Corbec = am win. That is all. -Pyroshark-

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] squirrel dude Though, It feels like you are giving the Floodians a lot of lucky advantages. [/quote] Such is the benefit of having an Armada on your side. [quote]How many are left anyway?[/quote] Around twenty? Maybe less. I can't remember.

Nice. Though, It feels like you are giving the Floodians a lot of lucky advantages. How many are left anyway?

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] js2096 Then I looked at it and all I can say is that you sir, are a liar.[/quote] Who, me?

I was willing to go along with the idea that his story [i]might[/i] be better, since I envisaged each link containing pages of text. Then I looked at it and all I can say is that you sir, are a liar.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] X Rampancy X You're a meany.[/quote] Excuse me for taking offence at the idea my weeks of work doesn't compare to poor dialogue and ten minutes on Google Images.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Colonel Corbec I read about two lines before losing patience with that thing. Pictures of Jessica Alba are bad enough. But cobbling it into a story? Listen, that effort 808 made is pathetic and you know it, even for a joke, which I sincerely hope it was. [/quote] You're a meany.

I read about two lines before losing patience with that thing. Pictures of Jessica Alba are bad enough. But cobbling it into a story? Listen, that effort 808 made is pathetic and you know it, even for a joke, which I sincerely hope it was.

Your story crumbles in comparison to Eight Oh 8 States legendary "This is the story of a girl..." You'll see.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] js2096 You're on holiday you dirty git! You should be churning story out like there's no tomorrow. [/quote] I also have yet to do a single thing involving my Geography Coursework...

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Colonel Corbec Thank you. No idea when the next part's going to stumble along, though.[/quote] You're on holiday you dirty git! You should be churning story out like there's no tomorrow. Very enjoyable though, can't wait for the ending.

Thank you. No idea when the next part's going to stumble along, though.

Brilliant!

The traitorous gun-runners were not so lucky. When the first planes screamed in overhead, they dropped napalm canisters containing Kerosene, White Phosphorous so that the flames could not be extinguished, and polystyrene so that the burning petrochemical jelly would stick to whatever surface it landed on. Including skin. Tedi Slayer died a frenzied, painful death with his followers, coated head to toe in a burning mixture, he choked on the melted fat of his own skin and lips. All over the island, if the wind was blowing in the right direction, the reek of cooking human flesh could be smelt. All of those who survived the initial burning died of suffocation, however. So great where the fires burning all around them, that the Oxygen in the air around it was completely depleted. A point of much heated debate in times to come was who was luckier? The ones who burned to death? Or those who suffocated? The entire headland seemed like one giant bridge of fire to the pilot who delivered the Bunker-Buster. He also grimly observed human torches tumbling from the edge of the headland like tiny, burning comets. The Bunker-Buster, using a hardened Tungsten nose-cone and a rocket motor to pierce the outer skin of the bunker, a computerised micro controller within the rocket recorded the depth that the warhead had penetrated to. Once at the correct depth, it exploded with terrifying results. The entire communications centre seemed to rupture from within, the exterior cracking apart like an egg with soil and debris flying in every possible direction. An entire half of the once formidable structure fell away from the headland and plummeted into the sea. Everyone inside was killed instantly, and almost perversely, the Floodians at home watching the performance loved every second. [i]“But we have failed him. A tragedy of this magnitude has already been wrought upon us all, yet lessons were not learnt. And so, it is with great shame that I resign my position within the Department Of Civil Protection, and other Intelligence Agencies.”[/i] [Edited on 08.02.2007 11:01 AM PDT]

“Corbec! Corbec! Where are you!?” JS’s voice feebly crackled through the earpiece. “Mike, raise him on the radio set.” Corbec ordered. The radio set had a higher gain than the weak, short-range earpieces. An important fact considering that they were now inside the Forsaken’s concrete bunker. Using C4, the small team had blown the heavy metal door off of its hinges. “I’ve got him.” Mike said, passing the headset to Corbec. “JS? You there?” “I’m here, but where are you?!” JS replied, his voice stronger now because of the radio set, but still slightly choppy. “Inside the bunker. What about you? What’s going on up there? We’re hearing a small war right now.” “It’s Osoona’s lot! They betrayed us! They’ve pushed us back to the bunker, but we can’t get inside, the doors are locked up tight.” “Are you holding out? Did you try to blow the doors with C4?” “We’re trying to keep them back, but no promises. And we tried blasting the doors, but they’re too thick.” JS said, then added: “Oh, -blam!-! HEADS UP!” The dull crump of a grenade going off followed shortly. Corbec looked quizzically at the charred metal slab on the floor by his feet. Their door had come off like a charm. Maybe the ones above were a different variety. The doorway, open and scarred by scorch marks to his left, sat opposite to the stairs built into the wall on his right. “Listen, JS, we’re coming up to get those doors open for you, OK?” Only booming gunfire and static replied. Corbec handed the headset back to Mike. “I want a Napalm strike in to toast the traitors ASAP, and follow it up with a Bunker Buster Bomb on this bunker.” He snapped, checking his AK was ready for action. He loved that type of gun, if such a thing was possible. Of all the weapons in the vast arsenal he had encountered, nothing was more profitable than the Avtomat Kalashnikova model of 1947, more commonly known as the AK-47. An elegantly simple nine pound amalgamation of forged steel and plywood, it didn't break, jam, or overheat. It would fire whether it's covered in mud or filled with sand. It's so easy even a child could use it, and they most certainly did. Some put the gun on their coins, others on their flag. Corbec couldn’t blame them. “Why!?” Mike asked, slightly worried he would be bringing bombs onto his own position. “We’ll never destroy the enemy communications equipment here otherwise, now hurry!” Corbec shouted, dashing to the stairs and taking them two at a time. Along the way, Mike relayed the instructions to a concerned Navy coordinator, and Corbec outlined his plan. They would open up a way for those above to get inside, then withdraw through where they themselves had entered the bunker, hopefully before friendly aviation blew them to pieces. Without stopping, they bounded up two levels, ignoring signs directing them to various radio controller stations. Then Corbec noticed something. They were on the second level up from their starting point, and a simple metal door-nothing like the bulkhead they had blown up earlier-was to one side. Next to it, an arrow marked “Anti-Aircraft Control” pointed to the doorway, and another pointed upward, marked “Entrance.” “What’s wrong?” Mike asked. “We don’t know if the AA defences are down!” Corbec said, putting a hand to his forehead. “Alright, you lot head upstairs, get those doors open now! I’ll deal with the AA guns.” With that, Corbec kicked down the door and barged in, stopping any protest before it began. Left with no choice, the remainder forged onward. Corbec found himself in a bare, well-lit concrete corridor, with possibly only minutes left to live. AK raised to his armpit, he moved in a tensed posture, ready to dive aside at the first hint of trouble. Another sign pointed him down a right turn toward this “Anti-Aircraft” place. The construction of the bunker certainly seemed sound, very well done. Who knew? Maybe a generation of amateur bunker-builders would be spawned after this display? Corbec approached another doorway, with “Anti-Aircraft Control” emblazoned on the front. He steeled himself, then smacked the door with all the force he could put behind his booted heel. With the partition falling off its hinges, the occupants inside were surprised, to say the least. Four of them were sitting at computers on desks with screens showing live images and radar returns. Needless to say, Emperor Corbec, armed with an old AK47 rifle, face smeared with camouflage paint, a bright red bandana around his forehead and clad in standard-issue combat fatigues was not a normal sight for them. They weren’t given long to enjoy the view though, as Corbec swept the room with a prolonged burst and shot their brains out. Even before some of the corpses had slumped from their chairs, Corbec had reached one of the computers. Familiarising himself with the set-up, Corbec noted the two screens and the keyboard by them. One showed the radar returns, and the other was a live-action feed from a camera on the platform itself. Peering closer, Corbec realised that the four platforms were all on the bunker top itself! That they had avoided detection was strange, but that they had survived the artillery earlier was even stranger. Corbec tried tapping with the keys of the keyboard, trying them out. After initial experimentation, he found that, much like a computer game, he could turn the platform to face in a certain direction. Smiling like he was some sort of ten-year-old with a new toy, Corbec swivelled one of the turrets to face its nearest counterpart. Then realised he didn’t know how to fire the damn thing. A look of confusion and annoyance on his face, Corbec decided to hit the keyboard with the palm of his hand. Suddenly, there was the roar of a missile firing heard over the camera link, and one of the platforms was blasted into fragments. “That’s what I’m talking about!” Corbec cheered, aimed again, mashed the keys again, and took down another platform. He repeated the process, then destroyed his own platform by changing the angle of the platform to face the ground, then unleashing the last missile. With all the Anti-Air defences simply smoking wrecks now, the path for the incoming fighter-bombers would be clear. All that remained was for the Floodians to get out of here. Tartan pulled the pin on his grenade, thrust it into the mouth of the hollering smuggler he was fighting, then pushed him back down the headland. The man tumbled along for a few moments, then exploded into shrapnel made of both meat and metal, killing another four of his friends. Beside him, JS raked a full-auto blaze back and forth. His weapon seemed to be the one thing deterring the enemy from making these massed charges. Even with extended clips, most of the other weapons seemed to run through the clip on fully automatic in no time. Only the one-hundred-round drums of JS’s M4 kept up the persistent fire required, albeit the barrel was perilously close to overheating. The smugglers had very nearly broken them this time, making it up to the lips of the craters the new defenders sheltered in. Instead, reeling from the Floodian sting, the enemy withdrew to the ramparts for cover. No Floodian wasted ammunition by firing at them now. The attackers left dozens of corpses strewn over the short, open stretch of ground between the last line of ramparts and the Floodians. Tartan took a closer look at one of the closer corpses, thinking that he had seen something. He could see a slight, white smudge around the nostrils of the deceased foe. “JS.” Tartan said, tapping him on the shoulder. “Yeah?” “They’re high.” Tartan said, pointing to other corpses, all with white marks around their nose. “Makes sense, I don’t see anyone sane or sober trying to tackle us like this.” They both jumped when they heard something drop into the crater behind them, clinking the hundreds of spent shell casings pooling at the bottom. Tartan span around, and nearly shot Mike D Halo King in surprise. “Bloody hell!” Tartan snapped. “Don’t do that! I nearly killed you!” “Sorry to disturb you, but I’m here to say that not only is one of the doors open, but friendly aircraft are en route to Napalm this region-” “What?” JS said, worriedly casting a glance up to the sky. “-and deliver a Bunker Buster onto the centre itself.” “So it’s decided, we’re getting out of here.” Tartan said. He reached to his belt and drew a smoke grenade. JS did the same. “Team, listen up. Pop smoke grenades to cover yourself and withdraw through the entrance Corbec’s lot opened up from the inside. Meet me in the bunker and we’ll move on from there. Understood?” Tartan said into his radio earpiece. A swathe of confirmations, albeit bemused ones, came back to him. “Alright, throw the smokes!” Tartan declared, throwing his own and turning to follow Mike, who was already on his way. The traitors, blinded by a green smoke which originated as if from nowhere to them, were unable to stop the Floodians slipping away. Inside the bunker, Corbec explained his plan to the Floodians as a whole, and they promptly followed it. Once at the point where Corbec’s small band had broken in, Tartan fired his own climbing aid into the headland hanging over the sheer drop. The plan was for him to jump off the side, and the weight of his body would extend the cable so the rest of the team could abseil down behind him. Then Corbec helpfully pointed out he had no climbing gear left. So, making sure his grip was secure, it was Corbec, not Tartan, who threw himself off a two-hundred foot drop. Fortunately, nothing went wrong for the Floodians, and they were all evacuated before the air strike.

“Sir! Are you alright!?” Mike D Halo King asked, rushing to Corbec’s side. The three other Floodians present fought their way to them and separated the Forsaken from their leader. “Give me a hand up!” Corbec snapped, taking Mike’s hand and pulling himself upright. Corbec looked at the clamouring, thrashing Forsaken, barely held back by the Death Game contestants, then behind him. Taking stock of the situation, Corbec saw the edge of the headland about twenty-five feet behind away. Staying here wasn’t a sensible option-they’d be overwhelmed sometime and attempting escape over the ramparts was suicide. They might get gunned down as they fled to the edge of the headland, but perhaps they could make an escape attempt there. “Throw a frag, and we make a break for it.” Corbec said. “What!?” Mike asked, confused. “Throw a grenade to cover us, and we run for the cliff edge!” Corbec shouted, making his intention clear to the group. “Frag out!” Mike yelled, and bowled a grenade under the legs of the Floodians screening him. With that, the Floodians promptly “ran like hell,” to put it in a technical term. With all the Floodians beating it for their very lives, the Forsaken were taken slightly off-guard. Then one of them noticed the grenade. They scattered, but three still died in the explosion, despite their efforts. Not looking back to see the shrapnel flying and enemies dying, Corbec made it to the cliff edge first. He looked up at the serenely clear blue sky, then down at the similarly clear blue sea below, gently lapping on a sandy coast two hundred feet below. To his left, the edge was blocked by a rampart. But to his right, a narrow ledge jutted out, offering a purchase. While the headland continued to slope upward from it, the ledge continued on a flat level. Corbec squinted, and spotted a wider platform with a metal bulkhead door built into the rock wall itself. “There!” He shouted, pointing at his discovery. “How do you we get across!?” One volunteer remarked, noting the frail appearance of the ledge: “It looks so unstable.” “I’ve got just the thing.” Mike replied, unhooking a large black tube, with a clearly visible trigger built in and a join on the front end of the device. Each competitor had been issued one-it was a single shot climbing aid, using compressed gas to shoot a line from the frontal section, with an almost spear-like metal attachment on the end. Inside, miles of cable has been looped around each other, ready for use-designed to even pierce metal, it could provide a sturdy hold for any climber. Moving fast, Mike aimed and fired. The tube’s front end shot off in a haze of white smoke, and the cable had secured itself in the rock. Now, it provided a safety line for the Floodians attempting to cross the seemingly unreliable ledge. The problem was, the climbing aid had been designed for heading in a vertical direction, not horizontally. Mike was forced to jam the tube into a small opening to hold it in place. Without looking back, The Floodians hastily made their way across. Back on the Headland itself, the Forsaken who had survived the grenade looked around in a daze. But then Tartan and the other Floodians appeared on the rampart to their side, armed to the teeth. They didn’t even have to aim as they corralled the trapped enemy, just shoot in a vague direction. In a couple of seconds, the Forsaken were all dead, riddled by Floodian bullets. “About time you showed up.” Tedi Slayer said, his annoyance clear. He looked around. “Where’s the rest?” “A tree fell across the road, our route was blocked. The others were trying to clear it while we went on ahead.” Squirrel Dude replied. He and Snap017 were talking to Tedi Slayer, hidden in the trees looking onto the devastated approach to the comms centre. “And Osoona is dead?” Snap asked, wanting reassurance that the Forsaken weren’t going to be stabbed in the back. “I did it myself. Told Corbec that he broke his leg, and had to stay back.” Tedi smiled, rubbing his goatee. “You don’t get pushed off a cliff and only break a leg.” “So, Osoona is an impact splatter now. Good, Pyroshark will be pleased.” Squirrel Dude nodded appreciatively. “But why have you got some of your own people out there with the Floodians?” Snap said, pointing at the smugglers standing by the volunteers. “I sent them out because I was concerned about their loyalty to Osoona. The only people with us in this forest are the ones who agreed that getting our revenge on Corbec was the most important matter at hand.” Snap and Squirrel Dude looked to each other, a little more convinced. “You’ve attacked our people out there-” Snap said, jerking a thumb at the smoking craters where the Forsaken machineguns had been. “But not the Floodians. Why?” “I figured that there would be better chances in our favour when you brought more of your lot for the attack on Corbec, and I helped them out only to make it seem I was still on their side.” Snap and Squirrel Dude looked at the Floodians, still vulnerable and in the open. “Attack now.” Snap ordered. “What?” Tedi Slayer asked incredulously. “Attack them now. Our people will be along shortly.” Squirrel Dude urged. “Now is the best time!” Tartan 118 was waving at the trees from the top of a battle-damaged rampart in a sign that all was clear. The Forsaken defenders were dead, so they should be coming out by now. But no reply was coming. “I don’t like this.” Tartan admitted to Js, who stood by his side. JS was getting a terrible feeling in his gut that told him things were going to head south any minute. “They’re not coming.” JS whispered. “They’re not coming.” He repeated, louder this time. “What?” “Get into cover, something’s gone wrong.” JS warned, taking Tartan by the arm, trying to drag him away. “You’re not making any sense!” Tartan argued. As if on cue, the rockets started firing at that very instant. Just as before, ten rocket launchers simultaneously loosed their payloads on the already scarred headland. But this time, they headed for their former allies. The smugglers sent forward to assist the Floodians were all killed in the first few explosions, their limbs and bodies coming apart in grisly displays back dropped by flame. Two Floodians were sent flying over the edge with one explosion while one more was gored by a dead rocket. The explosive charge never went off, but the boy was killed just by having a blunt instrument spear his torso at dozens of miles per hour. “Run! Up the hill!” JS screamed over the concussive blasts that hurled dirt and people everywhere. The Floodians as one turned and started pounding over the difficult ramparts for the very positions they had transformed into craters. Then the shooting started. A broad range of weaponry blazed away with a hail of rounds, puckering the ground and killing another Floodian outright. In an almost suicidal scramble for safety, the Floodians braved this barrage, making it to the mess of craters before the concrete bunker. “Take up position! Fire when you have a target! And JS!?” Tartan yelled into his radio, dropping carelessly one of the scorched holes. The Floodians rested their guns on the lip of the craters they were in, marvelling at the sheer irony of the situation. “What?” JS replied, coming to Tartan’s side. “Help me find a way inside that bunker, and any Forsaken survivors around here.” Crouched low to avoid any of the whickering gunfire originating form the trees, and dropping flat when another RPG screeched in, Tartan and JS dispatched three Forsaken survivors, and found two heavy bulkhead doors for entry into the bunker. Desperate to get to the relative safety inside, they tried blasting the doors with Plastic Explosives, but to no avail. “What now?” JS asked, his throat hoarse from shouting too much. “I have no effing idea.” Tartan replied bluntly, flinching as an RPG blew up not far away. JS was about to reply when he heard the smugglers battle cry. Screaming at the top of their lungs, three hundred bodies or more, were rushing from the trees, cresting the first ramparts through sheer momentum. Bullets picked off another Floodian, and RPGs tumbled on the embattled volunteer’s position. “The bastards!” Tartan cried, then ran to the nearest spot he could shoot from, along with JS. “Hold and repulse! Hold and repulse!” JS was barking into his radio while setting up his M4. It was modified with a drum magazine holding one hundred bullets, all told, a bipod stand and improved grips. So in essence, it was more of a light machinegun than the rifle it was designed to be. He set up the bipod mount, thumbed off the safety, flicked the gun setting to fully automatic and fired-scything down a batch of the enemy as they took a rampart running. JS shifted his aim, mercilessly gunning down a long line of the onrushing foe as they breasted that same rampart. Further along the uneven Floodian line, Girly Spartan took twelve kills with the twelve bullets in her first clip, reloaded and took aim again. She sighted one of the enemy armed with an RPG. He was reloading in preparation for another shot. Girly let the man finish, then placed a bullet in his eye. His nerve endings taken in death throes, the dead man’s fingers pulled the RPG’s trigger spoon while the weapon was still aimed at the ground. The rocket proceeded to blow up the corpse of its owner, along with another ten of his comrades. But the charge only slowed so the enemy could pass the corpses of their friends. The Floodians wiped the sweat from their eyes after reloading, and kept on firing. The enemy was just getting closer and closer…

Behind them, JS was scheming. In the midst of all this crap, with bullets zipping this way and that, who knew what bad stuff might just happen? Maybe Corbec could take a bullet to the head, and it could be passed off as an accident? What if, say, a grenade landed at his feet? It could easily be pegged on the smugglers they were working with. Such were the ideas running through his mind at the time, but they were plagued with a problem. That being, this area was probably the most intensely watched part of the world right now. So how, exactly, could he make Corbec’s death look accidental in front of the entire Empire? What neither JS or Corbec could see though was that ten Forsaken gunmen had broken from their positions, and were hurriedly making their way downhill, so they could wipe out the Floodians while they were pinned by machinegun fire. But then came the artillery, the soldiers’ best friend and worst nightmare. With a haunting, eerie whistle the heavy shells started to plummet amongst the Forsaken positions. Two gun nests were obliterated in one tremendous blast, killing everyone within them and claiming another ten victims. More pounded great craters into the earth or ripping devastating tears into the concrete exterior of the communication base. Once again, humans were tossed skyward despite gravity’s best efforts, all in various states of dismemberment. The stunning show of superiority lasted for three whole minutes, with shells churning the ground into craters, then blasting smaller craters into those, as if like the surface of some ancient moon. But suddenly, the terrifying wail of shells halted, leaving a desolate scene and total silence. Gingerly, JS peeked his head over the top of the rampart he sheltered behind. Smoke obscured everything beyond where Corbec and the others cowered, and his ears were ringing non-stop. “I think we got them.” JS whispered to no-one in particular. Suddenly, a shot rang out, and a bullet split the air. Viewers all across the Empire yelped in surprise. Never before had they been treated to such drama! Even some oppressed Septagonians and Undergroundicans, though knowing the Forsaken fought for their liberation, privately admitted to enjoying the show. The bullet very nearly hit JS’s head, but destroyed his helmet-mounted camera instead. He dropped to the ground, shocked by the close brush with death and desperate to avoid another one. But JS allowed a slight smile. Things had just got a lot easier for him. Barely five feet away, Corbec surged to his feet, grabbing Mike by his collar and whoever else he could grab, then dragging them upright as well. “Over the top! Over the top!” He ordered with some kind of triumphant tone in his voice. Corbec then scrambled over the lip of the rampart himself. From there he could see the smoke quickly recede with a strong gust of wind. The gun nests had totally disappeared, replaced by craters and burning corpses. The bunker concrete was clearly cracked in many places, and apparently, a bare handful of mutilated survivors was all that remained of the Forsaken defenders. Cheering, he dived off the other side of the rampart… And straight into the pack of ten Forsaken just waiting for a chance to pounce on the Floodians. JS got up again, but this time he ordered one of the volunteers to poke his head over the top instead. “The smoke’s clearing…” The elected volunteer described. “…the gun nests are gone, no sign of them at all. But there are survivors out there. And… Corbec’s in trouble!” The man exclaimed. JS took a look for himself, the prospect of not having to risk his own reputation to kill Corbec exciting him. The volunteer was right: Corbec and the other volunteers with him were embroiled in close combat with ten Forsaken gunmen, on the opposite side of the next rampart on. “Suppressing fire on those Forsaken!” JS ordered, pointing at the bewildered, helpless survivors amongst the craters. The volunteers, albeit confused at the order to tackle such targets, obeyed and shouldered their weapons, ready to fire. [i]That’s right.[/i] JS thought. [i]Draw your attention from dear old Corbec…[/i] He looked through the sights of his own weapon, ready to lend a hand to the Forsaken should they need it while taking the Emperor down. While the bullets were flying, he could easily blow Corbec’s head off, then blame it all on an accidental misfire. “Belay that order!” Tartan barked from somewhere in the group. “We’re going over the top!” Tartan shouted, climbing to the top of the rampart himself and waving the volunteers forward like he was some propaganda film hero. The Floodians cheered, and moved to join Tartan, ignoring JS’s own order. “Bloody Northerner.” JS hissed, left with no choice but to go with the troops and leave his chance behind. Corbec ducked under the slash of the bayonet, then swung at the owner of the blade with a staggering uppercut punch. The fist sailed up and hit the Forsaken man so hard on the lower jaw his teeth bit his tongue in half from the impact. Shocked by the blood and severed lump of muscle suddenly cluttering his throat, the man dropped his assault rifle and reached for his mouth. Corbec flicked the weapon up with his foot and caught it deftly in one hand. Holding the gun in one hand, Corbec blasted off the Forsaken man’s head, then rolled aside just as a second Forsaken soldier swung his weapon like a club at him. Corbec’s own AK47 was several feet away, where the first Forsaken attacker had thrown it. For Corbec, It was an annoyance, but for the audience at home it was incredibly beneficial-since Corbec’s camera was still attached to the weapon and working fine. Instead of presenting them with intermittent and chaotic snatches of what was going on, they could now see a wider view of the combat to complement the top down satellite view and that of the helmet mounted cameras of other competitors. The observers back home cheered as Corbec jumped back up from his roll, but deep inside this latest attacker’s guard. Corbec slashed across the man’s gut, making him fold at the waist, and Corbec delivered a Coup de Grace by jabbing the bayonet of his rifle downward into the base of the neck, severing the spinal cord. Just to be sure, he unloaded a few rounds from the gun into his neck at point blank anyway. Corbec released the gun and moved on. With the earthwork ramparts to both sides, and just under fifteen people crammed together, things were tightly packed. A few feet away, a Floodian was gutted like a fish by a Forsaken gunman with a serrated knife, and Mike D Halo King mashed the head of some Forsaken female with the heel of his boot. Corbec seized his AK from the dirt and flung himself at the man with the knife. With Corbec barrelling into his legs, the Forsaken killer was bowled over and lost his knife in the fall. The man rolled over onto his back, fumbling with his holstered pistol, but Corbec was one step ahead. The Emperor had scrambled forward, and slammed the body of his rifle down on the gunman’s throat, choking him. Desperate, the pinned man freed his pistol, but had no space to bring it to bear with Corbec weighing down on him. Corbec, pressing down harder to crush the life out of his opponent, could feel the muzzle of gun waving around, bumping into him, the floor and the owner. Acting decisively, Corbec stopped crushing, brought the rifle to bear and swung a mighty blow with it. The butt of the gun made contact with the man’s cheek, stunning him and giving Corbec time to roll off of the prone form. The man, enraged by the pain, aimed his pistol at Corbec. But Corbec fired first. Corbec’s three-shot burst and the subsequent result was televised to the entire Empire, and received with ecstatic approval. [Edited on 08.02.2007 11:18 AM PDT]

[i]Seven Hours Later.[/i] Tartan had used the PDA-satellite system to find their target in ten minutes. Osoona was informed and set off to rejoin his lot. The Floodians then took an hour’s leisurely stroll through the forest until they found a low hill looking onto their target and the surrounding region. They waited there for another five hours, just lounging around and kicking back. Then, despite all their expectations, Osoona’s gun runners showed up. Somehow, they had managed to slip a lengthy column of over three hundred people right underneath the Forsaken noses. Corbec and Tartan descended the hill and met Tedi Slayer at the head of the advancing column. Tedi Slayer explained that Osoona was further at the back of the convoy, having fallen and broken a leg en route. He went on to say that, for the time being, he would be leading Osoona’s people against the communications centre. The centre was, on close observation by the Floodians, revealed to be a hardened concrete bunker. How it got there, they wouldn’t ever find out, but for them the important part was that it was there in the first place. Furthermore, its very positioning was bound to cause some headaches. It had been built into the Northernmost tip of the island-quite literally. The hill that the Floodians had taken showed that the jungle stopped abruptly about a hundred feet away from the edge of the coastal headland the centre was built onto. This open space was covered with dirt ramparts as tall as a person. One was positioned immediately after another to make an attack as difficult as possible, with the advancing enemy forced to climb up one side, only to come into direct view of the machineguns. Sharpened wooden stakes jutting out of the ground like tank traps joined barbed wire fences that littered the area, and a series of trenches watched by ten machinegun nests had been dug into the ground behind all of that. To make matters worse for an attacker, the headland was a natural incline as well as something of a bottleneck-the headland was to both sides nothing but a sheer, two hundred foot drop to the sea. Of the centre itself, all that can be seen above ground was a vague outline of a concrete circle, about one floor high, but covered in camouflage netting. Satellite imagery and reconnaissance planes had confirmed that there were at least four Anti-Air Missile platforms dotted around the bunker. One was clearly visible on top of the fortification, looking out toward the forest. It was a squat, black tube with a small dish mounted on the front, and two missiles on each side. So essentially, no planes were getting into here until the platforms were dealt with. In the hour it had taken the gun-running rabble to get themselves et up for the attack, JS organised a small group to dismantle the traps and barbed wire lines without being spotted. By the time the criminals were done organising themselves, the first two lines of barbed wire had been severed and the wooden stakes removed. Meanwhile, Corbec and Tedi Slayer agreed on the finer details of the attack. Those manning the machineguns further up the headland really didn’t see what the fuss was all about. Sure, a bunch of Floodians had wiped out a tiny and insignificant base in the middle of nowhere. Sure, Corbec was with them. But weren’t there more important matters at hand? Like, the massive fleet crowding around their island like carrion birds flock to a corpse? The bunker to their backs could take anything short of a nuke hitting it dead on, that much they knew, but there were only three bunkers on the whole island. Three bunkers could never shelter two and a half thousand people. But still. The four anti-air platforms-controlled by human operators from a place known informally as the “radar room”-would keep enemy aircraft away. They were annoyed at having to construct the ramparts and obstacles themselves, but proud of their improvised workmanship. Their field of fire over the approach to the centre was excellent, and more than a little pride led them to see their dugouts as almost unbreakable. So, assured of their own security and the impregnability of their position, they were understandably shocked when that illusion changed. It was shattered when ten rockets were launched simultaneously from the trees by Osoona’s criminal comrades. They flew at the Forsaken positions, and wrought fiery destruction on them. An entire section of the Forsaken trenches was blown apart, throwing men into the air like toys, only for them to hit the ground with bone-shattering impacts or sail off the edge of the headland. Other rockets hit the flank of the centre itself, tearing great chunks from its concrete skin. One rocket hit a gun-nest square on, vaporising the crew and three other unfortunates into a fine red drizzle of blood. Then the Floodians came. Scrambling over the lip of the first earthwork ramparts, the twenty one Floodians were joined by thirty more gun runners that Tedi Slayer had allowed to join Corbec’s charge. Corbec, the first up, hurled a grenade that flew straight into another machinegun post, blowing the crewmembers into seared meat. Girly Spartan, immediately behind, sighted down the scope of her Walther 2000 rifle and plugged a Forsaken with a shot between the eyes. Girly found that he more she killed, the better she felt. Corbec, heedless of the danger, dropped from the first line of ramparts, dashed past where a barbed wire fence had been sabotaged and hit the next rampart running. With Mike D Halo King and four other Floodians hot on his heels, he tumbled over the top and crawled behind the next group of bulwarks beyond. Mike and those four just behind him flopped down next to Corbec. By now, the Forsaken defenders, shaken and slightly depleted in number, returned fire. Although frail in comparison to the rocket bombardment, it still left no option for the attackers to duck or die, as exemplified by a few foolhardy smugglers accompanying the Floodians. As they tried to jump the lip of an earthen obstacle, concentrated machinegun fire dismembered them, heavy calibre tearing them apart limb from limb, or granted them the relative mercy of a quick death. The machinegun then switched back to raking the killing field with persistent gunfire. Corbec swore like a sailor at that point. The whole point of this attack was so that they were quick, so that they were in and out before anyone could react. At this rate, they’d be still pinned down when the whole island arrived to squash them into the dirt. He glanced around, noting the five people he had with him and that JS, Tartan and the rest were all still on the other side of the obstacles behind them. “Mike!” Corbec shouted at his radio operator. “Sir?!” “Get in contact with the artillery! I want those guns shelled into dust!” “If the artillery fires at targets this close to us, they might hit us as well!” Mike cried in response. “That’s why they call it [i]close[/i] artillery support, son! Now do it!” Corbec snapped. Mike obeyed and grabbed the radio set earphones. [Edited on 08.02.2007 11:15 AM PDT]

[b]Napalm, Napalm, Everywhere.[/b] [i]The Next Day.[/i] Osoona and Tedi Slayer wondered whether their escorts actually knew where they were going, given how many twists and turns they kept taking through the undergrowth. They had arrived quietly in an unmarked Jeep exactly a mile North of where they had last met Corbec, using a dirt road to get there. Driving along and somehow avoiding the now highly active Forsaken elements swarming the region after Corbec’s performance, silenced weaponry shot out the wheels of their vehicle, immobilising it. A voice asked for them to exit the crippled car, and two Floodians appeared as if from nowhere, since they were so brilliantly camouflaged. At gunpoint, the two Floodians directed them through the natural maze of trees and bushes. Osoona and his companion had no idea though that they were in fact being walked past an intricate web of hidden positions dug out by the Floodians. They used natural gradients to make hill-side bunkers and flatter sections of ground to construct makeshift labyrinths that could be used to trap and mislead enemies but also as trenches for defence. Concealed snipers had managed to get the hang of leaping from tree branch to tree branch after plenty of practice, and at least one was following the two criminals, completely unnoticed, at all times in this manner. Only after being totally misled with unnecessary diversions on the trip, Osoona and Tedi Slayer were left alone in a small clearing in the forest. They looked to one another, utterly confused and lost. “Sorry about all that.” Corbec said, suddenly appearing beside the two gun runners, making them cry out in surprise. Corbec was exactly as he was yesterday, wearing the bandana and sunglasses, minus the Kevlar that his fellows wore. However his face was now smeared with camo paint, making it a bizarre mix of green, brown and black rather than his natural pigment. His stolen AK was in the same position as before, hanging from a shoulder strap so as to provide the people at home with the best view. “What? Haven’t you heard of camouflage before? You passed at least a dozen of my people on your way here!” Corbec laughed. “Surely you’ve seen enough of it to know what it looks like!” “Alright, alright. So you can sneak around.” Osoona said, wiping curls of sweat-laden ginger hair out of his eyes. “Very well, I might add.” Corbec said. “Look. What are we going to do against Pyroshark?” Osoona said, getting straight to business. “Well...” Corbec walked to the centre of a clearing, where a time-weathered rock lay, and sat down on it. “We only have, what? Three hundred and twenty or so people, all said? There’s over two thousand of them, so we can’t achieve much by trying to engage the Forsaken across their island. Even just by tackling them, and keeping the Forsaken wound up, our people would be systematically destroyed.” Corbec realised he started sounding like one of his Generals, but couldn’t care less. “What we need to do is concentrate our numbers then smack them to pieces one part at a time.” “And how do you suggest we do that?” Tedi Slayer spoke up. He clearly didn’t fancy taking on over two thousand people with not even a quarter of that number on his side. “Hit them where it hurts. Important ammunition dumps, fuel depots, motor pools. Heck, these people even seem to have farms, so we burn those and they run out of food.” Osoona nodded, not really adding anything to the conversation. “In fact, if I remember correctly, there’s some kind of communications centre at the Northernmost point of the island…” Corbec rubbed his chin then called: “Tartan!” A soldier, looking more like an item of the scenery with a layer of Kevlar underneath than a human being, spontaneously appeared from the edge of the clearing. “Sir?” “I want the location of that Communication Dugout confirmed ASAP.” “As you wish, sir.” With that, Tartan promptly turned and vanished into the forest, leaving Osoona and his comrade staring at where he had last been. “Hey! Hey!” Corbec said, clicking his fingers to get their attention. “Alright, I’ve got a plan. We mass our forces around wherever this communications centre is, and effectively wipe out their ability to talk long-range all in one hit. How long will it take for you to get your people sorted out?” “We could be ready by about this evening…” Osoona replied, still amazed by Tartan’s disappearing act. “But hold on! You’ve got that fleet out there!” Tedi Slayer interrupted, making a good point. “Its got Battleships, Aircraft Carriers and all sorts! Can’t you just use that to do what you want?” Corbec smiled at this. “We can’t rely on Artillery to do the job, it might not be accurate or powerful enough. And we can’t use air strikes, because the area might be covered by Forsaken AA weapons. So, chances are we’ll need to flush it out the old fashioned way, with blood, tears and sweat.” Corbec explained, then perhaps unnecessarily added: “Besides, we’re obligated to the public to provide quality entertainment.” “Hold it!” Tedi Slayer shouted. “You’re saying we should risk our lives just so that we can get ten minutes of fame on TV? I don’t know what you think will happen, but if that’s you’re attitude, then we won’t be coming along.” “Hey! Shut it!” Osoona snapped at Tedi Slayer, annoyed by his outburst. “Sorry about that. We’ll go along to take out this communication place, but on one condition: It’s not us that go storming into the breach. I don’t want my people getting killed for your sake. You will lead the charge.” And so the agreement was met: Corbec’s tiny band of highly trained and equipped volunteers would be joined by three hundred or so arms dealers, escaped convicts and untrained cannon fodder. The Floodians would find the communications centre, and all that Osoonas mob had to do was find their way there. They would hopefully attack late in the evening, trash the place and then get out before the Forsaken moved a substantial force over to pen them in. “So now what?” Pyroshark asked Squirrel Dude and Snap. They walked through the cold, hard concrete corridors of one of the island’s hardened bunkers. The three of them were discussing the next course of action to take in regards to Corbec’s sudden arrival on their island. Quietly, and about ten feet behind them at all times, followed Pyroshark’s mysterious [i]femme fatale[/i] friend. “Well, we do have a plan. And…” Squirrel Dude replied, non-verbally handing over the end of his sentence to Snap. “You are familiar with our inside man…” Snap said, smiling.

lol, now i really am blushing. [Edited on 07.31.2007 11:28 PM PDT]

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Mike D Halo King sick, my fav scenen was the one between me and girly, some evry good writing there, you have a great gift, I dont think you should stop at the end of the flood 7, ill help you advertise your stories if you want.[/quote] Yea that was tight.

*Taps foot impatiently*

*feels guillotine hanging over head.* Almost done... *Scribbles so furiously, a hole is burnt in the page.*

Even though I hate you Colonel, I have to say: Good show.

*waits impatiently for the next story.*

I can stay awake long enough for it to come out! I've only been up for twenty-four hours, I can make it! (Thud) (Snore) (Hysterical laughter) I'm sorry, I can't stop remembering the "Truly Epic LULZ" I watched earlier. (Process repeats)