This thread is for writing Jow Forums related stuff and the recommendation of books that are Jow Forums related
Give thanks to Polybius, Archivefag and BumpAnon for keeping /wfg/ afloat.
>It's been unscientifically proven that a lack of (you)s for writers can lead depression, alcoholism, story abandonment, and an hero.
>But it's so easy to make a difference in a writer's life. Just one (you) a day can make the difference between a happy writer and a writer on permanent hiatus.
>Please, post now. Help make a writer's day.
--------------------------------- FEATURED WRITERS ---------------------------------
Don Us Lucky Few, a noir science fiction. Three ex-soldiers, a bodyguard, a cop, and an unhinged weeaboo gunsmith find themselves racing to stop a corporate supersoldier project. pastebin.com/u/DonnyFox
FALwritefag Rifles of 'Nam: The chronicles of a squad on vietnam pastebin.com/4rxQaX6P
It's really more /his/, but I saw this concept on /a/ in a "ITT rate eachothers anime plot" thread and I felt like it could make a good story, the guy basically wrote a skeleton of the whole story with ending and all but I'll only post the first part and keep it as an interesting prompt/idea, unless anyone wants me to post the rest;
The year is 1917. The Eastern Front. The anime starts with our protagonist, an Austrian 21-year-old aspiring artist caught up by the draft and sent to the front, helping to defend a trench from the onslaught of Russians during the infamous July Kerensky Offensive. Eventually the Austro-Hungarian forces execute a quick counter-attack, and in the process Austro-MC captures a younger, hot-headed member of the Russian Batallion of Death (which was a women's battalion for those unfamiliar). Knowing how prisoners are treated, he takes pity on her, and disguises her in an Austro-Hungarian uniform and takes her under his wing, which she's tsun about but accepts, knowing full well herself what the alternative is. It's later revealed that he did this because his own little sister was killed by a bombing run in 1915, and she reminded him of her. What she might've grown up to be. Being a writer, Austro-MC manages to forge documents for the transfer of his "little brother," which in reality is his new Russian compadre, who manages to pass off since she's a tomboy and be accepted.
>A 19 year old has just finished RASP and is about to ship out to 2/75. He’s offered the chance to volunteer for an experimental program that will essentially be a modern equivalent of the Spartan-II program, complete with medical augmentations using near-future technology like hormone therapy and prosthetic bone replacement.
Cooper Johnson
Sounds fun, but why not try to write it yourself user? You might find that you are pretty good at it.
Nathaniel Jackson
I think the idea is to get recently lethargic writers to run with something.
Brayden Diaz
Relatively new blood here, looking to write something maybe but I've no ideas
cont faggot it better be a goddamn waffengeist you jude
Christopher Long
I'm writing some stuff on the Napoleonic French invasion of Russia, and trying shoot for some degree of historical accuracy. Here's an excerpt from today's effort. Tell me if anything is weird.
Borislav knelt down beside the young lieutenant, look one glance at the wound, and shook his head. "Dima..."
The officer, barely a man, clenched his fist, and nodded. "Go, sergeant. Get them out of here. Leave me. God be with you."
Borislav stood and turned to what was left of his company. They took the brunt of the French artillery bombardment, losing nearly half of his men to those damned 12 pounders. The subsequent cavalry charge would have finished them off, were it not for the lieutenant's quick order to use the ammo wagons as makeshift palisades. Seventy men were all that was left of his company. The battle was over, and he knew it. Now was the time to withdraw - to keep what was left of his company alive to fight another day.
His mind raced - running through his options. Outrunning the French was impossible. They repulsed the latest charge, but the chasseurs would regroup soon enough, and this time, they would have the voltigeurs with them. He could try for the Berezina, but he was certain the French would have secured all crossings by then. No. He had to fight them. He had to bloody them, and force them to seek easier targets. He decided upon the Barysaw arsenal - it was a short distance away and there, he may be able to find other elements of the regiment. He said a short prayer, and as if in response, it began to snow, the first of the year.
Ah that's a good idea!l. I know a lot of us have personal life stuff that keeps us from writing more frequently though.
Jason Jones
So long as it's got weapons and/or geists it will be welcome. Take your time, think of something that is interesting for you to write, and go from there.
Hunter Reyes
Link to the prompt story dealio?
Luis Long
I've personally had trouble writing because I get stuck in the same groove of thinking and I've just kinda... mined that out. So I can easily see the value in such an idea.
Dominic Morris
I'll just post the rest chief, hold on
From there the story takes on a lighter tone, as things are relatively quiet afterwards. Austro-MC tries his damndest to ensure that his actions aren't discovered, as they're surely treasonous. Throughout the anime the pair get to know eachother more and slowly grow closer, feeling they understand eachother now better than any of their comrades ever did, despite them being enemies beforehand. He tells her about his past experiences in the war, especially during the aftermath of learning about his sisters death and his harrowing experience during the Brusilov Offensive in 1916, and she admits to him that the Kerensky Offensive was her first battle, and she's tsun-ly embarrassed about being captured so early. She tells him about the Bolshevik protests and revolutionary events that have happened in Tsarist Russia, and how she disagrees with the revolutionaries. They talk to eachother about their respective families, and life in their seperate nations. She tells him about her father, a haughty Russian noble who she cannot stand, and how he was vehemently against the idea of her joining the army. He teaches her about Austrian traditions and social norms so that she may better fit in with the other troops. They talk about what they did they each did before the war. What they plan on doing after. Austro-MCs convoluted dream of becoming a great author, and Russo-qts confused ideas of her future. She simply doesn't know what she wants to be. He reveals more and more about the book he's always dreamed of writing as the plot goes on. Despite acting tsun and relatively untrusting at first, she eventually falls in love with Austro-MC. Other things happen but those are just some I can think up off the top of my head. Plenty of room for comfy winter shenanigans.
Jaxson Wright
The boiling point of the anime is on September 1st, 1917, the date of the last real offensive by the White Army before the revolution forced them out of the war. The pair are at the frontlines side by side, and as the Russians charge forward, Austro-MC assures her that she doesn't have to fire a single bullet against her former comrades if she chooses not to. She contemplates her life before she met Austro-MC, her restrictive father, and the future of Russia as a Communist nation and, with tears in her eyes, decides that it'd be better to remain in Austria with Austro-MC, and helps him to repel the attack, any guilt she'll feel be damned. The final episode skips to March 3rd, 1918, the date the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk is signed and the war on the Eastern Front ends, with the couple celebrating before skipping ahead even further to 1920, where the couple live in the Austrian countryside now that the war has ended. They're married, and have a daughter, and although they are happy the war still remains a heavy memory for the both of them. Austro-MC works an odd-job at a train station out of necessity, still trying to gain a foothold as an author. After showcasing their new life, it pans to Austro-MC going out to check the mail, with one letter in particular catching his eye. He dashes back into the house, and nearly tackles his wife with a teary-eyed hug. The letter is from a prominent Austrian publishing company. [spoiler]His novel was a big success, and the publishing company asks when he'd be willing to pick up the pen once more. Despite having to go through the harrowing Great War, his dream has finally come true.[/spoiler]
Whoops, forgot to remove the spoiler from the post, my bad Anyways that's just that guy's take on it, feel free to take the first part and go wherever you want with it
Anyone got some comfy geist stories they can link here for a comfy end to the weekend?
Benjamin Perez
>this loosely describes a character I'm writing for ULF
Tell me Mr. time traveller, who should I invest my stocks in next?
Liam Turner
>empty steel clips with good springs wut? Mosin clips don't have springs
Blake Ross
yeah, I fucked that up, my mind mixed up Mosin clips with Mauser clips and I forgot to go back and change it, I have no idea why that happened in my brain
I'm writing my intro for the parallel story if anyone is interested. It's a character that does tie into the main story that I'll probably be writing alongside everything going on in the main arc.
The skinny brought his machete down in a vicious overhand chop. I batted it to the inside with the blade of my bowie, knocking it out of line and leaving his strong side undefended. Stepping in I reversed the arc on my blade and drove the wickedly sharp point of the Natchez-style blade into his throat. The point emerged from the back of his neck and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. Taking my knife with him, trapped between two vertebrae.
>Fuck
His mate jabbered at me in skinny and ran forward almost bisecting me with a swipe of his machete. I danced back, narrowly avoiding the swing and almost tripped over a loose chain on the deck. Sweeping it up I threatened him with the legs. His grin an ivory moon against the night sky of his face he advanced and attempted to knock the improvised weapon form my hands with a chop.
I stepped into his swing and threw the chair to my left with a savage spin that trapped his blade in the legs and ripped it from his grip. Leaping forward I drove the heel of my boot into his kneecap and felt it give with a crunch and a sickening pop. He too dropped, but screaming in pain. I snatched up his partner's blade and drove it into his screaming form over and over again. By the time he stopped thrashing I and the deck for fifteen feet in all directions were spattered in blood.
Dropping the rusty piece of shit I used my boot on the first pirate's chest for leverage and jerked my blade from his throat. Suddenly Sarah was there, her blonde mane matted with gore and covered to the waist in blood. Her face was a rictus of madness and her eyes bulged with wantonness and rage.
“YEAH HOSS! FIND ME ANOTHER ONE!” Her normal whiskey contralto a shrieking buzz saw.
“Hush you harlot! Let me think.” I snapped, unwilling to indulge her berserker fantasies.
Juan Nguyen
Her madness dimmed slightly, the maniacal grin falling to a bloody grimace as her ample bosom heaved. I examined my blade for damage and noticed that there was blood and gore in the stippling left over from where the teeth of the hoof rasp she'd started out life as had been ground down.
>Fuck me, I'm going to have to wash her before I can put her back in the sheath or else I'm gonna get blood and spinal fluid soaked into the leather.
I searched the pirates quickly, finding only a small clasp knife and the two rusty-as-fuck machetes. They lack of blood on either (well, before I got a hold of them anyway) gave me hope that none of the rest of the crew had been hurt. I cleaned them as best I could on the first skinny's pants, then sheathed them and slung the scabbarded weapons over my shoulder, then moved off as quietly as I could towards the port-forward head. There I could clean my blade and then it was only two decks to the forward armory. I hoped that it was less likely to have been a priority to the pirates than the aft armory, between the bridge and the main engineering spaces.
>Where the fuck were the security teams?
Nolan Edwards
seems pretty good with the possibility of comfy. thumbs up from me
With Sarah clean (and wasn't fending her off in the middle of this shit just a bundle of fucking joy) and re-sheathed I drank from the tap and washed as much of the blood from my face as I could. The forward Armory was two decks down and was separated from the forward engineering spaces by an unbroken bulkhead that they'd have to go up to the deck to bypass. If I hurried I could probably strap up and be out the door with weapons for me and a half-dozen others before anyone noticed.
>Seriously, what happened to the security teams? I should have heard firing before I actually SAW pirates.
My hands and face dry, but with blood still matting my hair I slid down the first ladder and tried to land softly, my knees flexing deeply. No sounds I could detect.
>WTF, where is everyone? Either everyone was already rounded up, or others were being as sneaky as I was. But if everyone was rounded up, that would mean that the forward armory was already in enemy hands. Unless everyone was aft of frame 10 when we were boarded. Shit.
I took the last ladder one step at a time, crunching as low as I could manage to see around me in case there were skinnys present on the deck. All clear. Moving as silently as my workboots would allow I crept down the passageway to the door marked “Armory 09-03-12”. It was closed.
>well that's good
I tried to undog the door, but the wheel wouldn't move.
>Fuck, it's locked.
I quietly moved off to the forward staterooms and started going through my shipmate's personal belongings until I found a couple of paperclips, one large and made from heavy gauge wire and the other smaller and more delicate. God, Mooney was a slob. How she ever wound up aboard as regular crew I'll never know.
Aaron Long
A little bending and straightening later with my multi-tool and I was back at the armory door, crouched down so I could get into the lock easily. It took 15 minutes of delicate probing to get the pins to align so I could unlock the tumbler and rotate the keyway, unlocking the door. This time the door undogged easily and it swung open without issue. And then I was staring into the gaping blackness of a wide-bore muzzle about four inches from my face.
Carson Perry
You realize that if Don is 30 and his daughter is 19, then he was 10 or 11 when he knocked up her mom, right?
Chase Campbell
I like the PTSD moment.
Benjamin Lewis
Please critique. Concept for a highly realistic and gritty sci-fi novel I'm working on.
B.O.A.R.D. >Battalion Ordanince Assault & Reconnaissance Delivery >After the naval engagement at Remiter in 2142, a need for disrupting and engaging an enemy flagship beyond its engagement range was noted by the USSC. A contract for a boarding device capable of delivering a squad of marines (16 personnel) to an enemy warship was submitted to the public. Tycron heavy industry orbital was awarded the contract. The BOARD is capable of delivering the vehicle to an enemy vessel at ranges of 1.37Ls, beyond the ranges of almost all rail accelerators and thermal weapons currently fielded by the rebellion. It is also capable of launching ECMs, chaff, and thermal sinks to disrupt missiles and point defense systems that would attempt to intercept the BOARD. Before impact the BOARD rapidly decelerates with large forward facing directional explosives as well as a shaped charge that breaches the enemy hull. After delivery the cargo of marine shock troopers can engage the crew of the ship, conduct sabatoge, and other combat actions against the boarded ship. Usually BOARD systems are deployed in a salvo of 6 or more, delivering at least a platoon sized combat element to various systems of the enemy vessel, with the priority target usually being the bridge, but engineering and weapons platforms are also targets of priority. BOARD systems can be intercepted by missiles, CIWS, and thermal weapons, with an average loss rate of 40%. However Naval Space Command has deemed this acceptable as compared to the thousands of sailors, and billions of ship tonnage that would be lost in a conventional flagship engagement. The BOARD has only been deployed once at the battle for Lang Di, where it was deployed against a rebel destroyer. Marines boarded and decisively captured the enemy ship, taking 9 casualties, inflicting 391 casualties, and capturing 3,428 crew.
The main character is a Marine who is deployed to board enemy ships, engage in close quarters combat in a very unforgiving (sometimes zero G, toxic, extreme temperature) environments where most of his friends are killed. He is very patriotic and loves serving in the military, he looks forward to the day he can be dischared and go to college, but after killing several men and watching many of his friends die, he begins to become demoralized and simpithize with the the rebels. He wants to return home and be with his wife and son. After being a POW and witnessing much of platoon being tortured to death, he dedicates his life to becoming an even more effective Marine, receiving many accolades, medals, and awards.
In the Marine Corps there is a mysterious special forces unit known affectionately as the "Demon Corps" who are rumored to commit horrible war crimes such as mass execution of surrendering enemy. They are signified by their tradition of shedding their helmets and donning red berets, which are rumored to only be issued after the Marine has 10 confirmed kills. The main character is accepted into this elite special forces fraternity. He ends up becoming an alcoholic and high ranking SNCO in his 30s after being divorced from his wife and losing custody of his son. He spirals further into insanity and is executed by firing squad arter being court martialed for murdering several POWs under his supervision.
Grayson Sanchez
She's adopted, I was going to address that later.
I didn't want to get too insane with it.
Henry Stewart
Stale pasta
Carter Hughes
>She's adopted OK, that makes more sense then.
>didn't want to get too insane with it. No, you nailed it perfectly. irrational behaviors to normal situations because of INSANE experiences are exactly what PTSD is all about.
Nolan Rodriguez
Still looking for constructive criticism
Benjamin Bennett
I'm prolly gonna give an update today, just got back from welfare queen weekend (which I spent doing SII in the armory, woot woot, new m4s ゲット) so don't expect anything until later on tonight Also bump
Christopher Mitchell
Good read, but some of the sentences seemed really long due to having them run on with commas. I had the same problem starting out. Try to shorten some so they read smoother. Really looking forward to more, pick a name and keep at it.
Cooper Mitchell
There's a lot of them. Go to the paste bin and just start reading.
Brayden Scott
Anything tagged as "healing" is what you want. Also slice of life.
My intention for this post is not for attention seeking for (you)s or to dox myself or anyone else. That said, one of our /wfg/ trips and I are directly under the eye of this hurricane that will strike the USA between Thursday and Friday. It’ll be a slow moving category 4 storm with a well defined eye, and I’m as prepared for it as I think I can be. Any anons in the path of this thing, my thoughts go out to you. Hopefully, we’ll be okay. See you on the other side guys!
Hey I remember this the sort of john Wick one. I'd have to see more if the script to make a good assessment but so far the scene itself is pretty solid writing.
What did you decide to go for for plit? Pharma company trading illicit drugs to coyotes in exchange to do research on them ( endurance and performance enhancing drugs for soldiers with the mexican birder crossing as the live test zone)?
Kevin Gonzalez
You'll have to justify why, if the board can make it to the enemy flagship, that the naribes can't just be swapped out fir a cassaba hiwitzer and call it a day. Also I'd set it another hundred or so years in the future given the level of tech
Noah King
Sorry, phone posting
Mason Rogers
Hope you and the other person make it through alright. If it gets bad, I might be up there this weekend for work. I wish you both the best of luck, stay safe friends!
Camden Rodriguez
I'm a fan of the polysyndeton but I can't seem to break the use of commas as a pause between ideas so my sentences do seem to run on longer than usual, although I don't think that it's necessarily a bad thing for every example of a long sentence; either way, that is good feedback
Now contrary to the belief spread by Hollywood, Not even That asshole Deputy nor the Master thief of Martial arts can dodge bullets. You especially cannot dodge bullets at less than a foot. So rather than do anything crazy I stood there with my hands up and tried not to stare at the barrel that looked big enough to ride down with my hat on. Sarah was lessd than helpful in this pursuit, stepping just into my field of vision, her white off-the-shoulders Spanish blouse and and russet riding skirt fairly sparkling as she grinned in a sultry manner.
“You can take him Hoss. Just slip the barrel and drive me into him, it's feel so good.” She drew out the last word in a moan and rolled her hips suggestively. I tried really hard to ig nore her and focus on the face behind the weapon and noticed it was Harold Gardner, The machinist and one of the Ag heads.
“Harold. Harold! It's me Harold! Don't fucking shoot me, OK?”
“Jack? Jack Korohnen? Holy shit man...” He trailed off and lowered the muzzle of what I not could make out as a Mossberg 500M. I looked around and then pushed past him, pulling the door closed behind me and dogging it closed.
“Lock this!” I ordered not really giving a shit if I had the authority to do so. I was gratified to see him sling the matte-silver shotgun and use a key on a lanyard at his waist to re-lock the door.
“What the fuck happened?” I demanded. “First think I knew the engines cut out, then I get jumped by two skin- er.. Pirates as I'm making my way to the galley. Shit got a bit harry for a minute there.”
Carter Edwards
“I dunno Jack, the Captain came on the 1MC, said we were being boarded and not to resist. I've been held by pirates before and I have no interest in doing it again, so I locked myself in here. Nobody's come by to jiggle the latch so I guess they think they have everyone or else people are sheltering in place instead of surrendering themselves.”
“Dammit! What foolishness is this shit?” I muttered as I looked around the compartment.
An assortment of a couple dozen guns were racked in chest high units along the forward bulkhead. They were secured by a nylon-coated plastic cable through their trigger guards. Below them were lockers that probably held magazines and associated gear. On the port bulkhead were heavily constructed lockers that had to hold ammo, while the starboard side held a double clothing rack loaded with ballistic armor, helmets and tactical harnesses.
“Well, at least we're not lacking for gear...” I said. Sarah glowered at me as though she were offended that I might use any weapon but her. God damn but she was cute when she was angry. Absolutely psychotic, but all the really hot ones are.
Easton Cox
“We've got gear, but we don't have a lot of ammo for anything but the shotguns.” said Harold with a frown. Most of the ports we stop at don't really want us to have ANY weapons, but they let it slide since we never open the boat or mount a guard while in port. The compromise is that we can't carry a lot of ammo for the “military-grade” weapons, which means all the rifles except for that old elephant gun that Captain Harper left to the ship when he passed.”
>Elephant gun? Why the fuck would anyone, much less a tramp freighter captain have an elephant gun?
I frowned. “Well shit. How much is “not a lot”?”
“No more than 100 rounds for each caliber.” came Harold's dispirited response.
My frown deepened. “Horse shit. In each Armory?“
Harold grimaced “Split between them.”
I was practically scowling now. “Fucking pig shit. How much for the shotties?”
“About 1200 rounds of buck and 900 rounds of slug and I think there's a hundred rounds of Sabot Slug in here too.” I stared at him for a moment.
“How do you know that without checking?” I asked slowly.
“I've got command of the forward security contingent.” He replied, a little sheepishly.
“Which right now consists of...?”
“Me.”
>Well shit. Ain't this a clusterfuck?
“OK, show me the shotguns you have. My personal weapons are all stowed in the aft armory.”
Austin Rodriguez
Harold drew my attention to the starboard nd of the racks and pointed out the shotguns; three more Mossberg 500M's, two Ithica 37's, a lonely Browning A5 that was way too good to be here in this dump, and two Kalashnikov-esq monstrosities; Saiga-12s.
One was a stock model with the full-length barrel and the wood furniture (useless to me in CQB conditions), but the other was wearing full-on EBR regalia. Adjustable stock, quad rails, VFG, muzzle light, holosight AND iron peep sights. It even had a spear-pointed muzzle-brake on it that looked nasty enough to punch through light armor if I had to force the issue. Not that I expected the skinnies to be wearing any sort of armor. The two I'd run into were wearing stained shorts and ratty button-downs.
“Where did these come from? They're the only ones that look new.” I asked.
“Captain Harper accepted them as part of a barter for cargo transport the last run he was with us.” Harold shrugged. “None of the security teams are checked out on them so they've only had a couple of hundred rounds through them and they've just been setting here since.”
“Well shit fire and save the matches!” came Sarah's husky drawl “Now THAT is a shootin' iron!” I guess she approved
“You thinking of taking her along, Hoss?”
Cameron Green
Stay safe hope everything goes as good as it can
Ryder Murphy
Keep your powder dry, your windows tight and your friends, neighbors and trips close PTR.
Good luck.
Noah Wright
Well our group just got released to go where the hurricane if supposed to hit the eastern coast. Well probably leave out in the next few days. Wishing everyone affected a safe and stress free as possible time.
Håkan clicked his stopwatch and raised his eyebrows, mildly impressed.
“Gammelblå, target number two please.” He ordered.
“Ja herr Kapten,” von Skogsgard acknowledged “Kontakt! Target 2 O’Clock, 300 meters, behind that wall! Load AP!”
“Loading AP! Ready to fire!”
“FIRE!”
“SKOT KOMMER!”
The AP round punched straight through the moldering paddock wall and a second automobile burst into flames.
“Target destroyed, herr Kapten.” von Skogsgard grinned triumphantly.
“Very good, very good. I think that will suffice for today, herr Löjtnant.” Håkan returned the watch to his pocket. “Troopers, police those fires and return to your normally scheduled patrols.”
“Well herr Kapten, are my crew satisfactory?” von Skogsgard asked, lighting a cigarette and extracting himself from his commander’s cupola, only to drop the cigarette onto the deck and swear. “Perkele!”
Luis Nguyen
“As long as your loader isn’t as clumsy as you.” Håkan responded with a good-natured heckle. “But in seriousness, your tanks will make a fine addition to K Company. The DvG/25 is all well and good, but the best weapon to kill a tank is another tank.”
“Jaja herr Kapten.” von Skogsgard grinned, retrieving his smoke and blowing a perfect smoke ring. “When the rubber hits the road we’ll serve rounds on any target you wish.”
“Or the steel, as it were.” Håkan kicked Gammelblå’s track lightly with the toe of his boot. “For now though, I’d like to keep the tanks in the motor pool.”
“Why herr Kapten, if I may? Surely the sight of our tanks will discourage resistance?”
“Not necessarily, herr Löjtnant. You know how to move a stubborn mule, no?”
“Ja, with a carrot in front and a stick behind.”
“Precisely. However, if the carrot is offered too frequently, it ceases to be desirable. And if the stick is applied too liberally, it ceases to be feared and becomes resented. Do you like films, herr Löjtnant?”
“Ja herr Kapten.”
“Monster films?”
“Ja herr Kapten.”
“In a monster film, which is better? To show the whole monster all the time, or to only show a little bit sometimes?”
“To only show a little bit, naturally. It’s scarier if you can’t see it. When it’s out in the open you can tell it’s just a couple of dwarves in a suit.”
Carter Morales
“Indeed. An occupation has much in common with a film or a play. The occupied population are the audience and we are putting on a show for them. In a theater, if you play to the audience correctly, they will not pelt the stage with tomatoes. In an occupation, if we play the population correctly, they will not pelt our barracks with molotovs. It requires a delicate balance of generosity and intimidation to produce the desired compliance. Give them too much carrot, and they will not take us seriously. Give them too much stick, and they will hate us to the point where they will not stop resisting until they are all dead. Your tanks are the stick, and I’m saving them until at least the end of the 2nd act.”
“Makes sense to me, herr Kapten. However if my men have nothing to do but drink vodka and check track tension all day they will grow restless very quickly.”
“I’m already instituting a cross-training program to familiarize the riflemen with how to operate our PLbs. If your men have an excess of time on their hands, I’ll send you some line troops to cross-train on the tanks as well. You don’t need to turn them into proper tankers, just make sure they know the basics well enough to temporarily replace a casualty in the field, or do some basic administrative driving. I don’t want to have to abandon a tank if I can help it. And it will be useful to have a way to move enemy tanks if we capture them intact.”
“That will certainly occupy plenty of time, herr Kapten.” von Skogsgard smirked at the prospect of teaching rifle troopers how to operate a tank.
“Of that I am sure.” Håkan grinned. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see a man about a dog.”
Jonathan Walker
As Håkan entered the police station’s motor pool about 20 minutes later, he was greeted by a cacophony of barking from a modified armored car that was waiting for him. The Issmarkish Björnhund had been bred and trained by the Imperial Guard for centuries for its original purpose: fending off bears and other dangerous animals menacing ski patrols. However, in the last 50 years or so the breed had found a new role as a potent detection tool and nonlethal weapon for police work.
The Björnhund was a large dog; fast, tough and fearless with its trademark pointed ears and thick black-and-white coat. They could be trained to chase down a fleeing man and pin him to the ground without killing him, or to track his scent or sound in conditions where a trooper couldn’t see five meters in front of him. However more often than not, their mere presence and low, threatening growl was sufficient to convince a troublesome person to comply. A Guardsman might hesitate to pull the trigger, but a Björnhund would not hesitate to bite you once released. Håkan had worked with Björnhunds before, and found them to be one of the more useful tools at his disposal when dealing with a civilian population. The fact that he had a soft spot for dogs from years of hunting with his father certainly didn’t hurt.
David Russell
The dog carrier was a PB/38 armored car which had had its rear driving position removed and replaced by a compartment containing four cages. Each cage had an armored door with a solenoid lock which could be triggered from the driving compartment, releasing one or more dogs at the flick of a switch. The new vehicle was thus dubbed PB/38h. Based on its markings, it had come from Sammrik just like Lt. von Skogsgard and his tank platoon. This was to be expected; Sammrik was home to some of the best attack dog training facilities in Issmark, and the dogs were trained to respond only to commands in the local Sammoi tongue. Sammoi was virtually unpronounceable by anyone who was not a native speaker, and this ensured the dogs would only take orders from their handlers. Håkan had had a kennel of Sammoi dogs and their handlers as part of his police forces at Home Chain Fortress Stengarberg, and was pleased to serve alongside them again.
“Hej herr Kapten.” A man in a Corporal’s uniform who had been leaning against the car straightened up and saluted.
The HND insignia on his collar, cap and brassard indicated he was a dog handler. His pale complexion and sharp blue eyes indicated he was indeed from Sammrik.
“Hallå Korporal, I am Kapten von Regenhardt. Where’s your superior officer?”
“Löjtnant Heiskanen and Korporal Mattilla went to find fresh water for the dogs, herr Kapten. They should be back shortly.” A second HND trooper poked his head out of the driver’s door.
“Thank you Korporal,” Håkan nodded. “I trust you’ve got good dogs for me?”
“Of course herr Kapten.” They echoed in unison.
There was a fierce pride in their eyes. These men had been trained alongside their dogs and man and dog had a strong bond.
Ethan Collins
“Kapten von Regenhardt?” The HND Lieutenant, Heiskanen, had emerged from the police station.
He was flanked by Einar and the final HND man, Kpl. Hellmut Mattilla, both of whom were carrying water cans.
“Löjtnant Heiskanen, I presume?” Håkan asked.
“Ja herr Kapten. Would you like to see the dogs?” The Sammoi man asked.
“Very much so, herr Löjtnant.”
Heiskanen nodded to his NCOs, who unclipped the leashes from their belts and approached the dog hatches. The dogs stood remarkably still as they opened, until the handlers ordered them to jump out and stand at attention to be leashed. They were fine specimens, well-cared for and with the keenness of eye that only comes with expert training. Predominantly black and white, they were the result of combining an ancient Sammoi hunting dog with shepherd dogs from Western Issmark and displayed the best traits of both. Each dog bore a viskorporal insignia on his collar and wore a thick leather vest of sorts designed to deter detainees from shivving the dog anywhere vital. This vest was stamped with the dog’s name and unit number, and served as the attachment point for the leash.
Dominic Reyes
Håkan glanced at the Lt. and then at one of the dogs. Heiskanen tilted his head in affirmation. The dog’s handler, Kpl. Hellmut, placed a hand on his dog’s shoulder and gave him a command. The dog whined, and relaxed. Håkan reached out a hand, moving slowly but not hesitantly. He wasn’t sure quite how, but dogs seemed to know when you were acting nervous, and could become unpredictable. This dog seemed pretty good natured however, and licked Håkan’s glove without hesitation before allowing the captain to scratch him behind his ears. Perhaps part of that sixth sense was being able to tell that Håkan was part of his handler’s pack, just a bit higher up the pecking order. Leaving the handlers to water and attend to their dogs, Håkan retired to his office to have a pipe and determine the extent of that day’s paperwork situation.
++
The next few days would pass fairly uneventfully. Life was slowly starting to come back to the streets. Markets started to buzz again. People opened their windows, children played in the streets and the Imperial Guard troops were starting to feel less like a frontline army and more like the federal police they served as in peacetime. The population was a little sparser than it had been, with many people having fled before the city surrendered, but more people were moving into Company K’s district by the day. Rumors of widespread looting in other sectors of the city seemed to be the cause, on top of people made homeless by the housing needs of the Imperial Army’s vast manpower. The Army controlled very little of the physical area of the city, but had many more troops clustered in the areas they did occupy.
Christian Howard
It wasn’t perfect. There were a number of confrontations, many of them coming down to disagreements as to what precisely counted as a weapon. Troopers were confiscating heirloom swords and muskets from peoples’ walls, a practice that did not sit well with Håkan, who eventually made an executive decision. Confiscations would be restricted to modern cartridge firearms and prized family possessions that had already been taken would be returned. Carrying of anything bigger than pocket knives in public however would remain off the table. This reduced the number of arguments considerably, but food distribution was an ever-chaotic process that threatened to descend into a riot with alarming frequency. Fortunately it hadn’t ever come to that, but Håkan was gravely concerned about what might happen if the food supplies stopped coming. So far there had been no order to restrict freedom of movement within the borders of the city, but there was a limit to how much food would be issued to one sector.
The language barrier was another problem. Issmarkish officers could all speak Common, but the men often only spoke Issmarkish, and perhaps another tongue from the Issmarkish continent as in the case of the Sammoi men. Most of the adult elves spoke Common, but almost none of them spoke Issmarkish. And if someone understood neither Common nor Issmarkish, there was only one man in the entire company who could speak Allufalese. Håkan commandeered a printing press, and had Sgt. Larsson (the aforementioned man) draw up a phrasebook that would be distributed to the Troopers so they could at least give basic commands and understand relevant responses. Sgt. Larsson suggested publishing a reverse version in Allufalese as well, so that people would know the phrases troopers could understand. While these measures improved things, there was still an understandable sense of tension in the air.
alright i've got an idea for a new story >new guard at a german top secret research facility during the late years of WW2 >other guards are men from various branches of the german military whose original units attacked, were attacked by or otherwise came in contact with various paranormal objects. >finds more and more strange and paranormal things being experimented on like Die Glocke. >becomes a situation when the Russians come a-knockin, release the experiments in their looting retardation and get assfucked by the various spooks being created and researched. >This leaves our “brave” “heroes” to fight the russkies while trying to unfuck the situation so that the experiments do not escape. >Possibly have a dual perspective of a modern/near past Kommando picking through the ruins of spook HQ while on a S.T.A.L.K.E.R challenge, releasing his autistic rage on surviving spooks whaddya think?
Needs at least a scene in the past with a guy going APE on some experiments after taking meth.
Aaron Garcia
Good or bad news depending on if you like botes or not. I'll put Not Heaven on hiatus for the moment, I need to decide what direction to take that in.
However, I'll shift focus to an old friend instead...
Ethan Sanchez
Oh mein Gott, does this mean what I think it means?
Isaiah Howard
Just out of curiosity for those that do read it, is the lack of action boring? Is the story to confusing with all the references to Chinese culture and tradition (baizhou, Peng, hou yi)? Are the squad and protagonist compelling characters?
Reference to anything Chinese culture should be explained as if the reader knows nothing. Its no problem if it is explained, however
David Richardson
culture like said should be explained a bit or the gist of it at least but its a plesant novelty to read stuff with the eyes of other cultures/traditions, the lack of action is not bad is actually rather plesant to read this kind of stuff from time to time and the characters are well rounded and fairly 3D instead of flat
I’m dug in tight as a tick. Rainy cloud on its way. A fellow Jow Forumsommando was nice enough to stop by, share his weeb juice, and have a few laughs beforehand.
