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Author Topic: Bury My Heart at Kent State - Tales from the Apocalypse  (Read 119277 times)
RevDisk
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« Reply #425 on: January 15, 2012, 01:19:58 PM »


If anyone has a request for a name to be used for a particular character, PM me. Obviously will not be using real names without permission. 



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« Reply #426 on: November 08, 2012, 12:42:49 PM »

Time for an update. The hippy apocalypse is upon us, and we need a template for action damnit!
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« Reply #427 on: November 08, 2012, 02:44:45 PM »

Rev's writing the training manual as we speak....
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« Reply #428 on: November 08, 2013, 10:58:04 AM »

Couldn't help but notice it has been one full year with nothing new posted. Why do you hate us? Why?
 Cry
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jamisjockey
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« Reply #429 on: November 11, 2013, 08:51:28 AM »

How about moar fanfic in the near future? I'm sure I could get drunk and pen some outlandish hippy slaughtering adventures. AR15 Firing
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JD

 "Why'd you open your bonghole, you smelly hippie? You'd sacrifice a beautiful woman to save a moderately attractive monkey? You must have smoked some bad granola."
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« Reply #430 on: November 11, 2013, 09:29:28 AM »

How about moar fanfic in the near future? I'm sure I could get drunk and pen some outlandish hippy slaughtering adventures. AR15 Firing

I am up for that. Evil
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« Reply #431 on: November 12, 2013, 11:45:00 AM »

Couldn't help but notice it has been one full year with nothing new posted. Why do you hate us? Why?
 Cry

Because I'm writing two books in the series at once. And I'm noodling around with the third book already. Bury My Heart at Kent State will be the middle book. The first book is how Post Apocalyptic Enterprises comes into being. I think the first book will be more epic, but probably more gritty dark than I prefer. I want to keep Kent State up beat and perky.

Apocalyptic dystopian sci-fi should be fun.
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jamisjockey
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« Reply #432 on: November 12, 2013, 05:52:36 PM »

I brushed her long brown hair off my chest.  Even as a senior Non-Commissioned-Officer with my own berth, the bunk was narrow and the only way for us to sleep was with her head on my chest and her arm across my body.   It wasn't the most comfortable way to entertain a lady, but at sea there were few other options.  I really didn't sleep that much, anyways.
A gentle rapping came at the door.  I slid out from underneath her strong, tan body and padded to the door.
"What the *expletive deleted* do you want?"
"Gunny, Admiral needs you in the TOC.  Pronto."

The TOC was dark, save for one large projection screen, when I arrived, and there was only one seat left; right next to the SEAL detachment commander, Lieutenant Kush.  I sat, and eased in close to the Lieutenant.  
"What did I miss, frog face?"
"Nothing yet, dog breath."
Just then, the Admiral strolled into the room.  "Attention on deck!" came from one of the intel weenies closest to the Admiral's seat.  The room thundered as the dozen men around the table stood immediately.
"At ease, gentlemen!  Please, sit. "  It came out more as a request, than an order.  While everyone sat down, the Admiral didn't.  he was a constant ball of energy, and only sat when he was on the Bridge, or at the mess hall.  
"I'm going to cut straight to the chase, gentlemen." He looked at each of us, making eye contact, then picked up the remote for the TV.  He clicked over the first image.  It was two large, hourglass shaped smokestacks.
"This is the nuclear reactor located in Baxley, Georgia.  The hippies have pushed into the area, and are making modifications to the reactor.  Intel is clueless on what they are trying to attempt, but say it can't be good.  We need you to toss the hippies out of the objective, and deny them future operations in the area."  It was brass speak for "destroy the enemy and salt the *expletive deleted* earth."
The Admiral clicked the slide over.  An aerial image of some runways, hangers and buildings.  Another click, and a close up view of some of the buildings.
"This is Marine Corps Air Station Beaufort.  Intel believes we may be able to secure some supplies we need for both the mission and the fleet here.  So, yes, this mission is a two stage.  A supply vessel and the Iowa will sail into St. Helena sound, where you will embark to secure the Air Station.  From there, you will work your way inland to the nuclear power station and secure it.  Questions?"
I raised my hand, and was the only person to do so. The Admiral nodded in my direction.
"Sir, what is the distance from the Air Station to the reactor?"
He looked at an intel person nearby, who flipped a folder open and answered for the Admiral.
"One hundred thirty five miles by road.  A few less overland."


With the briefing over, we all shuffled into the passageway.  Lieutenant Kush turned, and stopped me just outside the hatch.
"*expletive deleted*, Gunny, this oughta be sporty."
"*expletive deleted*. Ya think?" I smirked at him.  "But how do you eat an Elephant, sir?"
That puzzled him.  Messing with officers was a favorite pastime of mine.
"With a fork, I guess."
"Wrong, god damnit."  I paused, and let the smirk spread wide.  "One bite at a time.  One bite at a time.
« Last Edit: August 25, 2015, 04:59:56 AM by jamisjockey » Logged

JD

 "Why'd you open your bonghole, you smelly hippie? You'd sacrifice a beautiful woman to save a moderately attractive monkey? You must have smoked some bad granola."
jamisjockey
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« Reply #433 on: November 12, 2013, 06:30:21 PM »

The pair of landing craft lurched up the river side by side in the fog.  Occasionally, the fog peeled back far enough for me to see the other craft, but mostly I could only surmise it's position from the growl of its engine.  
The coxswains were navigating off compass headings, speed and time.  I missed the GPS days, but the satellites had long ago slid from their orbits and plunged into the atmosphere with nobody monitoring them anymore.
We swung left, and the red light at the front of the craft flicked on.  A Navy crewman at the front held up two fingers.  Two minutes.  My Marines were well trained, and wordlessly thirty-six weapons were readied.  I breathed in hard through my nose.  Coastal marshes were alive, vibrant places, and their scent was one of my favorite smells.  Next to the smell of a woman, anyways.
Then, we were there.  The craft slid up on the narrow slit of beach we had selected at the north east end of runway 23 at the old air station.  There was a lot of open ground we would need to cover, but the sea fog would help us with that.  Meanwhile, the twelve seals of detachment Charlie would be working their way from the south west to secure the munitions bunkers located to the north west of the runway.  We were tasked with heading south west to secure the base.  Not an easy task with a mere seventy two Marines.  
The ramp dropped, and I stepped onto the sand.  First off, as always.  As my platoon fanned out to push inland, a new smell invaded my nostrils.  A smell we knew all too well, it was a mixture of death and expended ordnance.    Just at that moment the fog parted, revealing a lone figure standing above the landing zone.  He was tall, and wore a long duster that flapped in the wind.  His head was adorned with a black gangster fedora.  Small, round sunglasses covered his eyes.  His left hand, gloved, was raised to the sky.  His right held a briefcase.
Instinct told me to order my men to open fire.  Curiosity, however, overrode that idea.
"Hold fire!" I shouted.  First squad pushed forward and split into fire-teams.  One and three split left and right to secure the forward perimiter.  Second fire team enveloped the large man, pointing their rifles at him and then waited for their next command.  Perfectly textbook.
"Gunny.  I'd like a chat."  He called down.  *expletive deleted* it.  I dropped my rifle so that it hung on its sling in front of me and walked up.  
"Who the hell are you and what the *expletive deleted* are you doing in my L-Z, boy?"  The man was a monster.  I came up to his nipples.
"My name's Fitz.  Human Resources.  I'd like to talk."
« Last Edit: August 25, 2015, 05:03:37 AM by jamisjockey » Logged

JD

 "Why'd you open your bonghole, you smelly hippie? You'd sacrifice a beautiful woman to save a moderately attractive monkey? You must have smoked some bad granola."
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« Reply #434 on: November 12, 2013, 06:39:41 PM »

Quote
The man was a monster. I came up to his nipples zipper.

FIFY   grin
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jamisjockey
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« Reply #435 on: November 12, 2013, 06:43:01 PM »

FIFY   grin

Hey now.  I wasn't Navy.  I don't roll that way.   laugh
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JD

 "Why'd you open your bonghole, you smelly hippie? You'd sacrifice a beautiful woman to save a moderately attractive monkey? You must have smoked some bad granola."
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« Reply #436 on: November 12, 2013, 07:04:08 PM »

Hey now.  I wasn't Navy.  I don't roll that way.   laugh

But you made such a butch sailor.....
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jamisjockey
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« Reply #437 on: November 12, 2013, 07:04:35 PM »

He motioned to the side, so I walked with him.  I noted we were headed onto the runway.  His strides were chopped, like a tall man forcing himself to walk slowly.  It suited me fine; I expected a lot of walking between here and the reactor. 
"Human Resources?  You took my *expletive deleted*ing device."  A hesitation in his stride.  We'd missed each other by hours, and he knew it.
"I'm not here about the device.  No.  I'm here about your mission." 
"What the *expletive deleted*ck do you know about my mission?"  I looked up at him, but he continued to stare straight ahead.  First squad followed behind, spread out with second fire team ready to mow this ugly son of a bitch down at the first sign of trouble.
"The base. Then the reactor.  Your OPSEC is fine against the hippies.  But we know where you're going, when you're going and what you're doing before you do." His stride slowed.  Out of the gloom, I noted piles of something.  The it hit me.  Bodies.  Stacked neatly, in rows on the runway were hippy bodies. 
Suddenly, the wall of a man named Fitz stopped, and turned.  Safeties on weapons snapped off behind us.
"To be honest, my organization has done its best to steer clear of what's left of the United States military.  But these *expletive deleted*ing hippies keep interfering with our daily operations, and that is a problem to us."
I returned his glare.
"And how is that my problem?"
He pondered it for a moment.
"Gunny, I suppose it isn't.  But here, at this point and time, our problems have intersected.  I could use your help.  And you could use mine."  He held the briefcase out, slowly, obviously mindful of the four rifles pointed at his head from the rear.
"You see, we already secured the base. " He waved at the nearest pile of dead hippies.
"There are operational aircraft ready to be flown back to your carrier.  Two V-22 osprey, five UH-1 Hueys, and the crown jewel is the eleven operational F/A18 Super Hornet strike fighters.  We also have readied a fleet of vehicles to assist you in your road march on the reactor."
I pondered this for a moment.  The same organization that had snatched the device from under my nose, and left my Marines to ambush at the hands of the hippies, was handing me a gift.  Why?
 "Why, Gunny?  I know you're thinking it.  Well, it's simple.  If you hit the reactor, hard and fast, it frees up my men for operations elsewhere against the hippies.  Our organization needs the hippies to be knocked on their ass.  Normally, we'd do that ourselves.  But when I'm given the opportunity to initiate a two-front war against them, I'd rather not skip it.  Capiche?"
I pondered the proposal for a moment.  It made sense.  It reminded me of the Arabic proverb.
"The enemy of my enemy, eh?"
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JD

 "Why'd you open your bonghole, you smelly hippie? You'd sacrifice a beautiful woman to save a moderately attractive monkey? You must have smoked some bad granola."
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« Reply #438 on: November 15, 2013, 09:06:53 AM »

Because I'm writing two books in the series at once. And I'm noodling around with the third book already. Bury My Heart at Kent State will be the middle book. The first book is how Post Apocalyptic Enterprises comes into being. I think the first book will be more epic, but probably more gritty dark than I prefer. I want to keep Kent State up beat and perky.

Apocalyptic dystopian sci-fi should be fun.

Thanks for the update, Rev.  I was hoping you were working on a book version.  Two books and eventually three is even moar better!
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« Reply #439 on: November 15, 2013, 08:46:22 PM »

Pretty good Jamis.  However, two small quibbles.

1.  Having a Lt Baxley and a mission to Baxley, GA is one too many Baxley's.  Wink

2.  In the original Story Arc.  Scout26 is the head of HR, but I'm good with Fitz being one of my loyal operatives.  grin
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Bring me my Broadsword and a clear understanding.
Get up to the roundhouse on the cliff-top standing.
Take women and children and bed them down.
Bless with a hard heart those that stand with me.
Bless the women and children who firm our hands.
Put our backs to the north wind.
Hold fast by the river.
Sweet memories to drive us on for the motherland.
jamisjockey
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« Reply #440 on: November 16, 2013, 01:28:55 PM »

Pretty good Jamis.  However, two small quibbles.

1.  Having a Lt Baxley and a mission to Baxley, GA is one too many Baxley's.  Wink

2.  In the original Story Arc.  Scout26 is the head of HR, but I'm good with Fitz being one of my loyal operatives.  grin

Yep I missed that.  In my defense, I was drinking.
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JD

 "Why'd you open your bonghole, you smelly hippie? You'd sacrifice a beautiful woman to save a moderately attractive monkey? You must have smoked some bad granola."
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« Reply #441 on: November 21, 2013, 08:36:14 AM »

Yep I missed that.  In my defense, I was drinking.

Gee, wasn't a problem for Hemingway...
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« Reply #442 on: November 22, 2013, 01:27:39 AM »

Gee, wasn't a problem for Hemingway...

Needs more practice?
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jamisjockey
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« Reply #443 on: November 22, 2013, 08:00:40 AM »

Needs more practice?

Clearly with both the drinking and the writing.
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JD

 "Why'd you open your bonghole, you smelly hippie? You'd sacrifice a beautiful woman to save a moderately attractive monkey? You must have smoked some bad granola."
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« Reply #444 on: September 15, 2014, 01:21:48 PM »

http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2014/09/15/urban-outfitters-red-stained-vintage-kent-state-sweatshirt-is-not-a-smart-look-this-fall/
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« Reply #445 on: September 15, 2014, 01:31:53 PM »


Want.


I spent a summer at Ft. Knox (CTLT) with a cadet from Kent State.  He referred to it as "Combat College".
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Some days even my lucky rocketship underpants won't help.


Bring me my Broadsword and a clear understanding.
Get up to the roundhouse on the cliff-top standing.
Take women and children and bed them down.
Bless with a hard heart those that stand with me.
Bless the women and children who firm our hands.
Put our backs to the north wind.
Hold fast by the river.
Sweet memories to drive us on for the motherland.
RevDisk
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« Reply #446 on: September 16, 2014, 08:35:12 AM »

I'm extremely tempted to make my own line of parody Kent State shirts.
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jamisjockey
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« Reply #447 on: September 21, 2014, 05:46:21 AM »

I wrapped the shmegah around my face, hoping it would help with the smell.  Several thousand unwashed bodies camped out inside of the perimeter of a nuclear power plant put off a terrible stench.  Sgt Smith showed me the Geiger counter again.  In disbelief, I'd asked to see it four times in the last ten minutes.
"*expletive deleted*ck me."  I still didn't get how the facility had remained intact, and judging by the steam pouring from the stacks, even operational.  Normal radiation levels were reported from all sides of the plant. 
I waved Lieutenant Dudley over. Despite being deep into the woods and out of view of prying eyes, we still moved slow, took a knee behind a tree, and whispered.
"Sir, I don't like it one bit."  He looked at me skeptically.
"Gunny, it's just some hippies.  The plan is solid."  Of course it was.  It was my plan.  Hitting the hippies at 0400 under night vision goggles would be like slaughtering babies in the crib. 
"It ain't that." I checked over both shoulders to make sure nobody was eavesdropping on us.  "How is it that HR has the device, then provides us with operational vehicles and extra intel, and pretty much a map of every hippy position, tent, and even has the sentry's schedule down to the minute?"
"It's a trap."
"No. I don't think it's a trap.  Not in that sense.  No, I think they want this facility or something in it, and they think that having us knock it down will make that happen.  I think it's a setup."
The LT rubbed his forehead, smearing his camouflage paint in the process.  Clearly I was upsetting him, not that I cared.  Orders were orders, and we were to wipe this infestation of hippies out, secure the plant if possible, and try to determine what they were doing here.
"One problem at a time, Gunny.  Hippies first, then we figure out what HR wants."
"Rah." 


No matter how slow you walk, no matter how careful each step is, when you're trying to sneak through the night each footfall sounds like an earthquake in your own ear.  Multiplied by thirty, I had to trust that the platoon was watching each step carefully.
Under the green hue of my goggles, I could see the gaping hole cut through the outer and inner perimeter fences.  Four Marines were fanned out inside the hole, kneeling with weapons pointed into a 180* arc.  Beyond the fence was our target, a trench dug by the hippies all the way around the facility. 
Simple plans were the best, usually, and this was as simple as it got.  Once we were in the trench, Bravo Company would open up the gates of hell on the sleeping hippies camped in the open lawns of the facility.  Mortars, 40 mike-mikes, fifty-cals and a half dozen 7.62mm mini guns  would chew through their tents and mobile homes.  From the trenches, First and Second platoons of Alpha Company would encircle the facility.  Once the shooting stopped, Second platoon would sweep the camps for intel and survivors.  An easy job if Bravo Co. does their job right.  Hippies had numbers, but were dumber than a box of hammers.  Most of the time. 
I would then take First and breach the facility. 
We dropped into the trench, and I followed First platoon to the right.  There would be no signal to initiate, we were running on time alone.  One minute after the last man dropped into the trench, I heard the muffled "wumphs" of the 6 mortars being fired.  And then the sky above the trench ripped open as every weapon dug into the tree-line raked the hippies positions in the open.  Every few yards, I had to step over a dead sentry as I picked my way along the trench to the point closest to the facilities main doors.  The defenses were well thought out, but poorly executed.  It warmed my heart how easily we could exploit the hippies lack of preparation.
Five minutes and the barrage ended.  I poked my head up from the trench.  The campground was shredded.  Hippy parts and equipment and tents were strewn about.  Small fires burned here and there, smoking and cracking and popping.  The combined smells assaulted my nose through the shmegah. 
Second platoon was already up and moving, poking through the destruction with fixed bayonets.  Rifle ammunition tended to be a premium, so any survivors would simply be run though. 
First Platoon moved smartly to the main entrance, dividing into squads.  One would cover, two would breach and clear.  In my opinion, these next steps would be the hardest of the mission.  We didn't know the layout of the building within, how many hippies were inside, nor the condition of the equipment. 
Sgt Hansen, Second Platoon's Platoon leader came up and grabbed me by the elbow.
"Gunny, you gotta see this."
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JD

 "Why'd you open your bonghole, you smelly hippie? You'd sacrifice a beautiful woman to save a moderately attractive monkey? You must have smoked some bad granola."
SADShooter
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« Reply #448 on: September 29, 2014, 09:30:01 AM »

You mean shemagh?

Yours reads a bit too close to smegma...
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"Ah, is there any wine so sweet and intoxicating as the tears of a hippie?"-Tamara, View From the Porch
jamisjockey
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« Reply #449 on: September 29, 2014, 10:14:09 AM »

You mean shemagh?

Yours reads a bit too close to smegma...

I didn't spell check it, was writing without internet access. 
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JD

 "Why'd you open your bonghole, you smelly hippie? You'd sacrifice a beautiful woman to save a moderately attractive monkey? You must have smoked some bad granola."
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