting rebelliously back at him. His mood went south from evil to satanic evil. He didn't even realise that he had squeezed his glass of stale river water so hard that it shattered. Thankfully, he was wearing gloves. To him, the pitiful excuse of a glass of water just disappeared in the ocean of rage that was him, "Why I'll be damned, you son of a bitch!" He stood up so quickly that his rickety stool flew backwards. At least all the commotion was drowning out the music and gunfire in the horizon, "you've got balls. Is your brain made up of balls, you fuck!? You want my name!? You will call me Captain! Or Sir! S-I-R, Sir! Did the Khans bombed the shit out of you back to the stone-age, monkey!? Look it up in a dictionary, you hair-brained piece of salamander shit!"

Just when it seemed over when Jake took a long, hard stare at the perpetrator of his renewed rage, he started up again. For those new to him, they would think that his hundred-feet high tidal wave was over, but those used to him would remember well that it was only the beginning, "And you call yourself a soldier! With combat experience! You sorry-ass, motherfucking lump of scum give us all a bad name, you steaming pile of dog shit! You're the muck off a beggar's foot! The day you're born, a million people must have suicided to avoid you! The Khans would have done us a fucking favour if they bumped you off the Earth! You're on my little black book of useless clumps of fungi, you inbred, idiotic windbag! Only heaven knows how the hell you get this far in the military! I bet you bought those chevrons, you grave-digging, double-faced piece of dogmeat! I'll be watching you, 'sergeant'!" He ended with a highly accusatory, sharp finger pointed right in Havers' face, before finally calming down, if only marginally, and almost unnoticeably, and turning to the rest.

"Now, since you lot have shown some initiative like how real leaders should, unlike Mr. Bean over there, I will give you your commanding briefing right here, right now. In case the wasteland heat is too much for your neurons, like No-Haver over here-" No-Haver being his new nickname for Sergeant Heavers which, like all his insults, derogatory remarks and rage talk, came to him on the fly. Just referring to the offending specialist, however, got his adrenaline pumping again, not that it had subsided much, though this time he focused on the task at hand, "I am your Officer-in-Command. Shaheen over here is second in command. The rest of you specialist corps will lead the fireteams."

"Now, the very first thing we must do after leaving D.C is to check on one Vault 5, a few miles east along the highway. We will then comb whatever's left of the commercial district and suburbs for any god-forsaken excuse of a civilisation before we actually remind them to plant the American flag. In case a wasteland fever has long destroyed your brain, President Katherina has issued a presidential order that martial law is still in place. So if some misguided, over-gutsy fuck shoots at us, we make sure he never shoots again. I don't care if it was a 1 year-old fetus or a 100-years-old great-grandpa shooting, we kill em'. We are not to show mercy. We are not to take prisoners- we cannot afford to take prisoners. Our sole god-damn purpose is to personally raise the United States up from the ashes! You got that, soldiers!?"

"Now get out there and assemble the men. I want you lot to tell them what they need to fucking know. Prepare them for inspection. I will be out in a few minutes, and they better be ready for the operation by then. Dismissed!" With that, Captain Jake Colbourne reset his stool again, and took out a military-grade information pad to work one.

---

Lulu was watching this sergeant who was supposedly in charged of her, and deep inside, she kind of liked him. This was her deduction from seeing him fingering what she knew was in his pocket. She had lost her entire family, extended family, and almost all her friends to the catastrophe that puts the words 'apocalypse' and 'holocaust' to shame. She admires people who knew the pain, people who knew what family means. She finds solace in knowing that she was not alone. When she was given her first order by Sergeant David, it was more of a request. It pretty much cemented her positive judgement of him. With enthusiasm never before seen after the Khans struck, she shouted a solid, "yes, sergeant!" Before locking the split sides of her heavy power armour helmet into position and standing at attention behind her sergeant. The others were also beginning to fall in, despite not being asked specifically. For some of them, the captain must have gotten to them.

Watching the whole commotion Shaheen placed his hand on his sidearm in case things got ugly. Shaheen grew to not trust anyone because he didn't know anybody besides the captain who he only was with during combat in the middle east, but they were serving different officers and were only met up during a joint operation to eliminate insurgents.

With that violent scene of human roasting and converting into garbage over, Shaheen got outside. He called onto the men to rally, and the officers also. He spoke with a loud voice with the sound of gunfire providing background music.

"All of you pack your gear we are moving now towards our new objective. Objective is to secure Vault 5 and to make contact with the government officials holding up there. If resistance is encountered no prisoners and no negotiations..As of now the president has issued a total martial law in effect. looters and bandits are to be shot on sight".

He looked around and knew that no matter how hard they were trained, the soldiers were not trained to deal with this situation. Apocalyptic America which was only depicted in video games and movies and books, was never really dealt with and was never thought of as a real life situation until the meteors hit earth.

Noticing that no one made a comment,"Any questions before we move out?".