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originally posted in:Team Potato
Edited by Recon Number 54: 6/29/2014 3:06:14 AM

Never ending necrobumps <_<

this got bumped again... ignore [spoiler]Part one, Day one: The trainee spuds and I sit in the training grounds waiting for today’s drills. We have no idea what is going on. Why am I here? I never thought I would have been drafted for a war! Then again I don’t think any of us did. This armor they gave us is going to take a while to get used to. I am able to take datalogs by just thinking them. I’ll try to keep this updated as much as possible. I want to be able to tell my experiences and possibly publish them when this is all over. Maybe even see how much this war changes me. Well I guess I could introduce myself. My designation is “mdwil214”, my initials and my draft number, seems like I don’t have a name any more. I’m an educated worker. Not a soldier. This draft makes no sense, but now I’m going to have to stop for today our commanders said that enemy forces are gathering outside our borders. Day two: Training yesterday was tough. The commanders raise more questions than answers, but we were learning spud to spud combat. Why would we need this to fight turtles? The alert yesterday was just a drill. They wanted to see our response time in time of alarm. Some of the recruits were terrified. I can’t say I was to confident myself, but I’m willing to fight. I have a family that is waiting for me to come home. Day three: The day began with an enriched paste breakfast, and more training. We learned how to use spears today. The demonstrations made some of the others puke up some the mornings mash. Some people are really nervous about all this. I’m becoming more attuned to it each day. Day four: The commanders said that training would need to speed up. I thought we were already moving fast. I can still remember the day of the draft. I miss my wife, and my kids. They said that we would be divided into specializations. What that means I have no clue. I hope I’m not a grunt. Day five: They divided us into groups to learn different specializations today. They chose me for the machinist squad. Looks like I’ll be learning under Fidmaster. Major Fidmaster is the weapons expert of the whole army, and he seems to be brilliant. He says well be working with long lost spud artifacts that will power the cores of our machines. To say the least I am excited. I have always wanted to be an engineer, and I will finally get a chance to do some serious work. Day six: We aren’t fighting turtles. I know that now. The constructs Fidmaster has me creating are not for what I initially thought. We also started learning how to use fry blades with bucklers. Hand to hand combat is being stressed a lot. They want us to be ready for any contingency. We are going to be in the first wave of soldiers to make sure our machines do as we designed. I was given some free time today, and I was allowed into some bars where I listened to some grizzled veteran’s war stories. One of the soldiers in there, Captain Luis, bragged of his “epic” shotgun. When asked where it was he shrugged it off with the statement. “it’s being polished.” I listened to countless tales of war between the turtles and the potatoes and it feels me with pride to be on the side of the holy spud. The turtles “shells” make great metal for weapons, and are a great prize, because in the location we live metals of that quality are not readily available. Day seven: One of our artifacts went unstable and we had to evacuate the lab. Fidmaster was furious I would hate to have been the trainee that caused the explosion. Other than Fidmaster, me, and 4 other machinists, there were no survivors. We have to restart all of our work. I will not be writing as frequently. Week 2: This will be a brief recording of our works. The drones are coming along quite well, and I am becoming more proficient with my blade. I saw Fidmaster’s newest plans, and they seem like they are for the turtles, the raw power is the reason I believe this to be so. The other apprentices have been prototyping potato-mechas. I have mainly been working on the potadrones. They need to work at maximum efficiency for this war. I have equipped them with chain-guns, rocket propelled potato launchers, and I am trying to perfect their hover capacitors. Week 3: The drones are performing well. They fire at a (quite) excessive rate of fire. My blade is sharper than ever. I am ready for this war. Some say my sanity is dwindling. I have starved myself in an effort to work more on my new prototype. Week 4: We finally met our commanders. They are all brilliant potatoes, and I am excited to be working next to them. Feroces Spiritus is a brand new administrator of the platoons. Primordial (or as on his paperwork “PRIMORDIAL”) presides over Feroces, and coordinates all the movements of the potato army. He wears TITAN class armor he has a large knife, mounted on his hip, carved of the shells of the turtles he has slaughtered. He also has a strange addiction to shotguns. I believe this is due to the shotguns turtle killing power. Others believe it to be the loud noise they make. Maybe one day he’ll tell us. There was another man there, but he was draped in shadow and spoke from the mists of darkness. “Fellow spuds, we are in a time of great peril, and the great potato alliance is in shambles. We brought all of you here, not because we want to tell you how we will crush the resistance, but to tell you that if you do not train, If you do not have the will to fight, we will all die by the hands of the corrupt potatoes.” One of the marksmen interjects. “What exactly are we doing here?” “YOU are here to do what you are told. We wanted the officers to have their best apprentices here to be able to help command our masses. We need people who are willing to stand up and take command if any of us are lost. We need our best soldiers to know the truth.” I raise my hand. “Yes apprentice?” “What is the objective of the first charge? The only reason I ask is because I am aware I will be among them.” “Your group will kill as many enemies you can before you, yourself are eventually killed” “So is that my death sentence?” “Only if you allow it to be.” Month 2: Those last words persuaded me to prepare more drones. I need a shield of them for my line, and even more above the battlefield. I don’t want to die. The holy spud will guide me in my work, and I will train harder, work harder, and I will kill more efficiently than any other potato out there. My fellow machinists walk in, “Did you guys see the mass of enemies out there in the paper?” “No, how many are there.” “Millions.” “We don’t stand a chance! How do they expect us to win this?! There are only six hundred of us in the first charge!” One of them whispers, “Well, if he keeps working as he does we may stand a chance. He is in the lab 24/7 and he never stops to eat.” “Don’t let him hear you! I swear he’s going insane.” Insane? Is that what they think of me? Good to know my brethren trust me. Month 3: It has been three months since my initial recruitment. I feel like a completely different person. I received a letter informing me of my family’s deaths. The corrupt have invaded parts of our territories. I have no more to live for. I will fight my hardest to purge this world of those damn corrupt. They will all pay in blood. Even if I have no life left to fight for all of my strength, my honor, and my power as a blessed potato will go into the war effort. There is a feast coming up. That is the day they plan on informing all of the grunts of the coming battle. Soon my constructs of war will do as they were created for. It scares me to see how far we have come. They can fight harder than any trainee and it may give us the advantage we need to survive the first battle. Month 3 Week 2: The feast was enjoyable. The food was the most delicious morsels I have devoured in years. The grunts finally learned of the plans today and some were chosen for the first charge. We all finally learned of the true amount of the enemy. They mass in the amount of three hundred and fifty thousand warriors. Looks like I’ll have my work cut out for me. Month 3 Week 3: [i]The following events are recorded by the user’s armor and he is thought to be KIA.[/i] The sounds of marching fill the air. These thought recordings are interesting to say the least. I hear the whirring of the motors of my machines, and I can’t help but smile. “Shit man, shit! Why did I have to get chosen for the first charge?” I look over at the private next to me, “Keep thinking like that you pathetic spud and you’ll be the first of us to die” I offer him a smirk. He sighs, “Thanks man. I guess. Do you think we’ll all be slaughtered?” “Only if we let ourselves” “Yeah, you a machinist?” “Yes, all these machines around us are mine,” I smile,” beautiful eh?” “As long as they keep me alive.” I smile, and I keep marching there are six hundred and twenty of us holy potatoes, two hundred land drones, four hundred air drones, and a thousand of my drones I call “Pariahs”. Another machinist walks up. “Hey, how you feeling about all this?” “Fine, I guess. I can’t find a reason to be worried. I either die and get rid of all this pain, or I live and relish in victory.” “Seems like a good way to view things.” “Thanks. I really need you guys’ support.” “No problem, you were always the best. We should have trusted you from the beginning.” “I can see how you would fear me though. After I lost my family I know everyone probably thought I was going to break.” I laugh jokingly. He smiles and goes back to his machine squad. We all come over the top of the hill and what we see nearly makes half of the grunts need a new set of armor. Everyone looks to our squad commander. He looks at us with a look of doubt, straightens up, and yells “FOR THE HOLY SPUD, ALL OF YOU BASTARDS GET OFF YOUR LAZY ASSES, AND CHARRRRRGEEEE!!!!” End of part one[/spoiler]

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