So, this is a thing that I might continue for a while. I don't know much about Lord of the...
Earth's Deckoning: The Unguided Crusade (Lord of The Ring + Modern Earth)
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So, this is a thing that I might continue for a while. I don't know much about Lord of the Rings, but I'll try to make it seem plausible.
Profanity warning (little profanity in this episode)
Part 1
The tank treads crunched as a tank rolled over them, splitting rocks apart and sending them flying somewhere else. A convoy of several M60A3s and four AC 1 Sentinels were slowly cruising down a dusty path. The convoy's commander, named Morande, was tasked to locating the source of a strange radio transmission somewhere in southern Australia. Just before the transmission burst had happened, several nearby towns had reported seeing strange shapes and beings prowling around.
Morande had already encountered several of these creatures, before his tank convoy had blasted them into Oblivion. They would have been a literal nightmare to deal with if he wasn't in his tanks, they were coated in some sort of strange black scales, with organic pipes sprouting out of their backs, a long, barbed tail, and a truly Alien mouth, which seemed to be made up of multiple tongues and could coil in and out and lash out with enough force to cave a man's head in, Morande knew this already somehow for some odd reason.
Also, their blood was composed of an extremely potent acid, which could dissolve it's way through many layers of steel and cement without stopping. Again, it is unclear on how Morande knew any of this, since he was yet to witness one of these aliens to even attempt to attack him. I mean, the acid when they were blown apart kind of did eat through the ground, but he still shouldn't of known how powerful it was. The ground was just soil, after all.
His tank convoy crumbled as it rolled through the trembling earth. No, the earth crumbled as it rolled through the trembling tank convoy. Yes, that was it, right? Mhm.
"Sam, you seen anything yet?", Morande yelled across to Sam, who was riding on a AC 1 Sentinel behind him.
Sam turned around and growled at Morande, who was also riding on a AC 1 Sentinel. Morande knew that the M60A3s were slightly superior, but he preferred the militaristic look and feel of the AC 1 Sentinels. Besides, Morande felt that the massive 2-pounder cannon could easily take out even the newest M1 Abrams models within a few shots, whilst easily resisting their own shots. The AC 1 Sentinels had also been upgraded with a Acoug sighting panel on the side, allowing mounted infantry to look through the Acoug sights and observe the surrounding bushland in closer detail.
"Nah mate, nothing other than these goddamned oversized bouncing possums. I can't even get a good fix on 'em, they're just too bloody quick! Blimey!", said Sam, annoyed by the strange bouncing possums.
One of the aforementioned bouncing possums suddenly leaped in front of the armoured convoy. "Blimey, there's one! FIRE! FIRE!", yelled Sam, as a bouncing possum was suddenly in the way of the oncoming vehicles.
"Gunner, 9 o'clock, 30 meters! Fire!", said Morande as the bouncing possum directed itself into a perfectly straight direction. The gigantic 2-pounder cannon crashed and clouds of smoke and dust billowed out from the cannon.
The bouncing possum was hit directly by the shell. Normally, the 2-pounder's cannon shell would have been only a APDS shell, but this new mission called for the usage of some newly-designed HE shells, which were originally designed for hunting rhinoceros by the French government as an effective anti-rhino weapon, to repel the great waves of invading rhinos of early 2000. Now, the same shell was crashing into the bouncing possum at speeds greater than 1,200 meters per second.
The shell had little trouble with the bouncing possum's relatively light-weight armour plating upon which it blasted through, ripping a great gash in the flesh of the bouncing possum, and boring out a massive 3-inch long hole in the bouncing possum's flesh, before detonating, the shock wave spreading throughout the bouncing possum's skeleton and body structure, squashing organs into fleshy pulp, and flattening bony structures, before reaching the skin layers, which burst open like a ripe watermelon dropped from a skyscraper.
The result was that the once proud bouncing possum simply exploded as if a bomb went off inside it's body, which was not far from the truth in fact. Blood and viscera went flying in every single direction, more than 20 meters from where the bouncing possum was once leaping away. Tiny shredded flaps of skin and fluff also were sprayed into the surrounding air, which had tinted a gray and reddish and brown color.
The men on the tanks cheered, throwing their hands up into the air, whistling and hooting in great applaud. Quite clearly the bouncing possums had been quite a nuisance from the get-go, and the armoured convoys crewmembers were more than happy to finally show the bouncing possums what happened when they messed with the 69th Armoured Platoon!
"Wooo!, We've got 'em!", said Morande. He was happy now, he had finally proved that he was a capable general by the killing of the much-annoying bouncing possum.
"Alright, boys.", said Morande. He was happy with the bouncing possum's death, sure, but there were probably much worse things in the forest than bouncing possums.
"Yes, sir!", said someone.
Morande ignored him and continued talking. "We've overcome our first obstacle, so good work everybody. However, before we arrived here, I got word from the brass of some of the dangerous wildlife around here.", Morande said.
The men stared. Morande's face suddenly seemed gray and odd, as if he was genuinely frightened by something.
"Ummm.... apparently, according to the brass, we've got something a little more serious than your average bouncing possum going on around here." Morande said in a serious tone.
"According to these reports, the U.S. Army has already lost over 420 troops in this immediate area, by something called a 'drop bear'.", said Morande.
"Apparently, these 'drop bears' are capable of propelling themselves from nearby vegetation at speeds greater than 300 meters per second. That's not an exaggeration, and apparently they also possess extremely high intelligence, being capable of manning armoured vehicles and successfully capturing automatic rifles and operating them correctly. They are also armed with extremely sharp claws, which have a very high level of penetration, whilst still managing to maintain a rough texture, allowing them to cause abrasive damage.", said Morande.
One of the less-disciplined soldiers laughed and cracked a joke at Morande's words.
"Now, of course, this is the U.S. Army we're talking about, so everything they say can be taken with a grain of salt. I mean, they are quite clearly incompetent, just look at the state of decay their country is currently in! HAHA!", laughed the commander.
"I'd be surprised if one of these so-called "drop-bears" will manage to even scratch a single one of my men!", said Morande, his voice now lifting.", said Morande.
"Alright, boys! Let's roll out and see what on earth this transmission business is all about.", said Morande.
"Oi, bloody well fair dinkum mates!", said Emily, who was riding in the second AC 1 Sentinel, after Morande.
Gandalf's Palace, Minas Tirith
"Holy, holy, is our Immortal Lord of Purity and Wisdom", the servants of Gandalf were scretching themselves over Gandalf's feet, hands clasped in oil in a infinite task of cleaning and oiling His Mighty Feet.
"Indeed he is, my peasants. For it is I, and I only who commands the power of the Sea and Earth, it is I and only I who is the King of All Rings and Worlds, and I, only I am the Immortal Prince, filthy peasants.", said Gandalf in a High and Mighty Voice!
Lightning suddenly flashed into life around the chamber, arcing from edge to edge , until it slammed into one of the King's lowly servants who had paused from his feet-oiling to take a short break. The poor servant was immediately obliterated, his soul itself erased from this world.
And then Gandalf Laughed, a mighty and terrifying Laugh which echoed around the chamber, haunting all those that dared to bear their ears upon its terrible and infinite Noise.
Profanity warning (little profanity in this episode)
Part 1
The tank treads crunched as a tank rolled over them, splitting rocks apart and sending them flying somewhere else. A convoy of several M60A3s and four AC 1 Sentinels were slowly cruising down a dusty path. The convoy's commander, named Morande, was tasked to locating the source of a strange radio transmission somewhere in southern Australia. Just before the transmission burst had happened, several nearby towns had reported seeing strange shapes and beings prowling around.
Morande had already encountered several of these creatures, before his tank convoy had blasted them into Oblivion. They would have been a literal nightmare to deal with if he wasn't in his tanks, they were coated in some sort of strange black scales, with organic pipes sprouting out of their backs, a long, barbed tail, and a truly Alien mouth, which seemed to be made up of multiple tongues and could coil in and out and lash out with enough force to cave a man's head in, Morande knew this already somehow for some odd reason.
Also, their blood was composed of an extremely potent acid, which could dissolve it's way through many layers of steel and cement without stopping. Again, it is unclear on how Morande knew any of this, since he was yet to witness one of these aliens to even attempt to attack him. I mean, the acid when they were blown apart kind of did eat through the ground, but he still shouldn't of known how powerful it was. The ground was just soil, after all.
His tank convoy crumbled as it rolled through the trembling earth. No, the earth crumbled as it rolled through the trembling tank convoy. Yes, that was it, right? Mhm.
"Sam, you seen anything yet?", Morande yelled across to Sam, who was riding on a AC 1 Sentinel behind him.
Sam turned around and growled at Morande, who was also riding on a AC 1 Sentinel. Morande knew that the M60A3s were slightly superior, but he preferred the militaristic look and feel of the AC 1 Sentinels. Besides, Morande felt that the massive 2-pounder cannon could easily take out even the newest M1 Abrams models within a few shots, whilst easily resisting their own shots. The AC 1 Sentinels had also been upgraded with a Acoug sighting panel on the side, allowing mounted infantry to look through the Acoug sights and observe the surrounding bushland in closer detail.
"Nah mate, nothing other than these goddamned oversized bouncing possums. I can't even get a good fix on 'em, they're just too bloody quick! Blimey!", said Sam, annoyed by the strange bouncing possums.
One of the aforementioned bouncing possums suddenly leaped in front of the armoured convoy. "Blimey, there's one! FIRE! FIRE!", yelled Sam, as a bouncing possum was suddenly in the way of the oncoming vehicles.
"Gunner, 9 o'clock, 30 meters! Fire!", said Morande as the bouncing possum directed itself into a perfectly straight direction. The gigantic 2-pounder cannon crashed and clouds of smoke and dust billowed out from the cannon.
The bouncing possum was hit directly by the shell. Normally, the 2-pounder's cannon shell would have been only a APDS shell, but this new mission called for the usage of some newly-designed HE shells, which were originally designed for hunting rhinoceros by the French government as an effective anti-rhino weapon, to repel the great waves of invading rhinos of early 2000. Now, the same shell was crashing into the bouncing possum at speeds greater than 1,200 meters per second.
The shell had little trouble with the bouncing possum's relatively light-weight armour plating upon which it blasted through, ripping a great gash in the flesh of the bouncing possum, and boring out a massive 3-inch long hole in the bouncing possum's flesh, before detonating, the shock wave spreading throughout the bouncing possum's skeleton and body structure, squashing organs into fleshy pulp, and flattening bony structures, before reaching the skin layers, which burst open like a ripe watermelon dropped from a skyscraper.
The result was that the once proud bouncing possum simply exploded as if a bomb went off inside it's body, which was not far from the truth in fact. Blood and viscera went flying in every single direction, more than 20 meters from where the bouncing possum was once leaping away. Tiny shredded flaps of skin and fluff also were sprayed into the surrounding air, which had tinted a gray and reddish and brown color.
The men on the tanks cheered, throwing their hands up into the air, whistling and hooting in great applaud. Quite clearly the bouncing possums had been quite a nuisance from the get-go, and the armoured convoys crewmembers were more than happy to finally show the bouncing possums what happened when they messed with the 69th Armoured Platoon!
"Wooo!, We've got 'em!", said Morande. He was happy now, he had finally proved that he was a capable general by the killing of the much-annoying bouncing possum.
"Alright, boys.", said Morande. He was happy with the bouncing possum's death, sure, but there were probably much worse things in the forest than bouncing possums.
"Yes, sir!", said someone.
Morande ignored him and continued talking. "We've overcome our first obstacle, so good work everybody. However, before we arrived here, I got word from the brass of some of the dangerous wildlife around here.", Morande said.
The men stared. Morande's face suddenly seemed gray and odd, as if he was genuinely frightened by something.
"Ummm.... apparently, according to the brass, we've got something a little more serious than your average bouncing possum going on around here." Morande said in a serious tone.
"According to these reports, the U.S. Army has already lost over 420 troops in this immediate area, by something called a 'drop bear'.", said Morande.
"Apparently, these 'drop bears' are capable of propelling themselves from nearby vegetation at speeds greater than 300 meters per second. That's not an exaggeration, and apparently they also possess extremely high intelligence, being capable of manning armoured vehicles and successfully capturing automatic rifles and operating them correctly. They are also armed with extremely sharp claws, which have a very high level of penetration, whilst still managing to maintain a rough texture, allowing them to cause abrasive damage.", said Morande.
One of the less-disciplined soldiers laughed and cracked a joke at Morande's words.
"Now, of course, this is the U.S. Army we're talking about, so everything they say can be taken with a grain of salt. I mean, they are quite clearly incompetent, just look at the state of decay their country is currently in! HAHA!", laughed the commander.
"I'd be surprised if one of these so-called "drop-bears" will manage to even scratch a single one of my men!", said Morande, his voice now lifting.", said Morande.
"Alright, boys! Let's roll out and see what on earth this transmission business is all about.", said Morande.
"Oi, bloody well fair dinkum mates!", said Emily, who was riding in the second AC 1 Sentinel, after Morande.
Gandalf's Palace, Minas Tirith
"Holy, holy, is our Immortal Lord of Purity and Wisdom", the servants of Gandalf were scretching themselves over Gandalf's feet, hands clasped in oil in a infinite task of cleaning and oiling His Mighty Feet.
"Indeed he is, my peasants. For it is I, and I only who commands the power of the Sea and Earth, it is I and only I who is the King of All Rings and Worlds, and I, only I am the Immortal Prince, filthy peasants.", said Gandalf in a High and Mighty Voice!
Lightning suddenly flashed into life around the chamber, arcing from edge to edge , until it slammed into one of the King's lowly servants who had paused from his feet-oiling to take a short break. The poor servant was immediately obliterated, his soul itself erased from this world.
And then Gandalf Laughed, a mighty and terrifying Laugh which echoed around the chamber, haunting all those that dared to bear their ears upon its terrible and infinite Noise.
Last edited:
- Location
- australia
Okay, so part two. This isn't a parody by the way, it's supposed to be entirely serious.
Part 2
Profanity/violence warning
Sauron's Dungeon, Morder
Sauron, the dark prince of Middle Earth, was sitting down in his chambers, when suddenly his dungeon doors were flung open in a flurry of violence. A servant-Orc crashed into the dungeon, shivering with excitement and pleasure.
"Master of the great Arts of Evil, our loyal messenger delivers his message to thou!", shouted the Orc.
Sauron, now immensely infuriated by this interruption, raised his hand and delivered a bolt of white-hot brimstone into the Orc, vapourizing its flesh and leaving nothing but a steaming skeleton.
"SLAVES! How dare you interrupt thee Master of Evil, Teacher of Accursed Arts and Harbinger of Agony? You will surely pay for your actions..", said Sauron, but paused for a minute. He had already killed hundreds of messengers, and was running out. He resolved to at least listen partly to this one's message, just in case it was something worthwhile.
"Speak, slave, and I may yet grant you a painless death."
"You command me with all your will, Master. Our greatest practitioners of the dark and cursed arts have successfully created a gateway to yet another virgin world, untouched by our defiling presence. A select few of our most courageous and trustworthy warriors have been tasked with an expedition of this World, and are currently hosting a trek, a glorious Trek, guided by our Stars upon this World, Master. Our earliest reports are that this World is quite similar to our Own, and hosts many species of creatures very alike to our own Creatures."
"I promise you, Master, this World is yours to command. Our Armies stand ready for the destruction of this World, and all its inhabitants if you so well command, Master. Their own armies will perish from even a fleeting glance at our own--", the speech was suddenly cut off as Sauron raised his staff and delivered a poisoning mage-blast to the messenger, obviously not satisfied with the contents of the message. The messenger started to slowly die amongst many of the darkest agonies and whatnot, oh my.
Sauron had already heard this same story a hundred times folded, and it always ended exactly the same way, with the world being completely ravaged and annihilated by his immortal armies. Bleh. Nothing new, just the same old rubbish. Sauron returned to his table and swirling his arms in an up and down motion, abusing the arcane arts in some sort obscene way which was supposed to make him appear very much Grim and Horror, indeed..
69th Armoured Platoon, somewhere in Southern Australia
The tank convoy, pushing past the dead bouncing possum's remains, was now entering what seemed like a clearing of some sort. In the middle of the clearing, was what appeared to be a giant smoking metal box of some sort.
"Hey, lads, ease up a little. I think I can see something up ahead, it might be these 'drop bears' that the Americans were complaining of.", said Morande.
"Alright, everyone get ready, we might get a bit of real action this time.", said Sam.
The tanks were now coming up into the clearing, and the smoking metal object, no objectS, became very visible now. They were not simple metal boxes, they were M113 personnel carriers which had been utterly destroyed by what at first looked like some sort of massive explosion, but on closer examination, something appeared to have torn off the crew-hatches and detonated some sort of explosives from within the carrier itself.
"Oh shit, so THAT's what happened to that American APC convoy that we heard had gone missing. Wow, this certainly explains why the Americans were so frightened when we asked them what was going on down under here.", said Morande in a excited and slightly sarcastic tone.
"Haha. You don't suppose the drop bears did this, do you? Hah. Knowing the Americans, they probably saw one and went berserk and gutted their own vehicles because they were so deluded that they thought the bears would, what, capture their vehicles or something? This is just fucking hilarious. I'm surprised they haven't nuked themselves into oblivion by now.", said Sam in a odd voice.
Morande snorted at this comment. "Well, I'll still have our men check the vehicles and see if there are any survivors or supplies remaining. Alright, boys, dismount and check the surrounding area within 30 meters and check the vehicles as well. We need to find out what exactly went down here.", said Morande.
The tank-mounted infantry, which were actually riding on top of the tanks dismounted and started to scour the area. There were at least 7 destroyed M113s lying about the clearing, and Morande had spotted some American corpses in the woods just around the clearing, so they had to contain some ammunition and supplies.
Morande himself decided to get off his steed and take a look around himself. He walked up to a destroyed M113 and carefully looked it over. There were certainly a lot of claw marks on it, especially around the ventilation ports and crew entrance hatches. "Huh", Morande said to himself. Some of the scratches were actually deep gashes in the armor. Whatever had caused them was obviously quite strong, he mused.
Morande was about to leave when he noticed that in some areas, nearby the scratches there were also small, circular pocket-holes, almost as if something was firing at armour. Also, sometimes there was even an impressive splotch of dried blood near the circular marks and scratch marks. Blech. It was probably nothing, the blood was probably just from a panicked American who cut himself on something sharp, and the claw marks were probably just from a curious rat which was clawing at the dried blood.
It didn't explain the bullet marks, but maybe they were always there? Anyway, his troops probably wouldn't notice or care. If anything hostile came to his troops, he and his actually well-trained and disciplined men would have no qualms over putting a bullet in it's head. So, he had nothing to worry about.
"Hey, commander! Get your ass over here, there's something I will make you see.", yelled someone, probably Sam.
Morande ran over to him, and gaped at the sight before him.
In front of Sam, was a group of no less than 12 American soldiers, many of whom were literally torn and shredded into juicy chunks of meat. There was an occasional pothole in the terrain here and there, and some bulletholes were present on the surrounding vegetation.
"Far out man, what the hell happened here? Surely the Americans didn't go completely berserk and start tearing their guts out with their bare hands?", said Morande, looking over at the eclipse of corpses. There was also a giant slab of iron which was both too rough and heavy to be a sword, but no one paid any attention to it.
For some reason, Sam chuckled at that. "Haha. Morandes, you don't actually believe that the Americans were killed by drop bears? Those are but a myth, an unbearable one at that. The drop bear does not exist, and, frankly, I cannot bear even joking about thinking it exists. I mean, just bearing witness to this scene makes me want to tear my hair out with my bear hands, crikey..", said Sam.
Both of the officers seemed to chuckle at that. "Hey, is that a packet of M67 grenades over there? Wow, these Americans have some decent equipment.", said Sam, picking up a clutch of grenades and throwing them at Morande. "Ey, mate, pick up those rifles over there. They seem like they might be useful.", said Morande, who was already hoarding every single piece of equipment he could find.
Back at the tank convoy, Emily was sorting through a pile of salvaged equipment that she found. Her buddy, Griffith, was on watch duty, looking through a pair of binoculars at the nearby forest.
"So, Griffith, where did you find that egg thingy on your neck, again?", said Emily.
"You mean this? Oh, I thought I told you already. I found it in the sewage disposal unit on that old civilian cargo ship I worked in, what was it called again? The, uh, M.S. Eclipse, I think it was? Yes, that was the name. Excellent name for such a glorious ship, aye?", said Griffith in a proud tone.
Yes, Griffith was a very proud and arrogant man, but apparently he was still an exceptionally loyal and trustworthy soldier. Morande, in his professional opinion, could absolutely guarantee that Griffith would never, ever betray anyone, even if his life and everything precious to him depended on it. He did, however, occasionally have some problematic power fantasies every now and then, which sometimes caused some problems, but other than that, he was a great soldier.
"Alright, cool. I just needed for you to say that to further develop the plot, that's all.", said Emily.
"Huh? Plot? Are we writing fairytales here now, ladies?", asked the commander of the lead M60A3 tank, named Caskae, slightly aggravated by the slowing rate of working that was happening here.
"Ah, hello there Caskae. Haven't seen you for a while now, right?", asked Griffith, rubbing his brow. "Damn, 'tis really pippin hot out here.", he said again, oddly finding that sentence amusing.
"Ah, you mean "piping", Griffith? I am sure that is your desired selection of word, my dearie.", said Caskae.
"Nah, that was a joke, my love. My old buddie was named Pippin, you see, and I was just referring to him. Of course, none of you know who he was, so that was entirely pointless.", said Griffith.
"He was? Oh, what happened?", said Caskae in a curious tone.
"Ah, but you see, he was killed in an unfortunate incident at the M.S. Eclipse, you see. Rather unfortunate, yes indeed.", said Griffith.
"Oh, no. That doesn't sound very pleasurable, does it Griffith? Mhm, no, we don't want any of that, do you, ey?", commanded Caskae.
"Okay, good stories and all, but we'd best get back to work. We don't know exactly what caused the destruction of these American troops, so we'd best be on the look-out for any potential threats, my lads.", said Emily.
Suddenly, there was a loud yelling noise. Everyone immediately equipped their weapons and aimed them at the treeline where the yelling came from and prepared themselves...
Part 2
Profanity/violence warning
Sauron's Dungeon, Morder
Sauron, the dark prince of Middle Earth, was sitting down in his chambers, when suddenly his dungeon doors were flung open in a flurry of violence. A servant-Orc crashed into the dungeon, shivering with excitement and pleasure.
"Master of the great Arts of Evil, our loyal messenger delivers his message to thou!", shouted the Orc.
Sauron, now immensely infuriated by this interruption, raised his hand and delivered a bolt of white-hot brimstone into the Orc, vapourizing its flesh and leaving nothing but a steaming skeleton.
"SLAVES! How dare you interrupt thee Master of Evil, Teacher of Accursed Arts and Harbinger of Agony? You will surely pay for your actions..", said Sauron, but paused for a minute. He had already killed hundreds of messengers, and was running out. He resolved to at least listen partly to this one's message, just in case it was something worthwhile.
"Speak, slave, and I may yet grant you a painless death."
"You command me with all your will, Master. Our greatest practitioners of the dark and cursed arts have successfully created a gateway to yet another virgin world, untouched by our defiling presence. A select few of our most courageous and trustworthy warriors have been tasked with an expedition of this World, and are currently hosting a trek, a glorious Trek, guided by our Stars upon this World, Master. Our earliest reports are that this World is quite similar to our Own, and hosts many species of creatures very alike to our own Creatures."
"I promise you, Master, this World is yours to command. Our Armies stand ready for the destruction of this World, and all its inhabitants if you so well command, Master. Their own armies will perish from even a fleeting glance at our own--", the speech was suddenly cut off as Sauron raised his staff and delivered a poisoning mage-blast to the messenger, obviously not satisfied with the contents of the message. The messenger started to slowly die amongst many of the darkest agonies and whatnot, oh my.
Sauron had already heard this same story a hundred times folded, and it always ended exactly the same way, with the world being completely ravaged and annihilated by his immortal armies. Bleh. Nothing new, just the same old rubbish. Sauron returned to his table and swirling his arms in an up and down motion, abusing the arcane arts in some sort obscene way which was supposed to make him appear very much Grim and Horror, indeed..
69th Armoured Platoon, somewhere in Southern Australia
The tank convoy, pushing past the dead bouncing possum's remains, was now entering what seemed like a clearing of some sort. In the middle of the clearing, was what appeared to be a giant smoking metal box of some sort.
"Hey, lads, ease up a little. I think I can see something up ahead, it might be these 'drop bears' that the Americans were complaining of.", said Morande.
"Alright, everyone get ready, we might get a bit of real action this time.", said Sam.
The tanks were now coming up into the clearing, and the smoking metal object, no objectS, became very visible now. They were not simple metal boxes, they were M113 personnel carriers which had been utterly destroyed by what at first looked like some sort of massive explosion, but on closer examination, something appeared to have torn off the crew-hatches and detonated some sort of explosives from within the carrier itself.
"Oh shit, so THAT's what happened to that American APC convoy that we heard had gone missing. Wow, this certainly explains why the Americans were so frightened when we asked them what was going on down under here.", said Morande in a excited and slightly sarcastic tone.
"Haha. You don't suppose the drop bears did this, do you? Hah. Knowing the Americans, they probably saw one and went berserk and gutted their own vehicles because they were so deluded that they thought the bears would, what, capture their vehicles or something? This is just fucking hilarious. I'm surprised they haven't nuked themselves into oblivion by now.", said Sam in a odd voice.
Morande snorted at this comment. "Well, I'll still have our men check the vehicles and see if there are any survivors or supplies remaining. Alright, boys, dismount and check the surrounding area within 30 meters and check the vehicles as well. We need to find out what exactly went down here.", said Morande.
The tank-mounted infantry, which were actually riding on top of the tanks dismounted and started to scour the area. There were at least 7 destroyed M113s lying about the clearing, and Morande had spotted some American corpses in the woods just around the clearing, so they had to contain some ammunition and supplies.
Morande himself decided to get off his steed and take a look around himself. He walked up to a destroyed M113 and carefully looked it over. There were certainly a lot of claw marks on it, especially around the ventilation ports and crew entrance hatches. "Huh", Morande said to himself. Some of the scratches were actually deep gashes in the armor. Whatever had caused them was obviously quite strong, he mused.
Morande was about to leave when he noticed that in some areas, nearby the scratches there were also small, circular pocket-holes, almost as if something was firing at armour. Also, sometimes there was even an impressive splotch of dried blood near the circular marks and scratch marks. Blech. It was probably nothing, the blood was probably just from a panicked American who cut himself on something sharp, and the claw marks were probably just from a curious rat which was clawing at the dried blood.
It didn't explain the bullet marks, but maybe they were always there? Anyway, his troops probably wouldn't notice or care. If anything hostile came to his troops, he and his actually well-trained and disciplined men would have no qualms over putting a bullet in it's head. So, he had nothing to worry about.
"Hey, commander! Get your ass over here, there's something I will make you see.", yelled someone, probably Sam.
Morande ran over to him, and gaped at the sight before him.
In front of Sam, was a group of no less than 12 American soldiers, many of whom were literally torn and shredded into juicy chunks of meat. There was an occasional pothole in the terrain here and there, and some bulletholes were present on the surrounding vegetation.
"Far out man, what the hell happened here? Surely the Americans didn't go completely berserk and start tearing their guts out with their bare hands?", said Morande, looking over at the eclipse of corpses. There was also a giant slab of iron which was both too rough and heavy to be a sword, but no one paid any attention to it.
For some reason, Sam chuckled at that. "Haha. Morandes, you don't actually believe that the Americans were killed by drop bears? Those are but a myth, an unbearable one at that. The drop bear does not exist, and, frankly, I cannot bear even joking about thinking it exists. I mean, just bearing witness to this scene makes me want to tear my hair out with my bear hands, crikey..", said Sam.
Both of the officers seemed to chuckle at that. "Hey, is that a packet of M67 grenades over there? Wow, these Americans have some decent equipment.", said Sam, picking up a clutch of grenades and throwing them at Morande. "Ey, mate, pick up those rifles over there. They seem like they might be useful.", said Morande, who was already hoarding every single piece of equipment he could find.
Back at the tank convoy, Emily was sorting through a pile of salvaged equipment that she found. Her buddy, Griffith, was on watch duty, looking through a pair of binoculars at the nearby forest.
"So, Griffith, where did you find that egg thingy on your neck, again?", said Emily.
"You mean this? Oh, I thought I told you already. I found it in the sewage disposal unit on that old civilian cargo ship I worked in, what was it called again? The, uh, M.S. Eclipse, I think it was? Yes, that was the name. Excellent name for such a glorious ship, aye?", said Griffith in a proud tone.
Yes, Griffith was a very proud and arrogant man, but apparently he was still an exceptionally loyal and trustworthy soldier. Morande, in his professional opinion, could absolutely guarantee that Griffith would never, ever betray anyone, even if his life and everything precious to him depended on it. He did, however, occasionally have some problematic power fantasies every now and then, which sometimes caused some problems, but other than that, he was a great soldier.
"Alright, cool. I just needed for you to say that to further develop the plot, that's all.", said Emily.
"Huh? Plot? Are we writing fairytales here now, ladies?", asked the commander of the lead M60A3 tank, named Caskae, slightly aggravated by the slowing rate of working that was happening here.
"Ah, hello there Caskae. Haven't seen you for a while now, right?", asked Griffith, rubbing his brow. "Damn, 'tis really pippin hot out here.", he said again, oddly finding that sentence amusing.
"Ah, you mean "piping", Griffith? I am sure that is your desired selection of word, my dearie.", said Caskae.
"Nah, that was a joke, my love. My old buddie was named Pippin, you see, and I was just referring to him. Of course, none of you know who he was, so that was entirely pointless.", said Griffith.
"He was? Oh, what happened?", said Caskae in a curious tone.
"Ah, but you see, he was killed in an unfortunate incident at the M.S. Eclipse, you see. Rather unfortunate, yes indeed.", said Griffith.
"Oh, no. That doesn't sound very pleasurable, does it Griffith? Mhm, no, we don't want any of that, do you, ey?", commanded Caskae.
"Okay, good stories and all, but we'd best get back to work. We don't know exactly what caused the destruction of these American troops, so we'd best be on the look-out for any potential threats, my lads.", said Emily.
Suddenly, there was a loud yelling noise. Everyone immediately equipped their weapons and aimed them at the treeline where the yelling came from and prepared themselves...
- Location
- australia
Part 3
Profanity/violence warning
"Alright, gang, we're done here. Let's move out!", Morande was shouting from the treeline, because he was worried that no one could hear him otherwise.
Morande walked up to his AC 1 Sentinel, arms loaded with stuff, and began tossing things into the cabin. First he chucked some long metal tubes in there, than a pair of AK-47s, a bucket of 7.62mm ammunition, a basket of 30 M67 grenades, a duelet of RPG-7s, a 20mm slab of steel, some bits of broken ceramite tiles, some old garden soil, some bits of random things he found in a destroyed M113, some severed body parts, and finally an old cassette player he found lying around somewhere.
Behind Morande there walked Sam and a couple generic marines. They too were similarly loaded with items, which they began to dump into the closest armoured vehicles they could find.
Then everyone got back into their respective armoured vehicles and drove them away. As the last M60A3 disappeared into the distance, there was a sound of pattering feet and a drop bear, covered in blood came into view, made a spooky dance and took out some limbs and waved them at the camera. Then it did more spooky things and the camera went black and appeared some minutes later, near the convoy.
"Alright, let's get this baby fired up!", said Morande, crouching over the cassette player. He found an old music tape and tried to shove it in, but the opening was too small and tight, and the tape was too large. So he attempted to dislodge any resistance by inserting his fingers inside and twirling them around, but did this not work.
Morande yelled at the cassette player and whacked it with a wooden rod that was lying around. 'That should fix it', he thought. Then he tried to insert the tape again, but it still didn't go in. He decided to try to force it in, and tried with all his might, but for some reason it was still getting caught on something. He tried to finger the inner workings of the player again, and then continued with a renewed effort the assault on the cassette player, when there was a slight creaking noise and Morande knew he was very close to breaking it, so he decided to remove his tape and try again some other day.
First, he would ask his crew for any suggestions. Morande popped his head back out of the Sentinel and called out to Emily. "Hey, do you know how to insert your tape into a cassette player? I tried gently at first, but it wouldn't accept the tape, so then I tried to force it, but I didn't want it to break, so I stopped. Any suggestions?", yelled Morande to the Sentinel behind him.
"Huh? You did what?", said Emily, not properly hearing the question.
"Oh, umm.. Yeah, do you have any sort of smoothing oils or anything? It needs to be non-electrically conductive, though. Do you have any of that stuff? I need it to oil down a loose component on something over here.", said Morande, not wanting to explain the entire story again.
"What did you say?", yelled back Emily again, not properly hearing over the constant roaring of heavy diesel engines.
Morande was very frustrated now. "I NEED A BLOODY SMOOTHING OIL, YOU GET THAT? A FUCKING OIL! O-I-L. YES, A AN OIL!", he shouted, furious that she couldn't understand him.
Sam, hearing this, turned around in his commanding post and called out to him, "Oi, mate, I could give you all the oilings you ever wished for, and then some!", he yelled. The mounted troops around him seemed to bob up and down and chuckle.
"Oh, you need some oil? Hokay, I think there's some, uhh...", said Emily as she ducked down into the Sentinel to look around.
"Yeah, I see it, it's uh, I think it's coconut oil or something like that. Whatever." Emily appeared on the turret again, and chucked the glass bottle at Morande, more than 40 meters away. It was a well-aimed throw, the glass bottle smashing down the air particles in it's way, spiralling about in the air, before it finally ground to a sudden halt in Morande's gloved fist.
Morande retreated back into the Sentinel's cabin and looked the label on the bottle. Canola oil. Damn it.
"Blech.", he hummed to himself. It would be good enough, he thought, and started to pour the canola oil into the offending cassette player. The oil soaked down into the player, clear and golden and dripped out of the back, brown and gunky.
"Blech.", said Morande to himself. He had no idea the cassette player was this filthy. He had suspected that the cassette player had probably seen its fair share of tapes, but he didn't know it would be this bad. No wonder it wasn't accepting his tape.
Morande poured yet more canola into the cassette player, making sure the cassette was literally drenched in canola. The sweet, oily smell of the canola hit his senses. Morande sighed. It was the first time he had smelled this odour in many years. It was lovely, an exotic flavour that few had ever tasted.
Morande continued soaking the device in canola oil for another 20 minutes or so, before he had enough of that, and growing bored, he threw the cassette player, literally drowned in oil and unable to please him any longer, into a dark corner of the cabin.
Sighing, he climbed back up into the turret, and gasped at what he saw before him. Apparently, while he was pleasing himself with the cassette player, his tank convoy had reached the transmissional area. And what a sight it was to behold, a massive clearing of all vegetation for well over 2,600 meters, and the ground nothing but dry rock.
But that was nothing but a speck on the ocean to what the center held. In the middle of the clearing, a massive Gate stood, made out of what could have been either rusty iron or unobtainium from Pandora, for all Morande could tell.
Inside the Gate, the air seemed to become blurred and dizzy, and strange heat waves danced around the air. But most curious of all, was the pitch-black blackness the air seemed to become after the dizzy air, it seemed as though reality itself ceased to exist. It was terrifying, yet beautiful all at the same time, and Morande and some of the other crew could scarcely tear their eyes away from it.
Suddenly, the Gate crackled and the darkness seemed to shift and spiral slightly.
"This is Morande, overseer of the 69th Armoured Platoon, giving platoon-wide orders, effective immediately. All units, assume shoulder-to-shoulder positions around the unknown structure, now classified as 'Gate'. Spacing to be 50 meters. All units are to rotate turret all weapons systems towards structure designated as Gate.", said Morande in a robotic voice which seemed to be impossibly loud, and somehow could be heard from across the clearing loud and clear.
The tanks then moved themselves into position, and their weapons systems completely covered the Gate's opening. The Gate began to crackle with unnatural energy, swirling round and round, and strange images appeared on the Gate, almost as if another world was being transmitted from within.
Fields of Mordor, 200 kilometers north of Mordor, Sauron's Gateway
A small orcish raiding party, no less than 30 orcs, was trotting slowly and slightly towards the gateway. However, their general mood was quite bland, as they had been to one too many raids on these isolated worlds, none of which had been even the slightest challenge. Grimdor, a black and green orc with red horns and a great spiked tail missed the days of the siege of Minas Tirith, even those humans didn't pose an actual threat, but at least they were fun to fight with, and went down with a fight, unless the pathetic weaklings Grimdor and his champions had been lately encountering.
Most of the time, the tiny villages and towns Grimdor's party was tasked with raiding didn't even fight back, and at times Grimdor almost pitied the helpless beings, their wooden sticks and stone spears being almost useless against Grimdor's orcs armed with iron swords and bronze armours. This world would be no different, and Grimdor almost wanted to retire to his olden days of mining at the old quarry of Blacksmithe in good ol' Braldrick's hunting village.
Ahead of him, the portal was opening. He sighed, thinking of all the helpless peasants he would be forced to slaughter, in the name of Sauron. He would probably retire soon, and then he could go home and see his old mining-buddies, whom he hadn't seen for at least a dozen years. He wondered if they would remember him?
With a loud clapping of thunder, the portal widened and was open. The eager orcs poured through the portal, and ended up on the other side, in the clearing that the arrival of the portal had made.
Grimdor looked around him. The clearing was devoid of any life for at least one hundred bar-houses, he could see. Was there even any life on this World at all, he wondered? Other than the basic greens and oaks and dumb beasts? He could already see what looked like skeletons of ancient beasts sitting side to side directly in front of the gateway in front of him, strange boxy-like structures which were a dank green in color and had odd cylinders jutting out from seemingly random locations.
69th Armoured Platoon, Gate
Morande almost couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the green fellows rush out of the portal, decked out in skulls and strange decorations. His crew couldn't either, and were gasping and staring at the strange scene in front of them unravel before their eyes. There appeared to be around 30 of the green fellows in question, and all of them were carrying some sort of weapon, which appeared to be a sword.
"What the fuck are those things?", said Sam, looking through the binoculars mounted on his tank.
Morande was almost going to make a move, and make some sort of signal that to attempt communications with the strange green fellas. But then he saw that the skulls mounted onto one of the green fellows shoulders we indeed human skulls, and realized that these demons were here for one and one thing only.
"All units, all unknown forces are designated as hostile. I repeat, all unknown forces are now designated as hostile. Open fire!", shouted Morande in the same impossibly loud voice.
The Sentinels fired first, their turrets trained on the largest figures leading the parade of green fellas. The HE shells sped at the green fellas at impossibly high speeds, the poor fellas never even had a chance as the shells tore through their bronze armour with no resistance, in fact their bronze armour was making it worse for them, as plates not hit directly were forced against the green fellas' hides with force enough to crush bone, and also shattered and splintered, sending massive fragments of bronze tearing through the fellas's bodies, causing massive internal damage.
Then, the shells hit home, their fuzes sufficiently aroused by the penetration of the fellas's armour they burst open in a final climactic explosion shooting out a fine spray of white-hot metal shards through the fellas's bodies, which were now little more than corpses.
The shockwave of the first four shells hit the fellas's behind the first fellas with enough force to smash their bones into a thick, white paste, and their muscles and organs into a soggy green mush, annihilating the first line of fellas.
The remaining 20 or so fellas, thoroughly shell-shocked (literally) by the sudden massacre of their comrades, staggered around for a few seconds before the second wave of shells hit. The several M60A3s, 3 of which fired cannister rounds, and the remaining 4 firing standard HE shells absolutely decimated the remaining fellas, hundreds of cannister pellets tearing the fellas into wet chunks of meat, with the HE shells finishing off the remaining fellas and turning the once clean rock into an abattoir of thick green blood and greenish-yellow chunks of gristle scattered around the circle of death.
Profanity/violence warning
"Alright, gang, we're done here. Let's move out!", Morande was shouting from the treeline, because he was worried that no one could hear him otherwise.
Morande walked up to his AC 1 Sentinel, arms loaded with stuff, and began tossing things into the cabin. First he chucked some long metal tubes in there, than a pair of AK-47s, a bucket of 7.62mm ammunition, a basket of 30 M67 grenades, a duelet of RPG-7s, a 20mm slab of steel, some bits of broken ceramite tiles, some old garden soil, some bits of random things he found in a destroyed M113, some severed body parts, and finally an old cassette player he found lying around somewhere.
Behind Morande there walked Sam and a couple generic marines. They too were similarly loaded with items, which they began to dump into the closest armoured vehicles they could find.
Then everyone got back into their respective armoured vehicles and drove them away. As the last M60A3 disappeared into the distance, there was a sound of pattering feet and a drop bear, covered in blood came into view, made a spooky dance and took out some limbs and waved them at the camera. Then it did more spooky things and the camera went black and appeared some minutes later, near the convoy.
"Alright, let's get this baby fired up!", said Morande, crouching over the cassette player. He found an old music tape and tried to shove it in, but the opening was too small and tight, and the tape was too large. So he attempted to dislodge any resistance by inserting his fingers inside and twirling them around, but did this not work.
Morande yelled at the cassette player and whacked it with a wooden rod that was lying around. 'That should fix it', he thought. Then he tried to insert the tape again, but it still didn't go in. He decided to try to force it in, and tried with all his might, but for some reason it was still getting caught on something. He tried to finger the inner workings of the player again, and then continued with a renewed effort the assault on the cassette player, when there was a slight creaking noise and Morande knew he was very close to breaking it, so he decided to remove his tape and try again some other day.
First, he would ask his crew for any suggestions. Morande popped his head back out of the Sentinel and called out to Emily. "Hey, do you know how to insert your tape into a cassette player? I tried gently at first, but it wouldn't accept the tape, so then I tried to force it, but I didn't want it to break, so I stopped. Any suggestions?", yelled Morande to the Sentinel behind him.
"Huh? You did what?", said Emily, not properly hearing the question.
"Oh, umm.. Yeah, do you have any sort of smoothing oils or anything? It needs to be non-electrically conductive, though. Do you have any of that stuff? I need it to oil down a loose component on something over here.", said Morande, not wanting to explain the entire story again.
"What did you say?", yelled back Emily again, not properly hearing over the constant roaring of heavy diesel engines.
Morande was very frustrated now. "I NEED A BLOODY SMOOTHING OIL, YOU GET THAT? A FUCKING OIL! O-I-L. YES, A AN OIL!", he shouted, furious that she couldn't understand him.
Sam, hearing this, turned around in his commanding post and called out to him, "Oi, mate, I could give you all the oilings you ever wished for, and then some!", he yelled. The mounted troops around him seemed to bob up and down and chuckle.
"Oh, you need some oil? Hokay, I think there's some, uhh...", said Emily as she ducked down into the Sentinel to look around.
"Yeah, I see it, it's uh, I think it's coconut oil or something like that. Whatever." Emily appeared on the turret again, and chucked the glass bottle at Morande, more than 40 meters away. It was a well-aimed throw, the glass bottle smashing down the air particles in it's way, spiralling about in the air, before it finally ground to a sudden halt in Morande's gloved fist.
Morande retreated back into the Sentinel's cabin and looked the label on the bottle. Canola oil. Damn it.
"Blech.", he hummed to himself. It would be good enough, he thought, and started to pour the canola oil into the offending cassette player. The oil soaked down into the player, clear and golden and dripped out of the back, brown and gunky.
"Blech.", said Morande to himself. He had no idea the cassette player was this filthy. He had suspected that the cassette player had probably seen its fair share of tapes, but he didn't know it would be this bad. No wonder it wasn't accepting his tape.
Morande poured yet more canola into the cassette player, making sure the cassette was literally drenched in canola. The sweet, oily smell of the canola hit his senses. Morande sighed. It was the first time he had smelled this odour in many years. It was lovely, an exotic flavour that few had ever tasted.
Morande continued soaking the device in canola oil for another 20 minutes or so, before he had enough of that, and growing bored, he threw the cassette player, literally drowned in oil and unable to please him any longer, into a dark corner of the cabin.
Sighing, he climbed back up into the turret, and gasped at what he saw before him. Apparently, while he was pleasing himself with the cassette player, his tank convoy had reached the transmissional area. And what a sight it was to behold, a massive clearing of all vegetation for well over 2,600 meters, and the ground nothing but dry rock.
But that was nothing but a speck on the ocean to what the center held. In the middle of the clearing, a massive Gate stood, made out of what could have been either rusty iron or unobtainium from Pandora, for all Morande could tell.
Inside the Gate, the air seemed to become blurred and dizzy, and strange heat waves danced around the air. But most curious of all, was the pitch-black blackness the air seemed to become after the dizzy air, it seemed as though reality itself ceased to exist. It was terrifying, yet beautiful all at the same time, and Morande and some of the other crew could scarcely tear their eyes away from it.
Suddenly, the Gate crackled and the darkness seemed to shift and spiral slightly.
"This is Morande, overseer of the 69th Armoured Platoon, giving platoon-wide orders, effective immediately. All units, assume shoulder-to-shoulder positions around the unknown structure, now classified as 'Gate'. Spacing to be 50 meters. All units are to rotate turret all weapons systems towards structure designated as Gate.", said Morande in a robotic voice which seemed to be impossibly loud, and somehow could be heard from across the clearing loud and clear.
The tanks then moved themselves into position, and their weapons systems completely covered the Gate's opening. The Gate began to crackle with unnatural energy, swirling round and round, and strange images appeared on the Gate, almost as if another world was being transmitted from within.
Fields of Mordor, 200 kilometers north of Mordor, Sauron's Gateway
A small orcish raiding party, no less than 30 orcs, was trotting slowly and slightly towards the gateway. However, their general mood was quite bland, as they had been to one too many raids on these isolated worlds, none of which had been even the slightest challenge. Grimdor, a black and green orc with red horns and a great spiked tail missed the days of the siege of Minas Tirith, even those humans didn't pose an actual threat, but at least they were fun to fight with, and went down with a fight, unless the pathetic weaklings Grimdor and his champions had been lately encountering.
Most of the time, the tiny villages and towns Grimdor's party was tasked with raiding didn't even fight back, and at times Grimdor almost pitied the helpless beings, their wooden sticks and stone spears being almost useless against Grimdor's orcs armed with iron swords and bronze armours. This world would be no different, and Grimdor almost wanted to retire to his olden days of mining at the old quarry of Blacksmithe in good ol' Braldrick's hunting village.
Ahead of him, the portal was opening. He sighed, thinking of all the helpless peasants he would be forced to slaughter, in the name of Sauron. He would probably retire soon, and then he could go home and see his old mining-buddies, whom he hadn't seen for at least a dozen years. He wondered if they would remember him?
With a loud clapping of thunder, the portal widened and was open. The eager orcs poured through the portal, and ended up on the other side, in the clearing that the arrival of the portal had made.
Grimdor looked around him. The clearing was devoid of any life for at least one hundred bar-houses, he could see. Was there even any life on this World at all, he wondered? Other than the basic greens and oaks and dumb beasts? He could already see what looked like skeletons of ancient beasts sitting side to side directly in front of the gateway in front of him, strange boxy-like structures which were a dank green in color and had odd cylinders jutting out from seemingly random locations.
69th Armoured Platoon, Gate
Morande almost couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the green fellows rush out of the portal, decked out in skulls and strange decorations. His crew couldn't either, and were gasping and staring at the strange scene in front of them unravel before their eyes. There appeared to be around 30 of the green fellows in question, and all of them were carrying some sort of weapon, which appeared to be a sword.
"What the fuck are those things?", said Sam, looking through the binoculars mounted on his tank.
Morande was almost going to make a move, and make some sort of signal that to attempt communications with the strange green fellas. But then he saw that the skulls mounted onto one of the green fellows shoulders we indeed human skulls, and realized that these demons were here for one and one thing only.
"All units, all unknown forces are designated as hostile. I repeat, all unknown forces are now designated as hostile. Open fire!", shouted Morande in the same impossibly loud voice.
The Sentinels fired first, their turrets trained on the largest figures leading the parade of green fellas. The HE shells sped at the green fellas at impossibly high speeds, the poor fellas never even had a chance as the shells tore through their bronze armour with no resistance, in fact their bronze armour was making it worse for them, as plates not hit directly were forced against the green fellas' hides with force enough to crush bone, and also shattered and splintered, sending massive fragments of bronze tearing through the fellas's bodies, causing massive internal damage.
Then, the shells hit home, their fuzes sufficiently aroused by the penetration of the fellas's armour they burst open in a final climactic explosion shooting out a fine spray of white-hot metal shards through the fellas's bodies, which were now little more than corpses.
The shockwave of the first four shells hit the fellas's behind the first fellas with enough force to smash their bones into a thick, white paste, and their muscles and organs into a soggy green mush, annihilating the first line of fellas.
The remaining 20 or so fellas, thoroughly shell-shocked (literally) by the sudden massacre of their comrades, staggered around for a few seconds before the second wave of shells hit. The several M60A3s, 3 of which fired cannister rounds, and the remaining 4 firing standard HE shells absolutely decimated the remaining fellas, hundreds of cannister pellets tearing the fellas into wet chunks of meat, with the HE shells finishing off the remaining fellas and turning the once clean rock into an abattoir of thick green blood and greenish-yellow chunks of gristle scattered around the circle of death.
- Location
- australia
Part 4
Profanity/violence warning
"Well, that solves that problem, then. Welp, I guess all we have to do now is report back to our HQ and then I guess this whole thing won't be any of our business anymore.", said Morande.
"Alright, dismount the infantry on the M60A3s and search the remains. We'll push up slightly and be ready to lay down covering fire if more of those things come in.", said Morande.
The infantry on the M60A3s dismounted and began walking towards the portal's base.
"Wowie, Jack, those Sentinels really tore these fellas a new one, aye?", said Bloke, a generic marine.
"They sure did, Bloke. Though I'm still not too sure on their so-called superiority over the M1. I mean, they are only WWII tanks, so how good could they be?", said Jack, another generic marine.
"How good could they be? Well, one hell of a lot better than anything the Americans could produce, that's for sure. Ain't no doubt about that, aye?", said Bloke.
Jack thought about arguing further, but then decided he couldn't be bothered taking it further and offending Bloke and the other mates. "Oh, of course! I was just joking about the M1 being superior, laddie! Nothing could possibly be better than the Sentinels, aye!", said Jack in a forced tone.
"Ah, that's how you do it, lad! Damn right you are, Jack!", said Bloke in an excited tone.
"Damn son, this is like something from Stargate, man. I can't believe this is actually a thing. I wonder what our forces will find on the other side.", said Marine, a generic marine.
"Who knows, man. But first, let me just identify these corpses to make sure they're not just cosplaying humans, first.", said Dude, as he bent down and bit a chunk out of one of the most intact corpses.
"Mhm, these things definitely are not human. They sure taste good, though.", said Dude, as he ripped out another chunk of dripping green flesh and raised it into his mouth.
"Blech. Dude, stop that, you're behaving like a bloody animal. We're supposed to be professional marines, not savage beasts.", said Marine.
"Alright, fine. I was just feeling a bit peckish there, and oh man are these things delicious!", said Dude.
Marine stooped down and began sifting through the corpses with his hands. They seemed to be covered in a strange oily-yellow fluid, probably some residue that leaked out when the shells hit. Marine frowned as he pulled out a massive club, made completely of pure iron.
"Shit, this is a fucking iron club. These guys must be quite powerful if they carry these things around as their primary weapons. We'd be fucking dead if not for the Sentinels, aye?", said Marine in a worried tone.
"Eh, we could always shoot them with our guns, you know, we are infantry support, after all.", said Bloke.
"Oh. I completely forgot about that, yeah I guess we probably could just shoot them after all, their armor seems relatively flimsy. Blech, nothing to worry about, then.", said Marine.
Back at the convoy, Morande was talking things over with his mates, Griffith, Caskae, Emily, and Sam.
"I think we should traverse with the portal with our glorious steel chariots and smite them into oblivion!", said Griffith, holding his sword at his side.
"I disagree, Griffith. Since we'd be in their realm, they would have a massive advantage, being that they would be masters of their land. And how do you we can even survive in their atmosphere?", said Caskae.
"If they can survive in our atmosphere we can survive in theirs. Besides, we could just send in a generic marine to go in just a few paces and return to see if their atmosphere is survivable or not.", said Griffith.
"Alright, everyone. I just contacted our HQ about 10 minutes ago, and they said that the entire Australian armed forces and about a full half of the U.S. armed forces are being mobilized and are en-route, so the first few units should arrive in a few hours. Even the Canadians and Russians and a few other nations are sending a couple of units through. In the meantime, they've ordered us to hold the gateway and fire upon anything that comes through it.", said Morande.
"But, how do we know that the Americans will handle this problem appropriately? It would be no good if they just committed mass ritualistic suicide and then nuked the place.", said Sam.
"Ah, they won't. They're U.S. Marines, and they're supposed to be very professional and highly trained. Everything will be fine, trust me. Even if things do go south, that's none of our business. We'll probably just get sent back to Afghanistan or something.", said Morande.
Griffith was becoming tired of this discussion, so he stood up and walked away. He was even planning to assault the portal where the green fellas had come from himself, but found it too risky.
Fields of Mordor, 190 kilometers north of Mordor, Fumgritch's Camp
Gorkus, the camp's leader, was sitting down, staring at a map he had folded out. His men had gathered around him, musing about the riches that his raiding party were sure to bring in from the world beyond the gateway.
Gorkus, however, was not worried about the other world. Most likely it was just another peasant world which had scarcely developed fire. He doubted whether his raiding party would even find any worthwhile wild game, never mind developed villages.
Nay, Gorkus was instead developing an attack plan for an opposing Orcish hunting farm, its location just 3,000 bar-houses east of his camp. Gorkus had over 170 Orcs currently at his disposal, 200 when his raiding party had returned, while the opposing camp had over 300 Orcs. It was going to be a tough battle, sure, but Gorkus was sure that his Orcs with superior weapons and skill should be able to pull through. Gorkus would have launched the raid right then, but most of his most valuable weapons and skilled warriors were used up by the raiding party he had sent into the gateway, and Gorkus was sure he would face certain defeat without them.
So, Gorkus would have to wait. Not for too long, surely, usually his raiding parties return after one day, or two at the most. It had been almost one day since he'd sent them off, so he had posted look-outs on the camp's look-out towers to warn him of their approach.
It wouldn't be long before they arrived, he knew that, but for some reason he felt a terrible presence deep inside that something truly dreadful was about to happen. Gorkus shivered and returned to his resting tent.
Canada, British Columbia, Victoria
President George Bush sat on his spacious open-air verandah, watching the numerous military helicopters and aircraft flying past his private apartment block. Every now and then, a duet of attack helicopters would appear and fly over, already heading on their way to Southern Australia, to seize the gateway from the invading green stuff.
Bush snapped his finger and a servant appeared. "Lower skylights to a third of their current output, and bring me a glass of wine.", said Bush.
Bush walked over to the railings and stared down, 70 stories of luxurious apartment to be precise. He couldn't see much from here, so he used the high-power binoculars to see what was going on down below.
What was going on below, you might ask? Well, allow me to explain. The streets were literally jammed up with military vehicles and personnel, who were racing back and forth, grabbing supplies and re-fueling trucks and aircraft as they landed on temporary landing pads, fixing damaged vehicles, and occasionally sweeping a civilian corpse off the road when they leaped in front of the vehicles.
The highway was not much better. There were dozens and dozens of burning vehicle wrecks, and the occasional sprout of gunfire would lighten up the dull air. Occasionally, a civilian would go mad and open fire on the military personnel for disrupting his lifestyle, or just for the fun of it.
This always led to said civilians rapid demise, as the soldiers raked down his position with hails of heavy machine gun fire and autocannon fire.
Bush watched as a horde of 20 M113 carriers were speeding down a less crowded section of the highway, when suddenly a civilian car appeared, slamming on its brakes and spinning out, before crashing into the leading M113 carrier. The carrier seemed to slow down a little, before wheeling straight over the civilians trapped inside their ruined vehicle.
On another highway section, there was a blockade of civilian cars trapped in a collapsed section of the highway, which had probably collapsed when a stray artillery shell had hit it. There were probably a few hundred civilians trapped in the wreckage, and some, if not all of them seemed to be armed and hostile, as they were firing some type of flare gun near the helicopters, attempting to shoot them down.
There was a wind rushing sound as a pair of MLRS rocket trucks fired their entire magazine at the highway blockage, in order to prevent the hostile civilians from killing any military personnel and to protect any innocent civilians.
The rocket barrage detonated just above the blockade, and everything within the blast radius disappeared in a puff of smoke, before the soundwaves reached Bush and he was momentarily deafened.
When the smoke cleared, the entire section of highway was gone. Bush swore to himself, knowing these incidents would only increase the transit time before his armed forces reached Southern Australia. What if the green stuff spread across the entire world and devoured everyone before then?
Finally, his servant appeared with a whistle. She pressed some buttons on a control panel and set down the wine glasses on a table, before wandering off.
Bush was very proud, though. He was extremely proud to bear witness to everything which was going down. He almost couldn't believe that if he didn't exist, this great nation with it's gigantic army would be nothing more than a few primitive mud huts and wallabies creeping around. This had been a massive achievement, and to think that he was going to similarly transform the land where the green stuff had come from was an extremely exciting prospect.
Profanity/violence warning
"Well, that solves that problem, then. Welp, I guess all we have to do now is report back to our HQ and then I guess this whole thing won't be any of our business anymore.", said Morande.
"Alright, dismount the infantry on the M60A3s and search the remains. We'll push up slightly and be ready to lay down covering fire if more of those things come in.", said Morande.
The infantry on the M60A3s dismounted and began walking towards the portal's base.
"Wowie, Jack, those Sentinels really tore these fellas a new one, aye?", said Bloke, a generic marine.
"They sure did, Bloke. Though I'm still not too sure on their so-called superiority over the M1. I mean, they are only WWII tanks, so how good could they be?", said Jack, another generic marine.
"How good could they be? Well, one hell of a lot better than anything the Americans could produce, that's for sure. Ain't no doubt about that, aye?", said Bloke.
Jack thought about arguing further, but then decided he couldn't be bothered taking it further and offending Bloke and the other mates. "Oh, of course! I was just joking about the M1 being superior, laddie! Nothing could possibly be better than the Sentinels, aye!", said Jack in a forced tone.
"Ah, that's how you do it, lad! Damn right you are, Jack!", said Bloke in an excited tone.
"Damn son, this is like something from Stargate, man. I can't believe this is actually a thing. I wonder what our forces will find on the other side.", said Marine, a generic marine.
"Who knows, man. But first, let me just identify these corpses to make sure they're not just cosplaying humans, first.", said Dude, as he bent down and bit a chunk out of one of the most intact corpses.
"Mhm, these things definitely are not human. They sure taste good, though.", said Dude, as he ripped out another chunk of dripping green flesh and raised it into his mouth.
"Blech. Dude, stop that, you're behaving like a bloody animal. We're supposed to be professional marines, not savage beasts.", said Marine.
"Alright, fine. I was just feeling a bit peckish there, and oh man are these things delicious!", said Dude.
Marine stooped down and began sifting through the corpses with his hands. They seemed to be covered in a strange oily-yellow fluid, probably some residue that leaked out when the shells hit. Marine frowned as he pulled out a massive club, made completely of pure iron.
"Shit, this is a fucking iron club. These guys must be quite powerful if they carry these things around as their primary weapons. We'd be fucking dead if not for the Sentinels, aye?", said Marine in a worried tone.
"Eh, we could always shoot them with our guns, you know, we are infantry support, after all.", said Bloke.
"Oh. I completely forgot about that, yeah I guess we probably could just shoot them after all, their armor seems relatively flimsy. Blech, nothing to worry about, then.", said Marine.
Back at the convoy, Morande was talking things over with his mates, Griffith, Caskae, Emily, and Sam.
"I think we should traverse with the portal with our glorious steel chariots and smite them into oblivion!", said Griffith, holding his sword at his side.
"I disagree, Griffith. Since we'd be in their realm, they would have a massive advantage, being that they would be masters of their land. And how do you we can even survive in their atmosphere?", said Caskae.
"If they can survive in our atmosphere we can survive in theirs. Besides, we could just send in a generic marine to go in just a few paces and return to see if their atmosphere is survivable or not.", said Griffith.
"Alright, everyone. I just contacted our HQ about 10 minutes ago, and they said that the entire Australian armed forces and about a full half of the U.S. armed forces are being mobilized and are en-route, so the first few units should arrive in a few hours. Even the Canadians and Russians and a few other nations are sending a couple of units through. In the meantime, they've ordered us to hold the gateway and fire upon anything that comes through it.", said Morande.
"But, how do we know that the Americans will handle this problem appropriately? It would be no good if they just committed mass ritualistic suicide and then nuked the place.", said Sam.
"Ah, they won't. They're U.S. Marines, and they're supposed to be very professional and highly trained. Everything will be fine, trust me. Even if things do go south, that's none of our business. We'll probably just get sent back to Afghanistan or something.", said Morande.
Griffith was becoming tired of this discussion, so he stood up and walked away. He was even planning to assault the portal where the green fellas had come from himself, but found it too risky.
Fields of Mordor, 190 kilometers north of Mordor, Fumgritch's Camp
Gorkus, the camp's leader, was sitting down, staring at a map he had folded out. His men had gathered around him, musing about the riches that his raiding party were sure to bring in from the world beyond the gateway.
Gorkus, however, was not worried about the other world. Most likely it was just another peasant world which had scarcely developed fire. He doubted whether his raiding party would even find any worthwhile wild game, never mind developed villages.
Nay, Gorkus was instead developing an attack plan for an opposing Orcish hunting farm, its location just 3,000 bar-houses east of his camp. Gorkus had over 170 Orcs currently at his disposal, 200 when his raiding party had returned, while the opposing camp had over 300 Orcs. It was going to be a tough battle, sure, but Gorkus was sure that his Orcs with superior weapons and skill should be able to pull through. Gorkus would have launched the raid right then, but most of his most valuable weapons and skilled warriors were used up by the raiding party he had sent into the gateway, and Gorkus was sure he would face certain defeat without them.
So, Gorkus would have to wait. Not for too long, surely, usually his raiding parties return after one day, or two at the most. It had been almost one day since he'd sent them off, so he had posted look-outs on the camp's look-out towers to warn him of their approach.
It wouldn't be long before they arrived, he knew that, but for some reason he felt a terrible presence deep inside that something truly dreadful was about to happen. Gorkus shivered and returned to his resting tent.
Canada, British Columbia, Victoria
President George Bush sat on his spacious open-air verandah, watching the numerous military helicopters and aircraft flying past his private apartment block. Every now and then, a duet of attack helicopters would appear and fly over, already heading on their way to Southern Australia, to seize the gateway from the invading green stuff.
Bush snapped his finger and a servant appeared. "Lower skylights to a third of their current output, and bring me a glass of wine.", said Bush.
Bush walked over to the railings and stared down, 70 stories of luxurious apartment to be precise. He couldn't see much from here, so he used the high-power binoculars to see what was going on down below.
What was going on below, you might ask? Well, allow me to explain. The streets were literally jammed up with military vehicles and personnel, who were racing back and forth, grabbing supplies and re-fueling trucks and aircraft as they landed on temporary landing pads, fixing damaged vehicles, and occasionally sweeping a civilian corpse off the road when they leaped in front of the vehicles.
The highway was not much better. There were dozens and dozens of burning vehicle wrecks, and the occasional sprout of gunfire would lighten up the dull air. Occasionally, a civilian would go mad and open fire on the military personnel for disrupting his lifestyle, or just for the fun of it.
This always led to said civilians rapid demise, as the soldiers raked down his position with hails of heavy machine gun fire and autocannon fire.
Bush watched as a horde of 20 M113 carriers were speeding down a less crowded section of the highway, when suddenly a civilian car appeared, slamming on its brakes and spinning out, before crashing into the leading M113 carrier. The carrier seemed to slow down a little, before wheeling straight over the civilians trapped inside their ruined vehicle.
On another highway section, there was a blockade of civilian cars trapped in a collapsed section of the highway, which had probably collapsed when a stray artillery shell had hit it. There were probably a few hundred civilians trapped in the wreckage, and some, if not all of them seemed to be armed and hostile, as they were firing some type of flare gun near the helicopters, attempting to shoot them down.
There was a wind rushing sound as a pair of MLRS rocket trucks fired their entire magazine at the highway blockage, in order to prevent the hostile civilians from killing any military personnel and to protect any innocent civilians.
The rocket barrage detonated just above the blockade, and everything within the blast radius disappeared in a puff of smoke, before the soundwaves reached Bush and he was momentarily deafened.
When the smoke cleared, the entire section of highway was gone. Bush swore to himself, knowing these incidents would only increase the transit time before his armed forces reached Southern Australia. What if the green stuff spread across the entire world and devoured everyone before then?
Finally, his servant appeared with a whistle. She pressed some buttons on a control panel and set down the wine glasses on a table, before wandering off.
Bush was very proud, though. He was extremely proud to bear witness to everything which was going down. He almost couldn't believe that if he didn't exist, this great nation with it's gigantic army would be nothing more than a few primitive mud huts and wallabies creeping around. This had been a massive achievement, and to think that he was going to similarly transform the land where the green stuff had come from was an extremely exciting prospect.