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=\\TACTICAL WAIFUS QUEST//=

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[X] Bite the bullet, go meet your girls.


"... [this] is gonna get pretty interesting."
"Define 'interesting'."
"'Oh God, oh God, we're all gonna die'?"
 
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[X] Bite the bullet, go meet your girls.
-[X] While screaming internally. This shit's gonna be a mess and you just fuckin' know it.
 
[x]Bite the bullet, go meet your girls.

What's the average age of the girls?
If it is less than 12, have them design a mascot.
12-16 brief over ice cream.
Over 16, bite the bullet, you are doomed.
 
LordVile said:
[x]Bite the bullet, go meet your girls.

What's the average age of the girls?
If it is less than 12, have them design a mascot.
12-16 brief over ice cream.
Over 16, bite the bullet, you are doomed.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
I assume they're 16-19, old enough to be in the military legally, young enough to be so damn full of hormones that you're gonna have A REAL !!FUN!! TIME

Edit:Annnnd ninja'd.
 
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Story Post 2: Tactical Hug Team
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    • =\\TACTICAL WAIFUS QUEST//=
    Part 2:Tactical Hug Team    ​

    Part of you wants to get drunk. A large part, actually. Well over half of you, in fact. That part wants to quietly back out of the Hall Of Infinite Brass as quickly as your wrenched-over back will allow, find the nearest bar by any means necessary, and order a nice cold beer.

    And then continue ordering beers until "two plus two equals sandwich" seems like a perfectly rational thing to say. Because maybe, maybe, then your new posting will seem like something resembling a good idea. You doubt it'll actually work though. Leading 'tactical waifus' into battle was insane even by Special Operations standards, and Special Ops teams breathed "outside the box."

    Right now, though, this is too outside the box for you. You'd like to get in the box. Or at least closer to it.

    But, busted spine or no, you're still an airborne Ranger at heart. If there's anything they tough you in the army, it's that when times get tough, the tough charge though it. Hopefully that's relevant here.

    You force as much of the confused horror off your face and stiffen up your already stiff body towards the three officers. "Thank you, sirs," you say though gritted teeth. You try to be respectful, you really do. But it's not easy after being placed in command solelybecause you had nobody else lower-ranked enough to shove the responsibility off to.

    "Thank us?" Thomas smirked at you, "Son, if I were in your shoes, I'd be cursing our graves."

    "What makes you think he's not?" said Granger with what passed for a grin on his craggy face.

    Boswell just nodded knowingly.

    You look from officer to officer and sigh, "I plead the fifth."

    "Well said," said Boswell.

    "Now," Thomas clapped a hand on your shoulder. The look on his face is clearly supposed to be the fatherly-officer look, there's far to much of a shit-eating grin in his stern features for it to be comforting. "The three of us have a… discussion about misappropriating Government funds to get to."

    Granger rolled his massive neck with a crack of bone and gristle.

    Thomas smiled. "There's a Humvee outside that'll take you to the… to their barracks."

    "Thank you, sir," you said. Honestly this time. If you're going to face the firing squad, you'd like to at least do it without a screaming ache in your back.

    "And Major."

    "Sir?"

    "O'Malleys on fifth," said the General, "Best lager in town."

    You nod. Hopefully you won't need it.

    "You'll need it," said Thomas.

    Damn.

    "Dismissed."

    You make yourself scares and put the sound of three General Officers tearing new assholes where none existed before behind you. As much as you'd like to see what it looks like when that much brass gets that mad, part of you worries it's the kind of power no mortal man is meant to see. Like looking straight into the sun, or peering into the Abyss.

    You scowl at the dreary gray sky and pull your cover on snug. You're walking into a girlish hell, you just know it. But you're still a Ranger. You will be a proper soldier up until the moment when it becomes impossible to do so.

    After taking a second to make sure your cover's on straight, you walk over to the waiting humvee as fast as your busted body and innate desire to be literally anywhere else will allow you.

    "Sir," a worried young private stares at you. "Are you okay? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

    "Girls," you spit. "They're all girls."

    The soldier across from you gives you a look, "Is that so ba-"

    "Yes!" you snap.

    It doesn't take more than five minutes to drive over to the girls' barracks. If you can call it that.

    The building looks nicer than any housing structure you've ever seen. It's all shining silver corrugated metal, frosted glass, and subtle red accents with bright "Genotech" company logos splattered everywhere. You'd bet good money that this used to be a lab building before it got turned into the girls' sleeping quarters.

    It probably still is, to be honest. The girls might look human, but they've got enough biological quirks to be worth keeping under observation. Also, scientists are nerds, and Anime nerds at that. This is probably the most exposure to actual women they've had in months.

    Your driver pulls in to a parking lot a few yards away. The lot's mostly full of the sleek electric cars Genotech prefers for its company runabouts, but there's a few beaten-up Toyotas and one Volo that looks like it's been driven though the battle of the Somme. Multiple times.

    You sigh, and work your way towards the door. Before you can open it, a skinny man in a short-sleeved shirt and narrow black tie explodes though it and claps two shaking hands on your shoulders. Bloodshot eyes as big as dinner plates stare frantically at you as his sweat-slick forehead glistens in the light. "Are you here to take them?"

    You blink. "Yeah…" you said with growing trepidation.

    "Oh thank god," the man falls on his knees, his legs giving out as a smile crosses his face. "If I had to spend… one more hour with them…" He pulls himself to his feet and puts a hand on your shoulder. A distant look passes over his face and he adds, "I'll pour a drink out for you, soldier."

    You say nothing at he scrambles for one of the company cars. Then, "Well… that was ominous." But you're already going though hell. The only thing to do is keep going, as they say.

    You step though the plate-glass doors and hobble down a spotless hall lit by no apparently-discernible device until you get to another door.

    A door labeled "W.A.I.F.U. sleeping quarters."

    A door with seven different locks and three distinct signs saying variations of "DO NOT ENTER."

    You sighed, and decide to violate all warnings and good sense. But, there are girls in there, and it is their housing. For all you know, they could be stripping for a post-run shower. Or, given how insane everything else is around here, having an underwear pillow fight.

    So you knocked and asked, "Everyone decent?"

    There was a pause. Then a warm, cheerful voice that managed to calm the shivers it send up your spine rang out. "Yeah, just a minute."

    You wisely decide to wait, because mere seconds later, the voice speaks again. "Yo, Marie, put your bra back on!"

    "Do I have to?" rings out a higher voice that sounds more musical to the first girl's cozy honey-sweet accent. "I was gonna take a shower."

    "Then… you do that," said the first girl. "Just get out of sight." After a moment, she adds a crisp, "Kay, coast's clear."

    You glance at the floor, just in case, and shoulder your way though the door. You find yourself in… well, a barracks. All the same qualities you're used to are there. There's rows of bunked beds in bays of two, lockers stuffed with gear, boots left sitting at the feet of beds, and even the pervasive stench of sweat.

    But every thing's just slightly… off. The walls are crisp with the same off-white metallic color that Genotech seems to use everywhere. The beds are fresh and clean with thick blue mattresses that look fit for a king (or queen, as the case may be.) Alongside muddy combat boots are piles of sneakers, flats, and even a few high-heels. Even the sweat smells fresh and sweet.

    And also there's girls everywhere.

    Most of them are busy doing their own thing; either taking their boots off for a well-deserved shower or folding away their grubby uniforms. They're all pretty, too. Which is… slightly worrying for reasons you can't quite comprehend.

    "Yo!" a girl with hair the color of rusted iron trotted over from the end of the bay. She's already ditched her armor and blouse—not that you can blame her after that workout—and the shimmering gray fabric of her sleeveless compression shirt's wet with sweat around the chest.

    You scramble for a second trying to think of the right way to address her. Normally, you'd default to a polite "ma'am." But you'd peg this girl in her mid-twenties at best, and that just doesn't sound right. So instead, you just give her a polite smile and wait for her to finish walking over.

    And also, try not to stare at her hips. She's not what you would call busty. Her chest is just barely big enough to deny her the label of "flat chested", but its' nothing to write home about, especially compared to some of the other girls cleaning their gear.

    But her hips. From her slender waist, her whole body sorta… swooshes out, and the thick gunbelt hanging low around those hips only makes their sway more obvious. And somehow, the tiger-stripe pattern of her GEN III fatigues only makes her curves that more obvious.

    That's not how camouflage works.

    "You the new bossman?" She stops a few feet from you, and a kindly smile graces her gently rounded features. Her eyes are the color of steel, but there's no denying the genuine warmth in her smile. "Nice to meet you, Riley Sharpe."

    "James Ryan," you say, offering her your hand and a kind, professional smile in return.

    "Pleasure!" Riley ignores your hand and throws her arms around you for a hug. She's stronger than she looks, and she looks preeety strong in that sleeveless top. She's also heavier than you were expecting, and you're just tall enough that she had to jump to get in proper hugging position.

    And you weren't expecting to be violently hugged today.

    Long story short, you end up on your ass with maybe a bill-eighty of giggling teenage? girl laying on your chest laughing into your uniform. "S-sorry," she giggled.

    "'s okay," you grunt. You'd be lying if you said that didn't hurt. She's heavy, and there's the whole 'broke your back' situation. Still, you're an Airborne Ranger. Pain is for people without Ranger tabs.

    "I haven't met anyone new in months," Riley rolls off your chest and lands on the floor in a puddle of giggling girlflesh.

    You cough, and just try to get your wind back.

    "Oh," Riley rolled back onto her feet and tucks her hair back into its bun. "I'm sorry," she bites back her giggles and offered you a hand. "That was just really funny, sorry."

    You took her hand and try to smile at her. "It's okay, Riley." you said.

    "Yeah," Riley wrung her hands, "Anyways, want the quick tour?"

    You nodded. You were probably going to regret this, but at this point it was too late to say no. "Of course. Just not the," you motion towards the sectioned-off shower area at the end, "obviously."

    Riley gave you a quizzical look, then shrugs it off. "Well, you've met me," she said. "I'm squad leader by the way," she proudly puffs out what chest she has, "Um… you can switch us around if you think you know something better."

    You nodded again. No reason to make snap judgments right away.

    "A lot of the team's in the showers," said Riley, "but my fireteam's last in line, so…" she trailed off, "You know, we get to meet 'n greet." She points to a a girl sitting perched atop her bunk, stocking feet waving in the air as she stares at an iPad. "That's Hannah Dean."

    Hannah looks over at you, pulls her earbuds out, and offers a tiny smile that just kisses her fine porcelain features. She's a dirty blond, and other than her shockingly blue eyes, she seems a lot more… normal than Riley. Her hips aren't the ridiculous swooshing set that Riley carries, but her bust (what you can see of it past the the tablet she's studying) is a lot more filled out. She's also not tackle-hugging you, which is nice.

    "She's my gunner," explained Riley. "Girl's a little shy and she's gentle as a lamb, but you should see her with a belt-fed." She cracks a lopsided grin and mimes firing a machine gun with one hand held wide to support the belt. "She's an artist with that thing."

    You blinked, and looked back to the quiet girl happily reading her book and swinging her bright pink socks though the air. This will take some getting used too.

    "Marie's her Ay-Gee," continued Riley. "But she's in the shower now. She'd just gotten her bra off when you came by, and it was really sweaty and she has…" Riley held her hands over her petite chest, and for a second you saw a shadow pass over her usually gentle features. "Anyways, I let her clean up first."

    "Mmm," you don't dwell on that for now, especially when Riley seems so sore about it.

    "Yeah," Riley blushed and fussed with her rusty hair, "she's really cool though."

    "I'm sure she is."

    Riley coughed, and clomped back down the barracks in her heavy combat boots. "Oh, and there's Zoe. Yo, Zo!"

    "Sup?" yet another girl slides off her bunk and lands onto her bare feet with an exaggerated three-point landing. She's a good deal shorter than Riley or Hannah, and she's not nearly as well filled-out as either of them. But her body surges with taut electric strength, and her scruffy brown buzzcut almost crackles as she walks over. She even had a toothpick hanging in the corner of her mouth to complete the effect.

    "Zoe Hill," she thrust her hand towards you and stared up into your eyes. "Grenadier."

    "She's really good at it," added Riley.

    "'cause I love seeing shit go boom," explained Zoe with a toothy grin.

    "Well, that's good to know," you said, returning her surprisingly firm handshake with one of her own. "Major James Ryan." Not only do you have a load of hormonal girls on your new team, one of them is a pyromaniac. Yaaaaay.

    "Damn right it is," Zoe chewed on her toothpick defiantly. "When we shipping out, Major?"

    "Soon," you said.

    Zoe smiled, "Aww yiss."

    "Yeah," Riley hung her head. "Normally when she says that, you want to start looking for cover. But right now I think we're safe."

    "You… think."

    Riley nodded.
    - - - - - - - - - - - -
    You've got a while before the other girls are out of the shower to get to know your new team.
    >Who do you talk to?
    >What do you talk about?

    You'll also have a chance to ask the Brass for things to support your new base of operations. Just beware, they really don't want to waste money on this stupidity. So be careful, and don't expect much.
    >What (If anything) do you ask for?
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Tentative vote.

    [X] Talk to the three of them.
    -[X] How well has the unit performed in the past.
    -[X] The unit's problems and quirks.

    [X] Ask for someone to share the pain with. Hopefully, it'll be someone that isn't some sort of sleazeball.
     
    [X] Talk to the three of them.
    -[X] Ask for a assesment of the unit. Problems, quirks, performance, and the like.
    -[X] What are their expectations in the military?
    --[X] Do your best to clear up misconceptions, if there are any.

    [X] Ask for a life-time supply of whiskey and someone to serve as an anchor for your sanity in this madness.
     
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    [X] Talk to the three of them.
    -[X] How well has the unit performed in the past.
    -[X] The unit's problems and quirks

    [X] Ask for someone to share the pain with. Hopefully, it'll be someone that isn't some sort of sleazeball or an FNG.
     
    New and improved version.

    [X] Talk to the three of them.
    -[X] Ask for a assesment of the unit. Problems, quirks, performance, and the like.
    -[X] What are their expectations in the military?
    --[X] Do your best to clear up misconceptions, if there are any.

    [X] Ask for someone to share the pain with. Preferably, someone who isn't a sleazeball but has experience leading or working in a unit filled with women.
     
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    Zoe is best girl confirmed.

    [] Talk to the three of them.
    -[] How well has the unit performed in the past.
    -[] The unit's problems and quirks

    [] Ask for someone to share the pain with. Hopefully, it'll be someone that isn't some sort of sleazeball or an FNG.

    [X] Plan Hannz
     
    [X] Plan Hannz.

    Sounds like a sensible plan to me, and in this setting we need all the sensible we can scrounge up.
     
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    [X] Talk to the three of them.
    -[X] Ask for a assesment of the unit. Problems, quirks, performance, and the like.
    -[X] What are their expectations in the military?
    --[X] Do your best to clear up misconceptions, if there are any.

    [X] Ask for someone to share the pain with. Preferably, someone who isn't a sleazeball but has experience leading or working in a unit filled with women.
     
    [X] Talk to the three of them.
    -[X] Ask for an assessment of the unit. Problems, quirks, performance, and the like.
    -[X] What are their expectations in the military?
    --[X] Do your best to clear up misconceptions, if there are any.
     
    [X] Talk to the three of them.
    -[X] Ask for a assesment of the unit. Problems, quirks, performance, and the like.
    -[X] What are their expectations in the military?
    --[X] Do your best to clear up misconceptions, if there are any.
     
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