An Angry Hussar

Come Join the Murder [MxF Advanced Post-Apocalyptic]

The lights are out. The cities are gone. There's a terrible dust in the air that makes it hard to breathe. Each year the winters get colder and the summers get shorter. Some say this is going to be the last year gasoline will be stable enough to run through the few remaining cars and generators. Each fall brings a smaller and smaller bundle of crops; deer and turkey have been nigh hunted to extinction. The Mississippi Flu is coming back around for another round of death and debilitation, and widespread lice and bed bugs certainly aren't helping the living situation, either. At least we have those psychopathic cannibals the county over to keep us company, right?

It's been two years since the bombs went off. Bright flashes of light that wiped out entire cities in the blink of an eye. Chicago, New York City, Toronto, London, Moscow, Beijing, Tokyo, the list goes on and on. A butcher's list of history and humanity that's been wiped from the pages of history. The geopolitics involved in a narrow strip of land in Eastern Ukraine is now pointless. Nobody cares who won or lost. The lights went out from bombs being detonated in the atmosphere, shocking the planet with multiple electromagnetic pulses. Only the very resilient or the very old electronics worked. Clocks, in those cities that had been spared hydrogen-inspired firestorms, stopped at 8:05AM on the Eastern seaboard of the United States.

The wave of gamma, beta and alpha radiation that followed soon after, bathing the planet in weeks of debilitating radiation probably didn't do much to help humanity pick up the pieces. Over a billion dead from radiation poisoning. What doctors remain assume most that have survived since will likely die in mid to old age of cancers. Cancers that will go undetected, with CT and MRI machines being a thing of the near-past. A forced reset has been put on mankind. The tractor and the X-ray have been replaced with the hoe and the bone saw.

All this sounds rather depressing.

It is. The proposed roleplay would take place two years (... This sounds familiar.) after a nuclear war. Poetic words aside, humanity's throat has been cut. Only small communities and roving warlords remain. Fuel has started to go bad and the slow progression into a Bronze Age has begun. The core content of the roleplay would revolve around depression, despair, violence and the small glimmer of hope that something good might come of the misery inflicted in our characters. Adult content, such as graphic violence, suicide, drug use, amongst others will undoubtedly take place. As such, this is perhaps something best done within private messages.

Interested? Send me a PM. Don't bother replying here, as I won't likely read it. I'm only looking for one partner at at this point in time. I'm looking for someone that can post weekly (Within reason. Got some issues? Holidays? I'm not a Nazi, do your important stuff and don't mind me.) and has a strong grasp of the English language. I'm not asking for perfection, but I do like reading well-thought out replies to my posts.

The Unraveling

Samuel was happy to finally be gone of the two. It was true that he appreciated Torsten, but never before had the man gone so out of his way to disregard the laws of the Amish. He wanted them gone, lest he begin to think that the towering Scandinavian had done a good thing by killing those men. He exchanged a handshake with Torsten, watching him lead the two horses towards the barn after Allison. The old man frowned, narrowing eyebrows and raising a hand, “You and the woman watch out for them English.”

It was the best compliment he could have given. The only one he could have given. Torsten paused for a moment, before turning back around to meet Allison next to the barn. She was talking to him, but he wasn’t necessarily hearing the words that were coming out of her mouth. He stared at the pistol, accepting it and holding it in its hand. His brain tried to think of arbitrary technical data. The pistol was a .40 S&W Glock 17. Fourth Generation. He examined the weapon, drawing back on the slide to extract the chambered round that had failed to fire.

The primer was dimpled by the firing pin, but it had not fired. Without even thinking, he let the slide hammer back home, chambering a new round. He held it up, pointing it towards the woods and pulled the trigger. Another failure to fire. He tried it repeatedly, before emptying the magazine and charging a new one. Each round failed to fire – the firing pins dimpling, but refusing to ignite.

He was in another world, even with this new found information. Movies liked to tell of supermen knocking down waves of enemy combatants. Men who could kill without a blink of the eye. To tell the truth, only psychopaths were capable of this. Torsten was not a psychopath. Even though the men he had just killed had done terrible evil, his conscience was still waging a war against reason. He had always thought killing had been over after he had left Afghanistan. Sure, he retained a reserve commission, but that was only to keep his half-pay. His country never would have honestly called him back into service from the United States.

He tried to draw his mind away from the corpses. He picked up the failed cartridges from the ground, examining the rear of each primer. “Remington… Winchester… UMC. A failure to fire from one batch wouldn’t be abnormal, but the deputy was firing three different manufacturers from three different magazines. That..” He paused, “Is impossible.” He slipped the barrel of the pistol into the back of his belt. It was useless, but he would keep it. Maybe he could find some working ammunition?

“We need to go,” he told Allison rather flatly. He reached a hand out for her, motioning towards the horse. “I’ll help you get on it. Just let it do its own thing. It’ll follow mine on its own.”

The Unraveling

"I know," the Finn replied to her. "These people just have different ways of viewing things. We must still do good, whether people like it or not," he told her. He didn't care if Samuel couldn't let his appreciation known. Deep down, Torsten was sure that the man did appreciate it. Society would always appreciate men like Torsten -- people who stood up and fought for those who did not. However, that did not necessarily mean that society was going to go out of its way to show their appreciate or even have the ability to do so.

Torsten nodded his head, though there was a little apprehension, "I am not so good with semi-automatic pistols or new rifles," he lied. To tell the truth, there were few better in the entire Finnish Army. Even in competition, when the Finns were invited, against NATO he performed well above his peers. The army, for what it was worth, had turned him into a killing machine. The tall Finn simply did not wish to admit to that, though. If he didn't have to touch these weapons -- he could keep living the lie that he was just like everyone else. When Allison looked away, he peered down at her for some time. He was responsible for her. He had accepted that responsibility. If the deputy had a semi-automatic pistol -- or even a rifle -- it would help level the playing field to his advantage.

So distracted was he, that he didn't notice Samuel's return. The old Amish man was leading two horses. They were both saddled and loaded with bread, cheese and canteens of water. Both of them were American quarter horses. Big horses that were able to carry a large burden. Most importantly, however, they were sure of foot. They wouldn't lose their footing or grow stressed in the Cascades. Torsten looked up with a start. Samuel handed the reigns to Torsten, before handing a pair of old, well-worn leather boots to Allison. They looked as though they had already seen hundreds of miles -- and were ready to see hundreds more. He frowned, "These should fit you."

Torsten reached a hand out, patting one of the horses on its wet nose, "Thank you, Samuel. I'll bring them back once I drop her off.." He motioned towards Allison. He was shocked the Amish man would give him horses. They were the life-blood of the Amish. Without them, they couldn't plow their fields or harvest in an economical fashion. Torsten knew these were Samuel's personal livestock. Even if the old man couldn't say 'thank you', he knew this gesture was what that meant. "I'm sorry to have to ask... where's the deputy? He would have had a gun on him. I'd like to take it with us, to protect her.." He motioned to Allison.

Samuel sighed. He motioned with his hand towards his house, "Some of the men put him in my barn. We pushed his automobile in there, too. You're welcome to it. If you do find his people.. tell them we buried him.." Samuel turned to walk away, before he paused. He turned his head, looking at Allison and then to Torsten. "You two be careful around them English." He sauntered away.

A Plague From Space! [Advanced 1v1]

Closed, son. Back to your regularly scheduled programming.



The following is a convoluted idea I've been throwing around in my head the past few weeks. I currently only have one roleplay going on, so I figured I might get something else going. Take note that this advertisement is for one partner only. If I already have a partner, I may not respond to your request to do this idea -- it has nothing to do with me trying to be a jerk to you and everything to do with the limited time I have. Nothing personal ahead of time, a'ight, yo?

As such, the request for partner quality that I'm asking for is what I would consider to be substantial -- someone who can reliably understand most grammar and syntax laws. I'm not asking for you to write me novels, but I will ask that they be fairly free of obvious mistakes. Use your commas. Nothing perfect, but readable. I want to feel like you care. I also want you to take part in the story writing process. Have something you want to happen? Let me know! I love sharing ideas. Nothing warms the cockles of my heart quite like a partner who is engaged enough to share their ideas. Be still my beating heart.

On the other hand, I don't have a set rule for how quickly you need to respond to my posts. Can't get back to me in the next week? Cool beans. Life happens. We're cool. You don't even have to explain it to me. Just so long as you don't disappear into the ether of the interwebs without explanation.*

The roleplay itself will involve drama, intrigue, violence, action, violence, and more drama. As such, it will definitely be something only adults should read. This may be a roleplay to keep amongst ourselves in PM due to the age restrictions on the website. We can discuss that further. I am looking for someone to play a female opposite of my dashing rogue. (Slight sarcasm. He's not dashing.)

The Idea!

The roleplay would start a few years in the future. Sometime in the summer of 2015, a small comet landed in the Amazon rain forest. It caused some undue destruction deep in the wilderness, but killed very few people. Helicopters and airplanes were dispatched by the scientific community to study the site. These first scientists, showing up in street clothes and with little understanding of how deadly the comet actually was, never returned to their families.

The comet housed an extremely virus from a world far-off. The process of planet seeding (Watch some Cosmos, yo.) had sent planetary debris from the planet the virus had already conquered to our own. It readily infected the first human it came across, bringing with it fever and chills for the first few hours. Mr. Charles Decker, the first man to work at the comet site, had thought he had come under the influence of the flu. He perished some hours later, before once again rising like something out of a zombie film. Unfortunately, the virus did more than rewrite his brain -- it rewrote his body. Appendages were grown and bones were contorted into bludgeoning and cutting weapons. Incisors turned to fangs. Mr. Decker turned into a chilling creature, swift and deadly, that stalked the rest of his team. Each man that fell was infected.

It was impossible, even for the world's greatest nations, to track the infected team members as they raced through the jungle to infect the local populace. The World Health Organization gave platitudes, stating that it was simply a fever that was breaking out -- nothing more. When Rio de Janeiro fell, it was difficult to keep the secret from the world. Cellphones and Youtube displayed the truth for all to behold. Flights were shut down and borders were closed; it was too late. Pandora's box was opened -- and the world suffered.

The plague swept through South America. Little was done to protect the Panama Canal, which fell in the first few weeks. The plague raced upwards through Mexico, before eventually being stopped at the American border. The entire weight of the US Armed Forces, reinforced by the Canadian Army, threw bodies, bombs and tanks against the plague at the Rio Grande and the long deserts in the west. It bought the Americans time to build a wall over a hundred feet high. High enough to keep out the waves of 'victims' south of the border. It was one of the largest industrial works done in global history, done in the course of a few weeks. Over forty-thousand soldiers died protecting the border -- their tanks overrun and their foxholes infested. The creatures are evolving -- able to clamber up the walled fortifications and cunning enough to cut open the hatches on tanks to get at the crews inside.

The horror still grows. Satellite and aerial intelligence, though it is not shared with the public, shows conclusive proof that the infected are reproducing. Each week brings a new battle for the border. The United States, unable to face the threat alone, has called out for international military aid. Shockingly, the largest commitment of troops has come from the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics -- reborn in the economic downturn the 'alien' invasion has caused. Providing more than thirty-thousand professional soldiers, they have helped to secure the Arizona border behind the wall. Based out of Tulsa, many Americans grow embittered and ashamed at the fact that the Hammer & Scythe are protecting their homes.

Amongst them is a tank crew, commanded by a lieutenant, in a T90 MBT. [Psst. This is who I'd be playing!]

Expectations!

The above is open to interpretation. The aliens are based off of the ones from Dead Space. I'll let you Google that if you don't know what they look like. The idea of a tank crew taking a major part in the roleplay is based off the movie Fury -- the men and women who drive armored vehicles aren't given enough lead time. There's also the obvious cues drawn from the movie Monsters, which I highly recommend everyone see.

Who do I want you to roleplay? Well, most certainly not a crew member of the tank. That is a dynamic that will be displayed in the roleplay, but only through my writing I imagine. I would rather you not roleplay another Russian. Let us have some drama and divergence amongst our two characters. That leaves the ball in your court.

Interested? Send me a PM. I likely won't respond to queries here.

Cheers.

The Unraveling

Torsten visually cringed at Allison’s reply to the old man. There was very little he could do to referee. He was, by his very nature, always on thin ice with the local Amish. If it had been another branch, it likely would have been another matter altogether. Not the Swartzentruber. They likely considered the death of the two prisoners by Torsten’s hand as grave a crime as Mary’s death. The unfamiliarity of the cruel men’s faces was the only thing lessening the blow towards the two at the time.

Samuel screwed his face into a scowl towards Allison, “It is not Amish that did this. The Godless English came here. Not the other way around!”

Torsten stepped forward, moving between the two. He rose a hand up, trying to keep the man calm. Like it or not, Torsten figured that they needed him. It was the only reason why they came. “Samuel, I’m sorry for the mess that I made. I am not a God’s man. I did not know what else to do. Please, we came here to get her boots from your store. We’re making our way to Portland. She’s a doctor. She has to go do her job.”

Samuel leered over Torsten’s shoulder at Allison. His scowl was still present, though he finally nodded assent. He glanced down at her feet, “I will be a few minutes. Rest by the barn. We will attend to the bodies,” he motioned to the two dead convicts whose blood had turned the grass and dirt into a red morass. He turned, disappearing once again down the dirt road.

The Finn let out a breath of relaxation. He turned to face Allison, reaching out with his free hand to grab one of her’s. He held it, “You are a great doctor. You were wonderful. I’m sorry he treated you in that way, but we are at his home. Their way is their way. Do not be too harsh on them… I believe he’s scared.” He turned his head to look at where the Amish man had shuffled towards. “He would like to believe God is on his side, but his way of life cannot exist without peace. He is worried that peace is gone, I think.”

He let go of Allison’s hand. “I am glad you are here.”

The Unraveling

“And you will not ‘get’ any more of them!” A voice boomed from beside them. An elderly Amish man was shuffling towards them, wearing plain trousers and a light blue shirt. His face was silhouetted by a greying beard and a straw hat. Though he was old and slow, he walked with a dutiful purpose. His face was beset by anger, though his next words made it difficult to tell exactly what he was upset the most about. Torsten or the dead woman on the ground. “Your English ways are not our ways,” he huffed.

Torsten shot a glance at Allison, motioning for her to back away from the dead woman. ”Het spijt me,” He replied in Pennsylvania Dutch. He opened the breach to his rifle, removing the paper cartridge in order to make it inert. Though he did not like it, it was their community. Their rules. Granted, it wasn’t like he was going to let them know that his pistols were loaded. “I was worried they’d come after someone else next,” he tried to explain.

The Amish man held a shaking, wrinkled hand up to his face. He blinked away tears, turning his head away from the corpse. “That is not your place to decide. Vengeance is God’s. Not our’s..” He paused for a moment. A low sigh escaped his lips, “I wish these men had not been here. I wish you had not done this Torsten, but this is as God has commanded. It is our lot to understand it. Stay… stay here. I’ll get women to bring her to the church.”

Neither Allison or Torsten would be able to touch the body. The Finn stepped towards her, cradling the rifle in his arms. “Swartzentruber Amish. That was Samuel Stolfutz. Their elder. They won’t raise a finger to defend themselves or others. Don’t correct them about it, either. They don’t like that. Don’t look at the young men. Don’t try to talk to the women; their husbands won’t like that. … Granted, I think Samuel is the only one who actually likes me.” His eyebrows furrowed slightly.

A small group of women came following behind Samuel. Tears streamed down their faces, as a horse and cart were fetched from one of the barns. The body was loaded upon the cart and brought trundling along to the white church not far off. Samuel wrung his hands nervously, talking to a small group of men who were of his senior, before they walked away shaking heads. More than one angry glance was directed towards the tall Finn.

Samuel finally strolled back towards the two, “It has been a bad morning. Why are you here with this woman, Herr Torsten?”

‘This woman.’ The Finn glanced towards Allison. That wouldn’t go over well. “Power is out everywhere. Cars do not run. Where is.. where is the county deputy?” Torsten asked. A county deputy was usually on patrol around the community. The deputy kept the kids from messing with the Amish – or worse.

Samuel glowered, “Deputy Moreno was here. His car broke down outside the church. He had breakfast with my family, before he was supposed to go back to his policemen to see what was happening. That’s when those men showed up. They are prisoners, ja? Deputy Moreno told them to stop. He tried to use his gun. It didn’t work. They killed him. Mary… Mary came out to plead for them to stop.”

The Unraveling

This was the Finn’s calling. The woman was still a few hundred yards away, sprinting towards the barn where the two were. Her smaller stature made the three men behind her, who had not yet noticed the Finn, easier to see. His eyes momentarily glanced up towards the sky and treeline. The breeze was coming in light from the east. He spat in acknowledgement to Allison’s worries that the men would kill her.

“They would,” he replied calmly, before dropping down on one knee next to the barn. He raised the rifle to his shoulder just as she ran down the hill to meet the woman. Her acts didn’t seem to hurry Torsten. What came next had to be done slowly. Purposefully. A sniper didn’t win his battles by being quick – he won them by being the calmest person on the battlefield. The large Finn brought the heavy Sharps rifle to his shoulder, peering through the rear ladder sight. He pointed the barrel upwards, allowing for the howitzer-like properties of the .45-110 bullet sitting ahead of the powder within the receiver. He let out a half breath, pulling the set trigger – before pulling the main.

The rifle exploded in an eruption of flame and blackpowder smoke. The bullet flew in a high arc, like a rainbow, before careening back towards the ground. It was made of pure lead, with enough force behind it to kill a full-grown water buffalo. The first man it impacted wouldn’t even know what hit him. He was a hulking man, with a bald head and tattoos across his face. Those tattoos disappeared in a fine, red mist. He was running when the heavy projectile hit him, throwing him backwards.

The falling of the man in front of them, followed by the eventual report of the rifle, caused the other two to stop. They looked up to see the powder smoke that had taken their fellow and the woman running down after them.

“I’ll kill you for that!” One of the two men, mustachioed and brawny, cried up at the hill. He and his friend began to sprint, just as soon as the rifle erupted again. They never saw who was shooting them – the blackpowder smoke kept Torsten from view. The mustachioed man fell next, his chest bursting open to expose a set of finely broken ribs. The third man, deciding that he had most certainly had enough, opted to turn and sprint towards the wood line. He was gone by the time Torsten had reloaded.

The woman they had chased had collapsed. Her brown hair was greasy with sweat, which intermingled with the blood that oozed from her chest. The three men, evidently escaped convicts, had performed a cruel mastectomy on the woman. Even in the best of circumstances at the best of hospitals she would likely die from the blood loss. Torsten watched from the hill, before slowly walking down the slope to join Allison.

The Unraveling

The battlefield was not the place for the single soldier. Though television and Hollywood liked to portray individual super-soldiers wading chest-deep through hordes of archetypical communists and terrorists, the real world was hardly so forgiving. Unit tactics and cohesion won battle. Not individuals with panache for shooting. Torsten thumbed back the heavy hammer on the Sharps. He had, to be truthful, not necessarily prepared for this eventuality. He had figured the city was too far from the Amish community for them to be harassed this early.

Though the growing afternoon was chilly, the Finn was already sweating. How many years had it been since he felt this stress? He licked his lips, half-listening to Allison while his head worked to look all around them. He tried to smile at the woman, “I’m sure everything is okay, but we must assume it is not. Yes? Yes. Please, just sit here for a moment. Do you see that barn?” He asked her, pointing to the one directly ahead of them. Its broadside was towards them. “Once I’m there, I will wave you towards me. We will move into the village from that barn. No problems.”

He did not exactly believe what he said. His eyes turned to the sky. Fire could have driven the Amish to a farm they couldn’t see, but no columns of smoke rose up into the blue skies.

Torsten stood, wasting no time to sprint out of the woods. For such a large man, he was a capable sprinter. He held his rifle in his right hand, making a beeline for the barn. Feet from it, he dropped, so that he slid the rest of the way, kicking up dirt and dust around him. Just as quickly as he was there, he was peering around the edge of the rifle down a neat row of farmhouses in the distance. After making quite sure that the position was safe, he waved Allison on.

He turned, so that he was facing Allison as she began her trek across the field. That’s when a blood-curdling scream pierced the countryside. It continued on for what seemed like an eternity, wailing higher and higher, until stopping into a gurgling sob. Torsten was already scrambling out from beside the barn. He could see nothing from his position – the narrow dirt lane that wound down the center of the village was empty.

Until a woman came bursting out of the church eight hundred yards away. One would have to have the eyes of a hawk in order to see her. She wore what appeared to be a red dress, stumbling down the stairs of the holy building, while turning to look at three men who came out of the double-doors behind her.

They were obviously not Amish. They wore orange jump suits, though it was difficult to tell from the distance. She was running from the men, who were happy to simply stroll after her. Nobody from within the town raised a finger to help her. Doors and windows were barred.

Torsten took a knee next to the barn. It was raised slightly upon a hill from the rest of the town, which bowed into a valley. The church itself sat higher up on a hill much like the barn. ” Pelkureita. Vitun pelkurit,” Torsten hissed. He rested his left elbow upon his knee, while his left hand stabilized the barrel of the heavy rifle. He rested the butt of his rifle against his shoulder, peering down the rear Creedmoor sight.

The Unraveling

The Finn’s breath frosted in the early morning chill. Twigs and dry leaves crunched underfoot, as he led their small parade through the Washington forest into Oregon. Though Allison had her doubts, they had already gone over two miles within the woods by the time she had inquired about travelling on the road. Torsten stopped, frowning down at the barren road.

To be true, there was nobody on it. What was he so concerned about? He looked from the road to the amber glow on the horizon that was growing dimmer with the rising sun. The trees and the curvature of the earth kept the smoke roiling up into the atmosphere from view. It was perhaps for the best. The Finn doubted that Allison would be able to keep up the march if she knew only destruction waited them in Portland.

He paused before answering. He wasn’t quite sure how to answer the question. For once that early morning, he decided to be honest. He could hide some of the truth from her, but he couldn’t hide all of it. “If something… bad… has happened in Portland, it is best we avoid the road. It is dangerous? Vaara. If bad people are on the road, we can see them, but they cannot see us. Keep you safe.”

He continued on, before pausing again. “Army habit,” he decided to explain further, before proceeding onward. They walked for only a few more hours, with Torsten stopping every time that Allison stumbled. He patiently held her hand to assist her through the rough bits, where tree stumps and cracked rocks stuck up within the deer trail that they were following. The trail, as the name would suggest, was created by deer as they traveled from their dens in the woods to the fertile corn and bean fields the Amish tended.

The sun had crested fully over the horizon when the woods begin to thin and they were able to see the expansive fields before them. The Amish were in the middle of planting, having already plowed their fields with massive Clydesdales pulling even bigger plows. Less than fifty families lived in the church work. Though each man owned his own plot, the work was shared communally amongst each other. A ringing bell could bring help from one house to the next if a complicated task needed done. Though Torsten was “English” to them, they respected him – and he respected them.

The arrival on the field caused a distinct change in Torsten. Gone were the occasional jibes and jokes. He paused, holding his hand out to stop her from passing in front of him. Houses were arrayed in front of them, with field and lawns empty of the hard-working men or women. Red flags were being risen in the Finn’s mind. He took a knee, motioning for Allison to follow behind him.

“There’s no people working the fields,” he said more to himself. “ Mitähelvettiä on tekeillä?” He hissed.

The eagle-eyed Finn’s head did a full circle around them, taking in every shadow within the woods, the windows or the darkened entrances of the barns they were able to see. Very little things could stop the Amish from working. One of them was Church, and since it was not a Sunday that was not going to happen, and the other was disaster – or barn raising. He knew for a fact that no new barns were being risen, at least for the next few months.

“There is something wrong,” he explained hurriedly to Allison, “I do not know what. We need to see why there is no people. I will go ahead. When I turn and wave you on, you run, okay?” He reached a hand out, giving her’s a reassuring squeeze, “You are in no danger. I keep you safe.”

The Unraveling

Two suns were rising in the morning, one to the east and one to the west. The amber glow from the city of Portland simply couldn’t be ignored. In the pre-dawn light, it eclipsed the violet and the blue upon the eastern horizon. It would be a beautiful day; full of sunshine and mild warmth. The mountain passes would be free of mud and snow, but there was that unknown – that light coming from the city. Torsten wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening.

There was a small shack next to the cabin. In it, he kept the things he did not like. It contained articles of gear and clothing he had used in another life. Documents and things. While she was taking her shower, he was making sure that he was efficient for the day. Possible bags were great when out tracking for bear, but they were not adequate if a fight broke out. He had been able to keep much of his equipment from his days in the army, except for the obvious things – like his rifle. The Finnish Jaegers had kept the philosophy of ‘light is right’ when he had been in. When the rest of the world’s armies had converted themselves to fancy tactical vests and modular pouches, the Finnish Special Forces relied on the basic gear of the 1970s. Belts, suspenders and pouches. Steel plates and fancy vests weighed too much.

The belt and pouches were great. A buttpack on the rear of the belt gave him just enough storage to bring cheese, jerky and smoked sausage on the trip with them. Enough food for two days. He had plenty of paper cartridges for the Sharps rifle he carried, with plenty of loose powder, ball and primer caps for the revolvers. He felt adequate for the day.

There was one last important thing to grab. In a dusty cigar box next to a window that was accumulating cobwebs, were things he did not want to take. He picked the box up, opening the top of it. Within it lay official documentation. On top was an ID card. It was his NATO identification card. Major Stålhandske, Finnish Army, Utti Jaeger Regiment. Though Finland was not formally apart of the alliance, it still had sent troops to fight in Afghanistan and took an observer status in Brussels. The card, and paperwork underneath it, was tucked into the pocket of his flannel shirt.

The Finnish Army had been reluctant to let him go. Rather than lose him overseas, the General Staff had opted to continue to pay him under a ‘reserve’ program. It allowed him to keep his rank and pay, but the ability to live abroad as he pleased. Torsten was now wishing he was back in Finland, fulfilling his purpose. He stepped out of the shack, locking it behind him around the time that Allison had walked out with her jibe about bears.

“Oh, a few came by,” he replied jovially enough from the lightening darkness. “I punched them straight in nose. They go away.”

He motioned for her to follow him, “It is dark, so please be careful. We do not need broken ankle this morning.” He led her away from the cabin and the main road. They walked into the wilderness for a few moments, before he abruptly turned directions. He was now following the main road down the mountain, but at a few hundred yards distance. As the morning sun rose, he could see the faint outline of the road in the distance, but anyone on the road would be hard-pressed to see them in the woods.

Every few moments the tall Finn would turn to walk backwards. He eyed the trees, looking past the shadows that would play tricks on frightened men. Upon one such odd event, he smiled at Allison. “Ten miles to the Amish. Then.. forty miles? Forty miles to Portland.”