Outlandish Tales from WWII - Issue #1: * in America!
Posted: Fri Aug 26, 2011 1:16 am
OUTLANDISH TALES OF WORLD WAR II
ISSUE #1: * IN AMERICA!
Fort Wilson, Virginia, U.S.A.
Monday, November 15, 1943
9:05pm
Cold rain beat down on Jacob Kearney, rattling off his helmet, soaking his overcoat, pounding the shadowy countryside that surrounded him. Ahead, through the fog and mist, he could see the lights of Fort Wilson. It was well after dark and the drive had been a harrowing one, but Kearney had refused all offers of help or transport in getting to his destination. A damp, typewritten letter clutched in one of his hands, he approached the gate and waited until the MPs there noticed him.
Coming out of the gatehouse, the two soldiers walked through the muck and signaled for the stranger to make his intentions known, eying him warily, unsettled by his appearance. When the gas-masked man held his paper aloft, the younger of the two men took it and read it, rain drizzling off his nose.
“Yeah,” he said after squinting and reading it, “the brass has been expecting you. I’ll let ‘em know you’re here.”
The other soldier had un-shouldered his M1 Garand, the semi-automatic .30-06 carried by most of the U.S. forces fighting in Europe, Africa and the Pacific. “I read about you,” he said evenly. “And you can’t carry no weapons onto the base. Private Moore, collect his weapons. He should have a gas-bomb or something on him somewhere.”
Cauchemar * his head, still not speaking, but before the reluctant private could act on the order, a pair of headlights flashed through the night and a jeep pulled up to a stop just inside the gate. Captain Fred Stevens jumped out and ran to the gate, relieving the two soldiers with a look as they saluted him.
“Glad you could make it,” the officer said, extending his hand. “I’ll take it from here, Corporal. We’re expecting just one more – but he… well, he might not come in through the front gate.” Turning back towards the waiting jeep, Stevens jogged off. “Come on – the briefing’s going to start soon.”
* * * * *
The drive across the base wasn’t a long one, and Cauchemar soon found himself escorted inside what looked like a large, low-roofed hangar. The place was nearly empty; a half-dozen people mingled among a scattering of folding metal chairs, all of which were positioned around a projector and large, white screen. Several soldiers stood by in the back, on guard, and both a blonde military dame and a high-ranking General stood near the front of the room, her with measured precision and him with no small amount of impatience etched on his craggy, expressive face.
The old mystery man knew several of the people who had gathered, garishly-clad individuals who’d answered the same summons from Uncle Sam that he had. They were known by many names – crimefighters, vigilantes, masked men (and women, Cauchemar noted), heroes – it seemed to depend on the day of the week and the mood of the reporter as to what evocative terms were used. Cauchemar himself had certainly been called worse.
There was American Rubber, a short, wiry man in a star-spangled getup; the Sky Marshall, a helmeted hero with a jet-pack, ray-gun and penchant for aerial acrobatics… Blockade, a shield-carrying, olive-drab garbed brute of a man who looked like he could punch out a Studebaker. Lady Paramount was there too, dark-haired and slim, absolutely radiant, standing out like a golden coin in a handful of gravel. Last was the Unknown Soldier, a ghostly, eerie patriot who was at least thus far keeping to himself.
As Cauchemar approached the group, the knock-out blonde at the front spoke up, absently smoothing her tie down the front of her khaki blouse. “Thank you everyone, for coming. We’re now just waiting for one more invitee. Your patience is appreciated – the General hopes to start the briefing in the next ten minutes.”
[OOC: Okay team, six of you are there. Feel free to chatter amongst yourselves and make small or big talk. Once Major Meteor joins in, we’ll start rolling. Major, feel free to write your entrance – no need to wait until the final build is complete. BTW, I’ll generally keep the OOC chatter in the other thread, but it’s fine in the IC thread provided it’s at the bottom of the post and is called out like this is. By way of background, you’ve all received official letters from the government recently saying your help is desperately needed in the interests of national defense. That’s about all you know at this stage...]
ISSUE #1: * IN AMERICA!
Fort Wilson, Virginia, U.S.A.
Monday, November 15, 1943
9:05pm
Cold rain beat down on Jacob Kearney, rattling off his helmet, soaking his overcoat, pounding the shadowy countryside that surrounded him. Ahead, through the fog and mist, he could see the lights of Fort Wilson. It was well after dark and the drive had been a harrowing one, but Kearney had refused all offers of help or transport in getting to his destination. A damp, typewritten letter clutched in one of his hands, he approached the gate and waited until the MPs there noticed him.
Coming out of the gatehouse, the two soldiers walked through the muck and signaled for the stranger to make his intentions known, eying him warily, unsettled by his appearance. When the gas-masked man held his paper aloft, the younger of the two men took it and read it, rain drizzling off his nose.
“Yeah,” he said after squinting and reading it, “the brass has been expecting you. I’ll let ‘em know you’re here.”
The other soldier had un-shouldered his M1 Garand, the semi-automatic .30-06 carried by most of the U.S. forces fighting in Europe, Africa and the Pacific. “I read about you,” he said evenly. “And you can’t carry no weapons onto the base. Private Moore, collect his weapons. He should have a gas-bomb or something on him somewhere.”
Cauchemar * his head, still not speaking, but before the reluctant private could act on the order, a pair of headlights flashed through the night and a jeep pulled up to a stop just inside the gate. Captain Fred Stevens jumped out and ran to the gate, relieving the two soldiers with a look as they saluted him.
“Glad you could make it,” the officer said, extending his hand. “I’ll take it from here, Corporal. We’re expecting just one more – but he… well, he might not come in through the front gate.” Turning back towards the waiting jeep, Stevens jogged off. “Come on – the briefing’s going to start soon.”
* * * * *
The drive across the base wasn’t a long one, and Cauchemar soon found himself escorted inside what looked like a large, low-roofed hangar. The place was nearly empty; a half-dozen people mingled among a scattering of folding metal chairs, all of which were positioned around a projector and large, white screen. Several soldiers stood by in the back, on guard, and both a blonde military dame and a high-ranking General stood near the front of the room, her with measured precision and him with no small amount of impatience etched on his craggy, expressive face.
The old mystery man knew several of the people who had gathered, garishly-clad individuals who’d answered the same summons from Uncle Sam that he had. They were known by many names – crimefighters, vigilantes, masked men (and women, Cauchemar noted), heroes – it seemed to depend on the day of the week and the mood of the reporter as to what evocative terms were used. Cauchemar himself had certainly been called worse.
There was American Rubber, a short, wiry man in a star-spangled getup; the Sky Marshall, a helmeted hero with a jet-pack, ray-gun and penchant for aerial acrobatics… Blockade, a shield-carrying, olive-drab garbed brute of a man who looked like he could punch out a Studebaker. Lady Paramount was there too, dark-haired and slim, absolutely radiant, standing out like a golden coin in a handful of gravel. Last was the Unknown Soldier, a ghostly, eerie patriot who was at least thus far keeping to himself.
As Cauchemar approached the group, the knock-out blonde at the front spoke up, absently smoothing her tie down the front of her khaki blouse. “Thank you everyone, for coming. We’re now just waiting for one more invitee. Your patience is appreciated – the General hopes to start the briefing in the next ten minutes.”
[OOC: Okay team, six of you are there. Feel free to chatter amongst yourselves and make small or big talk. Once Major Meteor joins in, we’ll start rolling. Major, feel free to write your entrance – no need to wait until the final build is complete. BTW, I’ll generally keep the OOC chatter in the other thread, but it’s fine in the IC thread provided it’s at the bottom of the post and is called out like this is. By way of background, you’ve all received official letters from the government recently saying your help is desperately needed in the interests of national defense. That’s about all you know at this stage...]
