The World of The Gunny

The Wasted World of Gunnery Sergeant DeShane
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 Post subject: Gunny Christmas
PostPosted: 28 Dec 2007 01:37 
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Warrant Officer 1
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Gunny Christmas

Huh…it doesn’t feel like Christmas…” Rob mused. He, Locklear, and Kreegan were sitting around a fire near their Bradley. It was December 25, 2346.

Locklear raised an eyebrow. “Maybe because we spent the whole day getting shot at?

No…not that…more like we’re missing something.” As he finished his sentence Chad wandered out of the Bradley, wearing a threadbare Santa hat and carrying an armful of packages wrapped in dirty brown paper.

Merry Christmas!” He had all the enthusiasm of, well, a child on Christmas morning as he passed the presents around.

Ah, there it is.” Rob said.

Locklear favored his CO with a confused glance. “Man, you two been spending too much time with each other if you expected that, lieutenant.

Ho ho ho,” Chad said, with perfectly deadpan delivery. “Santa says boys who make snide remarks about their commanding officer and platoon sergeant don’t get anything for Christmas.

Aren’t you a little old for all this, top?

Aww, c’mon! It’s Christmas!” Chad exclaimed. He might have been getting close to thirty, but at that moment he easily seemed twenty years younger. He tossed Locklear his box and handed the lieutenant his own. Rob grumbled and shuffled around in his pack, pulling out another half-dozen packages that he distributed around the circle.

Now I feel bad, I didn’t get you guys anything.” Kreegan said sadly.

Don’t worry about it,” Chad assured her, “It’s nothing big.

Locklear opened his packages from his superiors. Both were of prewar alcohol. They must have cost a fortune. Still, he was a little irked at the implications. "Put together, you two have more money than God, and you just buy me booze? Who do you think I am?" Locklear demanded

"The better question is why do we think someone like you can appreciate prewar whiskey?" Rob asked.
I don’t know about you, sir, but I figured he was experienced enough with alcohol to at least have some idea of the quality” Chad offered, a hint of smugness creeping into his voice.

It has occurred to you,” Locklear began, “that no one celebrates Christmas anymore?

So? Almost no one prints books anymore either, doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to stop.

Rob tore open the wrapping paper on the gift Chad gave him. He let out a low whistle. “Sweet Jesus! Starship Troopers! How in the hell did you find this? I’ve never seen a copy, and believe me, I looked!” Chad just grinned.

Chad opened his gift. A copy of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Locklear groaned when he saw that. “You two and your books.

That, PFC,” Rob explained, “is why you got booze.

Abernathy eyed Chad’s book with open interest. “Can I check that out when you’re done, Top?”

Maybe you oughtta open your stuff before you ask.” Rob suggested. When he did, there was no mistaking the boyish wonder that crept over the private’s face as he saw his own copy of the book from Rob, and a copy of Fahrenheit 451 from Chad.

Kreegan opened her gifts. Rob had gotten her a (no doubt very expensive) bottle of prewar perfume, and Chad had bought a similarly priced gold necklace.

Rob wandered into the Bradley, emerging with a humidor. Inside were his best cigars, each one worth quite a bit. He opened it and passed them around the fire, until only three were left in the humidor. He lit up and kicked back, a wide grin on his face. “Merry Christmas.

_________________
"Detail makes the difference between boring and terrific writing. It’s the difference between a pencil sketch and a lush oil painting. As a writer, words are your paint. Use all the colors."


“For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, 'It might have been'.”

"The only reason for being a professional writer is that you can't help it."

"Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self."

www.shallowbay.com Best. Band. Ever.


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PostPosted: 28 Dec 2007 01:46 
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Sergeant Major of the USMC
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Joined: 23 May 2005 16:49
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Location: Wandering the Wastes
Very good bud. I will see if I can add something for ole Gunns to the Gunny Christmas. :bs

_________________
Benno the Mad Wrote:
man, you gotta realise that thor and bos fell out of the patriot tree (like the ugly tree, but instills patriotism instead of ugly) and hit every branch on the way down.


"Gone now, dispersed by the brutal destruction of this one day, was the belief that the Darkman and his army of the dead were so superior as to be invincible. By attempting to destroy the morale of the Marines, the Darkman had restored it to full vigor. Dia De La Muerto had failed in its objectives."
The Gunny: Stand of the 300

Si vis pacem, para bellum
If you want peace, prepare for war

Gunny's color #FF2400


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PostPosted: 30 Dec 2007 03:23 
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Sergeant Major of the USMC
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Joined: 23 May 2005 16:49
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Location: Wandering the Wastes
The Gunny had been making his rounds when he noticed something he thought that he would never see again, someone exchanging gifts on the 25th of December. he had been led to believe that more people had abandoned all forms of judeo-Christian-Islamic forms of worship. Something about how a real god would not have allowed hell to reign on Earth. he had been saddened by that news but could not really blame the survivors.

He walked over to the group surrounding the campfire and caused a bit of consternation in the group.

Rob got to his feet as fast as he could, damn near burning himself with his cigar as he did so. He snapped to attention and, cigar still firmly clamped between his teeth, managed a muffled "Gunnery sergeant, sir! We weren't expecting you!"

Chad stifled a laugh, slowly rising to his feet to greet the Gunny as well.

The Gunny just smiled and said, "at ease Lt. I just happened to notice you all doing something I never expected on this day, exchanging gifts. I did not know there were any christians left after the purges after the war."

Rob grinned, remembering to take the cigar out of his mouth. "Well sir, one of my men just pointed that out as well. I guess old habits die hard with the Templars."

"Steven never really told me, but your former group was related to the Knights Templar, weren't you?"

"We are sir, in a roundabout fashion. My platoon sergeant knows more about our history than I do."

"Ah, I figured as much. maybe one day someone will fill me in on your history, but not today. Today is a holy day. A time for reflection on what this day really means to us."

"So I've heard," Rob grinned.

The Gunny smiled at the Lt's reply, "to each his own Lt. But I do wish to tell you all a tale about an act of courage and valor that had happened on this day so many years ago." You could almost see the Gunny beginning to fade into the past to retrieve his tale.

"It was the year of 2061 and the Chinese had invaded North America through Alaska and the AADP was caught flatfooted by this invasion. The only troops available were the US Marines of the Second Marine Division..."

***

A deep booming roar could be plainly heard. Climbing up on the side of the armored car, the Gunny looked forward. Another line of Chinese infantry was setting up astride the track a hundred yards forward. And beyond them, not a half a mile away, barely visible, he saw the sharp flashes of rifle and machinegun fire. Several seconds later a patter of bullets flashed past.

A gust of wind swirled through the light scattering of trees, drawing the mist away. An entire regiment of Marines in square had been formed down in the gentle drop of the valley ahead. The Gunny unsnapped his field glasses then raised them, ignoring the hail of bullets flashing past him from the infantry who began to try and surround the train.

From all sides of the square down in the valley the Chinese were surging in, rifles firing. In a measured pace assault rifle fire rippled down the line holding them at bay. In the center of the square he saw a cluster of men around their command LAVs, which had run dry of fuel. The guidon of the 6th Marines fluttering alongside the dark blue flag marked with the two stars of a Major general. "General!" the Gunny screamed, slamming his fist against the side of the armored car in impotent rage.

The men working on the track struggled to pound the bayonets in, to anchor the rail in place so they could advance the last short distance. Rifle butts shattered from the blows, barrels bent, but ever so slowly the bayonets inched their way into the ice covered wood.

And with every passing second more and more Chinese filtered out alongside the trains, and dense columns moved to fill the few hundred yards that seperated the regiment from safety. The Gunny swung his glasses to the south, coming across the field he saw the Chinese setting up battery after battery of guns just waiting to tear the Marine regiment apart.

Tears of frustration clouded his eyes.

From across the field, screened by a column of infantry, a long line of guns was being set up to prevent any movement by the regiment and the relief attempt. The square began to move. Another flurry of fire crashed into the line as two more guns opened up. Casualties went down, men breaking formation to help the wounded. "Walk or die, no helping the wounded!" The Gunny heard the Divisional commander say to his troops, they were that close, yet that far.

On the flanks the Chinese charged in regardless of losses, officer's bugles ringing out. A vast formation turned and started from the south racing to close with the marines. The rifle fire rose to a cresendo. Men dropped, flailing in their deaths. The others charged on, leaping over the dead and dying screaming their battle cries. The charge crashed into the southwest corner of the square, the line collapsing and the Chinese pouring into the hole. Part of the reserve battalion, turning about face, raced back in a solid line, bayonets at the level, desperate to seal the breach.

Like carrion drawn to death, the Chinese charged towards the breach, struggling to crack the line clean apart. A second line of guns was beyond the first. Crews swung the pieces to face east, back up the hill towards the train.

The Gunny could see that the breach was closing, but nearly an entire battalion was gone, the square curving in as if a surgeon had sliced off part of a body to save the rest. A knot of survivors outside the protection of the formation fought on and were finally swarmed under. The square lurched forward. Although it was starting to come apart as it swept up the slope, racing to beat the guns before they were ready to fire.

Groaning in anguish the Gunny could not look away, The entire east side of the square seemed to go down, the formation stopping as if striking a stone wall.

At that moment the second line of guns fired, rounds screaming up the slope. The firing line in front of him was riddled, bodies disintegrating, tumbling in the air. An explosion of sparks shot out of the engine as it was hit by shrapnel from the Chinese artillery fire. All the Gunny could do was watch in numbed silence. The square was going fast. The southwest corner was torn open again, with Chinese pouring in. The eastern line was gone, the field a carpet of white-clad bodies their winter clothing stained red. Hundreds of wounded screaming, crawling towards the rescuers. The first line of artillery kept up it's deadly fire.

The Gunny could see all that was left was a small knot of men, grouped around him, the Divisional commander, the last of the reserve, and the survivors running in from the disintegrating lines. Officers struggled, pushing the men back into a firing line trying to plug the holes with bodies. The air was alive with rifle and artillery rounds. The artillery facing the trains continued to pound the line cresting the hill.

The Gunny watched as the Chinese finally overcame the marine defenders, and all he could do as they killed his father was watch, watch and weep. He watched as they charged in, rifles firing. A final defiant fusilade flashed out, its power weak. For a moment he saw him, standing alone, rifle raised in defiance, and then there was nothing left but the flashing of the Chinese rifle fire.

"Come on, to hell with the M307's, run for it!" the Gunny shouted. The city of Anchorage was in flames behind him, illuminating the nightmarish scene. The long line of trains was finally ready to move, the wreckage cleared, the track repaired farther up the line where several Chinese infantry detachments had been dropped by helo in a vain attempt to cut the rail line.

Behind him, the 6 M307s were still firing down the slope at the advancing Chinese infantry, all the while Chinese infantry was moving in on all sides. A mile farther out, a Chinese column was racing parallel to the rail line. The M307 crews fired one last barrage, then abandoning the guns and running frantically towards the train.

The Gunny looked back at where his father had died, and except for the occasional flash of rifle fire, he could see nothing. He waved to the engineer leaning out of the cab, a shudder ran through the the train. "Goodbye," was all he could whisper as he climbed onto the car.

***

The Gunny's eyes cleared once more and he began, " We had gotten out, just barely though. I was on the last train out of Anchorage, and I felt sick at the thought of it. The bastards had taken most of Alaska, for almost nothing, and over fifteen thousand US troops had been either dead or missing. The troops on board the trains had been talking excitedly about their escape, finally able to breathe easy after the last tense hours of holding till the rest of the US armed forces could withdraw. I knew that once the excitement of the escape had worn off, the cold reality would settle in. Our forces were in dissarray, and in headlong flight."

"I remember looking forward. All the way to the horizon, moving off into the evening, was train after train, diesel exhaust billowing along the path. and because of the sacrifice of my father and his troops nearly ninety thousand men were riding east, escaping at least temporarily the death closing in around.
" You could actually see a faint light glowing from the Gunny's eyes. He always loved to tell this tale, it gave him courage to keep the faith and to do whats right.

Rob was the first to recover from the Gunny's incredibly depressing tale. "That was uh...quite a story, sir."

"Yes it is. It always inspires me, so I love to tell it whenever I can. Especially on Christmas. But for some reason I didn't seem to get many party invites. Oh well, their loss." The Gunny said with a big smile on his face. "Keep the faith Lt. And a very merry Christmas to you all." With that the Gunny once again began his rounds whistling Jingle Bells.

_________________
Benno the Mad Wrote:
man, you gotta realise that thor and bos fell out of the patriot tree (like the ugly tree, but instills patriotism instead of ugly) and hit every branch on the way down.


"Gone now, dispersed by the brutal destruction of this one day, was the belief that the Darkman and his army of the dead were so superior as to be invincible. By attempting to destroy the morale of the Marines, the Darkman had restored it to full vigor. Dia De La Muerto had failed in its objectives."
The Gunny: Stand of the 300

Si vis pacem, para bellum
If you want peace, prepare for war

Gunny's color #FF2400


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 Post subject:
PostPosted: 31 Dec 2007 00:46 
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Warrant Officer 1
Warrant Officer 1
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Joined: 25 Aug 2005 09:47
Posts: 909
Location: Maumee, Ohio
Locklear put his arm in the air. “Anyone else insanely depressed now?” Slowly, the rest of the squad followed suit.

I’m willing to bet oh, let’s say, all my money on the reason he was never invited to many parties.” Chad said.

Even if I had the money, I wouldn’t take that. That’s a sucker bet if there ever was one.

I think I finally get why people always get depressed around Christmas…I think we can trace it all back to him…or at least his stories.” Rob offered.

I think, or at least hope, he means well. I mean, he wouldn’t come her to depress us…would he?

I didn’t realize people wearing Santa hats could be depressed. How in God’s name did you find such a thing, anyway?” Rob asked.

And are you aware you look ridiculous in it?” Locklear inquired.

Yes, and it took some scrounging. But, since Christmas was right around the corner at the time the bombs hit, it was easier than you’d think.

It looks beat to hell.

Not a lot of prewar stuff doesn’t.

Anyhow, I’ve got a cure for Gunny-induced depression,” Rob said. “Locklear, pass some of your booze it around. Let’s drink ourselves happy.

"But I don't wanna share it!"

"It was "just booze' a second ago." Rob pointed out.

"But it's still expensive booze!"

"C'mon Locklear, 'tis the season, after all."

"Start sharing or I'll have Gunny tell you some more war stories." Rob threatened.

Locklear grumbled, but gave in. "Fine," Then mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "hope you choke on it"


True of the old world, true of the new—you can always rely on booze to get you through the holidays.

_________________
"Detail makes the difference between boring and terrific writing. It’s the difference between a pencil sketch and a lush oil painting. As a writer, words are your paint. Use all the colors."


“For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, 'It might have been'.”

"The only reason for being a professional writer is that you can't help it."

"Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self."

www.shallowbay.com Best. Band. Ever.


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