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Edited by Kell in a Cell:
7/1/2016 7:00:22 PM
68
"SONNUVABITCH!"
I rocketed upright, clutching my left arm in pain. It felt as if a knife was cutting into my arm, and then the cut was immediately being doused in alcohol and stitched up.
No, that wasn't right, I got sliced yesterday, and then Crossbow had stitched me up.
As the pain faded, I noticed that I was wearing a flak armor vest, though it was missing the right shoulder pad and was stained with very old blood on that side. There also seemed to be a matching helmet and lasrifle to my left and right, respectively.
Then I remembered Blackburn giving me the armor and weapon, and the two of us ambushing a bunch of cultists.
But... how did that make sense? The two events seemed to start and end in the same place, but were wildly different. There's no way they could have happened at the same time.
... Right.
"Fück the Warp." I sighed, grabbing my wargear and hoodie before heading for the door.
The bartender didn't bat an eye at the cut or the armor, which made things marginally simpler, as it meant I didn't need to explain... whatever the hell this was.
The innkeeper didn't give any sort of greeting, simply sliding over a bowl of oatmeal and a water. After giving a small nod of thanks, I dug into my breakfast as I tried to reconcile conflicting memories. I had some idea of what might have happened, but there was no way to be sure.
[spoiler]Closed. Also, the Warp did it.[/spoiler]
English
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An imperial guardsman entered and looked around. He saw you, looked down at the tablet he was carrying and then back up. He approached you and handed you a sealed envelope. "Private." He turned back and left.
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I turned at the voice, but didn't get up. "Sir, I think you've got the wrong guy. I'm not part of the Guard. Just happened to get my hands on this gear thanks to-" I glanced back at the innkeeper, remembering one conversation I had last night. "Thanks to an acquaintance of mine."
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The guardsman turned as he pressed the door open with his back. "You are now, thanks to your friend. Just read the letter."
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With a raised eyebrow, I opened the envelope, still not moving to follow the Guardsman.
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[i]Private, You are assigned to the 31st Special Operations group, forward deployed to the Bloodwrath. Report to The fireteam leader Lance corporal Nathan Blackburn. NLT 1 July [/i]
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[i]Well, seems like I got my answer,[/i] I thought with a chuckle, getting up and putting the note in my pocket. I nodded my last thanks to the innkeeper as I strapped on my helmet, then picked up my lasrifle from where it lied against the bar. Everything set and with a final check of my weapon - which I still needed to learn how to, you know, check and clean - before following after the Guardsman.
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The guardsman was long gone, off doing some other errand that he was assigned but the imperial HQ was nearby, that was a likely place to start.
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With my rifle over my shoulder, I made my way to the HQ, hoping to find someone with pertinent orders there.
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The guards on duty shake their head at the state of your weapons and then point towards the armory, Blackburn was standing there in a uniform reminiscent of 21st century military fatigues.
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I raised an eyebrow at my new CO's attire: apparently we weren't from too different a place after all. As I approached, I tried to recall what I had seen of JROTC etiquette. When I finally got to the Corporal, I did my best to mine a proper salute to a senior officer: heels together, rifle held against my left shoulder with my left arm extended down holding the stock, right hand to forehead. "Private Adam, reporting, sir."
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The man sighed. "I'm an E4, don't salute me. I'm not an officer. And a salute is rendered arm at 45 degrees, finger tip touching the temple or brim of glasses or hat, slightly tilted down fingers kept together. You've got a lot to learn, and I don't have months to train you."
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I shrugged, relaxing my stance, putting my rifle in the usual carry position. "Was worth a shot, at any rate." I sighed. "Hopefully I'll be more useful than just another piece of meat for the grinder."
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"If you wouldn't be I would have left you in the 68th infantry regiment. Now come on, that gear is going to get you killed, you have to maintain your gear. And let's get you some uniforms." The corporal entered the armory and passed the desk sergeant.
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I walked in behind him, looking at the state of disrepair of my wargear, then the pristine state of the gear in the armory. Yeah, it served in a pinch, but I could heartily agree that it was due time for an upgrade. I shook my head as the analogy to some sort of grim, depressing rpg came to mind.
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Blackburn pulled carapace armor off a shelf and tossed it to him, along side the keys to a gun locker. "Take this, and these, choose some weapons preferably nothing that will get you killed."
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[i]Well hot damn[/i], I thought, looking over the armor. From what little I knew of this world, armor like this wasn't given to your average rank-and-file soldiers. I quickly took the old flak armor off, and began to put on the new armor, before a thought stopped me. Much as I liked my old civilian clothes, they wouldn't last very long under the wear and tear of my new occupation. "You wouldn't happen to know where I could get my hands on some fatigues first, would you? Sir?" I added, silently cursing myself. I may not need to salute him, but he was still my CO, and that meant he deserved respect, let alone the fact he had several magnitudes the combat experience I had.
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He nodded disappeared into a corridor of uniforms on shelves, he was gone for several minutes. He returned with three sets and handed them over, they were olive drab imperial guard.
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With a nod of thanks, I set about donning one of my new uniforms, folding up my old clothes and placing them on top of the other two spare uniforms. Then I set about strapping on my new carapace armor. It took me a bit to figure out the straps, but when Blackburn approached to help I wave him off. It wasn't that difficult, all told, but I had never done something like this, so there was some trial and error. Checking the last strap, I stood, feeling significantly heavier - but the compromise for greater protection was gladly made. Then, I made my way to the weapons, unlocking and opening the door to look at the contents.
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A variety of imperial weapons and non imperial weapons, as well as weapons from different universes lines the racks. "Pick two or three." Blackburn said, pulling an LMG off the rack and began to clean it.
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Edited by Kell in a Cell: 7/2/2016 4:15:29 AMI whistled lowly, gazing at the various weapons. I recognized a fair few of them, but there were far more I didn't know the name or- Wait. Was that...? "No fückin' way," I whispered, gently picking up the weapon that had caught my attention: a DC-17m with a stock, though it was missing any other attachments. What there was present, however, was a plethora of ammo. A thought snapped me out of my fanboy stupor, however. "Hey, Corporal? What kind of stopping power does this thing have?" I asked, showing the weapon to my CO.
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The marine raised an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder. "Don't know, that's a new one even for me."
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I thought it over, before finally shrugging. There was plenty of ammo here, the clip was decently big, and he did say to get something else as well. With that in mind, I picked up a bandolier, putting numerous spar clips on it. Thankfully, neither the weapon or the clips were very heavy, though the placement of the mag well would take some getting used to. With that done, I looked around for something else. A sidearm would probably be best, for those moments where I didn't have time for a reload. It would need some decent stopping power, but couldn't be too big. With that in mind, I grabbed something a little more old-school: the ever-reliable M1911. Grabbing several extra mags for it as I strapped the holster to my thigh, I turned to my CO, nodding that I was ready.
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He locked up the remaining weapons and threw the keys back to the desk sergeant who caught them and put them back on his desk. Blackburn turned to his subordinate. "Well, since you picked that weapon, you have to learn how to clean it. I got no clue, the colt 1911 however is straight forward."
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"And that, sir, is the beauty of the DC-17m Interchangeable Weapon System," I said, patting the rifle. "While using the weapon will take some getting used to - as will figuring out a good way to holster it - maintenance is as simple as a calibration every once in a while." I paused. "Granted, I don't know how to do that just yet, but I tend to have a way with problem-solving."
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"Well, that means you need to figure it out before tomorrow, that's first real operation. Nothing terrible, just a local patrol."
