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This thread has been linked to the game 'Operation Flashpoint'.
*I posted this a couple of months back but it didn't get many replies. I put this down to product placing (I put it in the STORY forum, where it belongs, but here it can reach a bigger audience.) If you're new, or didn't read it back then, take a look now...*
Inspired by the wonderful Operation Flashpoint: Resistance demo I play everyday. Also, notice the 3 alternate endings. After you've read the story, tell me which one you prefered most.
Location:
West Russian Border.
Time:
0600 hours.
Status:
7-man squad.
Provisions low.
Morale questionable...
The early morning sun lit up Troskas cracked, weathered face. A cool morning chill blew at his dry, ravaged grey hair as he scanned the horizon. As passing shadows danced in the early morning light, seven more-definite silhouettes crept along the sparse woodline. Over the brow of the hill just before them lay Old Tatru and Troskas first objective; assasinate captain Varia.
Troska was a military veteran, and no stranger to assasinations. After 30 years in the Russian Special Forces, death was his tool. Before his defection to the Russia Liberated army, Troska had carried out thousands of hits. One bullet, one empty head, no room for emotions of any kind. Varia would be no different.
Troska ordered his men to hold position in the relative safety of the wood; trees providing much better cover than grass. He pulled a pistol from the inside-pocket of his jacket and checked there were no enemy soldiers in the immediate proximity. He then started to sprint up the hill, stopping as he reached the top. He peeped his head over and saw the village of Old Tatru nestled in a lush green valley. It would have been a quaint place to retire to, were it not for fact it resided smack-bang in the middle of a war-zone. Troska wiped the cold-sweat from his forehead. His stamina was not what it once was, and three days on limited supplies in enemy territory was taking it's toll. While catching his breath, Troska went through in his mind the journey his team had faced so far.
Most of their equipment had been lost during drop-in; and much of what they were carrying now had been stolen from enemy supply dumps. There was one particular occasion he remembered well, probably because their cover was so very nearly blown. The team were exiting a large supply dump when Frazen, the rookie of the group, had been caught lagging in the laundry room. His feet had been aching relentlesly and all he wanted at that moment in time was a fresh pair of socks. As he tried to leave the room, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He dived into a nearby pile of sheets; and peeked at the man that had just walked in. He noticed the gaurd take off his boots and mumble about his aching feet. It looked like the gaurd wasn't in a hurry to leave the sanctum of the laundry room, so Frazen looked around for a way out. Just as he was contemplating the old 'all guns blazin' technique, he noticed several Russian uniforms piled on a shelf next to him. In what could either be interpreted as very brave or very stupid, Frazen put on the highest ranking uniform he could find. Armed with more pips than a bucket full of apples, Frazen slid out from under the sheets and marched toward the soldier. The poor gaurd didn't know what hit him as Frazen unleashed a barrage of insults, clipped the back of his head then walked out. And not just out the room, he walked out the front gate. Out the front gate! Unchallenged! Troska and his team watched in awe as he barked orders at a passing patrol, then quickly ran to the meeting point where they lay.
But Troska was daydreaming now, not catching his breath. He had to stay focused. He pulled the battered binocullars he was wearing up to his eyes. Five, maybe six gaurds in the village but no sign of Varia. Six men seemed a small number of people to hold such a tactically-signifficant position, but Troska dismissed this thought believing the other men to be on the front line a few miles away. Troska knew Varia may be in the underground bunker that Old Tatru housed. If that was the case they would have to wait until nightfall when he emerged. Whatever time, a long-distance killing would be the only viable option. If his team got in close, Varia may be alerted and flee to his bunker. He pulled the sniper rifle from his rucksack. Ordinarily he would have used his custom-model but since it had been lost at the start of the mission, he would have to settle for the one he borrowed from the enemy. Troska flicked his hand through several position, and his team dissapeared into the undergrowth. He made himself comfy then looked through the scope; passing each hut in the village one-by-one. Just as he was beginning to think Varia wasn't even in the village, he noticed a tall figure standing at a large window. He knew it was Varia but did Varia see him? He was definetly looking in Troskas direction, but was he just briefing the horizon? Just as Troska started to wonder what may be giving his location away, Varia turned around and ligged on the window-frame. Troska breathed a sigh of relief. He knew this was an excellent opportunity to make the shot. He checked the edges of the village and saw his men in offence positions, waiting for the signal. Waiting for that single shot, when they would storm the base and confirm Varias death before making a swift exit.Troska marked his target.
He squeezed the trigger.
*Phhooooot*, the sound of a high-powered shot echoed around the valley.
The round hit the window Varia was stood behind and he fell...
Then got up again and ran out the room. Troskas heart sank; he couldn't believe it. Bullet-proof glass? The intel Troska had recieved told him the village defences were archaic, and the most advanced thing they had were sandbags. The intel also failed to make comment on the two tanks rolling over the hill opposite him. Troska checked the village and what he saw horrified him. His men were in a firefight... with over a hundred enemy soldiers. And more were pouring out of the huts. It was at this moment that Troska realised that there was a traitor in Intel core of the Russia Liberated HQ; and no-one would live to tell of it.
Troska was enraged that something like this could happen, and he wasn't going to let his team die for his naivety. He picked up his rifle and took aim at the soldiers encompassing his men. *Crack*, the sound resonated through the village as an enemy soldier fell. *Crack*, another round claiming another kill. But his efforts were in vein. He saw his men savagely being picked off one-by-one until the enemy turned their attention to him. There were still over seventy men and two tanks left, but Troska didn't flee. He carried on firing as the men below tackled the steep hill Troska was standing on. *Crack*, *Crack*, *Crack*. The world seemed to blur. For the first time in his adult life, a tear of emotion formed in Troskas eye. But he knew that there was no time for sorrow. He kept on firing. *Crack*, *Crack*, *Click*... *Click*. He was out of ammo.
He dropped the rifle and pulled out his pistol. He fired his entire magazine wildly down the hill. In retro-spect he realised he should have saved the ammo for close-combat but when seventy men are running up a hill to kill you, you can be excused for not thinking rationally. Troska searched his jacket and found a grenade in the left pocket. He considered blowing himself up but prefered the idea of taking down as many of those b*stards chasing him as he could. *Boom* He heard the sound of a man screaming and clutching his arm. He looked at the trail of dead that followed the army running at him. He looked at the mangled bodies. How un-human they looked. Troska stopped still. Reflecting on your life while scores of men are trying to kill you sounds crazy, but he realised something. The futility of life, of everything. What was the point. He didn't have any ammo left, but if he had, he would have stopped anyway. Why rob a son of his farther, a wife of her husband, a mother of her child. He fell to his knees and cried.
It was at this point the soldiers surrounded him, guns pointing at his head. Troska wasn't afraid of death, to him it was natures way of telling you you'd failed selection. The men split, forming a corridor into which Varia entered. He walked up to Troska and thumped him.
Alternate ending 1.
Troska was hunched over and Varia moved close to his ear and whispered a name. The name of the traitor. Varia put the gun to Troskas head. *Crack*.
Alternate ending 2.
Troska was hunched over and Varia moved close to his ear and whispered a name. The name of the traitor. Enraged by knowing the name of the traitor, Troska decided pacifism wasn't his thing. He carefully reached into his right pocket and withdrew a grenade.
"A sacrifice to benefit the all" he shouted before pulling the pin. *Boom*.
Alternate ending 3.
Troska was hunched over and Varia moved close to his ear and whispered a name. The name of the traitor. Varia put the gun to Troskas head. *Phhooooot*. Varia fell. *PhhoooPhhooooot*. The two men holding Troska collapsed on the floor. He didn't know what was going on but knowing chances like this don't occur everyday, he decided to abstein from a pacifist lifestyle. He pulled the two AK47s from beneath the dead soldiers laying next to him. He squeezed the triggers *du-du-du-du-du-du-du*. There was a monotiny about the sound of the gun, rather like the monotiny of death; but that was something to think about another time. As he looked for a clear path out the combat zone, three helicopters flew over the hill in front of him. Two were filled with snipers, picking off prey much like vultures. One helicopter was different to the rest, a ladder was dangling from the side, and it was heading for Troska. He didn't know who was in the the helicopter but it was likely to be someone a lot friendlier than on the ground. He grabbed on and clambered to the cabin.
"Who is the traitor?" shouted a voice from the cockpit. Not "How are you today?", or "are those boots new?" but "Who is the traitor?"
Troska shouted the traitors name back then was pulled aboard. He started to think if that had been the point of the mission. Not to kill Varia, but to find out who the traitor in intel is. He started to wonder if he would have been evacuated if he hadn't made contact with Varia. Troska felt betrayed; he stared at the ground miles below...
Inspired by the wonderful Operation Flashpoint: Resistance demo I play everyday. Also, notice the 3 alternate endings. After you've read the story, tell me which one you prefered most.
Location:
West Russian Border.
Time:
0600 hours.
Status:
7-man squad.
Provisions low.
Morale questionable...
The early morning sun lit up Troskas cracked, weathered face. A cool morning chill blew at his dry, ravaged grey hair as he scanned the horizon. As passing shadows danced in the early morning light, seven more-definite silhouettes crept along the sparse woodline. Over the brow of the hill just before them lay Old Tatru and Troskas first objective; assasinate captain Varia.
Troska was a military veteran, and no stranger to assasinations. After 30 years in the Russian Special Forces, death was his tool. Before his defection to the Russia Liberated army, Troska had carried out thousands of hits. One bullet, one empty head, no room for emotions of any kind. Varia would be no different.
Troska ordered his men to hold position in the relative safety of the wood; trees providing much better cover than grass. He pulled a pistol from the inside-pocket of his jacket and checked there were no enemy soldiers in the immediate proximity. He then started to sprint up the hill, stopping as he reached the top. He peeped his head over and saw the village of Old Tatru nestled in a lush green valley. It would have been a quaint place to retire to, were it not for fact it resided smack-bang in the middle of a war-zone. Troska wiped the cold-sweat from his forehead. His stamina was not what it once was, and three days on limited supplies in enemy territory was taking it's toll. While catching his breath, Troska went through in his mind the journey his team had faced so far.
Most of their equipment had been lost during drop-in; and much of what they were carrying now had been stolen from enemy supply dumps. There was one particular occasion he remembered well, probably because their cover was so very nearly blown. The team were exiting a large supply dump when Frazen, the rookie of the group, had been caught lagging in the laundry room. His feet had been aching relentlesly and all he wanted at that moment in time was a fresh pair of socks. As he tried to leave the room, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He dived into a nearby pile of sheets; and peeked at the man that had just walked in. He noticed the gaurd take off his boots and mumble about his aching feet. It looked like the gaurd wasn't in a hurry to leave the sanctum of the laundry room, so Frazen looked around for a way out. Just as he was contemplating the old 'all guns blazin' technique, he noticed several Russian uniforms piled on a shelf next to him. In what could either be interpreted as very brave or very stupid, Frazen put on the highest ranking uniform he could find. Armed with more pips than a bucket full of apples, Frazen slid out from under the sheets and marched toward the soldier. The poor gaurd didn't know what hit him as Frazen unleashed a barrage of insults, clipped the back of his head then walked out. And not just out the room, he walked out the front gate. Out the front gate! Unchallenged! Troska and his team watched in awe as he barked orders at a passing patrol, then quickly ran to the meeting point where they lay.
But Troska was daydreaming now, not catching his breath. He had to stay focused. He pulled the battered binocullars he was wearing up to his eyes. Five, maybe six gaurds in the village but no sign of Varia. Six men seemed a small number of people to hold such a tactically-signifficant position, but Troska dismissed this thought believing the other men to be on the front line a few miles away. Troska knew Varia may be in the underground bunker that Old Tatru housed. If that was the case they would have to wait until nightfall when he emerged. Whatever time, a long-distance killing would be the only viable option. If his team got in close, Varia may be alerted and flee to his bunker. He pulled the sniper rifle from his rucksack. Ordinarily he would have used his custom-model but since it had been lost at the start of the mission, he would have to settle for the one he borrowed from the enemy. Troska flicked his hand through several position, and his team dissapeared into the undergrowth. He made himself comfy then looked through the scope; passing each hut in the village one-by-one. Just as he was beginning to think Varia wasn't even in the village, he noticed a tall figure standing at a large window. He knew it was Varia but did Varia see him? He was definetly looking in Troskas direction, but was he just briefing the horizon? Just as Troska started to wonder what may be giving his location away, Varia turned around and ligged on the window-frame. Troska breathed a sigh of relief. He knew this was an excellent opportunity to make the shot. He checked the edges of the village and saw his men in offence positions, waiting for the signal. Waiting for that single shot, when they would storm the base and confirm Varias death before making a swift exit.Troska marked his target.
He squeezed the trigger.
*Phhooooot*, the sound of a high-powered shot echoed around the valley.
The round hit the window Varia was stood behind and he fell...
Then got up again and ran out the room. Troskas heart sank; he couldn't believe it. Bullet-proof glass? The intel Troska had recieved told him the village defences were archaic, and the most advanced thing they had were sandbags. The intel also failed to make comment on the two tanks rolling over the hill opposite him. Troska checked the village and what he saw horrified him. His men were in a firefight... with over a hundred enemy soldiers. And more were pouring out of the huts. It was at this moment that Troska realised that there was a traitor in Intel core of the Russia Liberated HQ; and no-one would live to tell of it.
Troska was enraged that something like this could happen, and he wasn't going to let his team die for his naivety. He picked up his rifle and took aim at the soldiers encompassing his men. *Crack*, the sound resonated through the village as an enemy soldier fell. *Crack*, another round claiming another kill. But his efforts were in vein. He saw his men savagely being picked off one-by-one until the enemy turned their attention to him. There were still over seventy men and two tanks left, but Troska didn't flee. He carried on firing as the men below tackled the steep hill Troska was standing on. *Crack*, *Crack*, *Crack*. The world seemed to blur. For the first time in his adult life, a tear of emotion formed in Troskas eye. But he knew that there was no time for sorrow. He kept on firing. *Crack*, *Crack*, *Click*... *Click*. He was out of ammo.
He dropped the rifle and pulled out his pistol. He fired his entire magazine wildly down the hill. In retro-spect he realised he should have saved the ammo for close-combat but when seventy men are running up a hill to kill you, you can be excused for not thinking rationally. Troska searched his jacket and found a grenade in the left pocket. He considered blowing himself up but prefered the idea of taking down as many of those b*stards chasing him as he could. *Boom* He heard the sound of a man screaming and clutching his arm. He looked at the trail of dead that followed the army running at him. He looked at the mangled bodies. How un-human they looked. Troska stopped still. Reflecting on your life while scores of men are trying to kill you sounds crazy, but he realised something. The futility of life, of everything. What was the point. He didn't have any ammo left, but if he had, he would have stopped anyway. Why rob a son of his farther, a wife of her husband, a mother of her child. He fell to his knees and cried.
It was at this point the soldiers surrounded him, guns pointing at his head. Troska wasn't afraid of death, to him it was natures way of telling you you'd failed selection. The men split, forming a corridor into which Varia entered. He walked up to Troska and thumped him.
Alternate ending 1.
Troska was hunched over and Varia moved close to his ear and whispered a name. The name of the traitor. Varia put the gun to Troskas head. *Crack*.
Alternate ending 2.
Troska was hunched over and Varia moved close to his ear and whispered a name. The name of the traitor. Enraged by knowing the name of the traitor, Troska decided pacifism wasn't his thing. He carefully reached into his right pocket and withdrew a grenade.
"A sacrifice to benefit the all" he shouted before pulling the pin. *Boom*.
Alternate ending 3.
Troska was hunched over and Varia moved close to his ear and whispered a name. The name of the traitor. Varia put the gun to Troskas head. *Phhooooot*. Varia fell. *PhhoooPhhooooot*. The two men holding Troska collapsed on the floor. He didn't know what was going on but knowing chances like this don't occur everyday, he decided to abstein from a pacifist lifestyle. He pulled the two AK47s from beneath the dead soldiers laying next to him. He squeezed the triggers *du-du-du-du-du-du-du*. There was a monotiny about the sound of the gun, rather like the monotiny of death; but that was something to think about another time. As he looked for a clear path out the combat zone, three helicopters flew over the hill in front of him. Two were filled with snipers, picking off prey much like vultures. One helicopter was different to the rest, a ladder was dangling from the side, and it was heading for Troska. He didn't know who was in the the helicopter but it was likely to be someone a lot friendlier than on the ground. He grabbed on and clambered to the cabin.
"Who is the traitor?" shouted a voice from the cockpit. Not "How are you today?", or "are those boots new?" but "Who is the traitor?"
Troska shouted the traitors name back then was pulled aboard. He started to think if that had been the point of the mission. Not to kill Varia, but to find out who the traitor in intel is. He started to wonder if he would have been evacuated if he hadn't made contact with Varia. Troska felt betrayed; he stared at the ground miles below...
Slightly Tom Clancy. Pretty good read.
Sinking, sinki...
Save my topic. Take five minutes out of you're unimportant lives to read this finely-crafted story I wrote a while ago. Posting it here was a bad idea (because of the volume of new topics) but I won't be putting it up again. Any Staff on today, just wondering? They have the day off don't they?
Save my topic. Take five minutes out of you're unimportant lives to read this finely-crafted story I wrote a while ago. Posting it here was a bad idea (because of the volume of new topics) but I won't be putting it up again. Any Staff on today, just wondering? They have the day off don't they?
*I posted this a couple of months back but it didn't get many replies. I put this down to product placing (I put it in the STORY forum, where it belongs, but here it can reach a bigger audience.) If you're new, or didn't read it back then, take a look now...*
Inspired by the wonderful Operation Flashpoint: Resistance demo I play everyday. Also, notice the 3 alternate endings. After you've read the story, tell me which one you prefered most.
Location:
West Russian Border.
Time:
0600 hours.
Status:
7-man squad.
Provisions low.
Morale questionable...
The early morning sun lit up Troskas cracked, weathered face. A cool morning chill blew at his dry, ravaged grey hair as he scanned the horizon. As passing shadows danced in the early morning light, seven more-definite silhouettes crept along the sparse woodline. Over the brow of the hill just before them lay Old Tatru and Troskas first objective; assasinate captain Varia.
Troska was a military veteran, and no stranger to assasinations. After 30 years in the Russian Special Forces, death was his tool. Before his defection to the Russia Liberated army, Troska had carried out thousands of hits. One bullet, one empty head, no room for emotions of any kind. Varia would be no different.
Troska ordered his men to hold position in the relative safety of the wood; trees providing much better cover than grass. He pulled a pistol from the inside-pocket of his jacket and checked there were no enemy soldiers in the immediate proximity. He then started to sprint up the hill, stopping as he reached the top. He peeped his head over and saw the village of Old Tatru nestled in a lush green valley. It would have been a quaint place to retire to, were it not for fact it resided smack-bang in the middle of a war-zone. Troska wiped the cold-sweat from his forehead. His stamina was not what it once was, and three days on limited supplies in enemy territory was taking it's toll. While catching his breath, Troska went through in his mind the journey his team had faced so far.
Most of their equipment had been lost during drop-in; and much of what they were carrying now had been stolen from enemy supply dumps. There was one particular occasion he remembered well, probably because their cover was so very nearly blown. The team were exiting a large supply dump when Frazen, the rookie of the group, had been caught lagging in the laundry room. His feet had been aching relentlesly and all he wanted at that moment in time was a fresh pair of socks. As he tried to leave the room, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He dived into a nearby pile of sheets; and peeked at the man that had just walked in. He noticed the gaurd take off his boots and mumble about his aching feet. It looked like the gaurd wasn't in a hurry to leave the sanctum of the laundry room, so Frazen looked around for a way out. Just as he was contemplating the old 'all guns blazin' technique, he noticed several Russian uniforms piled on a shelf next to him. In what could either be interpreted as very brave or very stupid, Frazen put on the highest ranking uniform he could find. Armed with more pips than a bucket full of apples, Frazen slid out from under the sheets and marched toward the soldier. The poor gaurd didn't know what hit him as Frazen unleashed a barrage of insults, clipped the back of his head then walked out. And not just out the room, he walked out the front gate. Out the front gate! Unchallenged! Troska and his team watched in awe as he barked orders at a passing patrol, then quickly ran to the meeting point where they lay.
But Troska was daydreaming now, not catching his breath. He had to stay focused. He pulled the battered binocullars he was wearing up to his eyes. Five, maybe six gaurds in the village but no sign of Varia. Six men seemed a small number of people to hold such a tactically-signifficant position, but Troska dismissed this thought believing the other men to be on the front line a few miles away. Troska knew Varia may be in the underground bunker that Old Tatru housed. If that was the case they would have to wait until nightfall when he emerged. Whatever time, a long-distance killing would be the only viable option. If his team got in close, Varia may be alerted and flee to his bunker. He pulled the sniper rifle from his rucksack. Ordinarily he would have used his custom-model but since it had been lost at the start of the mission, he would have to settle for the one he borrowed from the enemy. Troska flicked his hand through several position, and his team dissapeared into the undergrowth. He made himself comfy then looked through the scope; passing each hut in the village one-by-one. Just as he was beginning to think Varia wasn't even in the village, he noticed a tall figure standing at a large window. He knew it was Varia but did Varia see him? He was definetly looking in Troskas direction, but was he just briefing the horizon? Just as Troska started to wonder what may be giving his location away, Varia turned around and ligged on the window-frame. Troska breathed a sigh of relief. He knew this was an excellent opportunity to make the shot. He checked the edges of the village and saw his men in offence positions, waiting for the signal. Waiting for that single shot, when they would storm the base and confirm Varias death before making a swift exit.Troska marked his target.
He squeezed the trigger.
*Phhooooot*, the sound of a high-powered shot echoed around the valley.
The round hit the window Varia was stood behind and he fell...
Then got up again and ran out the room. Troskas heart sank; he couldn't believe it. Bullet-proof glass? The intel Troska had recieved told him the village defences were archaic, and the most advanced thing they had were sandbags. The intel also failed to make comment on the two tanks rolling over the hill opposite him. Troska checked the village and what he saw horrified him. His men were in a firefight... with over a hundred enemy soldiers. And more were pouring out of the huts. It was at this moment that Troska realised that there was a traitor in Intel core of the Russia Liberated HQ; and no-one would live to tell of it.
Troska was enraged that something like this could happen, and he wasn't going to let his team die for his naivety. He picked up his rifle and took aim at the soldiers encompassing his men. *Crack*, the sound resonated through the village as an enemy soldier fell. *Crack*, another round claiming another kill. But his efforts were in vein. He saw his men savagely being picked off one-by-one until the enemy turned their attention to him. There were still over seventy men and two tanks left, but Troska didn't flee. He carried on firing as the men below tackled the steep hill Troska was standing on. *Crack*, *Crack*, *Crack*. The world seemed to blur. For the first time in his adult life, a tear of emotion formed in Troskas eye. But he knew that there was no time for sorrow. He kept on firing. *Crack*, *Crack*, *Click*... *Click*. He was out of ammo.
He dropped the rifle and pulled out his pistol. He fired his entire magazine wildly down the hill. In retro-spect he realised he should have saved the ammo for close-combat but when seventy men are running up a hill to kill you, you can be excused for not thinking rationally. Troska searched his jacket and found a grenade in the left pocket. He considered blowing himself up but prefered the idea of taking down as many of those b*stards chasing him as he could. *Boom* He heard the sound of a man screaming and clutching his arm. He looked at the trail of dead that followed the army running at him. He looked at the mangled bodies. How un-human they looked. Troska stopped still. Reflecting on your life while scores of men are trying to kill you sounds crazy, but he realised something. The futility of life, of everything. What was the point. He didn't have any ammo left, but if he had, he would have stopped anyway. Why rob a son of his farther, a wife of her husband, a mother of her child. He fell to his knees and cried.
It was at this point the soldiers surrounded him, guns pointing at his head. Troska wasn't afraid of death, to him it was natures way of telling you you'd failed selection. The men split, forming a corridor into which Varia entered. He walked up to Troska and thumped him.
Alternate ending 1.
Troska was hunched over and Varia moved close to his ear and whispered a name. The name of the traitor. Varia put the gun to Troskas head. *Crack*.
Alternate ending 2.
Troska was hunched over and Varia moved close to his ear and whispered a name. The name of the traitor. Enraged by knowing the name of the traitor, Troska decided pacifism wasn't his thing. He carefully reached into his right pocket and withdrew a grenade.
"A sacrifice to benefit the all" he shouted before pulling the pin. *Boom*.
Alternate ending 3.
Troska was hunched over and Varia moved close to his ear and whispered a name. The name of the traitor. Varia put the gun to Troskas head. *Phhooooot*. Varia fell. *PhhoooPhhooooot*. The two men holding Troska collapsed on the floor. He didn't know what was going on but knowing chances like this don't occur everyday, he decided to abstein from a pacifist lifestyle. He pulled the two AK47s from beneath the dead soldiers laying next to him. He squeezed the triggers *du-du-du-du-du-du-du*. There was a monotiny about the sound of the gun, rather like the monotiny of death; but that was something to think about another time. As he looked for a clear path out the combat zone, three helicopters flew over the hill in front of him. Two were filled with snipers, picking off prey much like vultures. One helicopter was different to the rest, a ladder was dangling from the side, and it was heading for Troska. He didn't know who was in the the helicopter but it was likely to be someone a lot friendlier than on the ground. He grabbed on and clambered to the cabin.
"Who is the traitor?" shouted a voice from the cockpit. Not "How are you today?", or "are those boots new?" but "Who is the traitor?"
Troska shouted the traitors name back then was pulled aboard. He started to think if that had been the point of the mission. Not to kill Varia, but to find out who the traitor in intel is. He started to wonder if he would have been evacuated if he hadn't made contact with Varia. Troska felt betrayed; he stared at the ground miles below...
Inspired by the wonderful Operation Flashpoint: Resistance demo I play everyday. Also, notice the 3 alternate endings. After you've read the story, tell me which one you prefered most.
Location:
West Russian Border.
Time:
0600 hours.
Status:
7-man squad.
Provisions low.
Morale questionable...
The early morning sun lit up Troskas cracked, weathered face. A cool morning chill blew at his dry, ravaged grey hair as he scanned the horizon. As passing shadows danced in the early morning light, seven more-definite silhouettes crept along the sparse woodline. Over the brow of the hill just before them lay Old Tatru and Troskas first objective; assasinate captain Varia.
Troska was a military veteran, and no stranger to assasinations. After 30 years in the Russian Special Forces, death was his tool. Before his defection to the Russia Liberated army, Troska had carried out thousands of hits. One bullet, one empty head, no room for emotions of any kind. Varia would be no different.
Troska ordered his men to hold position in the relative safety of the wood; trees providing much better cover than grass. He pulled a pistol from the inside-pocket of his jacket and checked there were no enemy soldiers in the immediate proximity. He then started to sprint up the hill, stopping as he reached the top. He peeped his head over and saw the village of Old Tatru nestled in a lush green valley. It would have been a quaint place to retire to, were it not for fact it resided smack-bang in the middle of a war-zone. Troska wiped the cold-sweat from his forehead. His stamina was not what it once was, and three days on limited supplies in enemy territory was taking it's toll. While catching his breath, Troska went through in his mind the journey his team had faced so far.
Most of their equipment had been lost during drop-in; and much of what they were carrying now had been stolen from enemy supply dumps. There was one particular occasion he remembered well, probably because their cover was so very nearly blown. The team were exiting a large supply dump when Frazen, the rookie of the group, had been caught lagging in the laundry room. His feet had been aching relentlesly and all he wanted at that moment in time was a fresh pair of socks. As he tried to leave the room, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He dived into a nearby pile of sheets; and peeked at the man that had just walked in. He noticed the gaurd take off his boots and mumble about his aching feet. It looked like the gaurd wasn't in a hurry to leave the sanctum of the laundry room, so Frazen looked around for a way out. Just as he was contemplating the old 'all guns blazin' technique, he noticed several Russian uniforms piled on a shelf next to him. In what could either be interpreted as very brave or very stupid, Frazen put on the highest ranking uniform he could find. Armed with more pips than a bucket full of apples, Frazen slid out from under the sheets and marched toward the soldier. The poor gaurd didn't know what hit him as Frazen unleashed a barrage of insults, clipped the back of his head then walked out. And not just out the room, he walked out the front gate. Out the front gate! Unchallenged! Troska and his team watched in awe as he barked orders at a passing patrol, then quickly ran to the meeting point where they lay.
But Troska was daydreaming now, not catching his breath. He had to stay focused. He pulled the battered binocullars he was wearing up to his eyes. Five, maybe six gaurds in the village but no sign of Varia. Six men seemed a small number of people to hold such a tactically-signifficant position, but Troska dismissed this thought believing the other men to be on the front line a few miles away. Troska knew Varia may be in the underground bunker that Old Tatru housed. If that was the case they would have to wait until nightfall when he emerged. Whatever time, a long-distance killing would be the only viable option. If his team got in close, Varia may be alerted and flee to his bunker. He pulled the sniper rifle from his rucksack. Ordinarily he would have used his custom-model but since it had been lost at the start of the mission, he would have to settle for the one he borrowed from the enemy. Troska flicked his hand through several position, and his team dissapeared into the undergrowth. He made himself comfy then looked through the scope; passing each hut in the village one-by-one. Just as he was beginning to think Varia wasn't even in the village, he noticed a tall figure standing at a large window. He knew it was Varia but did Varia see him? He was definetly looking in Troskas direction, but was he just briefing the horizon? Just as Troska started to wonder what may be giving his location away, Varia turned around and ligged on the window-frame. Troska breathed a sigh of relief. He knew this was an excellent opportunity to make the shot. He checked the edges of the village and saw his men in offence positions, waiting for the signal. Waiting for that single shot, when they would storm the base and confirm Varias death before making a swift exit.Troska marked his target.
He squeezed the trigger.
*Phhooooot*, the sound of a high-powered shot echoed around the valley.
The round hit the window Varia was stood behind and he fell...
Then got up again and ran out the room. Troskas heart sank; he couldn't believe it. Bullet-proof glass? The intel Troska had recieved told him the village defences were archaic, and the most advanced thing they had were sandbags. The intel also failed to make comment on the two tanks rolling over the hill opposite him. Troska checked the village and what he saw horrified him. His men were in a firefight... with over a hundred enemy soldiers. And more were pouring out of the huts. It was at this moment that Troska realised that there was a traitor in Intel core of the Russia Liberated HQ; and no-one would live to tell of it.
Troska was enraged that something like this could happen, and he wasn't going to let his team die for his naivety. He picked up his rifle and took aim at the soldiers encompassing his men. *Crack*, the sound resonated through the village as an enemy soldier fell. *Crack*, another round claiming another kill. But his efforts were in vein. He saw his men savagely being picked off one-by-one until the enemy turned their attention to him. There were still over seventy men and two tanks left, but Troska didn't flee. He carried on firing as the men below tackled the steep hill Troska was standing on. *Crack*, *Crack*, *Crack*. The world seemed to blur. For the first time in his adult life, a tear of emotion formed in Troskas eye. But he knew that there was no time for sorrow. He kept on firing. *Crack*, *Crack*, *Click*... *Click*. He was out of ammo.
He dropped the rifle and pulled out his pistol. He fired his entire magazine wildly down the hill. In retro-spect he realised he should have saved the ammo for close-combat but when seventy men are running up a hill to kill you, you can be excused for not thinking rationally. Troska searched his jacket and found a grenade in the left pocket. He considered blowing himself up but prefered the idea of taking down as many of those b*stards chasing him as he could. *Boom* He heard the sound of a man screaming and clutching his arm. He looked at the trail of dead that followed the army running at him. He looked at the mangled bodies. How un-human they looked. Troska stopped still. Reflecting on your life while scores of men are trying to kill you sounds crazy, but he realised something. The futility of life, of everything. What was the point. He didn't have any ammo left, but if he had, he would have stopped anyway. Why rob a son of his farther, a wife of her husband, a mother of her child. He fell to his knees and cried.
It was at this point the soldiers surrounded him, guns pointing at his head. Troska wasn't afraid of death, to him it was natures way of telling you you'd failed selection. The men split, forming a corridor into which Varia entered. He walked up to Troska and thumped him.
Alternate ending 1.
Troska was hunched over and Varia moved close to his ear and whispered a name. The name of the traitor. Varia put the gun to Troskas head. *Crack*.
Alternate ending 2.
Troska was hunched over and Varia moved close to his ear and whispered a name. The name of the traitor. Enraged by knowing the name of the traitor, Troska decided pacifism wasn't his thing. He carefully reached into his right pocket and withdrew a grenade.
"A sacrifice to benefit the all" he shouted before pulling the pin. *Boom*.
Alternate ending 3.
Troska was hunched over and Varia moved close to his ear and whispered a name. The name of the traitor. Varia put the gun to Troskas head. *Phhooooot*. Varia fell. *PhhoooPhhooooot*. The two men holding Troska collapsed on the floor. He didn't know what was going on but knowing chances like this don't occur everyday, he decided to abstein from a pacifist lifestyle. He pulled the two AK47s from beneath the dead soldiers laying next to him. He squeezed the triggers *du-du-du-du-du-du-du*. There was a monotiny about the sound of the gun, rather like the monotiny of death; but that was something to think about another time. As he looked for a clear path out the combat zone, three helicopters flew over the hill in front of him. Two were filled with snipers, picking off prey much like vultures. One helicopter was different to the rest, a ladder was dangling from the side, and it was heading for Troska. He didn't know who was in the the helicopter but it was likely to be someone a lot friendlier than on the ground. He grabbed on and clambered to the cabin.
"Who is the traitor?" shouted a voice from the cockpit. Not "How are you today?", or "are those boots new?" but "Who is the traitor?"
Troska shouted the traitors name back then was pulled aboard. He started to think if that had been the point of the mission. Not to kill Varia, but to find out who the traitor in intel is. He started to wonder if he would have been evacuated if he hadn't made contact with Varia. Troska felt betrayed; he stared at the ground miles below...