HUMINT: Formation of Mirage F1s will be in the target area, Flightplan says they are armed.
ELINT: Radio intercepts and triangulation have identified that an Osprey-55 patrol boat is cruising within roughly 250 miles of the flightplan's proposed track.
SATINT: None
Air Assets: Falcon 50, 6xDassault Mirage F1
Surface Assets: Osprey-55 Gunboat

Threat Assessment: Medium. Based on flightplan distance, the Mirage's will most likely be equipped with drop tanks, limiting their payload and air to air effectiveness. The Moroccan Armed Forces are adequately trained, but are by no means top tier. While the Osprey patrol boat poses no direct threat, it does present a relay station should the Falcon 50 broadcast an emergency transmission.

ROE: Visual Contact unless fired upon.

Just got all this from Steve. This seems a little more complex than the prior missions.

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/8515581
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/8526381
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/8538520
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/8562185
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/8598508
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/8606900
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/8618962/

backgrounder.

Squad lineup

multi role
IAI F-4/2000
F-4 Phantom
F-111D Aardvark

air superiority
SU-27 Flanker-B
Mirage F1E

Osprey boat mentioned in brief.

Op's forces
A-111
F4x2 (They seem to both be the F2000 upgrades from IAI)
SU-27 Flanker B
Mirage F1

>>8634018
GODAMMMIT ANON.

>>8634027
lulzy

>>8634033
I can deal. Anon got it wrong. Mirage is multi role, one of the F-4s is Air Superiority.

This smells like a furball. And the AWAC preemption just underlines it.

I'd make sure there are no fleet or ground movements in the area. Then load up everyone for intense air to air. Get extra chaff and flare. Make sure there are plenty of AIM-9s on EVERY bird. But pack some long range stuff as well. If you use a buddy tanker again your fighters can refuel instead of jettisoning tanks with fuel left in them, giving everyone more time in the air.

Consider splitting up your force for this one. If the tanker keeps back he can stay hot and rely on a fighter screen which he keeps informed of enemy movement (do you have IFF?). The Aardvark won't want to mess with the F1s up close anyway.

First I'd take out that boat, just to be sure. A quick flyover to confirm identity and then something that'll sink it. And ask Steve about the availability of jamming equipment, because even if you hit the boat well, they'll still have time to use the radio.

Don't even bother with the target, just keep an eye on it. First you have to own the airspace. Find those Mirages or have them come to you. Thin them out as much as possible and then hunt them down one by one. If one gets stuck on one of your bulkier teammates, ask Steve about the Thach Weave.

Sounds like the first real challenge.

>>8634052
what makes you say that?

And what's with the Harriers?

>>8634118
I read all the prior threads. It was mentioned in one that the 'roles' they built their pilots to be good at influenced their plane choice. The Mirage and op are multirole pilots, the vark is a low and fast strike jock, and the Flanker and other Phantom pilots are all about the air to air.

>>8634135
Yes, but I think that only affects some boni. In an all out air to air situation they'd all carry AIMs.
As for the battle role, I went by aircraft, not pilot skills.

>>8634155
Kind of a moot point anyway, so let's move on.

I know the Flanker is a missile boat, and has BVR IR capability, which means it can sneak up on the F1s. The F4s can also be missile boats. The question is, can the F4s launch Russian birds, or are they limited to Aim-7s and 120s?

I'llbe honest, a Phantom kitted out with Alamos would be fucking awesome.

>>8633976
Uhh, wow. More than Two thousand one hundred posts on a single subject. And not 40k/dnd.

Is this /tg/ or am I dreaming?

A few shots I just found.

>>8634256
DAT GEAR!

Mission area.

Any word on airspace over Angola, Congo, and Gabon?

>>8634222
Yes, we're all very proud.

>>8634294
Kitona is closer to Banana on your map, it's right on the coast.

Not sure about Gabon, but since Angola is an alternate, I'm going to assume that their airspace is neutral at worst, friendly at best. Don't think Congo has any Air Force to speak of.

>>8634194
I'd doubt they could mix missiles. Maybe if they refitted the hard points...

BVR IR is a sweet deal. How does that work? Do they fire without lock? Do the missiles go in on passive radar and switch to IR for the end run?

Night flying with IR weapons risks hitting the target aircraft if the Mirages end up escorting it. You'll want to draw them off if possible, maybe by taking out the patrol boat and letting it squawk a bit.

I too would like to know if they can mount Alamos.

>>8634417
It is my understanding that they are fired off inertial tracking from the IR sensor suite, and then track outbound, and lock onto targets in the target area.

>>8634442
Smells like collateral.

>>8634452

Just what i was thinking

>>8634456
probably have IFF systems like most missiles.

I would really like to know what kind of avionics their ancient jets have. Were they retrofitted with the ability to lock onto each other's radar blips? Are NATO and Russian systems compatible?

So far all I caught was that OP's Phantom had a missile warning system that wasn't up to date and didn't spot 2 head on SA-2s (He still had the radar warning).

If each bird has to light up to fire it's BVR missiles much of their advantage is lost.

>>8634532
Very good point. OP didn't detect a heat seeker though, he caught the SA-2 stuff, that's why he dove for the deck in his first sortie. The MiG-21 got off a heatseeker salvo at him, which almost cost him his ride.

This is what is needed for the mission.

>>8634567
He got the radar lock warning from the targetting system, but no IR trail warning for missiles in the air. That it was 2 was just a good guess, and diving a reaction to the lock.

(SA-2s don't have internal tracking ability. They are guided via radio from a radar station.)

>>8634596
To fire a phoenix you need a radar lock. It's useless for short and medium ranges. It's expensive and not many planes can mount it.

>>8634666

Satan is right; as far as I know, only the F-14 can use it and nothing else.

>>8634599
Missile warnings aren't from IR detection, it's from tracking radar detection, except in very new systems which can identify IR seekers occasionally.

Also, /tg/ is having posting issues again.

>>8634744
It's just software, as long as the missile understands the data, it could be mounted on alternative platforms.

>>8634786
In the 70s, yes.

Today, IR sensors detect suspicious movement (quick and hot) and beep a missile warning.

Solution to all air to air problems.

>>8634834
That tech is very very new, and it still kind of sucks/isn't reliable. Better than nothing though.

>>8634851
Detecting aircraft at 30nm with IR is kinda new... for US jets.

But detecting a big fireball heading for you from a few miles away, that has been around a while.

>>8634895
The aspect is wrong, the heat source is at the opposite end. Useful IR missile launch detection is only a few years (5~8 at most) years old.

Some more air superiority up in here.

Air Force /tg/ ready for takeoff.

>>8634941
>>8634836
AWW YEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHhhh!

Still nothing from OP yet hmm? Its gonna be a long day.

I just caught up on the previous mission, hadn't read any of the threads since numero uno.

I once saw a film critic describe an action-film as "gripping". Assuming he meant a constant, crushing tension around the testicles, then I suppose the word describes the feel of the action descriptions quite neatly.

OP is likely playing the scenario out now.

Putting down 5 of my hard-won internets that at least one party member gets shot down this time. Things don't feel right, from the employer to the lack of AWACS to the intel. The GM's known for surprises and I think this time there's going to be a nasty one.

>>8635971

Thats my impression as well. How much you wanna bet the Mirage numbers double and the Gun Boat is something much bigger?

READY TO UNLEASH THE FUCKING FURY?!

>>8635990

Actually, my hunch is that the "Moroccan Falcon 50" will turn out to be something else entirely. Something with teeth.

>>8635971
I suspect it might go south. In my opinion, the best bet would be to go in nose cold, exterminate the mirages with extreme prejudice while they're still waiting for confirmation, hope the transport doesn't pop, and get out with it.

Still, even if they succeed I suspect they might be bombing Liberia for skipping tab next.

>>8635990
Actually, I've been doing some minimal research, their GM seems to know what countries have what. The Moroccans actually have an Osprey, their VIP transport is a Falcon, and the Mirage is their primary fighter. The exception was the terrorist camp with the MiGs.

>>8636113
Terrorists could theoretically have anything they could manage to steal though (having an SA-2 is just as unlikely as the jets, and having them maintained properly with that description of the camp is unlikely too. Then again, some third party might have recently donated them...); given that a merc company is able to afford to buy and keep several flights of fighters maintained, fueled and armed, I think a little leeway is acceptable in the terrorists' armaments.

soo.. a government agent is playing as a "gm" to plan military operations. This dedicated player, not knowing the outcome of his gaming, comes to us, bending a portion of the power of the entire internet to these diabolical schemes.

awesome.

Don't trust the ELINT re: the Osprey 55.

Why would a Greek coastal warship be kicking around Africa?

I'd bet the farm on it turning out to be a misidentified MTB or corvette fucking bristling with SAMs and in no mood to negotiate.

>>8636243
That's just a conspiracy cooked up in one of the threads. I'm here for the plane porn and OPs mission debriefs.

>>8636272
>>8636113

Durr, I was wrong to think the Greeks were the only ones with that ship. Disregard my post.

>>8636113

Really? Now thats accuracy. Nice to see the GM is going out of his way to make it as close to reality as possible.

>>8636422
You should have seen the last mission. We were all like "Easy mission, no problem, high altitude bombs" and then OP comes back and was like "Yeah, Clouds" and we were all "FUCKKKKK! CLOUDS! Dammit, plan is going to hell in a hanbasket on fire filled with ebola."

Go into this assuming that the Falcon 50 is in fact a Falcon 20 with EW loadout.

>>8636326

Yeah considering its a Scandinavian built ship class thats been sold to several nations.

>>8636460

It went pretty well though, besides the FFL getting them to bomb a hospital and one of the F-4s (I think) getting damaged.

>>8635971
I'm getting a bit of that vibe as well. The lack of CSAR is also a bit worrying as well. The other missions had it available.

>>8636470
That's actually kinda plausible.

This is the mission that not everyone comes home from.

>>8636606
>>lack of CSAR

Somehow didn't notice that, despite noticing the absent AWACS.

This might be the mission that's better to pass up. Too sketchy, too many risks, too many unknowns.

Fix up one or two side-winders so they can't steer or explode, then if the Mirages try to escort the target launch them in to the group via the gun-sight, when they realise they are drawing fire on to the target they are protecting hopefully they will kindly oblige by moving away. It might help if you can get communication with them and make them understand that you want the target alive, but if they don't bug out you'll just waste everything in the sky for kicks, screw the pay check.

>>8636606
>>8636734
>>8636775
>>Lack of CSAR
Then they pull a Maj Bernie Fisher, and get their downed buddy out themselves.

>>Major Bernard F. Fisher's Medal of Honor Citation
>>For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty. On that date, the Special Forces camp at A Shau was under attack by 2,000 North Vietnamese Army regulars. Hostile troops had positioned themselves between the airstrip and the camp. Other hostile troops had surrounded the camp and were continuously raking it with automatic weapons fire from the surrounding hills. The tops of the 1,500-foot hills were obscured by an 800 foot ceiling, limiting aircraft maneuverability and forcing pilots to operate within range of hostile gun positions, which often were able to fire down on the attacking aircraft. During the battle, Maj. Fisher observed a fellow airman crash land on the battle-torn airstrip. In the belief that the downed pilot was seriously injured and in imminent danger of capture, Maj. Fisher announced his intention to land on the airstrip to effect a rescue. Although aware of the extreme danger and likely failure of such an attempt, he elected to continue. Directing his own air cover, he landed his aircraft and taxied almost the full length of the runway, which was littered with battle debris and parts of an exploded aircraft. While effecting a successful rescue of the downed pilot, heavy ground fire was observed, with 19 bullets striking his aircraft. In the face of the withering ground fire, he applied power and gained enough speed to lift-off at the overrun of the airstrip. Maj. Fisher's profound concern for his fellow airman, and at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty are in the highest traditions of the U.S. Air Force and reflect great credit upon himself and the Armed Forces of his country.

>>8636460
If there's Ebola in the hand-basket and it's on fire that's pretty much ok. How about snakes with rabies instead?

>>8636867
I think they'll be operating over the ocean, so it would probably be more like the Goose scene from top gun.

>>8636901
flaming venemous snakes with ebola?

>>8636904
A poor canopy opening could happen anywhere, though.

I know OPs GM hasent gotten around to typing up the rules, but does anyone know what dice he is using? Is this game d20 based?

>>8636700
>>8636901
>How about snakes with rabies instead?

As long as there not on the same motherfucking plane, and the pilot isn't Samuel L Jackson then we should be fine as well.

>>8637098
No clue. I think a d6 was mentioned somewhere in the aircraft stats.

TPK

>>8636976
I just meant that instead of landing on an airstrip under fire, they'd have to fish their buddy out of the water.

>>8637156
Multiple d6s for gun damage.

>>8636700

Very plausible considering Morocco has several Falcon 20s as ECM/EWS birds.

>>8637172
Probably easier, if they have some way to fish him out. At least no bad guys on foot to shoot at them.

Making some rough estimates on distance and I don't think drop tanks will be needed. F111 should probably still go buddy refueler and ECM but otherwise everyone else can load up to deal with the Mirages and the Patrol Boat.

bump

>>8637595

They might as well load up the 111 as a refueler, it isn't going to be doing much else unless the gunboat turns out to be more trouble.

Why do I get the feeling that this shit is something Michael Westin or James Blond would get mixed up in?

Pierre Desrochers sipped the cool water from the bottle, looking out the window at the scene on the street. A few people wandered between the dilapidated buildings, eyes low, feet shuffling across the dirt streets of the town. The air hung heavy in the late afternoon, the constant humidity clinging to every surface. Every breath in this hot humid air was laborious, it was like drowning in sickening dampness. Pierre looked up at the dark clouds obscuring the sky, but refusing to give up their cargo of rainfall. He put the bottle down, and began to put on his shirt and medical coat, and feeling them immediately cling to his sweat covered skin. 'This place really is the definition of hell,' he thought as he tossed a weathered copy of the King James into his backpack, 'Everyone is suffering and many die daily. It's intolerably hot, there is no reprieve, for water does not quench and sweat does not cool.'

Pierre knew that in addition to simply the environmental conditions was the added threat of political instability. Not a day went by that he didn't see a villager come in with horrific wounds. Bullet wounds were actually the easiest to deal with, they either died quickly, or a simple surgery and with luck, a slow recovery. No, it was the knife wounds. Some of the bandits, calling themselves patriots, found the most creative ways to torture and mutilate the human body. The worst were the “reprisals”, where a barely conscious patient would stagger into what passed for a hospital, blood pouring from several torn wounds, in which feces and dirt had been spread. If they didn't die from bleeding out, the infection almost inevitably took them. Pierre winced, and gripped the sides of his sink, trying to block out the sight of the young boy. In a daze, he grabbed a tablet of Ativan out of the bottle, and with shaking hands placed it under his tongue. He closed his eyes, and waited, waited for the images to disappear. Slowly a feeling of warmth suffused his muscles, and he opened his eyes, taking in his reflection in the mirror. He hadn't shaved in days, his coat was stained yellow with sweat and some congealed blood was partially smeared over the Médicins sans Frontières logo. His perpetually clammy skin, his hair matted against his scalp and his eyes staring back at him, bloodshot and tinged a light yellowish hue, signs of yet another third world parasitic infection.

A noise, a shallow thump from outside made Pierre turn slowly towards the window, just in time to see on oncoming shockwave race across the ground, tossing dirt off the street and shaking dust loose from buildings. The sharp clap of an explosion followed close behind, echoing down the streets. Pierre held his shirt up over his mouth to keep the dust slowly falling from the rafters out of his mouth, and headed out onto the street to get a better look.

>>8638058

>Westin
>Blond

>>8638136
>>8638109
>>8638097
Continue.

>>8638213

Seconded. MOAR!

bump

>>8638097
Other writefag here, the more the merrier. I like your style.

I think the mission briefing is accurate.

But as soon as the radio call goes out that the VIP transport is being pressed there will be more Mrages, maybe many more. And I wouldn't be surprised if that boat had more than Bofors to throw at air traffic.

Someone be sure to archive this if OP shows up.

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/8633908/

Still waiting on OP huh? And still having trouble with the servers too.

>>8638213
>>8638641
>>8638780
I'm writing more, don't worry.

I too am trying my hand at some writefaggery. Been a while since i've done something like this.

He staggered out of the apartment block in time to see a dark shape dart past the river, followed by the unmistakable roar of a jet engine. Pierre's mind struggled to comprehend the information his senses were sending him. There was a large plume of smoke rising from near the river, close to where Pierre knew the main road bridge was. Several people were now in the street, looking at the rising column of smoke, some rushing towards it, others running back to their houses. Pierre began to see people stumbling out of the woods, shellshocked. Most of them were injured, some dragging others away from the site of the bombing, screaming and yelling for help. A slight whistling sound tugged at Pierre's mind, trying to worm it's way past the other thoughts rushing through his head. He suddenly tensed, then threw himself to the ground, realizing at the last second what the noise was. A nearby shanty took the shell, it's tin walls seeming to expand outwards as the mortar charge detonated inside, before giving into the pressure and collapsing, the roof crashing down into the debris and smoke. Pierre pushed off the rusty brown dirt that formed the street, and stumbled back into his dwelling long enough to grab his backpack, before rushing back out onto the street as more mortar shells began to fall. There was nothing he could do for these people right now, he had to get to where he was of use. In a daze, he focused on the white two story hospital at the end of the road, and sprinted, as small muted explosions began to wash over the city in a deadly rain of fire and shrapnel.

Also, it's not just me, the servers have been disallowing posting all day at odd intervals, haven't they?

>>8639402
It's been happening longer than all day.

>>8639402

Yeah, I think some faggot has been ddosing the server of 4chan that handles all posts.

>>8639409
Motherfucking Bastards. Twenty bucks says it's the same guy who spams us constantly.

Looks like the storm's calmed a bit.

>>8639703
What plane is that?

>>8639847
Rafale

>>8639847
Sexiest plane ever made.

Pierre rushed into the Hospital, muffled explosions following. It took his eyes several seconds to adjust to the dim light inside the building, they were running on the generator again it seemed. A hit close to the Hospital shook the building, knocking what few pictures there were off the walls, glass shattering on the dusty tile floor. A terrified nurse ran up to Pierre, her face white, the muscles of her face strained taught trying to hide her fear from the patients that were in the reception. “Mon dieu, Doctor, what's happening out there?” Pierre grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, and trying to keep his voice calm, intoned “I'm not sure, someone's shooting at the village. Get the surgery prepped, break out the emergency supplies, and prepare to commence triage with the other nurses.” Pierre knew that these few early moments were critical, before the flood of wounded began to make their way through the doors, every second preparing for them was essential. He grabbed a bottle of nearby anti-septic and began to clean his hands, heading towards the trauma room. As he walked, a corner of his mind noticed that his hands were shaking again. Just as he entered the room, the sharp crack of gunshots in the distance began to make their way through the village. Pierre stopped in his tracks, hearing the shouts and screams begin outside the hospital, as automatic weapons fire erupted in the village. 'So, it's finally happening,' he thought as he approached the dispensary, 'the rebels are making a push, no matter the cost.'

>>8640175

looking good so far. I'll wait to post my own bit of literature until yours is obviously finished. Wouldn't want them to get mixed up.

And where's OP? He's not back yet? Strange. This does not bode well.

>>8640239
I think I'll do the same.

He may have simply been deterred by the posting issues, or they all died because the intercept target got a signal off and all the sudden MIRAGES, THOUSANDS OF THEM.

>>8640330

Whats this now? Hmm yes the mists are clearing. I see...I see...wreckage. Flames on water. Yes...yes I see...a TPK.

>>8640351
Thrombocyte particle count

The curtain at the far end of the trauma ward was thrown open, and two men rushed in, carrying a third, bloodied and screaming in pain on makeshift stretcher made of tin. “Put him down there” Pierre shouted as he rushed to the man's side, seeing gaping tear of flesh along the man's leg. It was a gunshot wound, and a few quick probes with his fingers quickly confirmed that the bullet had struck the man's tibia, shattering the bone in multiple places. Pierre quickly cleaned the wound, and applied a rough field bandage to staunch the man's bleeding. He turned to one of the men standing over the victim and shouted “Stop being useless, hold this here, like this, keep the pressure on, and you!” he turned to the other, “stop taking up space and get out of here now, this is for the wounded only!” More wounded were filtering in now, the one's who could be saved Pierre noted. From the sounds emanating from the hallway, the screams and shouts of pain, the nurses were doing their job, choosing who would live and who would die. The gunshots outside were getting closer, clearer, as was the shouting. The hospital shook and the lights dimmed slightly as another jet roared over, its engines temporarily drowning out all the chaos with their howl.

>>8634666
A bit old in the thread, but in my opinion the extreme range, radar capability, and the ability of the tomcat to engage multiple targets simultaneously, more than makes up for it in an ambush role.

the ROE kind of throws it out the window though.

>>8640446
The Tomcat is a bus and the Navy is phasing it out for good reason.

The Phoenix was developed to take out Soviet nuclear bombers and cruise missiles. It is a weapon that makes sense only in a controlled theater. Without knowledge of enemy routes, a radar network, and a military infrastructure bent on air superiority the Phoenix is too limited in it's role to be of much use.

>>8640543
>The Tomcat is a bus and the Navy is phasing it out for good reason.

Little late on that it was phased out in 2006, and not because it was a bus (it was actually designed to be fairly nimble with dose wings), rather because it was a hanger queen beyond all measure, and the tooling was destroyed so there could be no further upgrades done to the aging airframes.

>It is a weapon that makes sense only in a controlled theater.
>ambush scenario

>Without knowledge of enemy routes,
>AMBUSH SCENARIO

>And a military infrastructure bent on air superiority the Phoenix is too limited in it's role to be of much use.

Which is why the tomcat could carry other armaments such as AIM-7's, AIM-120's, AIM-9's, GBU's, and others. Especially with the D model's LANTIRN and FLIR.

Pierre rushed to the window, and saw the aircraft in the distance, as tracers from the ground reached up, streams of brilliant staggered orange fire, seeking to swat the offending target out of the sky. He wasn't sure if the plane took a hit or not, because the pilot pitched the aircraft up, rocketing it quickly into the clouds and out of sight. It was then that the scene on the streets hit Pierre. The small garrison of DRC troops had taken a direct hit, and whatever remained was being shot at by bands of rebel soldiers. They were running down the streets, firing at whoever moved, firing into the air, shouting and yelling as they went. Ramshackle trucks with guns crudely mounted to their beds sped down the dusty streets, firing wildly. Most of the rebels had that crazed look indicative of paya, a mixture of cocaine and gunpowder that they snorted to get high before going into battle. They took it to make them feel invincible.

>>8640597
Are you disagreeing that the Phoenix is a cold war weapon designed as a hail mary play to decimate russian nukes rushing the US?

Are you in fact arguing that it is a sound air combat strategy to build long range missiles which require active radar and are prohibitively heavy, so that every aircraft which deploys them is more or less out of the fight and had better dive for cover quickly?

No, it is an exotic weapon system that you want circling above your carrier group as a defensive precaution while you have 5 different radars shining in every direction and a big No Trespassing sign on your belly.

Desrochers saw a young girl on the street, and was about to shout a warning when a rebel suddenly grabbed her, and pulled her into an alley between two shanty huts. Without thinking, Pierre vaulted over the railing into the street, coming up in a hunched over sprint. He held his hands over his head, knowing even as he did so, that it was a pointless exercise should one of the bullets whizzing past him find its target. He rushed into the alley, quickly spotting the girl and her assailant, who was standing over her torn dress as she weeped into the dirt of the alley. With two quick steps he arrived behind the coked out warrior, and swung his left fist hard into the side of the man's neck. The sharp blow dropped the bastard, stunned by the shocking trauma to both his jugular and spinal cord. Without waiting, Pierre kicked the man's gun away, and dropped his knee into the man's throat, the barest crack signifying that the windpipe and trachea had been crushed. Pierre turned to see the girl pick herself up and begin running away, out the opposite end of the sheltered alley, when suddenly, her body was ripped apart by rifle rounds, collapsing bloodily to the ground in a grotesque parody of a ragdoll. Pierre's vision swam as the scene replayed itself in his mind, the chaos, shouts and gunfire all dulling to a drone as his mind continued to see the bullets impacting the helpless child. His body began to shake, and he collapsed on his side beside the dying rebel, trying to force the image out of his mind, trying to convince himself this madness wasn't real.

>>8640732
ever read Unknown Soldier?

>>8640800
No, should I have?

>>8640808
the modern run of it involves a doctor with Doctors Without Borders getting personally involved in a gunfight in north africa and going utterly ape shit. Gets inhabited by the spirit of an incredibly ruthless warrior. I was reminded, check it out, excellent reading if you want a comic that does not fuck about with the brutality of what happens in Africa every god damn day.

>>8640808

Yes. Yes you should. One of the most moving difficult to read pieces on WW2 out there. Highly recommended.

>>8640909
>>8640892
I'll read both of them. Comments on the writefaggotry from other writefags appreciated.

>>8640909

Oops. I thought you were talking about "The Forgotten Soldier" My mistake.

>>8640920
Like I said upthread, I like the style. For me it's difficult to do arcing story in anything other than a stream of consciousness style or I start writing a documentary. Works for doing worldbuilding, not so much for something like this.

Likewise its stream of consciousness for combat as well, but it works better. The drawback is I literally broke the comma key on my laptop from overuse. You on the other hand write more steadily, and I like the direction it's going.

>>>/lit/

See you next year, guise.

Ugh. Guess we'll have to wait till tomorrow for OP to show up. Still that gives Sukhoi a chance to finish his narrative for us. I'll post mine tomorrow or something.

Looking forward to seeing how you finish yours out.

>>8641053
Hey dude, post yours, I won't mind, all of mine will be tagged by my trip.

>>8641053
Yeah, I guess we could go back to dick fencing about the F-22.
>>8641006
I am a sad panda. Ah well, keep it coming Su-Write "Fag".

>>8641084

Hmm...alright i suppose. Guess I should actually use a name to help ID my posts.

Paul De Groot swore silently at the growing collection of razor grass cuts on his hands as he followed his local guide through the tall grasses and viciously tangled trees that surrounded the airfield outside of Kisanagi. The Dutch photographer gritted his teeth and attempted to push aside yet another large clump of grass that had somehow survived his native guide’s machete while simultaneously husbanding his cameras exposed telephoto lense from any dirt or whipping branches that might suddenly swing its way. ‘Next time you decide to go bush whacking,’ he mentally berated himself, ‘at least bring some gloves.’ He looked down at his camera and brushed at a bit of grass it had collected half heartedly. ‘And the camera bag. Don’t forget the camera bag.’

It would be worth the pain and annoyance he kept telling himself. If the rumors were true and he could get some clear shots he’d have news agencies begging to buy them from him. ‘Either that or French agents trying to steal them,’ he thought in disgust. He’d already lost one camera to a sneering french man this trip. The bastard had flashed a holstered pistol, muttered something about nosy reporters, and snatched the little Nikon from Paul’s hands. Paul hadn’t bothered to argue or seek help...it was a waste of time in places like this where anyone toting a gun, and there were a lot of them about, could make his own laws.

The sound of a jet engine ramping up somewhere up ahead pushed Paul out of his funk and added a bit more spring to his step as he navigated the narrow trail. Coming around a twisted tree trunk he nearly ran into his guide. The local boy pointed with his machete at a gap in the razor grass several meters away through which Paul could distinctly see open ground and, beyond that, the pitted runway of Kisanagi’s airfield. Paul grinned and dug out another small wad of cash. “Rester ici,” he said in french, handing it over. ‘I certainly hope he stays,’ Paul thought as he turned and began his careful approach to the edge of the wild grass, ‘otherwise I’m gonna have trouble getting back.’ He’d had enough guides run out on him in his three years covering rebellions and civil wars in Africa that he knew unless he told them up front that he’d pay them half again as much if they got him home again they weren’t likely to stick around for very long.

The view from the edge of the razor grass wasn’t the best he could have gotten but the guide had at least gotten him to the proper side of the field. A small collection of tents and shipping container barricades at one end of the field drew his trained eye. It looked deceptively shoddy. Third rate tents, beat up shipping containers, and just enough local looking people milling around that anyone not looking for something suspicious might miss them. But he knew what to look for. New weaponry, alert guards, just enough well placed clutter and barricades to make getting a good view difficult...all the signs of a well funded and well armed mercenary outfit.

There were a lot of foreign mercs in Africa these days but only a few who could pull off what these guys were rumored to have done and still remain relatively discrete. He’d heard about the massacre at Bania. He’d heard about the rebels, the government forces, the Foreign Legion, and the fight that had left the town nothing but a scorched ruin full of the dead and dying.

Stories like that were a dime a dozen in Africa these days. But what had peeked his interest had been the mystery air force that had supported the FFL. The kind of aircraft survivors had reported weren’t common in this neck of the woods...and neither were the munitions they carried or the careless way in which they were used. Bridges, hospitals, markets...it didn’t seem to matter to them what they hit. Even boats full of fleeing refugees.

Paul grinned coldly as his telephoto lense zoomed in on partially concealed aircraft revetment and the warplane it contained. ‘Click, click, click’ went his camera. Aircraft types, weapons, maintenance equipment...faces. His camera captured them all in stunning detail.

He went through two memory cards before he felt he’d gotten enough. He slithered back into the denser brush and escaped to where he’d left his guide. He shouldn’t have been surprised when he found the tree and its surroundings devoid of people...especially young native guides with machetes...but he couldn’t help it.

“Godverdomme!”

>>8641185
>>8641166
>>8641174

And thats that.

The ground around Pierre shook, and a wave of heat rushed down the alley, sending a blast of hot air peppered with dust and debris into the doctor's face. The superheated air ripped at his exposed skin, and tore the last of the air from his lungs. A terrifying rippling crack pounded at Pierre's eardrums, sending waves of pain deep into his skull, the sound seeming to physically impact his already tortured body. The agony lasted for what seemed to last for ages, but finally mercifully receded, and Pierre propped himself up on an elbow. Blinking as his head continued to reel from the sensory assault, he tried to focus on his surroundings. His vision swam, distorting the shapes and angles of the alley, and his ears rang, with only the vaguest sounds of gunfire making their way into his reality. Unsteadily, Pierre began to crawl towards the opposite end of the alley, smelling oily smoke and cordite as he pressed forward. Arriving at the exit of the alley, he collapsed into a sitting position with his back to the concrete wall of a building. The scene that greeted his eyes was nightmarish, a gruesome tableau of bloodied and mangled corpses mixed in with the odd wimpering casualty. At the far end of the main road Pierre could see a large white transport plane with the characteristic black stencil UN prominently displayed on the tail. Soldiers were dismounting quickly from the plane, as the sound of jets racing overhead again overwhelmed the shouts and gunfire that still raged throughout the village. Turning back to the street, Pierre's eyes saw several destroyed vehicles with flames raging inside them. One had a body half out the window, the crackling flames hissing and popping as they devoured the body's oils, the skin on the face slowly burning away, revealing the macabre outline of the blackening skull underneath.

>>8641199
I like it, well written and tight.

>>8641253

Thanks. I usually consider myself fairly good at description and imagery. I've been told I get caught up in it too much at times. But compared to your word smithed images mine's rather plain.

>>8641296
My problem is I paint scenes, not stories.

>>8641326
>>8641296
I think we all have the same issue there :(

>>8641338

I don't know about problem...its just something you can have too much of at times.

In any case i'm off for the night. Cheers lads.

Pierre turned back, something in the back of his mind making him look at the UN plane again. Something didn't fit, the men clambering out were not wearing the characteristic blue helmets or berets of a UN force, nor were they comporting themselves like a peacekeeping force. As he continued to watch, he saw them splitting up, heading into the alleys and backstreets in groups of two or four, moving like highly trained assault troops. New sounds began to emerge from the village, short bursts of automatic rifle fire, short yells of surprise cut off by a quick crack and then silence. Something flashed at the corner of Pierre's vision, and he saw a family sprinting from their hiding place across the street. The mother was shouting as the father carried one of his daughters who was bleeding, and two little boys followed as they all rushed for the relative safety of a house or shop. One of the boys stopped suddenly, and reached down to pick something up off the street. As another aircraft blazed over the town at speed, pierre realized with a start what had caused the destruction in the street. His eyes widened in fear and he began to shout but it was too late. The unexploded submunition from the air dropped cluster bomb, jarred by the boy's grabbing of it, detonated with a sickly soft pop, it's fragmentation covering sending razor sharp shrapnel tearing through the boy, quickly converting the vast majority of him to a bloody pulp where he stood. The family kept running, and Pierre realized that none of them had seen what had happened, none of them knew they had just had a portion of their lives brutally torn from them. He rolled over onto his side, and retched into the rust coloured dirt of the alley.

>>8641467
I'll be seeing this in my dreams tonight

I can keep writing if you gents want. I'm just typing it and posting it at the moment.

Otherwise, I'll continue tommorow when i get up, maybe see if OP dumped anything here.

>>8641467

I'm hoping OP gets back, reads this, and prints copies of all the stories out for their gaming group. This is epic.

>>8641527
Likewise, sub-munitions are murder.
Keep it up man, I'll start throwing up something as well.

>>8641467
Jesus fucking christ man, did you fight in Nam or something? This is fucking hard to read, I actually have to pause at times, not because its bad writing, but shit, you're making me feel like shit for laughing at OPs battle report last night.

>>8641592 That means we're doing our jobs.

Roslyn was the name her parents had given her. Well, her mother had given her. Mother loved the Lord, daughter of french missionaries, and Father, simple African fisherman, loved Mother, so Roslyn it was.

They'd raised her in St. Claire, the village her missionary grandparents had helped construct. Easy life, only child for years. Her sisters would come later 10 years later, for a time it was a simple family as happy as one reasonably could be in the third world. Then the government began to destabilize, crumbling. They lived in fear of rebel attacks, the village swelled with displaced refugees from the north. Doctors without Borders arrived and built a hospital to serve as a staging ground and to care for the stream of mutilated victims coming from rebel controlled areas.

With them came Jean Claud.

>>8638097
>>8638109
>>8638136
>>8639384
>>8640175
>>8640400
>>8640710
>>8640732
>>8641224
>>8641467
>>8641548

Sukhoi, if you are just pushing this stuff out, no proof, no editing, you are one of best writefags I've seen on TG in a while. It's like watching a Ridley Scott warmovie, except with more civilian deaths. This is going to get you a 1d4 entry at the least.

>>8641619

She'd arrived back home from a university in France to find the intrepid reporter living in her home. The summer they spent together had begun with subtle antagonism towards the person who'd invaded her family life and evolved over the few short months into sneaking off down to the river and sitting under the quay to watch the sun go down, the fumblings in the dark when night fell. Mother would never approve of moving so quickly and Jean Claud was scared to death of her father, so they kept quiet. Still, he was waiting for her behind the house before she left for the job at the embassy, held her a little longer than he had to, kissed her quickly and said "Write mon amour."

She'd worked at the embassy for a few brief months, savoring the letters from home. She ate cheap food from a stall down the block from her apartment for a month, bought ruggedized waterproof camera with it. She sent it off with her next reply to Jean, the shipping cost more than the camera did. She'd always been telling him that the expensive Canon he'd brought with him wasn't going to last long out here, he never listened.

>>8641644
>>8641592
>>8641589
>>8641527
Thanks guys, appreciate the feedback.

>>8641687
these bits are coming from notepad, so if the spelling's shit that's why.

Then the letters stopped coming. The newspapers read that the rebels had made a major thrust, and were plowing through settlements like a homicidal whirlwind. Then word came through embassy channels, shortly after on the news, that the French Foreign Legion had fought a decisive battle against the rebels, at St. Claire.

She got leave, her supervisor was understanding of that at least. By jeep, shit heap of a Cessna and jeep again she arrived a week after the attack. Smoke was still coming out of the village, technicals burning in the streets. The FFL had set up across the river. already bridging vehicles had spanned the rubble of the crossings obliterated in the opening minutes of the attack, and a footbridge made of the few remaining boats bobbed gently down river.

She made her way into town on foot, the jeep driver wouldn't go any further, "To much death." was his only explanation. She wandered the streets, the landscape had changed so much it was almost difficult to find her way home. Children sat in the streets, to tired to cry, covered in brick and mud dust. Adults wandered the streets like ghosts, no one looked at her. A man was perched half on top of a mound of rubble that m ight have bee a house once. The blood and dust on his face had congealed into a kind of clay, gluing one of his eyes shut. She wondered why he hadn't bothered to scrape it away, then realized that he probably had the right idea, nothing to be gained from seeing this kind of devastation in further detail. As she walked nervously past she was struck by a stench, one she would have been happier not realizing that it emanated from the man's now obviously gangrenous leg, looking for all the world like a worm ravaged piece of meat having been shot through with shrapnel.

>>8641831
sounds good, with luck this thread will be around tommorow, and I'll comment on your full story. The only thing I would change is the fires on the technicals. Week later, they'd be out for sure. smoldering might be a better word in that case. Either that, or I'm really tired. Ciao bitches, this thread, all these threads, are awesome.

>>8641831
When she finally found her house she sat for a while on the low china cabinet. All the other furniture in the small kitchen was gone, mortar round having come in through the roof and landing in the middle of the dining room table. Her mother's corpse was in the resultant crater.

The flies were buzzing, the smell was absolute hell, but Roslyn didn't register any of these things. next to her mothers crumpled form were the remains of a fine china serving dish, a gift from her father. scattered around it were croissants, flaking and crawling with flies. She'd loved croissants.

>>8641921
Yeah, I wanted burning tanks but didn't think the rebels had any, last minute wording change, ah well.
I think I'll pick this up in the morning as well, these threads are indeed the shit.

>>8641921

Have a brofist for the road.

Three writefags in one thread, not about 40k, writing some seriously good shit, about a homebrew mercenary air strike group, that is made from win, and has eight 300 post megathreads.

My balls are dry from cumming continuously for the past hour.

Suppose I should leave on an image.

Also a fun fact: High explosives can turn people near you into shrapnel. One Navy Corpsman had to be treated for severe PTSD stemming from an incident wherein he pulled four fingers out of the deflated lung of a HMMWV driver after a large IED struck the vehicle and disintegrated the man in the passenger seat. War is hell, sweet dreams.

Wakey wakey /tg/.

Still no sign of the OP. Not surprising I suppose...not at this hour at least.

Reading through the fic continuations I must admit I agree...your stuff is hard to read sukhoi. Hard to read but worth it. NF(navyfield perhaps?) has got some good stuff too. I wanna know where your protagonists father got to. Did he get across the river? Did hey die with JC? Or did he get the rest of the family out of town?

Shameless bump.

I'm back, fiction to follow

good to see i'm not the only one pokin around this thread.

>>8642050
>>8642050

>My balls are dry from cumming continuously for the past hour.

You can say that again, brohiem.

Also.

>my name is planefag
>I am a writefag
>I still haven't writefagged in a plane thread

Something is amiss here.

SUKHOI'S BACK!

perhaps waking this thread back up this early was premature.

>and retched into the rust coloured dirt of the alley.

Ahh, le bon mot.

Nice work.

>>8646652

probably time to archive + start anew anyhow.

>>8646878

Probably right. This one's much shorter than the others simply because OP didn't show up at all. Perhaps we should just wait for him to return to start one. Not sure i'd like /tg/ without a merc thread though.

Pierre began to shake, small uncontrollable spasms that seeked to contort his body. Desperately he thrust his hand into his pocket, seeking the bottle of Ativan. He pulled it out and unscrewed the cap, but in trying to pour out a tablet, his shaking hands spilt them onto the ground. Pierre needed the relief, and pawed at the dirt covered alley for them as the sickly sweet smell of spent powder and burning gasoline surrounded him. His outstretched hand finally found one of the tablets, and he quickly jammed it under his tongue, closing his eyes and waiting for the drug to take effect. Even with his eyes closed, Pierre couldn't block out the battle continuing to rage around him, the sounds and smells just intensified when he couldn't see. He heard shouts and footsteps, sporadic gunfire and cries of pain, the distant thump of small explosions. Sharp cracks quickly drew Pierre out of his drug induced stupor, as men in uniform rushed past him, firing at some unseen enemy. He started to get up, but was roughly pushed back into the dirt by another man carrying a rifle, who seemed to be shouting at him. Pierre shook his head, and pushed back the sounds of battle to hear the man telling him to stay down. The man was wearing the uniform of France but looked Hispanic. The man turned and fired down the alley, the piercing gunshots echoing off the concrete and tin walls and making Pierre's head feel like it was being split open from the inside. Through the dust and smoke, the patch on the man's sleeve caught Pierre's eye, a flaming fleur de lis, and the words Légion étrangère underneath it. The legion, they were here to stop the madness, and for a moment, Pierre felt a glimmer of hope as he sat in the alley, Legionnaires firing heavily at the building across the street.

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/8633908

It's been archived.

>>8646960
>firing heavily at the building across the street

Since OP already told us how this ends, I'm guessing Pierre is going to be gut punched again.

>>8646960
MOAR

he's gonna be glad he wasn't in the hospital when it goes up.

bump

In an effort to keep things moving i'll just start posting pics.

As Pierre covered his ringing ears against the oppressive sound of high powered rifles, he realized with a creeping dread that they were firing at the hospital. Looking over the legionnaires, he saw armed militants on the balconies and in the windows of the hospital, and a ruined technical out front. The militants had commandeered the building at some point, and were now firing wildly at the Legion troops surrounding the edifice. One of the many legionnaires in the alley was talking hurriedly into a radio, while simultaneously giving hand instructions to the trooper beside him. The trooper nodded a quick agreement, then ran past Pierre before clambering up the wall of one of the buildings that lined the alleyway. Pierre heard and felt the troopers boots pounding on the tin roof overhead, and looked back towards the hospital where the firing had died down, apparently they were trying to negotiate with the militants holding the patients and doctors hostage. One of the rebels slowly emerged from the entrance, holding a white coated doctor in front of him as a human shield. The militant had his AK pressed up under the chin of the doctor, and as Pierre's vision cleared, he saw through the smoke that it was Rémi, a young doctor on her first tour. The legionnaires were shouting at the militant to drop his weapon, the militant was shouting something about freedom, and Rémi was crying, face white and etched with fear.

>>8647569
ITP: Anti Otaku-Planes

They'll never shoot their waifus

>>8647578
;-; NOT REMI

>>8647578
oh crap I can see it coming. The french are just buying time for OPs airstrike.

>>8647578
Sukhoi, you are a bastard. You know that right? You're like my ex, you rip my heart out with words, then proceed to crush it under your heels.

Rebel flight simulators are awesome!

The rebel sam sites are pretty kick ass too!

>>8647605
>remi

God what a mess a rebel close air strike would make.

>>8647667
He's a bastard for his slow post rate. WHAT HAPPENS TO Rémi!

Rebel gun pods are pretty high tech too. Self correcting and everything!

>>8647725
>Rémi

>>8647757
;-;

>>8647757

where are those flares coming from?

The confrontation continued to play itself out in the street, with both sides shouting and yelling at each other, weapons raised. Pierre got to his feet unsteadily, and added his voice to the multitudes, shouting “Rémi, restez calme, it will all be ok!” Her head turned, looking for the familiar voice amidst the shouts and chaos. “Ici Rémi! Over here” shouted Pierre, waving his hands, seeing her look towards him, tears streaming down her face. In the distance, Pierre heard a sound like rolling thunder and as he turned to look in the direction of the noise the legionnaires around him crouched down behind whatever cover they could find in the alley. Pierre heard the strained voice of Rémi just as he spotted the twin soot trails of the jet fighters arcing towards the hospital, “Pierre! Aide-moi! Au nom de dieu aide moi Pierre!”

>>8647821
Bastard. If you Whedon Remi in your story I will cockpunch you into next week.

>>8647821

ah shit here it comes. Bye bye Remi

>>8647837
Whedon?

>>8647821
Aside from writing some truly disturbingly realistic writefaggotry, you are a jackass for your use of suspense. Could you be more of a dick?

>>8647687
>>8647704
>>8647674
... when airmen get bored.

And since they're called chairmen, shenanigans must be constant.

>>8647850
As in Josh Whedon...of Firefly/Serenity fame...and his killing of the best character in the entire series.

>>8647861

He's writing bits then posting them then writing then posting etc. But he does choose horrible stopping points doesn't he? ^_^

>>8647891
Thought so. Need a hand?

I'd write more but i'm waiting for more material from OP so there's more to base stuff on.

>>8647837
>>8647850
>>8647891
Whedon only finally kills offf characters in a series concluding movie or if the actor's aren't available. Usually he resurrects them...
...Several times if needed.

>>8648047
Such a shame Amber was booked when he shot Conversations with Dead People.

>>8648047
The resurrection bit REALLY isn't going to help us right now...

>>8647821
Damn you Sukhoi.
I didn't realise it was possible to like someone so much, yet think they're an utter bastard at the same time.

>>8647757
>>8647702

I can't decide wether this is awful or absolutely brilliant. Got any more of those?

They came in fast and low, the pressure wave from their wings and engines tearing tin sheets and canvas roofing from houses, like vortexes of destruction dragged behind the racing jets. Pierre saw small shapes drop from their wings, and in an instant both aircraft had passed over the hospital, twin shadows of blurred steel and fire ripping across the sky. A split second later the sound of their engines slammed into the ground, a terrifying banshee like scream, the fires from their reheat systems glowing like some demonic presence as the aircraft angled up away from the town, easily dodging the rocket trails some of the rebels sent their way. Ignoring his better judgement, Pierre flung himself out of the alley, trying to reach Remi, who's eyes were still locked in shock on the departing fighters. The milita fighter saw Remi, and began to swing his gun towards the charging doctor when the world turned into a maelstrom of fire and fury. Pierre saw Rémi and her captor outlined in a blinding flash as the hospital suddenly converted itself into an inferno. He slammed his eyes shut just before the punishing shockwave barreled into his frame, propelling him away from the hospital. The explosion knocked the wind out of Pierre's chest and sent chunks of brick, metal, and wood flying through the air like deadly projectiles, tearing through surrounding buildings and anyone unfortunate to be in their path. Pierre felt something impact his left leg, and a second later, a blinding pain seared through his nervous system, as if someone had poured sulfuric acid into his veins. He screamed in agony, gasping for breath as the fire and secondary explosions continued to rake the ruined hospital, consuming the air around it to fuel its flaming pyre.

>>8648243
well shit, now I'm stuck with the decision of pretending that Remi had the luck of God with her, or to feel like the world just became a little more heartless.

>>8648243
>>8648274

No way she made it out of there in any survivable fashion. She might still be alive but she won't last very long.

Rémi.

18-03-2010

Never forget.

>You're a dick Sukhoi.

>>8648274
He killed a kid with a submunition, how much chance do you think a female doctor is going to have?

>>8648243

>>8648324
THAT'S WHAT THEY SAY

THAT'S WHAT THEY ALL SAY

>>8648243
This story is going on 1d4 chan. Some of the best writing I've read on tg. But the way you dish it out, one post at time is driving me nuts! I hate episodic format.

ITT: Three writefags show up and take an awesome campaign story to unprecedented levels of awesome.

Also, Sukhoi's a dick.

>>8648370
>>8648395

Like he said...he sub munitioned a kid to death...Remi ain't got a fuckin chance mate.

>>8648481

The thing that hit Pierre's leg is probably one of Remi's teeth flying at several thousand fps.

>>8648578
>#hercules
Nice going champ.

He wasn't sure if he blacked out or not. His vision blurred as he opened his eyes, screams and shouts filled his ears. Then the pain came back like a sledgehammer, his leg seemingly on fire. He wiped the blood off his face and out of his eyes, unsure if it was his own, and propped himself up on one elbow, surveying the damage to his limb. Aside from the pain, Pierre felt amazingly distanced from the sight greeting his eyes. A large shard of metal protruded from his leg, embedded deeply into a wound sopping with blood. A multitude of other cuts from smaller debris had ripped his pants and shirt in various places, his clothes stained a wet sanguine red. Tentatively he reached down to the metal shard, and touched it. He almost collapsed in agony, feeling the embedded end scrape along his bone, his nervous system overloaded by the pain searing across his leg. Not even bothering to count them out, Pierre scooped his pill bottle and swallowed its contents, trying to drown out the pain. Mercifully, the soporific washed through him, dulling the pain to a bearable roar. Propping himself up again, he placed one hand firmly around the shrapnel, and with a decisive yank, removed the offending metal from his leg. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Pierre viciously lashed a scrap of his coat sleeve around the wound, fighting with each breath to remain conscious. He looked up, seeing through the blood and sweat partially obscuring his vision that the hospital was ablaze, half of it collapsed in on itself. Screams and shouts from withing the blaze were barely audible, and Pierre realized that both of his eardrums had likely been destroyed by the bombing. Placing a hand to his ear, feeling the fluid coming out of it confirmed his theory, and he screamed again, partly in pain, partly at the madness of it all.

(Changed my trip)

>>8648583
>>8648578

Disturbing...but way off the mark apparently.

>>8648597
No mention of Rémi but no confirmation of death.

I fucking hate you right now, if I didn't want you to have my babies.

>>8648585

???

>>8648644
true but then he's not likely to find more than a blood stain and some bits of bone for confirmation. I mean if i read that right Remi was right outside the hospital...which took a direct hit.

>>8648597
>he placed one hand firmly around the shrapnel, and with a decisive yank, removed the offending metal from his leg

mmm. rule no1. never remove a forign body lodged in position. it is likely preventing a bleed out

good luck, Pierre, it was nice knowing you.

Around him, the soldiers were advancing down the street, with a token few staying in the area. Pierre heard with dread the growl of the fighters approaching again, and covered his head with his hands, curling into a ball on the street, in some primitive form of survival instinct. The jets again passed low over the village, heading south towards where the fighting was the thickest. They roared over Pierre, pushing his body heavily into the ground and whipping up the loose debris that littered the street. In the distance Pierre heard the dull thuds of more explosions, and felt the ground shake as the munitions struck in the south end of the village. A terrifying explosion pierced through the grumble of detonations, and as Pierre opened his eyes to look south, he saw a massive fireball peeling into the air, as the village church's bell tower fell, seemingly in slow motion, into the inferno. A moan drew Pierre's attention back to the hospital. The heat from the blaze distorted the air around it, but through the haze Pierre saw an arm, blackened from heat, protruding from underneath a charred corpse. With a wince, Pierre rolled onto his stomach, and crawled towards the faint noise, shouting from his ragged throat, “Hang on Rémi!”, praying that he wouldn't be too late.

>>8648845

Crippled but alive. (Or alive but crippled, depending on what way you look at it.) GO!

>>8648871
I'm waiting for sukhoi to drop the nuttwister, and have it just be remi's arm.

>>8648845

FUUUUUUUUUCK

I have to go to work and you leave me with this.

Fuck yes /tg/
You are the best board ever.

>>8648845

I swear if you let her come out of this alive i'll be much more willing to run into warzones since I know, as a named character, I have an amazingly low chance of dying.

Pierre pushed forward, dragging his body across the street, every motion sending a dull pain through his body. The sounds of the firefight were getting more distant, only the moans and screams of the wounded, the crackling of the fires remained. He reached the arm, and heaved the charred and mutilated corpse off of the body underneath, fighting the urge to vomit as the smell of cooked flesh washed around him. The corpse rolled off, exposing Rémi, face caked with blood and dirt, underneath. Pierre examined her, shouting her name as he looked for obvious injuries. She had many, her ears were bleeding, one of her eyes seemed seared shut, in fact part of her face and the side of her body were badly burned. Wounds also speckled her body, cuts slowly weeping blood out into the dirt of the street. In many places her clothing had been burned or torn away, but the brunt of the damage from the explosion seemed to have been absorbed by the militia man standing between her and the blast. She was unconscious, and Pierre began to feel along her body for fractures, not wanting to move her until he knew he wouldn't injure her more. An explosion from within the hospital quickly changed his mind and he flung his body over hers as bricks and mortar rained down on the street, several striking him on the back. Gritting his teeth, and ignoring the pain, he roughly grabbed the back of Rémis collar, and violently began dragging her across the street, away from the hospital, every step sending a wave of agony through his body. He had to get her out of here, out of this insanity. He stumbled and half crawled his way off the street, into the beginnings of the jungle undergrowth, heading for the river, and a boat. There was an outpost thirty miles downstream, she'd could be helped there.

>>8649121
>the river

Fuuuuuuuuuuuu-

>>8649121

sigh...ok ok so the militia man took most of it.

>>8649183
Well, sounds like he took most of the blast, and she took some fuck serious damage, but is potentially alive.

>>8649223

Yep and now they're headed for the river where she'll come around just in time to either get her head caved in by a 20mm round or to watch Pierre get the same.

>>8649121
>Pierre
My story is so tiresome.
(tiresome!)
Back in France, I was rich as they come.
(as they come!)
But I lost all my wealth
And my good mental health.
Now I live with ze filth and ze scum.
(and ze scum!)

I'm Pierre, ze only french bum in Africa
(ooooooooh)
When I open my Boone's Farm, I still sniff ze cork (ooooooooh)
So have you a quarter?
I'm begging you, please. (ooooooooh)
I have to have wine with my government cheese.

I really should bid you adieu.
(bid adieu!)
I'm feeling a bit sacre bleu.
(sacre bleu!)
My life is a hell.
I give off a bad smell,
But I'm French, so that's always been true.

Pee-ew!

whoa, just popped in to check back on this thread

Sukhoi gets +infinity internets for life.

Also, Pierre is hardcore.

He pushed through the undergrowth, struggling through the dense collection of branches and leaves, the sweat pouring from his brow a consequence of both pain and exhaustive effort. Pierre looked back at Rémi, his vision swimming in a dizzying blur. Her head was lolled to one side, blood slowly coming from her mouth, as well as several cuts and fractures on her skull. He returned his gaze to the light ahead, the light streaming through the break in the jungle canopy. They were almost there, just ten more metres. He grunted in pain and pushed out of the oppressive jungle, onto the muddy banks of the river. Several boats were in the river, heading to the south side, filled to the rim with people. He waved, shouting, at one of the raft's still near the bank to stop. He dropped Rémi, and stumbled down the bank, still shouting hoarsely. The people on the rafts seemed agitated, preoccupied, with something upstream. Pierre glanced in the direction people were pointing and yelling, just in time to see the ominous gray shape of a fighter descending through the clouds. Without warning, the western most boat exploded in a shower of water and wood, flesh and bone. Other's quickly followed suit, as the aircraft's rockets poured down into the river area like a shower of fiery death. A nearby explosion threw Pierre into the air, and in the corner of his eye, he saw Rémis mangled body flung into the air like an ungainly puppet. Her flight was cut short by a nearby tree, the impact into which made Pierre wince in horror.

Sukhoi, you bastard :)

That shit's awesome

His impact with the water was sickening, like hitting an unforgiving concrete surface the water welcoming him into it's cool embrace before he blacked out completely.

(this should have been on the tail end of the last post)

>>8649419
>>8649445

oh you magnificent bastard. Didn't die IN the boats but will probably die WITH the boats.

sukhoi, you make me proud to call myself a writefag.

Also it amuses me that /tg/'s gestalt seems to have come to the conclusion that everyone near the underside of OP's group will die a horrible death, or get lost in the jungle, or (probably) be slotted in an alley somewhere by french intelligence.

Pierre came to, on the bank of the river, water lapping at his half submerged face. He could barely move, his legs seemed like dead weights. His vision was clouded, and he could taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. The water and riverbank around him was choked with blood and debris, here and there a few moaned, but the vast majority were silent, staring with the lifeless eyes into the nothingness like only the dead can. Mutilated and shredded bodies and limbs floated in the slow moving river, staining it a sickly muddy red, bobbing between the debris of the rafts and boats. Pierre leaned up on his arm, feeling a burst of pain, and seeing his wrist contorted at an impossible angle, his flesh torn, his hand barely attached by some remaining muscle and tendon. He fought back the pain, which was coming back with a roaring drone. Pierre heard another sound, and his eyes turned to the skies, rage filling him as he saw another jet sinking below the cloud cover like an avenging prehistoric bird of prey, travelling on a spear of flame towards the grisly slaughterhouse of the river. Pierre saw the flashes from underneath each wing, and screamed in useless defiance at the aircraft as the cannon rounds traced their way down the river bank towards him. He never felt the round that killed him, so sudden and violent was it's impact. His entire upper torso was ripped away by the heavy shell, designed to peel away the armour of a tank, human flesh and bone barely slowing it's murderous progress. The round's shockwave that followed the round did the rest, converting what remained of his organs to a bloody pulp and tearing his body open from the overpressure it created in his body cavities.

>>8649600
BAD END

great story though

>>8649600

FFFFFFF-

Everything dies.

>>8649600

hmm yes...you wonder why my photographer was so...pleased...he could get pictures of OPs group. He heard accounts from the river obviously.

>>8649600
Good night, sweet prince...

A great end to a great short. I think we can safely say the town's destruction has been covered via fiction. Now we need to look for other angles on OPs missions and background. Like I said i'll be waiting till OP posts about his last mission before choosing something else to write about.

Again well done Sukhoi.

>>8649689
Maybe a short from the point-of-view of one of the enemy pilots if OPs group faces air-threats?

Just a thought, unfortunately I'm not a writefag myself...

>>8649689
Yeah, I'm eagerly awaiting the OP's next installment for more fodder.

I'm going to try to wrap up the story I'm doing, if only so we can have someone who lives through this thing.

>>8649600
>The round's shockwave that followed the round did the rest.

Dammit. Remove the second "the round"

I need to proof my shit.

And it looks like the DDoS on 4chan is back. Fuckers.

>Well done Sukhoi
Oh I wasn't done...

She felt lulled by the ever present drone, the gentle caress and slight motion of her bed. Then the pain flooded in, and her eyes shot open, looking around in panic as the agony syphoned it's way through her body. She tried to move but couldn't her hands and legs bound tightly, her head barely able to turn at all. There was something on her face but she couldn't see it, she couldn't see well at all and she realized one of her eyes was shut. She struggled and tried to scream, tried to force her eye open but she couldn't. Her vision was tinged with red, but she saw light overhead, and grey. Piping and cables ran over the ceiling, crisscrossing in a melange of overlaps and turns that was dizzying to look at. The walls bowed outwards, tapering towards the ceiling, nothing made sense. A face appeared over her suddenly, smiling, but with eyes that seemed to stare past her. It was a man's face, gruff and with a shadow of stubble. Dirt and small flecks of blood covered most of the skin on his face, and the heavy helmet he wore was emblazoned with a red cross on the front. His mouth moved but she couldn't hear his words. She felt something prick her arm, and a feeling of warmth began to flow over her, quelling the pain, covering her like a warm blanket. The man continued to look into her eyes, and put a finger to his lips, and she stopped fidgeting. Rémi felt her body relaxing, her vision beginning to grey and drift. Before the blackness took her, she heard the man say in french over the drone “Sleep now, you are safe. Dormez.”

>>8649800

Oh...damn...premature I suppose. But if it means Remi lives i'll survive the embarrassment.

>>8649814
That's it though, I'm stopping that story there for now.

>>8649844
Bastard...

>>8649600
Sukhoi, you are a writefagging GOD.

Alright, I'll keep this rolling.

She was to numb to cry, she stumbled from the house and made towards the river bank. Word was that some of the villagers had made it to the far bank in boats, although the official line from the FFL was that the rebels had killed many as they tried to cross. She didn't want to hope that her father and sisters had made it, didn't want to think about Jean Claud, afraid she couldn't bear the crash that would follow if she was optimistic and wrong.

As she neared the bank she saw white tents. The remaining personnel of the hollow crater that was once a hospital had set up a triage center, they were doing what they could, but still she wondered why so many wounded were in the streets. As she passed through the clinic the answer became clear. There were maybe two or three people with any medical training here, all clearly at wits end, ordering around some villagers who had volunteered to help. All the medical supplies had been in the hospital, these people were operating with kitchen knives for scalpels, inner-tubes from bikes as tourniquets and alcohol serving as everything from antiseptic to pain reliever.

>Pierre and Remi
Sukhoi...

You've made something...

Yeah.

>>8649880
She approached one of the doctors, washing his hands in rubbing alcohol. "Shouldn't the Legion be here, helping?" her french was practiced and clipped, unconsciously doing her best Embassy Official voice.

"The Legion saw fit to do triage as they moved through town, and donated a medic and some supplies. The Medic left after we objected to the froid salauds marking our hospital for an airstirke, and we ran out of most of the supplies within two days. We await resupply, but Médecins sans Frontières is hesitant to move into an area so soon after an assault, especially one that killed so many of their people, so for now we wait." The man was clearly haggard, but she had to ask.

"Where did the people who made it across the river go? Is there some kind of list of who made it, any way I can find out if..." She wouldn't let herself finish the thought.

The doctor looked at her wearily. "Mademoiselle, I spent the last hour tying off arteries in a man's amputated leg, and I will spend few trying to pull pieces of his femur out of his wife's back in the hope that she can move again without risking a shard of bone nicking her spine. I wish I could help, but I simply have n'ont pas le temps. Those that made it are either back in the village, hiding in tents near to FOB the Legion set up on the other bank or scattered to the four winds. Those that didn't are either at the bottom of the river or in that trench."

>>8649880

Ah right Jean's lover. Hmm I wonder where you'll go with this.

>>8649868
Feel free to write your own ;)

>>8649989

She made her way to the long pit, found easily enough by the stench of corpse rot and lye. She pulled a handkerchief with the Embassy logo on it from her pocket and pressed it over her nose, it didn't really help.

The sight that confronted her beggared belief. Rebels were mixed in with the townsfolk, limbs had been heaped in along with whole bodies, all caked with the white dust of sodium hydroxide. She found her middle sister and father first, head peaking out from beneath a jumble of legs and arms. She did them the courtesy of not vomiting directly into their grave.

She made her way down the trench, forced herself to walk and look, she had to know. Still each step felt like walking through quicksand. At the other end of the trench she found him. Jean Claud lay face up, at the top of the pile, his body baking in the sun. Mary was next to him, tossed into the pit in such a way that one of her arms rested across the reporter's chest. The tableau struck something like Jealousy in Roslyn. She found it almost funny that she would feel something like that, but her ten year old sister was the last person to hold the man she had loved in her arms. She walked away without noticing that Jean had but one arm with which to return the dying embrace.

Looking good so far, stream of conscious is tough for me to write.

>>8650270
She sat under the quay were she and Jean Claud had spent those few happy nights, and finally let the tears come. She sobbed, wept. She held her knees under her chin and let the sorrow wrack her body, rocking back and forth. She opened her eyes after a while and spied something that stopped her quiet quaking.

A small yellow case had washed ashore. It was, she realized with a start, a camera. She got to her knees and shuffled a few feet towards the water lapping gently at the moors of the dock. Grabbing the camera by the strap she lifted it before disbelieving eyes.It was Jean's camera, the one she had sent him from the Embassy. Hesitantly she pressed the power button; when the device came alive she rushed back to her previous position and began eagerly paging through the photos.

Shots of her family, of the hospital, one of Jean Claud smiling at himself in the mirror, one of her as she walked out of the village towards a waiting jeep, full of hopes and ambition. Then shots of what she realized was the attack. A picture of her home, out of focus and shaky, on the run. One of a column of smoke and debris shooting up out of where the hospital had once stood, although she didn't know enough to recognize colored marker smoke mixed in with the black soot, nor the streak of jet exhaust in the upper corner of the photo. Shots of destruction in the streets, some of the same people she had seen on her way through, running down the road. A picture of a truck full of rebels firing a 12.7mm machine gun into a crowd. A picture of the boats. These were all at odd angles, she realized Jean must have set the camera to just take a picture every few seconds as he ran.

>>8650622
The last ones were clearly taken from the boats, the crowds packing into them, a close shot of his ever present satellite phone. One of the boats exploding, the trails of what were unmistakably even to her untrained eye rockets streaking into the water. A shot of an aircraft coming right at the camera, a gout of flame erupting from the nose. An arm holding a satellite phone spiraling away. then a splash of the arm disappearing beneath the water. The camera spun, people and faces, some caught in the middle of popping apart under cannon fire. The last shot as the memory card filled was of Mary's face, Jean must have collapsed atop her.

What stuck with her was the look on Mary's face, the sheer horror. jean had by sheer happenstance managed to get one of those photos that would define a conflict even with one of his arms gone and his camera on autopilot hanging around his neck.

>>8650754
(had to split this post)


Then it occurred to her just what he was holding. Planes had hit the boats. The same planes that the Legion was being so evasive about explaining. The rebels hadn't hit the refugees, these pilots had. Someone had to see these, but she knew enough about world politics that she was holding molten plutonium. These would never see the light of day, no matter who she handed them to. As soon as she made their existence known they'd disappear, and she might go with them. She resolved then to do this herself, not really thinking of what it would take. She remembered Jean's words, something he had once told her about chasing a story "The smallest details are often the most important mon amour. You can tell much from them."

She paged back to the shot of the plane bearing down on the boats, zooming as close as she could. She was happy that she'd bought him a good camera, and the plane was ridiculously close. There, above the roaring spew of flame pouring from the gun was a word written on the craft's nose. In pixelated Teutonic script she could just make it out."Baron" it read.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

(that's all until OP comes back up, hope y'all enjoyed.)

Someone needs to make an article on 1d4chan detailing the mission briefings, after action reports, and the awesome writefaggotry this has spawned.

No amount of porn could make me jizz so hard and so much as these threads have...

Wow, just wow...

>>8650880
Thanks.

>>8650880
Danke.

>>8650170
Sure is HIGH ALTITUDE AWESOME in here...

>>8650949
New hotness.

Hey all. As nice as this thread has been, what with its awesome stories and such, i'm feeling a little apprehensive about how this is continuing. OPs not shown his face for more than a day now and i'm beginning to wonder if he'll actually come back at all at this rate. How long can we keep these kinds of threads coming?

If you can't tell by now Doubt is the word of the day.

>>8651152
OP will be back. He might have gotten ticked at /tg/ being unresponsive last night.

Also, sukhoi being a girl who likes planes and can writefag awesome... is pretty hot.

>>8651152
OP might have
A) A life
b) A job
c) A job that does not allow him to browse 4chan

>>8651152

Well, if the Baron doesn't come back... then I guess we'll stop making these threads and go over to do something different. It's not the end of the world.

>>8651181
Don't start that crap, it sucks to have guys be all like:
OMGWTF u a gurl?

Don't.

Sup guys. I want to un a game in a similar vein to this over the internets but in order to do it I need top-down images of aircraft, can /tg/ help a brother out and hook me up with some links?

>>8651210

Then stop pretending to be a girl, Steve.

>>8651255
are any of the MAS download links still active?

>>8651255
http://www.juniorgeneral.org/load.php?Period=10#Modern

>>8651255
They're not the best, but they are free.

OP again, just got back, reading thread, writing up mission.

>>8651494
As a side note, damn you guys are impatient...

>>8651328
Thanks, but I think I'll just cut out planes from line drawings on wikimedia commons and colour them myself.

>>8651516
You give someone really good drugs and they start to jones for there next fix pretty quick. Think of it as a compliment.

>>8651494
Why do you hate my F5 button?

>>8651494
Bad timing, end of thread, and the 40k crap is strong with the front page.

>>8651494

Hot damn OPs back. Forgive me my doubts oh provider of awesome...

Gotta start a new thread fellas, Make it happen OP.

in case someone missed it: >>8651744