Post by RebelXD on Feb 14, 2004 2:31:36 GMT -5
The rating is for violence and language. Please read, review, and discuss.
The Life and Times of Dokken Adrian
A Furfic by KillerX
The round table was covered with an assortment of maps and compasses. All the maps were covered with surveyor’s notes, surveillance notes, topographical notations, side notes, and other such information. The colonel was the first to speak.
“If you ask me, we have a straight shot clear through to the capital. I think that with enough men and artillery we can punch through with little trouble. Once we front the capital, the Rebels are sure to surrender.”<br>“I doubt if it will be that easy,” said a lieutenant. He pointed to the map. “There will be heavy resistance here,” he touched another area of the map, “here,” he touched a third spot, “and here. I don’t think that it will be as easy as the colonel says it will be. I opt for a more gradual approach. We can safely approach the city from 3 sides. We will need Battalion A1, Battalion A4, and the 109 Army and Artillery divisions placed before we do anything. Also, I would like to have air support from the 78, 79, and 80th airborne troops if possible. Once we surround them, they will have no choice but to surrender.” The colonel disagreed, and that set off a whole round of accusations and arguments. Finally, it was agreed upon that both had valid points. It was admitted that a frontal assault would cost more lives and more machinery that would be prudent. A surrounding of the Rebel capital was decided upon. That’s where we enter Troop Red A-1-7, and the life of Dokken Adrian.
“So, do any of you know where we’re going exactly?” asked a German Shepherd. “I here we get to set up a small camp at a town somewhere down here. Jesus Baldheaded ol’ Christ, I hope we just level that town.” With this macabre thought he trailed off. Suddenly, he began again. “When we get there, who’s up for a game of euchre, huh? Winners get 10 bucks, huh?” The others around him rolled their eyes. The Shepherd’s name was Damien Foredice and cards were his main passion. He had made a special leather pouch for the front of his uniform, and in it were two packs of Bicycle playing cards. “Yeah, ain’t nothing quite like a game of euchre…” he trailed off before launching into a long narrative, extolling the virtues of euchre. In Damien’s mind, euchre had no faults.
“Damien, shut up, ok?” The voice belonged to Dokken Adrian. “Just cool it for a while. No one really wants to hear about euchre or cards.”<br> “Yeah, well who asked you?” came the answer, his voice rising an octave and getting slightly louder. He punctuated this question with an obscene gesture, but nonetheless fell silent, leaning back against the inside of the army truck.
Talk was limited to impersonal remarks about the heat, the weather, people’s girlfriends or wives, or the fact that the war might end soon. By the time they reached the small village, talk had subsided completely. Damien was the first to jump from the back of the truck.
“This is it?!” he asked querulously. “This little puissant village is all? You gotta be kidding me.”<br> The voice of the lieutenant answered his question. “Yeah, this is the town…village rather. We need to take the town with as minimal loss of life as possible. The more we kill and shoot, the more attention we’ll draw to the area. There should be no resistance from any organized forces.” While he was still speaking, the door to one of the huts opened. An old woman appeared her muzzle gray and weathered. In her had she held a rolling pin. She came up the hill with surprising speed for one so old and stood directly in front of Damien.
“Why you hear? You do enough already. You only hear to kill, spoil crops, take land.” she asked in a broken form of English. Lapsing into an almost tribal form of Labrador she began to wave her arms, brandishing the rolling pin in Damien’s face. The look on Damien’s face was pure rage. He took the rifle from off his shoulder and with one swift movement, drove the butt into the old woman’s face.
“Ha!” Damien yelled. “How do you like that, you old bag?” The old woman, blood streaming down her face and dripping from her muzzle, grabbed his pant legs in a way that suggested pleading for mercy. This seemed to enrage Damien even more. He jerked his leg away from the old woman’s outstretched paws. He took the sheath off his bayonet. “You miserable old hag!” he howled, “I’ll teach you rebels to pick fights with real people!” He stabbed downward with the bayonet, but his aim was off and he caught the poor woman through the shoulder. “Yeah! Yeah! Get some! Yeah!” he shouted maniacally. The old woman’s voice had become a shrieking fire engine yell, so loud that Damien could barely be heard, even though he was shouting and ranting for all he was worth. As the woman howled in pain, Damien planted the bayonet so far into her neck that it went straight through and impaled itself into the ground. “C’mon you fools!” he yelled. “Look at these idiots, don’t just stand there, take the town.” As if propelled to some type of mania by the old woman’s blood, half the troop raced down the hill, yelling war cries all the way. The lieutenant took quick stock of the situation. Damien was still standing over the body of the old woman, and was yelling something about “cutting her d**n head off, that will be a lesson to the others”. The woman was already dead, might as well let Damien carve on her. The lieutenant’s men were now running wild in the town. Women and children flocked into the dirt streets, screaming. Half a dozen soldiers were setting fire to every building they could find, and one soldier was actually forcing people back into the burning structures. In the firelight, his face was the shrieking grin of a lunatic. The solders might have gone on like that until they got tired or ran out of ammo, but the lieutenant knew that he had to get control of the situation soon, or he never would. He unshouldered his rifle, looked down the sight, and fired a quick burst at the dog that was burning the women and children. His head simply sheared itself off and his body crashed to the ground, almost before it knew it was dead. The ones in the town felt the wind from the bullets, saw the blood and guts, and as suddenly as it had appeared, the mania left them.
“TROOP HALT!” he lieutenant screamed at the top of his lungs. “TROOP FALL IN!” The men obediently fell in line. “You were all told to take the town, WITHOUT the use of force!” the lieutenant yelled. “You deliberately disobeyed orders. You are lucky you didn’t compromise the mission.” He looked back up the hill to where Damien was still standing. Damien was now jumping up and down, yelling and gesticulating wildly. “He shot him! He shot him! I saw! That crazy-ass bastard shot Pytynia! I saw him do it!”
The lieutenant was in no way about to deal with the hysterics of Damien. “Damien, get your lousy ass down here,” he said. “If I’m not mistaken, you were just yelling things about cutting off heads and burning women and children alive. You ain’t no better than anyone, and you’re d**n lucky I didn’t scrag you with the rifle instead of Pytynia.” To the rest of the troop he shouted, “Get Pytynia up and bury his ass. Then clean this town up. Put the bodies somewhere, and try to do it decently. Then see if you can salvage any type of buildings. Holy old hell, what a nightmare this is.” Thus, the town fell in to the hands of Troop Red A-1-7.
The Life and Times of Dokken Adrian
A Furfic by KillerX
The round table was covered with an assortment of maps and compasses. All the maps were covered with surveyor’s notes, surveillance notes, topographical notations, side notes, and other such information. The colonel was the first to speak.
“If you ask me, we have a straight shot clear through to the capital. I think that with enough men and artillery we can punch through with little trouble. Once we front the capital, the Rebels are sure to surrender.”<br>“I doubt if it will be that easy,” said a lieutenant. He pointed to the map. “There will be heavy resistance here,” he touched another area of the map, “here,” he touched a third spot, “and here. I don’t think that it will be as easy as the colonel says it will be. I opt for a more gradual approach. We can safely approach the city from 3 sides. We will need Battalion A1, Battalion A4, and the 109 Army and Artillery divisions placed before we do anything. Also, I would like to have air support from the 78, 79, and 80th airborne troops if possible. Once we surround them, they will have no choice but to surrender.” The colonel disagreed, and that set off a whole round of accusations and arguments. Finally, it was agreed upon that both had valid points. It was admitted that a frontal assault would cost more lives and more machinery that would be prudent. A surrounding of the Rebel capital was decided upon. That’s where we enter Troop Red A-1-7, and the life of Dokken Adrian.
“So, do any of you know where we’re going exactly?” asked a German Shepherd. “I here we get to set up a small camp at a town somewhere down here. Jesus Baldheaded ol’ Christ, I hope we just level that town.” With this macabre thought he trailed off. Suddenly, he began again. “When we get there, who’s up for a game of euchre, huh? Winners get 10 bucks, huh?” The others around him rolled their eyes. The Shepherd’s name was Damien Foredice and cards were his main passion. He had made a special leather pouch for the front of his uniform, and in it were two packs of Bicycle playing cards. “Yeah, ain’t nothing quite like a game of euchre…” he trailed off before launching into a long narrative, extolling the virtues of euchre. In Damien’s mind, euchre had no faults.
“Damien, shut up, ok?” The voice belonged to Dokken Adrian. “Just cool it for a while. No one really wants to hear about euchre or cards.”<br> “Yeah, well who asked you?” came the answer, his voice rising an octave and getting slightly louder. He punctuated this question with an obscene gesture, but nonetheless fell silent, leaning back against the inside of the army truck.
Talk was limited to impersonal remarks about the heat, the weather, people’s girlfriends or wives, or the fact that the war might end soon. By the time they reached the small village, talk had subsided completely. Damien was the first to jump from the back of the truck.
“This is it?!” he asked querulously. “This little puissant village is all? You gotta be kidding me.”<br> The voice of the lieutenant answered his question. “Yeah, this is the town…village rather. We need to take the town with as minimal loss of life as possible. The more we kill and shoot, the more attention we’ll draw to the area. There should be no resistance from any organized forces.” While he was still speaking, the door to one of the huts opened. An old woman appeared her muzzle gray and weathered. In her had she held a rolling pin. She came up the hill with surprising speed for one so old and stood directly in front of Damien.
“Why you hear? You do enough already. You only hear to kill, spoil crops, take land.” she asked in a broken form of English. Lapsing into an almost tribal form of Labrador she began to wave her arms, brandishing the rolling pin in Damien’s face. The look on Damien’s face was pure rage. He took the rifle from off his shoulder and with one swift movement, drove the butt into the old woman’s face.
“Ha!” Damien yelled. “How do you like that, you old bag?” The old woman, blood streaming down her face and dripping from her muzzle, grabbed his pant legs in a way that suggested pleading for mercy. This seemed to enrage Damien even more. He jerked his leg away from the old woman’s outstretched paws. He took the sheath off his bayonet. “You miserable old hag!” he howled, “I’ll teach you rebels to pick fights with real people!” He stabbed downward with the bayonet, but his aim was off and he caught the poor woman through the shoulder. “Yeah! Yeah! Get some! Yeah!” he shouted maniacally. The old woman’s voice had become a shrieking fire engine yell, so loud that Damien could barely be heard, even though he was shouting and ranting for all he was worth. As the woman howled in pain, Damien planted the bayonet so far into her neck that it went straight through and impaled itself into the ground. “C’mon you fools!” he yelled. “Look at these idiots, don’t just stand there, take the town.” As if propelled to some type of mania by the old woman’s blood, half the troop raced down the hill, yelling war cries all the way. The lieutenant took quick stock of the situation. Damien was still standing over the body of the old woman, and was yelling something about “cutting her d**n head off, that will be a lesson to the others”. The woman was already dead, might as well let Damien carve on her. The lieutenant’s men were now running wild in the town. Women and children flocked into the dirt streets, screaming. Half a dozen soldiers were setting fire to every building they could find, and one soldier was actually forcing people back into the burning structures. In the firelight, his face was the shrieking grin of a lunatic. The solders might have gone on like that until they got tired or ran out of ammo, but the lieutenant knew that he had to get control of the situation soon, or he never would. He unshouldered his rifle, looked down the sight, and fired a quick burst at the dog that was burning the women and children. His head simply sheared itself off and his body crashed to the ground, almost before it knew it was dead. The ones in the town felt the wind from the bullets, saw the blood and guts, and as suddenly as it had appeared, the mania left them.
“TROOP HALT!” he lieutenant screamed at the top of his lungs. “TROOP FALL IN!” The men obediently fell in line. “You were all told to take the town, WITHOUT the use of force!” the lieutenant yelled. “You deliberately disobeyed orders. You are lucky you didn’t compromise the mission.” He looked back up the hill to where Damien was still standing. Damien was now jumping up and down, yelling and gesticulating wildly. “He shot him! He shot him! I saw! That crazy-ass bastard shot Pytynia! I saw him do it!”
The lieutenant was in no way about to deal with the hysterics of Damien. “Damien, get your lousy ass down here,” he said. “If I’m not mistaken, you were just yelling things about cutting off heads and burning women and children alive. You ain’t no better than anyone, and you’re d**n lucky I didn’t scrag you with the rifle instead of Pytynia.” To the rest of the troop he shouted, “Get Pytynia up and bury his ass. Then clean this town up. Put the bodies somewhere, and try to do it decently. Then see if you can salvage any type of buildings. Holy old hell, what a nightmare this is.” Thus, the town fell in to the hands of Troop Red A-1-7.