Life After Death

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Morse
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Life After Death

Post by Morse » Sun Sep 28, 2014 6:14 pm

Planet: Jordania
Location: Ikzian City
Date: September 9th, 2214

The entry vehicle shook, rocking with every slight turbulent that hit it. It was not a smooth ride by any means, but there was nothing that could be done about that. Smaller shuttles tended to feel the effects of bad atmospheric conditions far more then larger ones. And for the task at hand, speed and precision was the only real option, not a massed landing.

Sitting in one of the many chairs along the walls of the small craft was a man in his fifties. He had trimmed whiskers that wrapped to form a small beard and a graying tone to his thinned hair line. He was in good physical shape and kept his head back.

Leaning back he took a drink from a flask that was in his hand, a hard burning wash of ‘Homebrew’ whiskey running down his throat. But he was long since immune.

“Shit Morse.” A younger man that was sitting across from him said. “Fumes off that are gonna make me black out.”

”Git yer ass a set a balls n’ maybe you won’ be worryin’ bout havin’ em bitch problems.”

“Boss isn’t gonna like it if your drinking makes your fire too friendly.” The younger man said.

”At’s what this is for.” Morse tapped on the eyepiece to his Smartgun, his weapon of choice for nearly forty years.

The ICC had very specific laws against operating and owning military grade weaponry for people that counted as civilians. But the one constant of Morse’s life was simply that he did not care. And his times of listening to anything the Interstellar Commerce Commission had to say were gone the moment his discharge papers from the United States Colonial Marine Corps came through.

“One minute till we hit the dirt.” A voice came over the intercom.

”What a fuckin’ joy.” Morse said, moving his weapon up onto his lap. It was not the newest model of support weapon that was for sure, the dated weapon still carrying all of his various trinkets and memorabilia all over it.

But in spite of the weapons age, to say nothing of the man holding it, there was a lot to be said about someone who had been in the greatest military fighting force in the galaxy as long as he had been.

“Alright team. Everyone up and at the ready.” A man at the front of the craft said, walking towards the back where Morse was.

Morse got to his feet, and adjusted his harness a moment. His camouflage pants and boots were dirty and dated just like he was. He still wore a flak vest, though the green color had been replaced by a gray. And every bit of him had the look of a grizzled old veteran.

A Confederate flag, somewhat torn, still clinging to the side of his weapon, the dog tags of a few dead friends hanging off his arm, various writings all over his clothing and weapon harness, and a look in his eye that said he’d seen and done things that most wouldn’t imagine.

He appeared to be just as much of a misfit as the rest of his rag tag compatriots however. All of them seeming to be garbed in what they found to be the peak of combat efficiency. Some wearing advanced combat harnesses and weapons, while others had a more traditional soldiers attire.

“Up front, Morse.” The man in charge said.

”Ardy up.” Morse replied, moving to the back door which he knew was about to swing open.

The man behind him then stopped, and sniffed the air.

“Jesus Morse, you been drinking?” The man asked with a sort of sarcastic tone.

Morse didn’t look back, just stared at the door as they felt the small shuttle touch the ground with a thump and a shake.

He moved his hand to the side of his face, moving his eyepiece to hover over his right eye. Then he reached to the side of the weapon and pulled the priming lever, which armed the weapon.

”Every damn day.” Morse grumbled back.

The back door then opened quickly and Morse charged out quickly with others directly behind him.
Image-SSG Allen Morse - Squad Leader
-3rd Bn, 2nd Reg, 1st Co, 8th Plt
- DEVIL DAWG
- M41A Pulse Rifle - M4 Pistol - Med Kit
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Morse
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Re: Life After Death

Post by Morse » Tue Sep 30, 2014 5:27 pm

The moment the door drew down there was a sort of silence. It was as though the world stopped spinning for just a moment. Though the engines of the craft still blared loudly with their roar, it was still nothing. There was just the silence.

Morse could feel the immediate heat of a desert as his boots stomped onto the brown dirt. There was a blustering feeling of wind and hot exhaust coming from the shuttle, but it did nothing to amplify the sound around him. It merely served for him to get an understanding of what he was looking at. And all he was concerned with was the uniformed men standing before him.

Trrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh Trrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh

The immense sound was all that Morse knew, and it came from the magnificent weapon that was so precisely controlled by him, the wearer. He handled it with incomparable eloquence, even in his age. Lining up a shot, squeezing the trigger to release exactly five rounds, and then repeating the action at another uniformed guard in the exact same second.

The two gray uniformed men in front of the group disembarking from the transport fell almost instantaneously, before they even got a chance to lift up their weapons.

“Nice shot, Morse.” The younger man from the shuttle said.

”Shots, ya ignorant shit.” Morse corrected. ”S’the plural.”

Suddenly a sound came down from above them, like the sound of electrified thunder hammering down on them. It forced dirt up into the air, and immediately the group scattered.

“Gun box!” Someone yelled out, as they quickly moved away.

It was too late for one of their number however, who was torn to pieces by a rain of bullets coming from above them.

Morse took cover alone on the other side of the transport, keeping his eyes down the street for any extra combatants they didn’t expect.

What he could see was a street in the fading afternoon light, with vehicles and buildings that were being abandoned by a mob of people that were scrambling to get away from the gun fire.

Morse noted a pair of onlookers crouched behind a vehicle who seemed to be enthralled by the action playing out before them.

Unfortunately for them, Morse did not like spectators.

”The fuck you lookin’ at!” Morse demanded, squeezing the trigger on his weapon to send a stream of bullets passing directly over their heads.

They immediately panicked and began to run for their lives, and for a moment Morse thought about painting the walls with their dirty colonist blood. But he realized most of his present company were of the same sort, and so he opted not to. It did not stop the thought from passing through his head however.

“Frag out!” A voice yelled from the other side of the shuttle, followed by a dull punk sound. Immediately after there was a violent explosion atop the building they were in front of.

The heat reached Morse quickly, but he took no notice of it at all. He simply moved forward with the group to the door.

“Jubba.” The leader of the group said pointing at one of the men. “Get the door open.”

A pudgy man with a very high tech set of equipment strapped to him quickly ran forward to the large metal door, and he hooked in one of his devices. Within moments the door began to grind open and the group proceeded inside.

”Cole.” Morse spat at their leader. ”Thought you said ems was gonna be an easy take.”

The man in charge looked back over at Morse, lifting his submachine gun to his shoulder.

“Well it isn’t as hard as some.”

”Ems got gun bucks up top n’ yer gonna feed me yer semantical horse shit?” Morse inquired harshly.

“Relax, Marine.” Cole mocked. “I’m sure you were dropped off in far worse places then this.”

”Well whats his name out there wasn’t. N’ Don’ mean I wanna go doin’ it again, asshole.” Morse shook his head, walking forward with the rest of the group.

They proceeded forward into a hallway that was dark gray and empty. It was lit fairly well and had many vid screens on the walls showing different pieces of data. The only unusual thing was the siren that blared consistently as they moved.

”How far we got till the Cylinder Lock?” Morse asked regarding their mission.

“About fifty yards that way.” The pudgy Jubba said.

“And with any luck we won’t run into anymore…” Cole began, just as his words were interrupted.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh

The roaring sound of an auto sentry mounted to the ceiling opening up onto them, and instantly tearing another one of their group to pieces was all that was to be seen in that moment.

The group immediately took cover along the walls and returned fire.

”What was you sayin’ Cole? ‘Bout with luck we what!?” Morse called out over the roar of the gun.

“Eat shit, Morse!” Cole called back at him as they all returned fire.

”We keep yer ass in charge, this’ll prolly be the day I do.” Morse concluded, returning fire on the auto sentry.
Image-SSG Allen Morse - Squad Leader
-3rd Bn, 2nd Reg, 1st Co, 8th Plt
- DEVIL DAWG
- M41A Pulse Rifle - M4 Pistol - Med Kit
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Morse
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Re: Life After Death

Post by Morse » Sun Aug 02, 2015 6:50 pm

The weapons fire in the hallway was deafening, as the metal walls carried the roar in every direction. Though the most of it came from the autosentry that was mounted to the ceiling, which was actively seeking guard its post, the people that were opposing it were not entirely dissuaded from shooting at it.

They were still having very little luck in destroying the mounted weapon, as they could not readily peek at it to aim, lest their faces gain new holes. And while Morse had the ability to shoot around corners without exposing anything but his weapon, that risked not only his very valuable weapon system, but also his hands.

Not interested in losing yet another limb, nor in staying in their predicament, Morse decided to take matters into his own hands.

He reached down onto his belt and pulled up a red capped explosive device. He clicked the button, arming the grenade, and threw it quickly down the hall whilst the sentry gun expelled fire at someone on the opposite side of him.

”Heads down!” Morse called out, after already having thrown it. Of course the action was so fast, the weapons so loud, and the warning so late that saying anything was pointless.

BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Heat and fire exploded down the hallway, forcing everyone of the group to immediately slam their backs against the wall and close their eyes.

As the fire subsided, the discharging weapons ceased.

Morse looked down the hall, and saw nothing was there. A job well done in his opinion.

To celebrate his saving them, he reached to his canteen and began to take a deep drink of the strong ‘homebrew’ whiskey. But before he could finish, he was getting berated.

“What the fuck, Morse!” Cole spat. “You coulda killed somebody!”

Morse wiped his bear, and sniffed with his nose, utterly unconcerned. ”Yeah, but I didn’t.”

“You fuckin’ drunk.” Cole continued. “You don’t even give a shit about which of us dies.”

“Fascist fuck.” Another one of their group insulted Morse. They all knew he was from Earth, and that he’d spent a very long time in the USCM. Being colonists they all had a very different view on people like him, regardless of his present circumstance.

Instead of just letting it go, Morse reacted in a manner typical to him those days.
He slammed Cole against the wall with his Smartgun, a move their less experienced leader was not likely expecting. The grizzly looking man, in spite of his age, was stronger then him, or at the very least more ferocious in his move.

”I just done saved yer rim trash asses.” Morse seethed at a surprised Cole. Looking at him with one eye, as the other was covered by his eyepiece. ”Cus yer shit fuckin’ plans what got two of us dirt dropped already, N’ I didn’t spend years wastin’ fucks like you, to let one a you lead me to do the same!”

Morse didn’t always lambaste on his time in the Marine Corps, but he was very strong on self preservation those days, and he always spoke his mind on that matter.

”So Ima suggest you back the fuck…”

Morse stopped as he felt the weapon in his hand instantly jerk slightly to the left. After so many years he knew when his M56 Smartgun was speaking to him, and it had located a target. He didn’t even have to turn his head. His eyepiece over his right eye gave him an exact visual of a foolish man in gray uniform attempting to line up to shoot at the group.

Morse pressed the button on the back end of his weapon with his thumb.

THRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

There wasn’t even a returned shot from his enemy. He was mulched and fell to the floor.

Morse kept his eyes on Cole, gritting his teeth bitterly, and then released him.

”Let’s fuckin’ move!”

He gave them an order, and began walking forward himself. He did not look back to see that the others were following him. But he heard no muttering, or back talk. Just the pattering of boots on a metal floor, as they moved to finish the job.
Image-SSG Allen Morse - Squad Leader
-3rd Bn, 2nd Reg, 1st Co, 8th Plt
- DEVIL DAWG
- M41A Pulse Rifle - M4 Pistol - Med Kit
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