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Vinny

RED MENACE

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Brad walks toward the leader, "Thanks, thanks so much, I thought I was a gonner and for what? I tried to help an old couple with medication. Since when is buying on the black market a political crime. I'm a doctor, well would have been if not for invasion. I had less than a year left in my rotation and I would have been Dr. Brad Simmons, just like mom always said I would be. Dr. Simmons, it has a nice ring to it, you have to admit. After all, silly uncle Richard really put the name through a ringer. A nice respecatable Dr, should help fix that. Not that I am vain, I really became a Dr. because I like to help people. I be came interested in medicine when my dog was hit by a car and was hurt really bad. I wanted to become a vet, but mom said helping peole was better than helping animals. I think she did not like Yappy too much. Well, helping people is much better anyway. As I said, I just wanted to say thank you for saving us."

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As Ian warms up he says, "Ians my name. They busted me for Possession of Diversive ,and terroristic information. You almost completed Med school, huh? I almost got to graduate from High School, if it wan't for heartless coldblooded commy b*st*rds. They wouldn't even let me have a jacket or glove or anything when I asked, the pr*cks. Worst of all, they know what I do and can do. Now they're going to hunt for me, to make sure I don't fall back into American hands."

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Gel watches silently as Ian says his piece. "I used to be NYPD." Says Gel as the young man finishes. "Until the Ruskies came and turfed us all out onto the streets."

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"Wasn't nuthin 'fore the resistance...." The sentinal at the barrel says before taking another long drag of of his homemade cigarette.

 

"Just 'nother punk-*ss kid, runnin the streets, thinkin I wus top dog." He flicks the butt into the barrel before finally exhaling the smoke.

 

"Sumthin more than the hood to fight for now, elf...." The sentinal is obviously talking more to himself than to anyone else in the group.

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Noticing the leaders eye glazing over with disinterest, Brad, turns to the group in general, "Where do we go from here? I mean the commies have already confiscated omy families island summer home, and my Manhattan apartment is no longer safe, well, at least I assume. So what now?"

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Ian, finally getting some of his energy back with some of his warmth begins to speak up, "All I know, is that I am hungary, I am dehydrated, and I am still about half freakin' frozen. The frost bite is just the icying on the cake. So as far as where we go, I really don't care.

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"I agree with the icicle, food is probably the best place to go from here." Gel pipes up from where he'd been standing. "As for the long term, I see three options. Firstly, we go south of the boarder and try and start a new life. Secondly, we go back to our homes and try to help our neighbours and friends as much as possible. And the third option, we take up arms and kick the ruskies out of the good ole US of A." Gel pauses here, seeming not quite willing to admit the dire straights they were in.

 

"The second one don't work, as it seems we were all picked up for doing just that. The first option, while very attractive, just doesn't sit well with me and probably has it's own set of problems to go with it. That leaves kicking butt, least as far as I can see."

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Daniel had been following along silently, just listening to everyone. He turns to Brad and says, "I was staying in a bombed out hotel. It's very comfortable, the bomb didn't explode very well so a good bit of the rooms are intact and one or two actually has electricity if you hold your arms just right and if Jupiter is alined with Mars. It's in Queens if you want to go. The nicest thing is that I am the sole occupant, owner, and tenant." Daniel then turned back to the barrel and lights a cigarette, taking a long drag while staring into the fire.

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flik-woomp!

 

Nicholas's face is briefly illuminated by the flame from the zippo and then the glowing cherry of the cigarrette.

 

"Bloody cold out there, that's for double sure. To whom do we owe our thanks for the nice piece of rescuing?"

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going down the hole last, Jake walks up to the group counting the rounds in his shotgun he managed to salvage from the crate that almost made it's home on his head.

muttering to himself

"...3, 4, 5, hmmm, thought I had more than that, I'll have to find some more"

 

Looking up and seeing the group he says " Ok, everyone from our "tour bus" ok?" Looking at the Rebels "Who are you guys and what can I do to help?"

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The leader of the rebels approached you all, his form illuminated by the fire from the barrel. An H&K was slung across his shoulder.

 

"You can thank my men. Five of them died to save you." he said. The man had a bulky form, and you could spot the torned and battered winter outfit of an NYC post-man worn under his kevlar vest.

 

"To tell you the truth, we had no intentions on rescuing anybody. Reports came of the Ruskies mobilizing a weapons shipment. We had planned to capture it, but, instead, we found you..." he said, shaking his head.

 

He sighed, then look at each of you.

 

"Well, now that what's done is done, we better get you back to base. Our hideout is close, a few barrels from this one. Josh?" he said, turning to Joshua, the insurgent sentry.

 

"We gonna have to get you off sentry duty. Once Ivan finds those trucks, they're gonna be looking for us. Guard our rear, then extinguish the barrels as we go, alright? Don't want no Reds following us..." he said, loading a fresh magazine into his sub-machinegun.

 

 

 

Meanwhile, a distance away from the group...

 

In the darkness of the sewers, near the barrel (with barely enough light from it to see), two insurgents were blindfolding and hand-cuffing the Soviet captives for transportation back to the hideout. They were rushing in an uncaring manner, and failed to notice that two Russians were missing...

 

"Alright, let's move, comrades..." the young insurgent said mockingly, as the rebels were about to head back to base.

 

The Russian captives began marching wearily. No one noticed that the Soviet seargant and his wounded comrade, were missing...

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Seeing the men moving, Ian rubbed his arms briskly trying to get more warmth in them. Ian looks at Leech, "I have to agree with your third suggestion. Besides, thats about the only way I will be useful anyway. I ain't to good at the survival thing, but I know my way around heavy weoponry. And some, more....anarchistic methods of death and destruction. Now that is my cup of tea. That and, creating and building things."

"I think thats why the Pinko's picked me up. They might have seen some of my discussions and work on combat equippment, on what was supposed to be securied, connections. Never admitted to having much common sense."

He continued to walk with the group following and listening to the others.

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"Heavy weapons you say?" Asks Gel as he walks next to Ian. "Never had much cause to use them in the PD, but like all my brothers in blue, I'm certified on small arms. Even got to be kinda good before this stuff went down."

 

Gerald seems somewhat distracted as he walks with the insurgents, his voice betraying his irish heritage more than before.

 

"Always handy to have someone on the long rifle though, as backup. I had planned to apply for SWAT in a year or so's time, but that don't look like it's gonna happen now."

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Ian began to make small talk as they walked to help keep his mind off of the cold. "Personally, I have always been particular to the bazooka, with the portable tow missile, and personal ground to air rocket launchers pulling a close second. You just have to revere anything that a chump can pack and fire on his own two feet, that is capable of dropping an aircraft or ending the life of a tank or personel carrier in one single shot. That's serious destructive power in the hands of one lone person.

A guy I was chatting with on a supposedly scrambled signal and myself were shooting the stuff about the fantasy or reality of Mechanical battle armor construction and operation. Well just about 10 minutes after I sent the ole' boy the plans for him to look at, my door was busted down and the damn pinko @#!&ers was packing me out of my house with nothing on but a pair of pants a t-shirt and a pair of sneakers, no socks.

Well, the plans where good, but not as good as the ones I reserved for an emergency. Hehe. Now, I know to keep my thoughts to myself...

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"Well, perhaps if I ever hook up with SWAT I'll give you a call." Gel says with a smile at the younger man's enthusiasm. "Until then I'll stick with a good old fashioned standard issue pistol."

 

Gel then turns to the 'prisoner' with the shotgun. "You didn't find any of my gear in that box did you? I'm feeling kinda naked without my trusty Glock."

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