Hmmm, seems like he wants to play nice and help out. I can work with that.
Matt thought as Travis joined him.
"Before we do anything further, we need to sort out the supplies down at the camp and get moving before the Walkers show up."
He replied, chewing the bottom corner of his lip in thought.
"We need to get at least two vehicles, load them up and head out. Myself and one other can follow the tracks on foot for a while, see where they head."
He knelt to examine some bent and broken branches from the little oak and maple saplings that dotted the ground around the clearing.
"I'm Matt, this is Shan and Travis."
He replied, standing to offer Jack a firm handshake.
Captain Shelton Member
All American Rebel
STATUS: "When we go crashin' down we come back every time,'cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style" 9 yrs ago
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JustAnna
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9 yrs ago
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"When we go crashin' down we come back every time,'cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style"
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9 yrs ago
That's a damn good way of putting it. But I don't want it to be over.
1
like
9 yrs ago
How fucked up yet unsurprising is it that I don't even know what I want? I miss us, but I want to move on, but I want you back, but I want you to find someone else. Why is love so complicated?
9 yrs ago
Fun, friends, parties and girls galore. It's like the world really is my oyster now. But you were the pearl. As cheesy as that sounds.
9 yrs ago
I love and miss you terribly. Get well soon :)
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Matt paused a moment, glancing between the stash of supplies and Jack.
"Yeah, yeah it's no problem."
He replied, his conscience kicking him for considering squabbling over food like an animal.
He turned on Travis, about to speak, but Shan came bounding down the hill before he could, thereby answering Travis's question.
When Jack ran off to find his companion, Matt hesitated a moment, a bit paranoid about Travis. He too was taken aback when the battered young man embraced Shan and began kissing her. He felt a primal sense of anger and competition immediately, but resisted the urge to sucker punch the young man. Jack might need help. So he retrieved his rifle and sidearm and took off after their new friend.
He found Jack comforting Claire and overhead enough to gather that he was gone, not simply dead.
Without a word, Matt circled the spot of ground like a coyote, studying the little impressions and crushed bits of foliage here and there.
"Whoever it was, they dragged him away, through here."
He said, gesturing to the little drag marks that led further into the woods.
"We might be able to track them."
"Yeah, yeah it's no problem."
He replied, his conscience kicking him for considering squabbling over food like an animal.
He turned on Travis, about to speak, but Shan came bounding down the hill before he could, thereby answering Travis's question.
When Jack ran off to find his companion, Matt hesitated a moment, a bit paranoid about Travis. He too was taken aback when the battered young man embraced Shan and began kissing her. He felt a primal sense of anger and competition immediately, but resisted the urge to sucker punch the young man. Jack might need help. So he retrieved his rifle and sidearm and took off after their new friend.
He found Jack comforting Claire and overhead enough to gather that he was gone, not simply dead.
Without a word, Matt circled the spot of ground like a coyote, studying the little impressions and crushed bits of foliage here and there.
"Whoever it was, they dragged him away, through here."
He said, gesturing to the little drag marks that led further into the woods.
"We might be able to track them."
Matt raised his hand high enough that his three companions could see from cover,
"Guys, all of you come on out!"
He yelled.
"These guys are gonna' get back up before too long. We better do something about that."
He said to Jack, kneeling by the female bandit's corpse and drawing his bayonet from its sheath. He tried not to look too closely at the woman's pale, lifeless features as he forced the blade under the base of her skull and into her brain. He worked the knife back and forth a few times, thoroughly destroying the lower sections of her slowly reanimating brain. He pulled the knife back out with a sickening noise somewhat like a squish. He wiped the gory mess off on the woman's undershirt and smoothly pulled off her jacket. It was a dull green color, made out of an expensive wind and rain resistant material. Shan could use this.
"As awkward as it may be, nowadays we have to live like coyotes. When we kill, we can't afford to waste anything, even clothing."
He explained to jack as he laid the jacket atop one of the tents. The blood would wash off easily enough.
"Let's see what they've collected now."
Matt said, unzipping one of the tents. He paused as he stared inside at the neatly stacked cans and packages of food, fuel and clothing. There was enough to last a dozen people a short time. Or two people a very long time. He glanced at Jack out of the corner of his eye, wondering if the man's thoughts had wandered down the same road as his. To share or hoard? That was the question.
"Guys, all of you come on out!"
He yelled.
"These guys are gonna' get back up before too long. We better do something about that."
He said to Jack, kneeling by the female bandit's corpse and drawing his bayonet from its sheath. He tried not to look too closely at the woman's pale, lifeless features as he forced the blade under the base of her skull and into her brain. He worked the knife back and forth a few times, thoroughly destroying the lower sections of her slowly reanimating brain. He pulled the knife back out with a sickening noise somewhat like a squish. He wiped the gory mess off on the woman's undershirt and smoothly pulled off her jacket. It was a dull green color, made out of an expensive wind and rain resistant material. Shan could use this.
"As awkward as it may be, nowadays we have to live like coyotes. When we kill, we can't afford to waste anything, even clothing."
He explained to jack as he laid the jacket atop one of the tents. The blood would wash off easily enough.
"Let's see what they've collected now."
Matt said, unzipping one of the tents. He paused as he stared inside at the neatly stacked cans and packages of food, fuel and clothing. There was enough to last a dozen people a short time. Or two people a very long time. He glanced at Jack out of the corner of his eye, wondering if the man's thoughts had wandered down the same road as his. To share or hoard? That was the question.
Matt watched the man from his position of concealment for a moment before setting down his M16 and standing up slowly, hands open in front of him.
"I'm gonna' come a little closer now."
He announced, very slowly drawing his Glock from its holster and setting it down on a stump. He slowly walked up to the stranger, stopping a few feet away, just a little further back than normal conversation distance.
"My friends and I are here to reclaim stolen property. Not all of it's ours, and since you helped us knock off these bandits, we're happy to share some with ya'll."
He glanced briefly at the bullet torn corpses sprawled across the camp around him and bent down to pluck a nice looking Beretta M9 from the young male bandit's waistband. He stared at the familiar handgun for a moment then ejected the magazine, racked the slide and handed it to the stranger grip-first. The smell of the campfire, burnt cordite and recently applied gun oil took him back in time to a much different place with more simple rules for life...
Nangarhar Province, Afghanistan
6 Years Ago
A light wind washed over the jagged mountains that dominated the horizon, bending and bowing the few trees spread across the foothills.
Then 1'st Lieutenant Matt Shelton watched from a afar as the four Taliban fighters tended their campfire, sheltered from the wind and cold by a few outcroppings of rock. One man calmly cleaned and oiled his sidearm, an M9 he'd either stolen from a coalition soldier's corpse, or looted from a supply cache.
"Move in."
The Lieutenant whispered into his headset, his cheek tight against the stock of his M4. He placed the reticle of his scope over the chest of the man with the handgun, waiting for his men to make their move.
"Put down your weapons!"
A guttural voice yelled in Pashto, the source invisible behind a field of boulders next to the little campsite. The insurgents began yelling to each other frantically, one firing off a burst of un-aimed fire with his Kalashnikov and shattering a few small rocks up and down the hill from him. A shot rang out and the man jerked violently, dark red blooming out across the chest of his white garment. He fell backwards, his rifle clattering to the rocks. Matt took careful aim and fired a shot through the pistolman's upper arm, shredding the muscle of his tricep and crippling his arm. The insurgent howled in pain and fell to his knees, dropping the pistol. A quick burst of fire cut down his other two accomplices and the mountains once again became deathly quiet. The insurgent looked around at the seemingly deserted hillside, trying in vain to see the invisible demons that had killed his brothers. Slowly, he raised his hand over his head, his right arm still limp by his side.
As one, six American soldiers rose from the brush and rock, their Multicam uniforms and equipment making them almost invisible against such a backdrop.
"Keep your hands where we can see them!"
The same guttural voice as before ordered, again in Pashto. The insurgent obeyed, allowing the soldiers to restrain him and begin treating his wound. Lieutenant Shelton slowly rose from his concealed observation point, hiking over to his men a few minutes later.
"Is he talking?"
He asked of a bearded Staff Sergeant, the second in command of their 30-man platoon.
"Yes sir, singin' like a canary."
The Sergeant replied, hand resting on his carbine. Matt looked at the bullet riddled corpses of the Taliban around him and noted they were all decently outfitted, likely veteran fighters. He plucked the captured man's M9 off the ground and let the magazine fall into his palm, ejecting the chambered round and locking the slide back as he handed it to the Sergeant, grip-first.
"Wear it like an issued sidearm when you go through customs and you'll slide right by."
He whispered with a wink. The Sergeant smirked under his grizzled, lumberjack beard and accepted the pistol, tucking it into his patrol pack beneath a spare uniform...
Washington, USA
Present Day
The breeze changed direction and the smell of the battle was quickly blown off into the distance.
"I'm Matt by the way."
He introduced himself.
"I'm gonna' come a little closer now."
He announced, very slowly drawing his Glock from its holster and setting it down on a stump. He slowly walked up to the stranger, stopping a few feet away, just a little further back than normal conversation distance.
"My friends and I are here to reclaim stolen property. Not all of it's ours, and since you helped us knock off these bandits, we're happy to share some with ya'll."
He glanced briefly at the bullet torn corpses sprawled across the camp around him and bent down to pluck a nice looking Beretta M9 from the young male bandit's waistband. He stared at the familiar handgun for a moment then ejected the magazine, racked the slide and handed it to the stranger grip-first. The smell of the campfire, burnt cordite and recently applied gun oil took him back in time to a much different place with more simple rules for life...
Nangarhar Province, Afghanistan
6 Years Ago
A light wind washed over the jagged mountains that dominated the horizon, bending and bowing the few trees spread across the foothills.
Then 1'st Lieutenant Matt Shelton watched from a afar as the four Taliban fighters tended their campfire, sheltered from the wind and cold by a few outcroppings of rock. One man calmly cleaned and oiled his sidearm, an M9 he'd either stolen from a coalition soldier's corpse, or looted from a supply cache.
"Move in."
The Lieutenant whispered into his headset, his cheek tight against the stock of his M4. He placed the reticle of his scope over the chest of the man with the handgun, waiting for his men to make their move.
"Put down your weapons!"
A guttural voice yelled in Pashto, the source invisible behind a field of boulders next to the little campsite. The insurgents began yelling to each other frantically, one firing off a burst of un-aimed fire with his Kalashnikov and shattering a few small rocks up and down the hill from him. A shot rang out and the man jerked violently, dark red blooming out across the chest of his white garment. He fell backwards, his rifle clattering to the rocks. Matt took careful aim and fired a shot through the pistolman's upper arm, shredding the muscle of his tricep and crippling his arm. The insurgent howled in pain and fell to his knees, dropping the pistol. A quick burst of fire cut down his other two accomplices and the mountains once again became deathly quiet. The insurgent looked around at the seemingly deserted hillside, trying in vain to see the invisible demons that had killed his brothers. Slowly, he raised his hand over his head, his right arm still limp by his side.
As one, six American soldiers rose from the brush and rock, their Multicam uniforms and equipment making them almost invisible against such a backdrop.
"Keep your hands where we can see them!"
The same guttural voice as before ordered, again in Pashto. The insurgent obeyed, allowing the soldiers to restrain him and begin treating his wound. Lieutenant Shelton slowly rose from his concealed observation point, hiking over to his men a few minutes later.
"Is he talking?"
He asked of a bearded Staff Sergeant, the second in command of their 30-man platoon.
"Yes sir, singin' like a canary."
The Sergeant replied, hand resting on his carbine. Matt looked at the bullet riddled corpses of the Taliban around him and noted they were all decently outfitted, likely veteran fighters. He plucked the captured man's M9 off the ground and let the magazine fall into his palm, ejecting the chambered round and locking the slide back as he handed it to the Sergeant, grip-first.
"Wear it like an issued sidearm when you go through customs and you'll slide right by."
He whispered with a wink. The Sergeant smirked under his grizzled, lumberjack beard and accepted the pistol, tucking it into his patrol pack beneath a spare uniform...
Washington, USA
Present Day
The breeze changed direction and the smell of the battle was quickly blown off into the distance.
"I'm Matt by the way."
He introduced himself.
Matt instinctively swung his rifle around towards the interloper, his finger tight around the trigger.
"Travis..."
He whispered as he recognized the dirty, battered face. He didn't lower his rifle though.
"You're alive. Shit, crawl over here and stay quiet."
He urged, sliding further behind a fallen log for cover.
"Let me do the talking, you just stay low and silent."
Matt instructed, peeking over the log. He jumped at the sound of a gunshot, but relaxed once he saw the limp corpse of the remaining bandit slap onto the ground next to the truck, some brain matter and bone chunks spilling out the back of his head.
"I see you guys don't take too kindly to bandits either, now why don't we both step out into the open, with our guns DOWN and talk this over like gentlemen?"
He yelled across the clearing.
"Travis..."
He whispered as he recognized the dirty, battered face. He didn't lower his rifle though.
"You're alive. Shit, crawl over here and stay quiet."
He urged, sliding further behind a fallen log for cover.
"Let me do the talking, you just stay low and silent."
Matt instructed, peeking over the log. He jumped at the sound of a gunshot, but relaxed once he saw the limp corpse of the remaining bandit slap onto the ground next to the truck, some brain matter and bone chunks spilling out the back of his head.
"I see you guys don't take too kindly to bandits either, now why don't we both step out into the open, with our guns DOWN and talk this over like gentlemen?"
He yelled across the clearing.
Matt pressed himself to the ground, his dull green clothing blending in with the foliage nicely. He waited a long moment after the man had spoken, his ears still ringing from the exchange of gunfire. The fight felt like it had raged a solid half hour, but in reality it had been only seconds since the first shot was fired. The smell of burnt cordite hung in the air, sunlight glistening off the scattered shell casings the group had left around the campsite.
"Hold your fire!"
He yelled, his deep voice thundering out across the little clearing.
"We don't have any quarrel with you, these people are bandits. We just want our supplies back."
Matt ejected the magazine from his rifle as he spoke and dropped it into a thigh pocket on his cargo pants. He ripped a fresh one free from his plate carrier and rocked it into the weapon, peering down through the ACOG scope atop the receiver and trying to see the people's feet behind the truck.
"Hold your fire!"
He yelled, his deep voice thundering out across the little clearing.
"We don't have any quarrel with you, these people are bandits. We just want our supplies back."
Matt ejected the magazine from his rifle as he spoke and dropped it into a thigh pocket on his cargo pants. He ripped a fresh one free from his plate carrier and rocked it into the weapon, peering down through the ACOG scope atop the receiver and trying to see the people's feet behind the truck.
Matt cursed under his breath as the newcomers pulled up. They hadn't planned for this... What if these people were decent human beings just like them? In the end it was irrelevant however. In a fight, you played for your team and you killed anything that tried to hurt you. There was no other option. He shouldered his rifle and placed the tip of the front sight over the younger man's chest, waiting for the signal. The pistol shot thundered out across the trees and Matt watched the old man drop to the ground. He saw a familiar looking chunk of pink, dotted with white, splatter onto the ground a few inches from where the man fell. When people got shot, they didn't just bleed. The .357 Magnum round had shredded a chunk of manburger from his collar, peppering it with splinters of collarbone. It was stomach churning but nothing he hadn't seen before. His finger tightened around the trigger slowly, milliseconds away from releasing the hammer when the younger man stepped in front of the newcomer, aiming his rifle at him.
Most shooters would have taken the obvious solution. Wait until he moved or let someone else shoot him. But Matt knew better. He'd practiced this many times. He dropped low to the ground, aiming upwards at the back of the man's head. He squeezed off a round, faster than he'd meant to. The bullet moved at an upward angle in such a way that it would soar over the non-combatant's head when it exited his target's body. And exit it did. The 5.56mm bullet tumbled violently through the man's right shoulder blade, shattering bone and tearing flesh as it flew outwards, the mangled chunk of lead flying past the non-combatant harmlessly and totally disabling the gunman's right arm.
He adjusted his aim as the man started to crumple, preparing to finish the job...
Most shooters would have taken the obvious solution. Wait until he moved or let someone else shoot him. But Matt knew better. He'd practiced this many times. He dropped low to the ground, aiming upwards at the back of the man's head. He squeezed off a round, faster than he'd meant to. The bullet moved at an upward angle in such a way that it would soar over the non-combatant's head when it exited his target's body. And exit it did. The 5.56mm bullet tumbled violently through the man's right shoulder blade, shattering bone and tearing flesh as it flew outwards, the mangled chunk of lead flying past the non-combatant harmlessly and totally disabling the gunman's right arm.
He adjusted his aim as the man started to crumple, preparing to finish the job...
AnnaBeth will be fixing the post when she gets home later tonight.
My compatriots seem to have summed up my feelings on the matter. Your writing is poor and you're obviously rather immature and inexperienced. So, you are denied.
Matt nodded at the man, lowering his rifle a bit more.
"We could use the help I suppose. I'm Matt, this is Shan."
He said, gesturing to himself and his small, redhaired companion.
"Shan will hit them from up here to distract them while you and I move in from either side and catch them in a crossfire. Ideally, we can get close enough to drop each of the thugs in the opening volley, if not, Shan will pick them off from here while we pin them down and keep them from escaping. If they surrender, I want them alive for interrogation."
He glanced down the slope at the camp again, and started to move,
"You hit them from the right, I'll hit them from the left. We won't start firing until Shan gives the signal. A couple gunshots."
"We could use the help I suppose. I'm Matt, this is Shan."
He said, gesturing to himself and his small, redhaired companion.
"Shan will hit them from up here to distract them while you and I move in from either side and catch them in a crossfire. Ideally, we can get close enough to drop each of the thugs in the opening volley, if not, Shan will pick them off from here while we pin them down and keep them from escaping. If they surrender, I want them alive for interrogation."
He glanced down the slope at the camp again, and started to move,
"You hit them from the right, I'll hit them from the left. We won't start firing until Shan gives the signal. A couple gunshots."
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