Log - Hold the Line.
WHO: Bernard Wiseman, Colonel Killing
WHERE: Rio Grande Border Post - Gundam Earth
WHEN: 5 Jan 2007
WHAT: With the Zeon forces on the retreat from the joint forces of the Federation Army and Black Sheep Squadron, the retreat of the Zeon must be covered by someone. Bernie is tapped for the task.
Colonel Killing will be needing a tag, please.
Zeon is on the move. Ever since the failed assault on Jaburo, only one major base has been held on the Earth's surface: California Base, built upon what was once Langley Air Force Base. Many of the troops that had attacked Jaburo were called back to California, but most of them have now been reassigned. A string of bases and barely held cities pepper Latin America and the southwestern United States, forming the few choke points Zeon has against a massive Federation army moving northward.
Bernard Wiseman is, once again, just one of thousands of Zeonic soldiers - and this role only grows worse and worse. The Sergeant is the man in charge of a defense of a now abandoned Ciudad Juarez. In a long-abandoned customs house on the Rio Grande, now the makeshift command center, he sits in a room alone.
There was a time when officers would stand here, but most of the officers are either down south or in Phoenix, where the last major stalling action Zeon will take is. His arrival was not one he remembered fondly - his first command was over fifty-three tired, wounded soldiers hoping to take the Zanzibar-class cruiser here into orbit and escape with the rest of their unit.
As he sits in the former customs house, lounging against the back wall, he can only wonder what went wrong for a Sergeant to be commanding this. He also has to hope a commanding officer he never met will ascent to letting these tired, battered men retreat.
'Pride goeth before the fall.'
Isn't that the old saying? As the command staff prepares for it's own departure, the commander of the remains of the California Base faces a task that he is none too pleased with, but one that must be carried out.
The once proud Zeon army, retreating from /their/ home like a kicked dog because of a group of punk kids, meddling Sheep, and the spark of hope that they created. Colonel Killing adjusts his glasses as he starts through the checkpoint of the Customs Home.
... no challenge? No demand for a password? What type of ragamuffin installation is this. Killing's frown only grows more. This was supposed to just be a spot inspection before moving forward to the Command Center, and instead -- it's about to come more.
A foot slams into the door, kicking open the frame to the Customs House. Killing doesn't follow it through though. The poor schmuck guard will probably either wet himself or open fire - and the Colonel does not feel like betting on the latter.
The soldier at the guard post has been there two days. He has a bandage wrapped around his head, which has a faint red color visible on one side where his ear used to be. The man startles and raises his pistol, but thankfully doesn't open fire. "Who goes there?!"
He looks over his shoulder, at another soldier - one who can't be a day over seventeen. The boy blinks, then nods, and turns and runs into the back. "Sarge!"
It takes Bernie a moment to respond. The young man frowns before looking up at the boy who comes running in. "At ease, Private," he says, trying his best to sound official. He coughs, smooths his uniform out, and foregoes saluting. "What is it?"
"What is it?" Killing asks as he steps through the door. "Is that the proper challenge someone that comes into your post, Sergeant?" the Colonel asks as he glares down the three troopers that are manning this post. He doesn't have the time or patience to properly chew them out, however, there are orders to be relayed.
A line must be held.
And these three just volunteered to make sure the Federation don't cross the Rio Grande.. or die in the process.
Lucky them.
Bernie pauses for a moment, as he looks at the Colonel. It takes him a moment, but he quickly realizes who he is. The young man snaps to attention, shouting a quick "ATTEN-HUT!"
The others do the same, all three snapping to attention. When the salute is inevitably returned, Bernard relaxes just slightly and lets out a breath. "My apologies, sir. He's been at his post too long. Welcome to Juarez, Colonel."
He glances out a window, watching a battered Magella Attack tank roll past. Then, he looks back at Killing. "Have you brought orders, sir?"
As the tank rolls by, the dance continues as an aircraft heads south, the whine of it's engines announcing that it's no mere transport - and definetly not an evacuation craft.
On occassion, the radio on Killing's belt and the one in the Guard post squawks with the report of contact being made between Zeon and Federation forces. More often than not, it's the Zeon radio contact that is broken first.
The afternoon was sweltering, even for early January in the Rio Grande. While things were mostly quiet, the distant rumble of artillery, and the occassional crack of a heavy weapon break the stillness. What had started off as a bright day had given way to clouds and a cool wind blowing in from the East - the Gulf of Mexico, foreshadowing the coming storm.
As Killing looks over the men in the command post, a hovertruck follows at the main battle tank, the back filled with wounded soldiers. A casual observer would not be able to tell who was an officer, if there was even one, or who was in charge. They are all wounded and dirty. A couple of soldiers cast hollow glances at the Customs House, casting a quick salute as the truck hovers past.
"Indeed." Killing comments in response to the question. "At ease." As he looks towards the men, his hands flare upwards to tuck the corners of his pockets. "Your orders are as follows. With the Federation forces pressing from the north, this checkpoint has become one of the few secure points of fallback for the Zeon forces. Because of this, this area has been considered a priority - and must be held at all costs. You and your men Sergeant are to remain here until the Zeon fallback and redeployment is completed."
And then? There is no 'and then', is there?
"I understand, sir. We'll be holding this point until the last Zeon forces have moved back," Bernie replies. He looks at the two younger soldiers. He still doesn't feel like a commander - but he does feel like something of an older brother, looking after the younger men in this war.
"After the last of them are through, then, do you want us to fall back to California? Or Phoenix?" he asks. He looks out the window, at the hovertruck. "Most of the men remaining are wounded, tired, or both. We have the cruiser, so we can fall back easily enough once the rest are through..."
He frowns, just a bit. Something about Killing bothers him - a certain disregard, acting like he rises above the rest. It doesn't sit well with Bernie.
"Once the Zeon forces are through, you are to hold your position here until reinforcement is able to get to your position, Sergeant." Killing's death sentence is short and to the point. Sacrifices have to be made in a war. These three will be just another sacrifice to the Zeon war against the Federation oppressors.
"Until you are releived, you are not to give up this position. A armor unit will be along shortly to support you." That Magellan tank will probably be it once it gets a quick patch job and the remains of the loader are scraped out of the seat and a suitable replacement found.
"We cannot allow the Federation access to any part of the California operation. All available troops will be deployed to maintain base secuirty and integrity until the evacuation is complete." the Colonel looks towards the three as he idly swats a mosquito that attempts to pierce his skin to take a drink.
Bernie pauses for a long moment - longer than regulation really allows. The young man visibly tenses as he hears this. He has enough battles under his belt to know a death sentence, by now. He has seen one before; he had been there when M'Quve threw Ramba Ral to the wolves instead of giving him support.
Now, he is the one being thrown to the wolves. He fights the urge to clinch his fist.
"Sir, with all due respect, these men are not going to do well in holding this position," Bernie says. He looks at them for a moment. So young. He looks back at Killing, then, and swallows hard. "Are you certain this is the best course of action?"
"Are you questioning your orders, Sergeant?" Killing says, turning those arrogant and sharp features on Wiseman, a predator stalking a prey. But, there really is no time for this, is there. Fine, the boy wants a bone. The chance to go out the hero. He can do that.
"Follow me, Sergeant." the Colonel turns on his heel and heads out the door. On the northern and southern sides of the river, hasty firing positions are being set up. Across the river, a heavily damaged Mobile Suit, sitting on the back of a tractor trailer is pulled into position, and the the vehicle is hastily abandoned, the tires destroyed to prevent the Federation forces from moving it easily.
Along the spans of the bridges that cross the Rio Grande, combat engineers work hastily. Hanging precariously from ropes, the engineers go along the bridges, preparing them for demolition. From dangling pouches they wore or from pallets held up by ropes of their own, the engineers took blocks of military explosives, securing them to cross members and stringers that supported the roadway above.
When enough explosives had been packed into postion, an engineer would take out a blasting cap from a seperate pouch and place it within the mass of explosives. When the blasting caps were set, a second engineer would take the place of the first who had moved down the line and start wiring the blasting caps.
"When the word is given, these bridges will be dropped in short order to provide your men time for reinforcement arrive, if you are able to hold the position." Odds are that they will not be able to do so, but that is not Killing's concern. Orders are orders.
"No, sir," Bernie replies. The edge in his voice is clear - he is not feeling all right with this. The blonde-haired man follows him out of the door, looking at the heavily damaged Mobile Suit. He grimaces a little at it, before he looks over the river. His eyebrow raises, as he sees the engineers going to work.
"I understand," he says, looking them over. He glances at Killing. "I can use this, sir," he says. He begins plotting something out in his mind. "We can use this as a makeshift fortress while the Federation tries to cross the Rio Grande."
This isn't his plan, however. Bernie has a different one, and he isn't sharing it.
Killing nods, as his command jeep pulls up on cue. Killing has no intentions of hanging around - he has units that can die for him just as well, thank you very much. And in the grand scheme of things...
...if the Gundam shows here, as it has in past battles, Killing has no intentions of having the bridges dropped until the damnable mecha is in the midsts of it all. Even if it kills Wiseman. Who is he to care, anyway?
"Good luck, then." You're on your own is left unsaid. The Colonel offers a salute to the sergeant as sits back in the jeep - ah air conditioning - and prepares to move out.
The poor schmucks may have an old fan to circulate the air. If they're lucky.
"You, too, sir," Bernie replies. His tone has become cool again. He looks at the command jeep, then back towards Killing. He nods his head once. He would have to start working his scheme out - including when to drop those bridges. It wouldn't be when Killing wanted him to. The young man sucks in a breath, then nods.
Killing doesn't need any luck. He could use a lot of it. His lips twist into a frown. "I'll see you in California, sir."
He finds it unlikely. He would probably die here, he begins to realize. He feels his fingers tense - he doesn't like that idea.
Suddenly, he wishes he had told Chris.
As the jeep drives off, the first drops of rain start to fall. In the gathering and cooling darkness, the predators of the night start to stir. From burrows, holes and crevaices, they sallied forth in the search of the consumption of the things that will permit survival for one more day.
From one of those holes comes forth a scorpion. It shows no fear as it enters the desert floor, it's right claw sweeping outwards as it's tail - it's main weapon - clears it's burrow. As it crosses the ground, a shadow comes over it.
An eagle - majestic and proud - flies right past the scorpion, paying it no heed. The scorpion is insignifcant to the eagle's needs - it must seek larger prey to survive.
But this does not make the scorpion any less deadly.
He who risks nothing, gets nothing.
- French Proverb.
WHERE: Rio Grande Border Post - Gundam Earth
WHEN: 5 Jan 2007
WHAT: With the Zeon forces on the retreat from the joint forces of the Federation Army and Black Sheep Squadron, the retreat of the Zeon must be covered by someone. Bernie is tapped for the task.
Colonel Killing will be needing a tag, please.
Zeon is on the move. Ever since the failed assault on Jaburo, only one major base has been held on the Earth's surface: California Base, built upon what was once Langley Air Force Base. Many of the troops that had attacked Jaburo were called back to California, but most of them have now been reassigned. A string of bases and barely held cities pepper Latin America and the southwestern United States, forming the few choke points Zeon has against a massive Federation army moving northward.
Bernard Wiseman is, once again, just one of thousands of Zeonic soldiers - and this role only grows worse and worse. The Sergeant is the man in charge of a defense of a now abandoned Ciudad Juarez. In a long-abandoned customs house on the Rio Grande, now the makeshift command center, he sits in a room alone.
There was a time when officers would stand here, but most of the officers are either down south or in Phoenix, where the last major stalling action Zeon will take is. His arrival was not one he remembered fondly - his first command was over fifty-three tired, wounded soldiers hoping to take the Zanzibar-class cruiser here into orbit and escape with the rest of their unit.
As he sits in the former customs house, lounging against the back wall, he can only wonder what went wrong for a Sergeant to be commanding this. He also has to hope a commanding officer he never met will ascent to letting these tired, battered men retreat.
'Pride goeth before the fall.'
Isn't that the old saying? As the command staff prepares for it's own departure, the commander of the remains of the California Base faces a task that he is none too pleased with, but one that must be carried out.
The once proud Zeon army, retreating from /their/ home like a kicked dog because of a group of punk kids, meddling Sheep, and the spark of hope that they created. Colonel Killing adjusts his glasses as he starts through the checkpoint of the Customs Home.
... no challenge? No demand for a password? What type of ragamuffin installation is this. Killing's frown only grows more. This was supposed to just be a spot inspection before moving forward to the Command Center, and instead -- it's about to come more.
A foot slams into the door, kicking open the frame to the Customs House. Killing doesn't follow it through though. The poor schmuck guard will probably either wet himself or open fire - and the Colonel does not feel like betting on the latter.
The soldier at the guard post has been there two days. He has a bandage wrapped around his head, which has a faint red color visible on one side where his ear used to be. The man startles and raises his pistol, but thankfully doesn't open fire. "Who goes there?!"
He looks over his shoulder, at another soldier - one who can't be a day over seventeen. The boy blinks, then nods, and turns and runs into the back. "Sarge!"
It takes Bernie a moment to respond. The young man frowns before looking up at the boy who comes running in. "At ease, Private," he says, trying his best to sound official. He coughs, smooths his uniform out, and foregoes saluting. "What is it?"
"What is it?" Killing asks as he steps through the door. "Is that the proper challenge someone that comes into your post, Sergeant?" the Colonel asks as he glares down the three troopers that are manning this post. He doesn't have the time or patience to properly chew them out, however, there are orders to be relayed.
A line must be held.
And these three just volunteered to make sure the Federation don't cross the Rio Grande.. or die in the process.
Lucky them.
Bernie pauses for a moment, as he looks at the Colonel. It takes him a moment, but he quickly realizes who he is. The young man snaps to attention, shouting a quick "ATTEN-HUT!"
The others do the same, all three snapping to attention. When the salute is inevitably returned, Bernard relaxes just slightly and lets out a breath. "My apologies, sir. He's been at his post too long. Welcome to Juarez, Colonel."
He glances out a window, watching a battered Magella Attack tank roll past. Then, he looks back at Killing. "Have you brought orders, sir?"
As the tank rolls by, the dance continues as an aircraft heads south, the whine of it's engines announcing that it's no mere transport - and definetly not an evacuation craft.
On occassion, the radio on Killing's belt and the one in the Guard post squawks with the report of contact being made between Zeon and Federation forces. More often than not, it's the Zeon radio contact that is broken first.
The afternoon was sweltering, even for early January in the Rio Grande. While things were mostly quiet, the distant rumble of artillery, and the occassional crack of a heavy weapon break the stillness. What had started off as a bright day had given way to clouds and a cool wind blowing in from the East - the Gulf of Mexico, foreshadowing the coming storm.
As Killing looks over the men in the command post, a hovertruck follows at the main battle tank, the back filled with wounded soldiers. A casual observer would not be able to tell who was an officer, if there was even one, or who was in charge. They are all wounded and dirty. A couple of soldiers cast hollow glances at the Customs House, casting a quick salute as the truck hovers past.
"Indeed." Killing comments in response to the question. "At ease." As he looks towards the men, his hands flare upwards to tuck the corners of his pockets. "Your orders are as follows. With the Federation forces pressing from the north, this checkpoint has become one of the few secure points of fallback for the Zeon forces. Because of this, this area has been considered a priority - and must be held at all costs. You and your men Sergeant are to remain here until the Zeon fallback and redeployment is completed."
And then? There is no 'and then', is there?
"I understand, sir. We'll be holding this point until the last Zeon forces have moved back," Bernie replies. He looks at the two younger soldiers. He still doesn't feel like a commander - but he does feel like something of an older brother, looking after the younger men in this war.
"After the last of them are through, then, do you want us to fall back to California? Or Phoenix?" he asks. He looks out the window, at the hovertruck. "Most of the men remaining are wounded, tired, or both. We have the cruiser, so we can fall back easily enough once the rest are through..."
He frowns, just a bit. Something about Killing bothers him - a certain disregard, acting like he rises above the rest. It doesn't sit well with Bernie.
"Once the Zeon forces are through, you are to hold your position here until reinforcement is able to get to your position, Sergeant." Killing's death sentence is short and to the point. Sacrifices have to be made in a war. These three will be just another sacrifice to the Zeon war against the Federation oppressors.
"Until you are releived, you are not to give up this position. A armor unit will be along shortly to support you." That Magellan tank will probably be it once it gets a quick patch job and the remains of the loader are scraped out of the seat and a suitable replacement found.
"We cannot allow the Federation access to any part of the California operation. All available troops will be deployed to maintain base secuirty and integrity until the evacuation is complete." the Colonel looks towards the three as he idly swats a mosquito that attempts to pierce his skin to take a drink.
Bernie pauses for a long moment - longer than regulation really allows. The young man visibly tenses as he hears this. He has enough battles under his belt to know a death sentence, by now. He has seen one before; he had been there when M'Quve threw Ramba Ral to the wolves instead of giving him support.
Now, he is the one being thrown to the wolves. He fights the urge to clinch his fist.
"Sir, with all due respect, these men are not going to do well in holding this position," Bernie says. He looks at them for a moment. So young. He looks back at Killing, then, and swallows hard. "Are you certain this is the best course of action?"
"Are you questioning your orders, Sergeant?" Killing says, turning those arrogant and sharp features on Wiseman, a predator stalking a prey. But, there really is no time for this, is there. Fine, the boy wants a bone. The chance to go out the hero. He can do that.
"Follow me, Sergeant." the Colonel turns on his heel and heads out the door. On the northern and southern sides of the river, hasty firing positions are being set up. Across the river, a heavily damaged Mobile Suit, sitting on the back of a tractor trailer is pulled into position, and the the vehicle is hastily abandoned, the tires destroyed to prevent the Federation forces from moving it easily.
Along the spans of the bridges that cross the Rio Grande, combat engineers work hastily. Hanging precariously from ropes, the engineers go along the bridges, preparing them for demolition. From dangling pouches they wore or from pallets held up by ropes of their own, the engineers took blocks of military explosives, securing them to cross members and stringers that supported the roadway above.
When enough explosives had been packed into postion, an engineer would take out a blasting cap from a seperate pouch and place it within the mass of explosives. When the blasting caps were set, a second engineer would take the place of the first who had moved down the line and start wiring the blasting caps.
"When the word is given, these bridges will be dropped in short order to provide your men time for reinforcement arrive, if you are able to hold the position." Odds are that they will not be able to do so, but that is not Killing's concern. Orders are orders.
"No, sir," Bernie replies. The edge in his voice is clear - he is not feeling all right with this. The blonde-haired man follows him out of the door, looking at the heavily damaged Mobile Suit. He grimaces a little at it, before he looks over the river. His eyebrow raises, as he sees the engineers going to work.
"I understand," he says, looking them over. He glances at Killing. "I can use this, sir," he says. He begins plotting something out in his mind. "We can use this as a makeshift fortress while the Federation tries to cross the Rio Grande."
This isn't his plan, however. Bernie has a different one, and he isn't sharing it.
Killing nods, as his command jeep pulls up on cue. Killing has no intentions of hanging around - he has units that can die for him just as well, thank you very much. And in the grand scheme of things...
...if the Gundam shows here, as it has in past battles, Killing has no intentions of having the bridges dropped until the damnable mecha is in the midsts of it all. Even if it kills Wiseman. Who is he to care, anyway?
"Good luck, then." You're on your own is left unsaid. The Colonel offers a salute to the sergeant as sits back in the jeep - ah air conditioning - and prepares to move out.
The poor schmucks may have an old fan to circulate the air. If they're lucky.
"You, too, sir," Bernie replies. His tone has become cool again. He looks at the command jeep, then back towards Killing. He nods his head once. He would have to start working his scheme out - including when to drop those bridges. It wouldn't be when Killing wanted him to. The young man sucks in a breath, then nods.
Killing doesn't need any luck. He could use a lot of it. His lips twist into a frown. "I'll see you in California, sir."
He finds it unlikely. He would probably die here, he begins to realize. He feels his fingers tense - he doesn't like that idea.
Suddenly, he wishes he had told Chris.
As the jeep drives off, the first drops of rain start to fall. In the gathering and cooling darkness, the predators of the night start to stir. From burrows, holes and crevaices, they sallied forth in the search of the consumption of the things that will permit survival for one more day.
From one of those holes comes forth a scorpion. It shows no fear as it enters the desert floor, it's right claw sweeping outwards as it's tail - it's main weapon - clears it's burrow. As it crosses the ground, a shadow comes over it.
An eagle - majestic and proud - flies right past the scorpion, paying it no heed. The scorpion is insignifcant to the eagle's needs - it must seek larger prey to survive.
But this does not make the scorpion any less deadly.
He who risks nothing, gets nothing.
- French Proverb.