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Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 4230393" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>PX Poker Night - Prologue</strong></p><p></p><p>NORTH PLATTE, NB--Guppy, Hammer, and Caprice were stationed at the Platte AFB with no explanation. One step up from a military prison, the Spartan base consisted of a dozen buildings and two airstrips in the middle of a Nebraska wasteland some twenty miles from Marion, the nearest town. </p><p></p><p>They had been given their assignments by cistron, which were promptly taken away. Weapons too. Their assignments were spread across the base, and never together. Guppy came upon his first denizen of the base tinkering with a Chevy Blazer 4x4.</p><p></p><p>Guppy extended his hand to a trim, wiry redheaded man with blue eyes and a freckled complexion. “Name’s Hank,” he said with a smile. </p><p></p><p>“O’Shea,” he responded. “Second Lieutenant Mike O’Shea. I’m Executive Officer here at Platte.”</p><p></p><p>Guppy smiled again. “That is wonderful. Then perhaps you can tell me who is in charge here?”</p><p></p><p>O’Shea gave him a sideways glance. “You don’t know? You really are new. That’d be Major Louis Sprague. He’s base commander.” He looked Guppy up and down. “And he don’t like foreigners.”</p><p></p><p>“I’m just as American as you!” said Guppy, getting defensive. “I eat hamburgers and wear jeans and—“</p><p></p><p>“Hamburgers?” asked O’Shea. “I thought you people didn’t eat cows.”</p><p></p><p>“No,” said Guppy. “I eat cows just like any red-blooded American.”</p><p></p><p>“Your accent’s awful thick.”</p><p></p><p>Guppy sighed. “Look, perhaps we are getting off to a wrong start. I merely want to know what we’re supposed to be doing here. I’m honestly not sure and you’re the first person I’ve met here.”</p><p></p><p>O’Shea shrugged. “There’s a reason for that. The base staff consists of only twelve airmen.” He nodded at the buildings around them. “So we don’t use much of the place. Once or twice a month, the Air Force flies decommissioned surplus aircraft to the base. It’s the only time we really have to get moving. Sprague doesn’t like it when we don’t hop-to. It’s his way of letting you know your place.”</p><p></p><p>“What kind of aircraft?”</p><p></p><p>“Helicopters, trainers, and even some jets. They find their way here before being sold to foreign governments or as scrap. We park the aircraft in the graveyard,” he jabbed a thumb northwards, “Then we mothball them to remove fuel and lubricants and seal up the planes’ mechanical accesses to protect them from the elements.” He looked around. “Annnd that’s pretty much it.”</p><p></p><p>“Wow,” said Guppy. “That sucks.”</p><p></p><p>“Yeah, welcome to hell. This place is pretty much the last stop on the road to dishonorable discharge. What you in for?”</p><p></p><p>Guppy frowned. “A member of my squad died.”</p><p></p><p>O’Shea’s expression softened. “Sorry to hear that.”</p><p></p><p>“What about you?”</p><p></p><p>“Me? I like speed.” He flashed a white grin. “I had my driver’s license revoked for street racing. Then I violated my CO’s order not to drive without a license.” He shrugged. “I hope I can get out of here soon.”</p><p></p><p>“I hear you man,” said Guppy. “What do we do out here then when there are no planes?”</p><p></p><p>O’Shea grinned. “Hop in and I’ll give you a ride back to base.”</p><p></p><p>Guppy climbed into the 4x4. “So I don’t suppose there are any police out here.”</p><p></p><p>“Hell no,” said O’Shea, gunning the engine. “In fact, I think one of your buddies is security. And since I don’t see him around…”</p><p></p><p>Before Guppy could protest, O’Shea peeled out with a battle cry of “YEEEEHA!”, hurdling him into the back of the 4x4.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 4230393, member: 3285"] [b]PX Poker Night - Prologue[/b] NORTH PLATTE, NB--Guppy, Hammer, and Caprice were stationed at the Platte AFB with no explanation. One step up from a military prison, the Spartan base consisted of a dozen buildings and two airstrips in the middle of a Nebraska wasteland some twenty miles from Marion, the nearest town. They had been given their assignments by cistron, which were promptly taken away. Weapons too. Their assignments were spread across the base, and never together. Guppy came upon his first denizen of the base tinkering with a Chevy Blazer 4x4. Guppy extended his hand to a trim, wiry redheaded man with blue eyes and a freckled complexion. “Name’s Hank,” he said with a smile. “O’Shea,” he responded. “Second Lieutenant Mike O’Shea. I’m Executive Officer here at Platte.” Guppy smiled again. “That is wonderful. Then perhaps you can tell me who is in charge here?” O’Shea gave him a sideways glance. “You don’t know? You really are new. That’d be Major Louis Sprague. He’s base commander.” He looked Guppy up and down. “And he don’t like foreigners.” “I’m just as American as you!” said Guppy, getting defensive. “I eat hamburgers and wear jeans and—“ “Hamburgers?” asked O’Shea. “I thought you people didn’t eat cows.” “No,” said Guppy. “I eat cows just like any red-blooded American.” “Your accent’s awful thick.” Guppy sighed. “Look, perhaps we are getting off to a wrong start. I merely want to know what we’re supposed to be doing here. I’m honestly not sure and you’re the first person I’ve met here.” O’Shea shrugged. “There’s a reason for that. The base staff consists of only twelve airmen.” He nodded at the buildings around them. “So we don’t use much of the place. Once or twice a month, the Air Force flies decommissioned surplus aircraft to the base. It’s the only time we really have to get moving. Sprague doesn’t like it when we don’t hop-to. It’s his way of letting you know your place.” “What kind of aircraft?” “Helicopters, trainers, and even some jets. They find their way here before being sold to foreign governments or as scrap. We park the aircraft in the graveyard,” he jabbed a thumb northwards, “Then we mothball them to remove fuel and lubricants and seal up the planes’ mechanical accesses to protect them from the elements.” He looked around. “Annnd that’s pretty much it.” “Wow,” said Guppy. “That sucks.” “Yeah, welcome to hell. This place is pretty much the last stop on the road to dishonorable discharge. What you in for?” Guppy frowned. “A member of my squad died.” O’Shea’s expression softened. “Sorry to hear that.” “What about you?” “Me? I like speed.” He flashed a white grin. “I had my driver’s license revoked for street racing. Then I violated my CO’s order not to drive without a license.” He shrugged. “I hope I can get out of here soon.” “I hear you man,” said Guppy. “What do we do out here then when there are no planes?” O’Shea grinned. “Hop in and I’ll give you a ride back to base.” Guppy climbed into the 4x4. “So I don’t suppose there are any police out here.” “Hell no,” said O’Shea, gunning the engine. “In fact, I think one of your buddies is security. And since I don’t see him around…” Before Guppy could protest, O’Shea peeled out with a battle cry of “YEEEEHA!”, hurdling him into the back of the 4x4. [/QUOTE]
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Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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