[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Tedi Slayer Yay, I was mentioned. ...and made bald. 0_o .[/quote] *laughs at Tedi Slayer*

my god! you kick the crap out of so many fanfics i have read! loved the new material!

Yay, I was mentioned. ...and made bald. 0_o Good work on this piece, Corbec. I had waited for a bit (Well, more like a dozen or so hours...) when you initially posted because I was concerned that I might accidentally post in between storyline posts. I had something similar occur while I was reading it when you posted it; I read, went back to the topic listings, then saw another post in the thread and checked it out to see that another post was made. Hope you get that work done quickly and easily, I'm sure none of us can wait for the next part.

STORY!!!!!! *is happy*

Geography is the biggest pile of BS on the planet, but I advise you to just get it done. I left it for ages and mucked it up. Are you dead?

Right, update on the production. chances are, I'm not going to be able to write as much of this as usual. sooner or later, I'm going to have to get on with my schoolwork, including a devilishly hard piece of German and my bloody [i]Geography Coursework.[/i] To any and all who've done GCSE Geography, they'll know it's the most mind-sappingly dull thing to defile the earth with its rancid presence. And I even came second in my recent tests for it.

The “game” here was to follow a set of rules, that the players were not to violate: 1. No-one is to leave the exclusion zone marked out by the Naval Blockade. To do so would deserve the Death Penalty, along with charges of criminal desertion. 2. Players are permitted to call in Air Strikes and Artillery Barrages, but are only allowed a limit of three per day, and must do everything they can to ensure the safety of supporting aircraft beforehand. 3. Players [b]must[/b] do whatever they can in order to kill Pyroshark, his Inner Circle of Death Game survivors and any of his allies. No prisoners can be taken, no mercy can be given. 4. Players [b]must[/b] protect Corbec at all costs. His death will mean the failure of the Death Game. Surviving players will be evacuated via Helicopter at a designated point. What the rules didn’t mention was that the nearby Floodian Nuclear Submarine, the HMS [i]Dauntless[/i], would fire three BM5 thermonuclear missiles at the island in the event of Corbec being confirmed dead. Two of these missiles carried two kiloton warheads, rocket motors and armoured nose caps to drive them fifty metres underground before exploding, and so were essentially nuclear bunker-busters. The third was identical excepting that it would explode above the island, rather than underneath it. The low yield of the weapons, combined with the fact that two of them would explode underground meant that the blockade would be in minimal danger. But the two bunker-busters were expected to damage already stressed natural fractures found in the island’s rock base. In short, the bunker-busters would make the ground collapse beneath the Forsaken, while the other nuke would burn the air around them. Destruction would be total. Some of the General Staff, in particular high-ranking Navy Officers expressed their exasperation at this plan, but Corbec overruled them. Nothing short of his teams, or a Nuclear firestorm, could be assured to kill Pyroshark. That much he was certain on. “We’re preparing to release the tow-cable, sir. We’ll be ready to drop in two minutes.” Corbec’s unseen Turpo pilot advised. “Understood.” Corbec said back. “Alright, get ready to drop, everyone. Check you seats are secure and in the upright position, your mobile phones are off and keep your arms and legs inside of the ride at all times.” Corbec joked, to the good-humoured approval of his fellow passengers. “Oh, and make sure your cameras are set to go. No point in going to all this trouble if we’re the only ones who get to see this fun.” Corbec gave an experimental fiddle with the small camera attached to the side of his helmet. It was waterproof, shock-resistant, capable of night-vision, carried a long-life battery, and most importantly transmitted a live view to the audience at home. “All set?” Corbec asked. The passengers all answered yes. “We’re ready on this end.” Corbec informed the Turpo crew. “We hear you.” Corbec prepared himself for the exciting prospect of flying a glider again. He really did enjoy it, just the freedom of flight was enough to get his blood pumping. In hindsight, maybe he should just have become a pilot and be done with it. He waited for the cable to be released by the Turpo crew-who had control of it-but then noticed something. The left wing, the engine furthest to the left. It was on fire! “Pilot! You’ve got a flame on your left wing! Furthest out engine! Do something! Now!” Corbec screeched. Despite all the checks, all the caution and care, things had gone wrong at the last moment. It wasn’t karma or divine providence though, just a piece of wiring that had shorted out. “What? No we don’t…” The pilot crackled back over the radio. “Holy -blam!-! We do! Hurry! Shut fuel supply to engine four!” The pilot ordered, frantic. “Don’t argue! Do it!” Corbec heard. The situation was going to get worse, he knew. By now, chances were that flame had been noticed on the island, and every AA defence was ready to blow them up. “Isolate hydraulic, electrical and hydraulic systems on engine four!” Corbec could only wait for the fire to go out. “What? What do you mean it’s still on fire!?” Corbec gasped when he heard the pilot exclaim his horror at another crewmember. “Sir, we can’t shut off the fuel supply to engine four. And we’re short of the drop zone, so we’ll have to carry on.” The pilot was about to continue talking, but Corbec could hear someone talking in the background of the radio. “No! Sir, we have six, no, seven radar contacts moving in from the island. High speeds. We’re deploying counter-measures now.” By now the rest of the Glider passengers had realised the slowly growing fire on the Turpo’s wing. “What’s going on?” One of them said, voicing the question on all of their minds. “Really bad… Stuff.” Corbec whispered. From his cockpit, he looked away as flares were launched, their brightness made into almost star-like proportions by his night vision goggles. Outside, the seven missiles screamed toward the wounded Turpolev. The flares distracted three heat-seekers, sending them spiralling away after false targets. The rest carried straight onward, guided by the radar of their Anti-Aircraft platforms, which had somehow managed to penetrate the electronic jamming the Turpolev was putting up. The Turpo crew then fired the aluminium foil screens, three in all. Of the four remaining, another three veered off course and exploded in bright fireballs, causing harm to nothing other than themselves. But the last missile had made it through. “BRACE YOURSELVES!” The Turpo pilot cried, while making a last-ditch hard right turn to lose the approaching missile. It didn’t work. Corbec, and everyone inside the Glider was thrown violently around while the missile and its explosive payload utterly destroyed engine three-the one next to its already burning companion. The explosion set off fuel running through the left wing, and made engine four explode, too. The impact of the missile was more than enough to doom the Turpolev, tearing the entire left wing off with a shriek of ripped metal. Throwing the craft into a corkscrew death dive, bleeding smoke, flames, oil and metal shards as the engines died and the crew screamed their last. “Release the tow cable Release the tow cable! RELEASE THE BLOODY CABLE!” Corbec roared into the radio at a pilot who was already dead, killed by the blast. His volunteers were screeching with panic, and they were all being crushed into their seats by the tremendous acceleration their helpless Glider was being put through. Corbec, exclaiming a long chain of curses, struggled to simultaneously find his sidearm, and undo the securing belt holding him into the seat that would surely be his grave if he didn’t act soon. His volunteers were dead already, nothing he could do for them. “Just… Got to…” He grunted. The speed was incredible. The sound of wind whistling by outside was deafening. The blood pumping around his body like never before, heart pounding his ribs. Almost begrudgingly, he admitted he’d never had so much fun. The Glider was still held to its Turpolev transport by the cable when it smashed into the sea at speeds it was never supposed to run at, illuminating a small patch of night around it with the detonation caused on impact. Blazing aviation fuel, corpses and floating debris decorated the black, midnight waters for the next day, while below the otherwise tranquil sea, what remained of the flying machines and their occupants was dragged downward to the sea bed. [i]“There is not a Floodian alive that was untouched by his charismatic hand. A hand both strong, yet gentle in all respects. Without doubt, we owe him a great debt of gratitude that we can never repay.”[/i] [Edited on 07.18.2007 12:10 AM PDT]

[i]Twenty-Four Hours Later.[/i] By the end of the day, the Forsaken airport, both ports, and a few smaller bases, had been shelled or bombed into firestorms and piles of rubble. There was no way out of the island now. With those targets removed, the warships surrounding the largest Jacutan island fell silent. The locals found this more disturbing and unnerving than actually being under fire. Once the bombardment of important sites had been completed, a wave of Floodian-owned bomber aircraft made several passes over the bewildered island, dropping over a hundred high-tech, impact resistant cameras onto the island. After all, television shows need something to televise them. Exactly a dozen top-of-the-range spy cameras were manoeuvred into geo stationary orbit over the Jacutan Archipelago, and established secure links ready for live broadcasting. Once the stage had been set, all that was left was the actors to arrive. The Forsaken were already there, an estimated two thousand of them by MI6, perhaps plus a few reserves. Of course, in an unexpected twist, around three hundred gun-runners had barely managed to slip through The Generalísímo’s blockade just before its completion. Bound to make things interesting. The other actors for this momentous piece of drama? Colonel Corbec, renowned and revered Emperor of the almighty Floodian Empire-his inclusion in this “production” alone would later make him be recognised as the most influential man of the century. Tartan 118, a trusted and loyal MI5 Agent selected by Corbec himself for his survival skills. JS096, the leader of Floodian Special Forces, and thirty other volunteers elected for their uncompromising bravery, natural aptitude for the tasks at hand and stunning sense of Patriotic Duty to their beloved homeland. Many wondered why Corbec and JS, easily two of the most influential men in Floodland, were participating in such a lethal event. Corbec cited his reason as revenge on the one who had killed his wife and countless other Floodians. JS claimed it was his duty to see Corbec was well protected. All of them had just run through a non-stop, three-week training course used to get JS’s own Special Forces into shape. They learned to practice Russian Martial Arts like experts in two days, complex sword fighting and armed close combat techniques in one, how to reload an RPG launcher with their eyes closed in half a day, and how to lead their shots with any weapon in ten minutes. They could prime ten grenades and throw them all in under a minute, effectively use almost any gun thus designed, utilise more than one martial art to deadly effect, drive several types of vehicle from truck to ATV, including basic training with helicopters. Each of them was a natural at the wheel of a Glider, and had been through enough parachute drops to throw themselves from a plane while asleep and still make it down in one piece. Some had shown particular skill with heavier weapons like tripod-mounted .30 Calibre Machineguns or Anti-Tank Launchers. Others, like Girly Spartan, had shown themselves to be masters at the “art” of sniping-Girly Spartan herself had been ranked as the twentieth best sniper in the world, but only after three weeks of using a rifle. The thirty volunteers all seemed to be absolute prodigies when it came to killing. All that remained was getting these “actors” onto centre stage. That, Corbec had decided, would be achieved with Gliders. After eating a last meal of their choice, the contestants then renewed their pledge of allegiance to the Floodian Empire on Live Television: “I hereby swear upon my life to serve the Floodian Empire and its infallible cause with bravery, honour and strength until my dying breath. Hail Corbec!” The volunteers then boarded two Gliders based at a temporary Floodian airstrip on the closest part of The Generalísímo’s coastline to the drop-off point. The drop-off point being the largest Jacutan island, should the reader need reminding. One group, including Tartan 118 and Girly Spartan, was lead by JS096, and seventeen other volunteers joined them on the first Glider. The twelve others joined Corbec onboard the second. Each was to be towed by a “Turpo” Heavy Bomber. “Turpo” was the short name for the Turpolev 190 Bomber aircraft. Turpos were regarded by all as the most reliable plane in the sky, and capable of a maximum range of twelve thousands kilometres without external fuel stores or air refuelling. Turpos had four massive turboprop engines, each driving contra-rotating propellers, and would remain the fastest propeller-driven aircraft to go into operational use. It had a wingspan of about fifty metres, and on occasion, it had been known for their crews to sometimes sit down and have lunch on the wings, such was the Turpo’s reliability and sturdiness. As a precaution, the selected aircraft had been checked and re-checked over twenty times before lift-off, so as to prevent any unfortunate accidents. The Turpos took off at night, with their fragile charges literally in tow. Whereas before, all aircraft passing over the island had flown high, out of the range of any Anti-Air defences the island concealed. But these gliders needed to make a precise landing, and the strong crosswinds found in high altitudes would easily blow them off course. So, to protect themselves and the gliders, the Turpos were carrying flares to confuse heat-seeking missiles and special charges of aluminium foil that could be fired in a groups to spoof radar-guided missiles. “I still can’t believe the island’s shaped like a triangle.” One of Corbec’s volunteers quipped. Corbec sat at the controls of his glider, while the others sat along the sides in secured seats, plunged in total darkness. They could all see though, as they were using night vision goggles. The sight these devices provided was thrown in a sickly green colour, and everything was grainy through them, but it was certainly better than nothing. “What was that?” Corbec called over his shoulder. He had a radio headset on underneath his shrapnel-and-bullet-proof helmet, and had been conversing with his Turpo pilot. “He said that he can’t believe the island’s shaped like a triangle, sir.” Replied one of the girls. “Oh, right.” Corbec murmured. He wasn’t in any mood for mundane conversation at the moment. Yes, the island was shaped like a triangle, but as if someone had bitten chunks out of it’s sides. Big deal. Yes, there was a small mountain carpeted with foliage and rock faces at the centre. Big deal. Yes, the beaches at the island’s sides were the only places wide enough for them to land on without crashing and dying painful deaths. Big deal. Yes, if this wasn’t pulled off correctly, then The Forsaken could easily pin them in the open. Whatever. He had more important things than idle chatter on his mind. “King 2-King 1.” His radio burbled. “King 1. Go ahead 2.” Corbec replied, acknowledging JS. “My pilot tells us we’re coming up on our drop zone in a moment. I’ll have to be coming off the line soon. You all set?” JS’s voice crackled over the link. “Yup. All clear on my end. We hit a patch of light turbulence though, so we’ll probably be a little late to North-West.” “Ha. Don’t worry, we’ll have the party all laid out on North-East by the time you steer your bucket down to the ground.” Corbec and JS said their goodbyes and JS signed off the radio. They had been talking about their individual landing zones, North East and North West for JS and Corbec respectively, with JS flying in from the East and Corbec from the West. The names were fairly self-explanatory, really. Both were beaches on the Northern “point” of the triangle, and the plan was for the two teams to cut off the Forsaken North of their landing zones, then systematically destroy them. The Floodian invaders could then turn South and repeat the process.

[b]A Day On The Beach.[/b] [i]Thirty minutes after the initial encirclement of the Jacutan Islands.[/i] Osoona swore violently as yet another shell-fall found a target, and the [i]Lusitania,[/i] a decrepit old merchant vessel, exploded in a sheet of flame, tossing whickering shrapnel shards and severed human body parts all along the beach. If things had been a little different, any observer would have thought that this was some sort of amphibious assault, with smaller boats being rowed or driven back and forth from larger transports like the now blazing [i]Lusitania[/i] to the shore. A shell from one of the menacing warships that surrounded the entire island chain had pierced the thin deck of the ship and ignited the fuel tanks within. The burning fuel in turn touched off the illegally transported collection of munitions held by the vessel, and then resulted in the fiery explosion Osoona saw. Osoona was an arms dealer, arms smuggler, people smuggler, drug smuggler, kidnapper, blackmailer, extorter, ex-mercenary, wanted man by just about every Police Force on the planet and very annoyed. He was rather tall, probably coming in at six feet and skinny. He had curly red hair, a peculiar little trait handed down to him via genetics from his parents. And that, it later turned out, was why he stabbed them to death with a carving knife the moment he turned 18. He took one last drag on his cigarette then threw it overboard into the shallow waters below. He had set off for this island with six old transport vessels-a full half of his contraband-running fleet-for a big sale to Pyroshark, a good customer. Pyroshark had arranged for a whole ten thermo-baric bombs to be delivered, along with a few thousand rifles, some number that he didn’t remember of anti-tank and anti-aircraft launchers, an actual T-55 tank and a truckload of other stuff that Osoona couldn’t recall. Didn’t matter now, anyway, seeing as half of the merchandise now lay on the sea floor. Osoona had set off from a shady, no-questions-asked style of port, excited about the money he would make from this deal. After all, it wasn’t often you got to sell this much stuff. Honestly, it was like Pyroshark was preparing to go to war, and in that respect, Osoona could hardly blame him, what with him blowing up half of Flondon. Originally, everything had gone swimmingly, with his fleet making good speed in decent weather. He began the trip with, as said before, six ships, and five hundred crewmembers for each. These people were modern bandits, pirates, cutthroats, mercenaries, however you wanted to call it. They worked for Osoona because of his ruthless reputation, and promises of good payment and pretty ladies at the end of the day. After their inductions, they would all fall in line and work like professional soldiers under Osoona’s command, motivated and determined. If they didn’t, they were killed. Of course, of that five hundred, about a fifth of them were dead, drowned or shredded by shrapnel. Why? Well, on the final approach to the Jacutan islands, fighter-bombers just appeared out of nowhere and blew the ship carrying the thermo-baric weapons apart with anti-ship missiles. Each of the ageing ships carried crude anti-aircraft guns and Stinger Anti-Air missile launchers, but they weren’t nearly enough to hold off the persistent attacks heading their way. To make matters worse, warships started to add their weight to the engagement. By now, only four ships remained, and one was sinking even as the crew tried to salvage what they could. They couldn’t settle down in one of the ports, seeing as they were nothing more than blazing piles of rubble after heavy bombardment. So in the open, Osoona ended his voyage here, his fleet under fire or under water. “Tedi Slayer!” Osoona shouted, walking along the deck to the side closest to the shore, passing frantic crewmen on the way. He didn’t flinch when a rocket blew a hole in the hull, directly underneath where he had been standing moments before. “Yes boss?” Replied Tedi Slayer, jogging over. He too was a Mercenary/Criminal/Bounty Hunter, however you wanted to call it, and probably very slightly psychotic. He had a neatly trimmed Goatee of brown hair, but a bald, shaven head. Oddly, his eyes were turquoise. “You and me are paying Pyroshark a visit. We’ll take the first Jeep that these grunts haul off a ship-” Osoona paused his speech and stroll as several people lugging belts of ammunition scrambled past. “-And we’ll drive it out. Tell them to keep scavenging whatever they can from the ships, then carry it all deeper inland, away from sight. I expect we’ve been trapped in a siege for quite some time, so we’ll need everything we can get.” “Should we scuttle the boats?” Tedi Slayer asked. Osoona pondered this for a moment. “No. no point in wasting the explosives, besides, give those bastards ten minutes and we won’t have ships to scuttle.” His words were given an ironic weight as he finished, when one of the other surviving ships joined the [i]Lusitania[/i] and exploded in a spectacular fireball. “I’m gonna kill Pyroshark for this.” Osoona grumbled. [i]One hour later.[/i] “I’m gonna kill you for this!” Osoona roared in Pyroshark’s face. “Oh, shut up you moron!” Pyroshark barked, all politeness gone for his former business associate. “Look!” Osoona jabbed a finger in the direction of the billowing smoke palls on the shoreline-the last resting place of his ships. “I lost half my shipping fleet out there, millions in cargo and you’re telling me you won’t pay! Oh, and one moment, we’re in a damn siege!” Osoona had been driven by Tedi Slayer in a Jeep to this unassuming dirt track roadside. It was a tactic of Pyroshark’s. Organise a meeting in a certain place that enemy artillery wouldn’t expect for him to be, so as to avoid unwanted attention. Pyroshark had been waiting in a Hummer driven by some un-introduced young lady, Osoona and Pyroshark got out and started shouting in each other’s faces. Simple as that. “Listen! I can’t be held responsible if you’re too incompetent to avoid trouble! Heck, you probably led the bastards here!” Pyroshark snapped in reply. “Led them?! Led them?! They were waiting for me! Oh, and do tell, how exactly do I outrun super-sonic fighters and artillery shells? I want payment! Now!” “Payment! For things that either your mob have taken as their own or stuff on the sea bed!? Besides, what are you going to do with the money, huh? Make it into a raft and float away! You’re trapped! You said so yourself, a siege! Get over yourself.” Pyroshark sneered. “I want that money.” Osoona hissed. “You have nothing to bargain with, no leverage and no cargo. We’re done here.” With that, Pyroshark turned and got into his Hummer, leaving Osoona fuming in the dust cloud thrown up by the vehicle’s departure. “You sure that was the smart thing to do?” The girl asked Pyroshark when they were on their way. “Yeah. We’ve got two and a half thousand combat-ready people on this island, plus another five hundred or so willing bodies we can press into a fight. We hold the food supplies,” the soil of the Jacutan islands was volcanic and fertile, small farms had sprung up and provided a decent supply of crops to the inhabitants, “the main ammunition dumps, the entire island and not to mention the facilities the International Community gave us.” Pyroshark was referencing the three concealed, fortified bunkers constructed discreetly by the International Community. Still smarting from their defeat in trade by Corbec, when informed by Pyroshark of his intentions, these supposedly freedom-loving, terrorist-hating nations gleefully funded Pyroshark’s re-supply and construction of those concrete bunkers. Complete with high-tech ventilation systems and capable of holding hundreds for weeks on end, there was little that showed they were even there. The fact of the matter was though, while the International Community and other countries would fund the construction of bunkers, they were more cautious when it came to providing weaponry. They were clearly afraid that, should they supply the Forsaken with guns and bombs, that those provisions might be used on them. So, Pyroshark was forced to resort to low-life gun-runners like Osoona to supply him with such necessities as Thermo Baric Vapour Bombs, which he planned to use against Floodland in times to come. “So you’re proposing that if they turn against us, we crush them.” The girl smiled. Pyroshark laughed. “Beautiful and intelligent.”

A shame.

I don't think I am ever going to be able to read this.....

At least I've got Marathon to keep me happy 'till it arrives. ...I still can't wait for it, though.

Yeah, thing is I got Hitman Blood Money over the weekend, and I'm still working to finish it, seeing as it's so awesome and all. So that, plus a small party with firends meant I couldn't write a thing over the weekend. But hey, you got two chapters last week anyway so, you know...

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Colonel Corbec Probably today, considering that you're going on some suicidal trip and everything.[/quote] Bleh. I see 2 day old promises but I don't see results! Give me story dammit! I'm getting my 360 replaced tomorrow, so I won't be able to give you as much time any more...

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Colonel Corbec Probably today, considering that you're going on some suicidal trip and everything.[/quote] That is Soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo not true........... *kills Squirrel Dude by throwing knife.* How dare you assume that he was suicidal! I killed him!

Probably today, considering that you're going on some suicidal trip and everything.

*is happy* I wonder when the next story will be.

Oh... Then.. In Squirrel Dudes words... "STORY TIME!!!!"

Hey! Those be my words lassy!

in someones words.... " STORY TIME!!!"

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] squirrel dude Too bad Corbec isn't married yet. [/quote] Whaddya mean "yet?" I've been there, done that and got the T-Shirt.

Too bad Corbec isn't married yet.

Juxtaposition FTW! =P -Pyroshark-

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Pyroshark Yeah, but scars are for [i]real men[/i]! =P Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Still, it was hella close. And I [i]did[/i] lose an arm/fin, albeit temporarily, like you said. It's been one Hell of a rollercoaster ride, alright... -Pyroshark-[/quote] As for me, I've led a wonderful and succesful life, become the leader of a global superpower-adored by all its inhabitants-and even had a beautiful wife! Yeah, it's going great.

Yeah, but scars are for [i]real men[/i]! =P Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Still, it was hella close. And I [i]did[/i] lose an arm/fin, albeit temporarily, like you said. It's been one Hell of a rollercoaster ride, alright... -Pyroshark-

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Pyroshark Let's not foget getting thrown from the bonnet of a car, crushed under a mountain, killed by undergroundicans, tortured and subjected to the hellish Death Games. Ahh, good times... =) -Pyroshark-[/quote] Oh, and having your cheek being torn up by shrapnel. (And you weren't actualy crushed by a mountain. You got rescued just in time.)