Write your heart out. . .
World War III
(( http://roleplayerguild.com/f15/world...98/#post112202 ))
The president of the U.S. declares war on China. Nation in a frenzy after multiple Chinese bombings. North and South Korea plunged into War. A new World War is afoot.
On February 2, 2017, president Lee declared war on China in response to several bombing raids on U.S. capital cities. Washington D.C. and Augusta were targets in this attack. New defensive protocols are being discussed in every military base, outpost, and facility across the nation. Productivity is also being pushed along by the hurrying professors in weapons and warfare. It is rumored that a new "laser project" is underway. Many troops of the reserve army are being brought into active platoons to compare to the numbers of the Chinese population. Outnumbered 12 to 1, Americans distress over the predicted loss of power. Soon a new country will rise to claim the throne. United Nations once more debate over the outcome and events destined in this war. Tension had been rising for years, but now it's child has been born, and its name is war.
Another Chinese bombing raid has been detected along the Equator in the Pacific. It has been scrutinized on underwater Radar emplacements that the fleet is arcing off towards Maui, one of the Hawaiian islands. Military action is plentiful on the island, and already over 60% of civilian population has been evacuated to safer regions of the archipelago.
Two firm hands closed the military newspaper, the Insignia. The folds in the paper matched those of the wrinkled face that had read those prophetic words printed onto the pages. A furrowed brow and drooping eyelids indicated his aging complexion, but large biceps and forearms gave him the intimidating appearance of a hulking warrior. Sergeant Griffins leaned back in his chair as he tossed the headlines to the side, not surprised by what he had taken in.
All around him in the mess hall soldiers were scarfing down mashed potatoes and slurping their soup as if the meal would be their last. And unfortunately for most of them, it would be. Griffins rose to his feet as he set down his greasy spoon, mingled with soup noodles. He felt the anxiety in these men, and he himself was a bubbling reservoir of nervousness. Multiple television sets lined the walls and hung from the metal framed ceiling above, broadcasting the news to the soldiers who couldn't read. Many of them were drafted or came because they had nowhere else to go, but there was a look in their eyes that made a promise to the aging sergeant.
The next day, probably before sunrise, they would all be off to war.
((Now's the time for people to start joining, either as soldiers in the war or spectators, civilians, and innocent victims of its hardships. But that ism't up to me. You choose your part. World War III is about to begin. ))
Last edited by scrawl; 06-08-2008 at 09:07 AM.
umm do we make up a Charcter sheet or do you give us one?
Write your heart out. . .
(( You simply start by describing your character in his situation. You pretty much create the character however you wish, just as long as he fits the theme. Profile him throughout your post. There's no sheet to follow, just describe what you can of him throughout. ))
Sergeant Griffins stood amidst the mess hall on Maui's west coast base as his and many other soldiers chomped down on unknown foods that made the sergeant wrinkle his nose. He dropped his silverware onto the table nearby, letting them clatter across the green tablecloth next to his half-empty tray. He couldn't eat it all, not with all these butterflies consuming his stomach. His wrinkled countenance bore lines of worry beneath his drooping eyelids, and his hair was ruffled to match his uneasy expression.
Now, where were his privates? There were three under his command. He shifted his posture on his heels, leaning forwards then slumping back and repeating. His slow painful motion indicated his restlessness. His boots creaked against the old wooden floor as he smoothed out the wrinkles on his camo-green vest and his leather uniform pants. His helmet was on the desk beside him, and his only weapon was the sidearm holstered at his belt. He would select his primary when the alarms went off.
Now Sergeant Griffin's eyes were darting back and forth in search of his three troops. They could have been at any of these hundreds of tables that overflowed with obnoxious draftees. Everywhere the two eyes turned to gaze there were the faces of strangers talking away the tension that rose with each tick and tock of the clock. None of them were recognizable. The noise was to high to scrutinize familiar voices, but the clock of the ceiling speakers were enough to silence the uneasy regiment. A calm and droning voice shot through the yawning chamber like a gunshot, followed by the sound of the bullet ricocheting from wall to wall. The voice shook the tables as the men winced at attention.
"All soldiers ranking sergeant or above report to the northern office room immediately. Currently the time is 1900. The Chinese air force is expected at 0400. That is all." And at that Sergeant Griffins cast down his previous task and began trudging off towards the double-doors to the north, where a window displayed a small white room where many of his superiors had already gathered--the north office room. What strategy were they to discuss here? What plans would be made to defend from the oncoming napalm that lay in store for Maui?
As Private Stocum sat down he heard them call for the Sergeant's and above. He knew that the meeting was important and he couldn't be a apart of it. Then it hit him... they were in a war a war with a nation that held the advantage. He then thought of his loved ones. Trying to regain his composure he grabbed a bite to eat from the mess hall with the thousands of others in there eating talking and yelling just to keep there nerves. He was with a few others around there ,but he wasn't use to the heat and the tension that was going on. He was in his uniform waiting to find out that was going to happen to him.
Last edited by Vert_Skater_Rp; 06-08-2008 at 12:48 PM.
Write your heart out. . .
As leather black boots decorated with layers of mud and grime trudged through the open doorway of the northern office room, Sergeant Griffins was welcomed by his college roommate, Frederick Roy Arickson. The two had pulled off countless stunts at their university in Utah, and each one ended up tarring and feathering a professor in some unique way. The twosome of trouble was never caught. A smile spread over Griffin's face, like a wound spanning from cheek to cheek as if the man's face was stretched so far that it split. A white office table matched the walls of the room, and it elongated down from one end to the other, lined with black metal chairs that were already occupied by the higher ranks in the regiment. The Colonel was standing at the end, next to his chair. One hand was resting gently on the table while his steady gaze stared out the window and into the mess hall, where hundreds ate away their worries. And as the two friends, Griffins and Arickson, conversed ferociously with fiery smiles on chuckling faces, the loudspeaker clicked on once more.
"Privates. Since this battle is the first most of you have fought, we are allowing phone calls in the two main lobbies to the east. Just take the eastern doorways out until you reach the forked corridor, and then decide whether to turn right or left. Each way leads to one of the two lobbies. Phone calls will be free. That is all." A departing click. The mess hall sprung to life, privates jumping over tables and charging towards the double doors which were already jammed by now with stubborn carcasses. The wild crowd poured into the lobbies as selfish hands snatched at phones and dialed numbers frantically while the others waited in an uncouth line, shouting insults and curses at the front. A few punches were throne and a bloody lip here or there. Arickson asked if they would be given a chance to call, and the colonel was happy to say, "Of course. After all the privates are through."
By now the meeting had begun. An eerie silence descended upon the chamber like a thick fog, drenching the men who were seated in worry towards the upcoming fight. It would be bloody. No doubt about it. Then the colonel's cheery voice spoke softly, yet fiercely. "Alright, boys. The war has just started. We lost Vietnam, we lost Iraq. Let's not lose this one. 'Cause if we do, there's no way we're keeping our place as a world power. So why not start strong with a victory? Some of us may know that the Chinese have been producing aircraft heavily in the recent years. I presume they're straining for air superiority. We can give them that. We're on the ground. So let's just shoot them out of the sky and leave it at that. Anti-Aircraft guns are being hoisted onto the beaches as we speak, already over two hundred emplacements sit unoccupied, waiting for the fight to start. We have five airports at our desposal, but I'll be saving that for when their numbers are thinner and we can compare to that.
"The strategy so far is simple. Since only aircraft have been spotted, a good mix of fighters and bombers, we need to focus on using our AA weaponry to their purposes. We'll divide one platoon to each gun, then divide what's left across the shorelines. We know they're coming for Maui. Perhaps to start claiming the chain of islands here. Now I'm no Hawaiian, but I know that ho'a'o means effort. Effort is what we've been missing these past few wars. We need every shot to count. Aim for the bombers. Don't let them reach our shores. If one gun falls, it'll be a downhill fight from there--the domino effect. One by one all the guns will fall. We'll establish thin routes from your position on the beach back to the base so the rest of the crew can bring in a steady supply of ammunition. We're full of it here. No shortage on it. And don't worry, each gun is placed in a nice cozy little thicket of trees, to provide a sort of veil over your position. Now let's show these Chinese some ho’a’o! Any questions, speak now!"
The room was silent. A short period passed until one Warrant Officer spoke up. "Sir? Do you want the infantry to fire any rounds?" The Colonel replied instantly without any signs of hesitation, he was in charge. "We want all infantry to carry one of the new M12 AA Heavy Rifles. They might weigh them down a bit, but I'm sure they can take it. We'll display a quick video on how they work. I'll have mechanics get the screens ready." He saluted the Officer who returned the sign of respect. In time the council was dismissed. The battle was approaching.
"This is Samantha Parson, reporting live from the Red Cross Shelter, back to you Rick."
"And, we're out." The camera man said. "Nice job, you even convinced me that you care."
Samantha looked at him with disbelief, "Of course I care, Jimmy...did you not see me hug the poor little children?" her voice indicated a hint of sarcasm. "Come on, let's get back to the hotel, I'm getting sick by just looking at them." She jerked her head towards a big family who had lost everything in the bombing of one of the cities.
As they gathered their equipment, a Red Cross volunteer ran up to them. "Miss Parson, hi, the rest of the volunteers and I where wondering if maybe you would like to stay for a while and help us out, since, you know, you're a humanitarian. We would really appreciate it and since..."
Samantha interrupted, "Honey, stop. You're talking too fast," the volunteer took a deep breathe, as Samantha grabbed her shoulders, "now, as much as I would love to stay and help out, I can't. But you kids keep up the good work." As the volunteer stood silently, Samantha and Jimmy hopped in their van and rode off.
"You know Sammy, we could've stayed for a while. Our plane doesn't leave until tomorrow. "
"And stain my new Versace suit with dirt and blood. Oh no, I think not."
Jimmy sighed, "How nobody has seen through your disguise of a caring human being is beyond me. Heck, you're a terrible actress."
Samantha calmly opened her make-up kit. "Most commoners are blind, stupid and not to mention extremely annoying."
Jimmy laughed, "Oh excuse me, Queen Sam. I forget you were royalty."
Samantha punched his arm, softly. "How can you? I am a Connecticut Parson after all. We are American Royalty."
During the drive to their hotel, they continued to joke and laugh.
Private Ramirez sat eating her meal of some sort of substance that represented food at some point. Whatever it was, she payed little attention to it. For most of the meal her emerald greend eyes focused on the tv screens, watching the images of recent bombing files through as the report discussed how hopeful the military was that this war would end as quickly as it had begun. She rolled her eyes, "Freakin propaganda harpies. Do they really think that people will get all gun-ho about this war? People are not that stupid." She said to another private sitting across the table from her.
"Aww, come on Lizzy, don't be like that. People need to see things like this or else they might stop letting their precious babies come fight for us." He responded.
"Whatever, Josh. All I know is I can't wait till this whole nightmare is over. How pathetic to say that before it's even started." Lizzy sighed, "I just need to find the Sergent and be on my way." Lizzy picked up her tray.
"Wait! Don't you want to go call home first?" Josh called after her
She looked back over her shoulder, a single strand of auburn curl fell in her face. "What makes you think I have someone to call?" She looked at the ground, turned around again and headed towards the tray cleaning area.
With a heavy heart Jason hear that people were to call there family before the battle would start. His brow full with sweat and his heart filled with ache he didn't want to call his parents with hope of him returning knowing he would probably wouldn't make it through the day. He grabbed his food from his tray and threw it away. Jason decided it would be better to call them so they at least knew were to find his corpse. He walked down the fluorescent lit halls painted white taking the east door out too the telephone room. There were a lot of kids no older than 18 there most of them probably had just turned 18 a month ago.
He knew many of them wouldn't make to the end of the war either. He went to the first telephone that was open and put in his parents number. He waited for ever for them to pick up but nobody answered when that happened he went to call again but he was told he could only have one phone call. He left the room with disgust and anger. He just wanted to meet his superiors he was told that his name was Sergeant Griffins. "He better be good." He thought to himself as the sounds of warning sirens went off and they started to get the base ready for war.
Write your heart out. . .
Silicon screens rolled down the glossed metal walls like lustrous blue banners. A digital blur painted their thin surfaces, and the moment they unfolded images flickered to life. Television screens as thin as sheets of paper. Amazing what this world has invented. Sergeant Griffins patiently trudged through corridors lined with these screens as young soldiers stared mindlessly into the images that danced across them. The colonel was most likely about to give his men a briefing. As the sergeant’s boots smacked the cold alloy floor, with his arms crossed behind his back, his eyes meandered into the blue depths of the screens.
“Soldiers of Maui,” a cheery automated voice crackled and hissed from speakers that didn’t exist. The sound echoed like whispers on a gentle breeze. But there was no wind, and this voice spoke loud and clearly. “Before you go off to combat, your superiors have decided to equip you with the new Model 12 Anti-Aircraft Heavy Rifles. The gun is simple to use, and weighs approximately 2.4 kilograms.” A picture of the gun blazed onto the screen. It spiraled in place as the soldiers scrutinized the features of the weapon. A rather large stock would be pressed against the shoulder, a handlebar elongated beneath would be grasped with one hand, while the other flexed over a lever protruding from the side. “One tug on this switch here,” the lever was suddenly highlighted in crimson red, “and an aircraft-seeking projectile is fired.” The projectile was shown exiting the large gun barrel in slow motion, where it froze and began to rotate, giving the audience a better look. What the gun had fired was a spinning capsule, a capsule that emitted a thin laser outwards. As it spun, the laser would spiral over the sky around it. If the laser was to fall on an enemy aircraft, the capsule would explode. On screen, the projectile was shown going up in flames. A smoky sphere shot out, and as this occurred, a smaller projectile flew towards a fighter plane that appeared onscreen. Changing course in air. That was a peculiar feature. Homing bullets that fired more bullets. Technology was a spectacle.
“Clips are canisters,” the voice crackled once more. A long cylinder containing numerous capsules crept onto the display. “When one magazine is expired, it ejects from below, and drops to the ground.” An empty cylinder fell on the screen. “Then you simply slide the fresh canister into the receiver.” Areas of the gun were highlighted before the sergeant’s eyes as a soldier was filmed shoving one of the cylinders into a small hole in the gun. It clicked in place, and then the man fired another round off screen. The gun was supposedly mounted on the shoulder and aimed like a rocket launcher. Strange for a rifle. By now Griffins had reached the end of the hallway, where he entered the northern lobby. Telephones were open now, for the higher officers only. The Sergeant paced up to a man who stood guard by a phone. This man stared off at the ceiling, a look of fear slashed onto his countenance. “Can I call my wife?” The sergeant questioned blissfully. The guard nodded sluggishly and continued to stare into the ceiling as the screens continued to display their informative shows.
Sergeant Griffins clutched the telephone, eager to hear his wife’s voice again. He new the number by heart, which seemed to jump into his throat as his fingers danced over the buttons. One ring, was she home? Two rings, did she move since he last saw her? Three rings, will the message receiver kick in? A feminine voice. The message receiver spoke, “Hello, this is Clara Griffins. I can’t answer the phone at the moment. So, please leave your name, your number, and a brief message after the ‘beep‘, and I’ll get back to you ASAP.” Then a loud beep shot into the sergeant’s eardrum. He cleared his throat and licked his lips. “Hello honey? Are you home? It’s Johnny. Please pick up, I’m going off to war soon and--” the phone leapt off the receiver.
Clara’s beautiful voice, “Hello dear!” followed by John’s response, “high honey.” The two spoke away the moments with joy and anticipation. Their love still held strong even after all those years of separation. “I don’t want you to go, dear.” Clara wept. Her husband spoke in a strong tone, “I have to, it’s my duty. Who’s gonna fight if no one else volunteers? Me and the draftees, that’s who.” Clara sniffed up her sorrows. “Promise me you won’t die.” Griffin’s heart almost stopped, and it certainly skipped a beat. “Not only will I not die, but I’ll stay alive too, I promise.” The two laughed as solemn good-byes were made. A grumpy warrant officer was shouting insults impatiently from the line that had built up over the minutes. The phone hung up, it sounded like life had ended, and it felt like the sergeant’s soul had been torn out. He turned and brushed past each and every soldier in the line as he left the lobby, fingering his sidearm uneasily. Reasons for forging on were what he needed to hold on to. The love of his life was the biggest of them all. They were one. If he were to die, she would certainly do the same. If she were to die, this sidearm would be pressed against his forehead in the midst of the grief. Life was precious, but many times death had seemed welcoming when Griffins truly took in the horrors of the world around him. It was in distress. Every man was being torn apart by one another. Most didn’t care about a fellow human, the exact reason why people would make weapons to kill their own race. He had been in those bleeding faces back in Iraq. He had witnessed what man was willing to do for vengeance and greed. The wrinkles on his face were scars of time, and wounds he would receive couldn’t compare to them. No one wanted to die, but no one was worth living. Caught in the middle of life and death, war would always rage on between two peoples.
Back into the mess hall, Sergeant John Griffins went. He carried a thick pair of shades at his side that he briskly lifted to his irises. The glasses were special. Submit your rank and your group, and the gadget would pick out all of your teammates on a designated scale. He could snuff out his squad without any difficulties. Silhouettes were highlighted in black, red, and green. Black were the men he fought with, but not above. Red were the men he fought against, none of the men in the room bathed in red. Green was the color of his men, the soldiers he would command. One green, two green. Only two green. He could only locate two of his men in the mess hall. His sights settled on one soldier who was handing their tray in to be washed by volunteer hands. A woman in the army. That had become common since Iraq. The female race had been taking over each and every man’s job. It was all equality. The sergeant wasn’t a man to argue much, not unless he was dealing with an insubordinate. A thin green elongated from the silhouette which a name etched across it. “Pvt. Ramirez.” If he chose, more information would drop down from his pair of glasses, but the rank and last name were enough for him. He lowered the shades and hooked them to his belt as he approached the lady. Surprisingly, her face very much resembled that of his Clara’s. It looked almost innocent, if the body beneath had not been wearing the army uniform. He called her name as he neared.
“Private Ramirez! That’s your name, correct? I’m your sergeant. Sergeant John Bernardo Griffins. Welcome to the team!” His aging voice was low and rumbling, yet benign and welcoming. He saluted with respect, and with a hint of habit. He wondered if she would survive the fight. That very second his sentence closed, a red light bled over the chamber and flood the halls surrounding. Sirens blared to life as the alarms screamed with warning agony. A booming noise filled the hall that made Griffins wince in astonishment. He dexterously snatched the shades off his belt and slapped them over his eyes as he scanned the base for the rest of his team. The fleet was on the horizon.
As the loud sirens filled his ears and the sound of boots marching in the halls dulled through it Jason knew he had to find his way to his superior. As he ran down the hall way he could see the thousands of men reading themselves for the long and harsh battle that was to come. Jason eventually found himself in the mess hall with a man who was an older gentlemen dressed in military casuals. Jason lifted his hand in salute and said in a loud manner over the sirens "Sir are you Sgt. Griffins SIR!" He said with sweat going down his head.