[a / b / c / d / e / f / g / gif / h / hr / k / m / o / p / r / s / t / u / v / vg / w / wg] [i / ic] [r9k] [cm / hm / y] [3 / adv / an / cgl / ck / co / diy / fa / fit / hc / int / jp / lit / mlp / mu / n / po / pol / sci / soc / sp / tg / toy / trv / tv / vp / x] [rs] [status / ? / @] [Settings] [Home]
Board:  
Settings   Home
4chan
/tg/ - Traditional Games


File: 1355526801035.jpg-(1.28 MB, 3008x1960, Booze Hound inna desert.jpg)
1.28 MB
If there's anything that gets someone through the depression of near isolation, it's mail. Reading your mail for the first time in a few weeks, even if most of them are just short “I hope you're doing well” letters, is a healthy reminder that there is in fact a whole country of people behind you.

After your short debrief with Colonel Carpenter, you headed straight for your vehicle depot. Sitting on top of your Abrams' skirt going through your mail actually kind of makes you forget that somewhere to the east there's a horde of Russians you probably just pissed off.

But mom's brownies and Jessica's attempt at cookies means you don't care, even if they're crushed. Mom has always been the queen of brownies, and anything otherwise are fighting words.

Every man in your company got something, letters and packages having been piled somewhat alphabetically in a corner of the tent. Concerning, then, is the fact that not a single piece of mail came for a witch. No letters, no packages, nothing.

In fact, you haven't seen any one of them since your visit to their 'quarters', since none of them even really came to check for mail.

Your stomach bellows at you. Brownies and scorched cookies are heartwarming, yes. Filling, however, they are not.

You pass Nicky on your way to the chow hall, a paint can in one hand and brush in the other, he stops you.

“Hey captain, you have any idea how to paint a witch kill marker? He says, looking legitimately perplexed.

1/2
>>
“Try a broom with a cross through it.” you reply, shrugging. He continues on towards the Booze Hound, dipping the paint brush in the can of white paint.

“Haven't put a new band on here since The Bitch.” He points to the band nearest the end of the barrel. “Dumbass 72 thought he stood a chance. Didn't know about my burner.” He starts another ring around the gun.

Leaving your gunner to his own devices and silently saying a prayer that you won't come back to a candy-striped tank, you step into the chow hall. It's actually two GP large tents side by side with the center connected and a few camo nets staked over it, but it's a roof and four walls. You'll take what you can get.

Ria Carius and Christina Rockfield sit inside, picking at their trays. Granted, the glop you're getting isn't going to be winning Michelin stars any time soon, but it's not MRE food. Both of them can't seem to look up from the food, and are sort of mumbling out their conversation.

[] Grab a tray and join them.
[] Join them, sans food. They aren't eating theirs, snipe the shit out of it
[] other
>>
[x] Grab a tray and join them.

Let's be nice as cheering someone up while stealing their food is sort of jerky thing to do.
>>
>>22044002
[x] Join them, sans food. They aren't eating theirs, snipe the shit out of it

haha, time for Tank Witches '89
>>
>>22044010
>[] Grab a tray and join them.

blenda in
>>
[] Grab a tray and join them.

But ask beforehand.
>>
>>22044082

just a "mind if i sit here?" would be enough i think
>>
>>22044010
>[] Grab a tray and join them.

As >>22044231 said a quick "mind if i sit here?" would be good.
>>
File: 1355529209895.jpg-(139 KB, 387x800, MSgt. Olivia Christina Ro(...).jpg)
139 KB
>[] Grab a tray and join them.

They don't seem to notice you as you step into the line for chow. You're not quite sure what the service cook slaps into your tray is, nor are you sure you can hold your appetite once the smell hits you. When you look up to question it, the private just gives you a pained “please don't” look. You decide better of it, and slide down the line. A glass of water, a coke, and a glass of gatorade round off your meal.

You step over to the table where your two witches are sitting, gaining glances from them.

“Evenin' ladies, mind if I join you?” You ask, earning a few off color looks from junior enlisted and fresh troops who didn't quite know who you were, or how your unit was organized.

Ria gives Christina a pensive looks, who somehow says 'what could it hurt?' with her eyes. Women's conversations are weird.

“Sure captain. Have a seat.” your new master sergeant says, scooting over to give you room. Not that you really needed it, the bench at the table has plenty of room on it, considering there's nobody at this particular table other than your two witches. You set your tray down and sit. Both of them look at one another, then stare into their food.

[] “how's the food?”
[] “How're we doing, ladies?”
[] “Awww, whaat's wroooong?”
[] other
>>
>>22044605
[x] “how's the food?”

"With all that staring at your food, are you going to eat it or marry it?"

Let's start slow with this.
>>
>>22044605
"Should I even ask 'how's the food?' Or should I just pray it doesn't kill me and eat it."
>>
[] “How're we doing, ladies?”

N need to jump at the issue, but no need to sugar-coat it either.
>>
[x] “How're we doing, ladies?”

The whole jokesy lead in makes bringing it up hard.
>>
>>22044605

[X] “How're we doing, ladies?”
>>
>>22044605
[x] “How're we doing, ladies?”
Lets get right to it.
>>
>>22044605

[ ] "I just survived cookies worse than MREs, how about you ladies?"
>>
File: 1355531283781.jpg-(247 KB, 366x800, Sgt. Ria Carius.jpg)
247 KB
>[] “How're we doing, ladies?”

“So, how're we doing ladies?” you ask, after prodding the mystery meat on your tray with your fork. Honestly, you're surprised it didn't yelp and jump up.

“We're um...we're here, captain.” Rockfield answers, taking a sip of her water. Carius nods in agreement.

“You're here?”

“Yes. We haven't run away? We're on this plane of existence? Despite how much we want to be, neither of us are in our homes?”

“Oh. Gotcha.” You say, before making a poor attempt at shoveling some mashed potatoes (or so you're told. Mashed potatoes aren't supposed to be grey and runny, are they?) onto your fork.

“How about you, captain?” Carius asks, briskly looking upwards at you.

“Oh, life is just fan-freakin'-tastic here in officerland. I have a mountain of paperwork waiting for me somewhere, probably in a fat stack behind a door, waiting to avalanche on top of me the instant I'm told of it. And that's not even the tip of the iceberg.” You reply.

“Oh, and Jessica sent me cookies.” At the thought of the charcoal briquettes sitting next to your mother's brownies, your stomach twists.

“At least you got mail...” Rockfield mutters.

[] “Is that what this is about?”
[] “You guys can have all the cookies you want. I'll get Jess to send more.”
[] Other.
>>
>>22045057
[x] “Is that what this is about?”

Is it something personal or is something that affects all witches?
>>
>>22045057

[X] “Is that what this is about?” You girls all have family, right?"

At some point, we should write the folks back and maybe send some mail to our brothers.
>>
>>22045057
[] “Is that what this is about?”
Is their mail getting censored or something?
>>
>>22045057

[ ] Promise them you'll get to the bottom of this, then write back to the folks back home to send ALL DA LETTERS

:3
>>
>>22045057
[x] “You guys can have all the cookies you want. I'll get Jess to send more.”
>>
>>22045131

NO YOU FOOL

THOSE COOKIES ARE WORSE THAN MRES
>>
[x] “Is that what this is about?”
[x] "Strange that you're not getting any as I'd figure witches would get theirs before the rest."

It's odd that they don't get any mail.
>>
[] “Is that what this is about?”
>>
File: 1355532766503.jpg-(10 KB, 320x240, Jessica's cookies.jpg)
10 KB
> [] “Is that what this is about?”

You immediately put on your business face.

“Is that what this is about?” you ask, feeling your temper start up. “Are they holding your mail, or are you just not getting any? The difference between the two here is who's ass I go jam my foot in, though if it's your families I'll have to try to do it with as much respect as possible.” You're not quite sure how you'd do that, but it'd definitely happen. Families have to stick together.

“We don't know, sir. We just know that no witch in the unit, or any that we're in contact with got their mail. None of us have been in contact with home since we got moved up to the line. No phone calls, no letters or packages, nothing. If they're not being written, then we really can't complain. But almost ten witches, and none of us have gotten anything?” Carius answers somberly.

“Well don't you worry about that. Penetrators look out for their own. I'll get to the bottom of this for you.” you promise, taking a bite of the rock disguised as a biscuit. You're amazed your teeth didn't shatter the second you closed your jaw.

“Th....that's not all, captain.” Rockfield says in possibly the smallest voice you've ever heard in history.

“Lay it on me, top.”

“Is this whole war gonna be this dirty?” She asks, tears starting to well up in her eyes.

[] “What do you mean?”
[] “Whoooooaaa, that's some combat shrink speed stuff.”
[] other.
>>
[] “What do you mean?”
>>
>>22045353
>[] “What do you mean?”
>>
[x] “What do you mean?”

We might as well be sure about what she means as if she means bloody, there's not much helping that but shady on the other hand...
>>
>>22045353
>[X]other
Perhaps a prescription of HUGS delivered by Dr. Bishop?
>>
>>22045353

[ ] "What do you mean?"

I think she means gunning down helpless penal battalion soldiers and fucking up witches and the like.
>>
>>22045353
[x] “What do you mean?”

Maybe she saw the Greenies' handiwork up close?
>>
>>22045353
>[] “What do you mean?”
>>
>>22045353
"I'm not going to lie kiddo, war is never pretty. It's pretty much the worst thing out there, it's bloody, dirty, and sad.

But right now it's the only option we have, we have to see the horrors of war and slog through them so that innocents don't have to, to keep people and their families safe. Because that's what it means to be a soldier.

But I swear, as long as you're under my command, you'll be one of the good guys."

And give the girl a hug, she needs a hug.
>>
>>22045454
This sans hugs.
>>
>>22045454

changing vote to this
>>
>>22045454

Voting this.
>>
>>22045454
what if that misses the point?
>>
>>22045569
Then we counter the awkwardness with more FOOTBAWL!

Then we find whoever is responsible for holding the witches' mail and kick his ass.
>>
>>22045454
The issue I have with this is we're not 100% sure it's this. Yes it's a safe bet but why make an ass of our-self here if it isn't.

Ask what they mean about it first if it fits then use it. And no damn hugs. Fucking /tg/ and it's hug fetish.
>>
>>22045614
At least it's not as bad as HOLDING HANDS. Now THAT is lewd.
>>
>>22045647
As long as they don't take it a step further I'm fine with that.
>>
>>22045353
>>[] “What do you mean?”
>>[]Squad showertimer
>>
>>22045661
You mean like kissing them on the forehead, hlding their faces in our hands and telling them everything will be fine?
Off to /d/ with you, desecrator!
>>
>>22045912
I swear I've been clean these past few months.
>>
File: 1355535766178.png-(340 KB, 648x430, Where's your dog when you(...).png)
340 KB
>[] “What do you mean?”

“I'm not sure I follow, Sarn't. What do you mean?” You ask, finally cracking open your coke. If being in combat has taught you anything, it's to enjoy the little things in life.

“I mean, are we always going to be killing people who can't fight back?”

You freeze with the soda can to your mouth.

“Sir, we were up against hapless conscripts picking through that wreckage. They didn't have any AT weaponry that could harm any of us, or anything, and we cut them apart. We fought dirty. Then we got mixed up with those witches, one caught an M40 round to her sternum, one got executed, and one got pinballed into a forest. That's not even counting what those special forces guys did to some of those conscripts. They're monsters. It just...it just wasn't fair to them.” The tears are freely rolling now.

Hoo boy. You set your can of coke down and turn to face her squarely.

1/2
>>
“Sargeant, I understand exactly what you're saying. I boxed for fun when I was younger, I understand a fair fight in competition. The thing is, the Marquess of Queensbury never had to go house to house in full dispersion while getting shot at. There are no golves in this fight, instead it's KE penetrators. Rule one of a gunfight is to bring a gun. Two guns, preferably. Bring all your friends who have guns. Rule twelve is that there is no such thing as a fair fight, and that the only unfair fight is the one you lose. I will always endorse whatever any one of my men, or women as the case may be, has to do to win a battle.

“Should we have offered them surrender, I don't know and can't say. Nobody knew if there were RPGs or Spandrel launchers in the treeline there. Hell, none of us knew there were witches there. That whole engagement could have turned the other way for us, very quickly. We're fighting the entire red army, and there are seventeen of us, Christina. Seventeen.

“I didn't order those conscripts in without AT weaponry. I didn't order those soviet witches to get stuck in with you, and I would never make that order to any of you.” you take a breath, and make sure that Carius is paying attention too. She looks on over her meal.

2/3
>>
“I won't dehumanize any of them, either. Yes, they all had families and people who loved them. Yes, I made a decision that sent quite a few men to their deaths. However, at the same time, it's war, Ladies. People will die, on both sides. I can't say who will or won't make it through this war, but I can say that none of you, not a one, will be left behind.”

Rockfield wipes her eyes and smiles.

“I don't know if that's the answer I was looking for Captain, but it definitely helps. Thank you, sir.” She slams into your chest, hugging you.

[] “NOT WHERE PEOPLE CAN SEE US!”
[] Be professional, return the hug but remind her that she probably shouldn't do that...ever.
[] “aaaaand with that I'm outta here. Gonna go look into your mail situation.”
[] other.
>>
>>22045957
[x] “NOT WHERE PEOPLE CAN SEE US!”
[x] “aaaaand with that I'm outta here. Gonna go look into your mail situation.”
>>
>>22045957

[X] Be professional, return the hug but remind her...

...that she probably shouldn't do that in public.
>>
>>22045957
[] “aaaaand with that I'm outta here. Gonna go look into your mail situation.”
>>
>>22045957
[x] “NOT WHERE PEOPLE CAN SEE US!”
>>
[] Be professional, return the hug but remind her that she probably shouldn't do that...ever.
[] “aaaaand with that I'm outta here. Gonna go look into your mail situation.”
>>
>>22045957
[] “NOT WHERE PEOPLE CAN SEE US!”
[] “aaaaand with that I'm outta here. Gonna go look into your mail situation.”
>>
>>22045957
[X] “NOT WHERE PEOPLE CAN SEE US!”
[X] Be professional, return the hug but remind her that she probably shouldn't do that...ever.
[X] “aaaaand with that I'm outta here. Gonna go look into your mail situation.”

All of the above. Gotta keep up our image but show we still care very very much about our voluntold/adopted Witches.
>>
>>22045957
[x] other.
Right here. Right now.
>>
[x] Be professional, return the hug but remind her that she probably shouldn't do that in public if at all.
[x] Inform them that you'll go look into the mail situation right now.

I would say not at all but she is still a rather young girl and saying not at all would sound cold.
>>
>>22045957
Return the hug and then tell her not to do that in public next time, we have a reputation to keep.
>>
>>22045957
>[] Be professional, return the hug but remind her that she probably shouldn't do that...ever.
After a gentle reminder, shovel down as much of the potato-esque slop and sort out the mail situation.
>>
>>22046091
We Awesome Tank Captain-Big Brother. Let's do it!
>>
>>22045957
>[] “aaaaand with that I'm outta here. Gonna go look into your mail situation.”

Time to kick some spook's ass.
>>
>>22046141
This.
>>
>>22046091
>>22046141

THIS!!
>>
File: 1355537341654.jpg-(245 KB, 366x800, 2LT Paula Wittmann.jpg)
245 KB
> [] “Be professional, return the hug but remind her that she probably shouldn't do that...ever.”

“Gah!” you manage to get out before having most of the air squeezed out of you. “Top,” you manage to wheeze, “Top, nonmagic folk need air.”

“Oh!” She releases her death grip on you, somehow showing red through her dark skin. “Sorry sir..I got a little carried away.” Rockfield looks down into her own glop, enduring Carius's giggles.

“Yeah, I'd say so. You uh, you probably shouldn't do that, Sarn't. Might get a few raised eyebrows from the non-mixed units.” You say, spooning as much of whatever crap is left on your plate down. You chug your coke and make small talk with the two witches, though Christina blushes and looks away whenever you make eye contact with her. You learn that Ria Carius's parents are pretty successful pharmacists in her hometown, though she joined up to get away from 'the boring farm village life'.

“well ladies, I'm off to sort your mail issue. Take care!” You say, slamming the rest of your coke back. After you take your tray to the cleaning station, where the “rubber duckies”, privates in bright yellow rubber aprons, take it off your hands and toss it in a basin filled with water to be scrubbed clean.

You step out into the evening, pulling your BDU collar up a little bit to help fight the chill that's starting to come in. Wittmann is standing outside, waiting to meet you.

“Captain. We need to talk.”

[] “Can we walk and talk?"
[] “Can it wait?”
[] other.
>>
[x] “Can we walk and talk?"

I guess my write in was too late I think.
>>
>>22046358
>[] “Can we walk and talk?"
>>
>>22046358
>[] “Can we walk and talk?"
>>
>>22046358
[X] “Can we walk and talk?"
>>
>>22046358
[x] “Can we walk and talk?"
>>
>>22046358
[]Can we walk and talk?
and
"I'm about to go kick someones ass for withholding important mail to vital personnel."
>>
>>22046358

[X] “Can we walk and talk?"
>>
>>22046358
>[X] “Can we walk and talk?"
>>
>>22046358
>[x] “Can we walk and talk?"
"If it's about your mail problem, I heard about it, and I intend to fix it."
>>
>>22046358
This will either be adorable or an embarassing ticking-off.
Probably both. Starting with the latter.
>>
>>22046447

This
>>22046358
>>
>>22046447
Let's not mention the mail thing, on the off chance that she's responsible.
Also we don't want to seem TOO eager to fix the witches' problems for them.
>>
>>22046744

If she's responsible, we need an explanation anyway.
>>
>>22046744
I think it's about something else.
>>
File: 1355539367512.jpg-(161 KB, 1085x723, Not quite like this, but (...).jpg)
161 KB
> [] “Can we walk and talk?”

“Hey LT. Any chance we can walk and talk? If this has anything to do with y'all's mail issue, guess where I'm headed right now?” You say, fitting your beret on perfectly.

“Actually, no captain. I need you to follow me to our tent. There's something you need to see.” She replies, almost looking and sounding concerned.

“Um, okay?”

You make the short walk back to the witches tent, which hasn't changed a bit since you were last here. The latrine in the back's door is closed, Meyer singing to herself in the shower.

“Martina! We have a guest!” Wittmann calls, immediately silencing the singing.

A shower, you think. You can't get a tent or a desk, but they get a shower. And mattresses. And a TV?! Yep, there in the corner is a small color television. Here you are, on the front line with your neck out, and there are witches who are doing some of the bloodiest fighting of the war have access to all the luxuries you have back home.

“Really LT? You want to gloat?” You say, your already stinging temper rising steadily. “You want to show me all the luxuries you get, while the regular guys are in the rain and mud, sleeping in ranger graves?”

“Actually captain, no. I want you to watch the news.” She sighs, turning the volume up.

The set is tuned to the BBC, one of the few channels that are broadcast for antenna TV's. The news report, while not breaking, has to be one of the most major stories that you've payed attention to.

1/2
>>
File: 1355539410635.png-(293 KB, 1042x720, Crash..png)
293 KB
A giant fight over Alaska. It's all jet fighters, though it seems that most of them are trying to focus on...one? Damn, whoever that pilot was is definitely worth his sal...wait a second.

Wait.

You recognize a mobius strip on the tail of the lone fighter. You recognize the desperation and knife fighting going on.

That's Frank.

That's Frank, fighting like a cornered, wounded tiger.

Your jaw slams into the ground.

You can't decide whether to be brimming with pride, knowing that your brother is doing the best in upholding the Bishop family name and motto, or wracked with concern. That's your brother, your own blood, risking his neck in a thirty to one engagement. The sound and color drain from the room. You weren't paying attention to the reporter anyway.

Frank's flying style doesn't leave anything to be desired. He's climbing and diving, dipping and dodging, throwing every elbow and punch he possibly can.

Sheer numbers drag his plane down.

“Captain, I thought your family weren't glory hounds.” Wittmann starts.

[] “Lieutenant, this is not a fight you want to pick.”
[] Leave the room. Try to call the family through any means necessary.
[] other.
>>
>>22046912
>[] “Lieutenant, this is not a fight you want to pick.”
>[] Leave the room. Try to call the family through any means necessary.
>>
>>22046912
>[x] “Lieutenant, this is not a fight you want to pick.”
>[x] Leave the room. Try to call the family through any means necessary.
>>
[x] I don't think he's doing it for sheer glory, Frank's never been like that.
>>
>>22046912
>[] “Lieutenant, this is not a fight you want to pick.”
>>
>>22046912
>[] “Lieutenant, this is not a fight you want to pick.”
>[] Leave the room. Try to call the family through any means necessary.

This is family. No matter who you are, you don't screw around when it comes to family.
>>
[x] “Lieutenant, this is not a fight you want to pick.”
[x] Leave the room. Try to call the family through any means necessary.
That. Fucking. Bitch.
>>
>>22046950
>] I don't think he's doing it for sheer glory, Frank's never been like that.

that also would do the trick
>>
>>22046912
[X] “Lieutenant, this is not a fight you want to pick.”

...Fuck. I am simmering with rage right now. But I have Meta knowledge that Frank was in that fight to save 2 witches and a numerous strike aircraft, over squadron strength.

We know our brother. He would be in that fight to protect someone. Let us remind the LT of that.
>>
>>22046912
I want to slap her so bad
>>
>>22046912
[x] “Lieutenant, this is not a fight you want to pick.”
[x] Leave the room. Try to call the family through any means necessary.

Wow, she shows us footage of our brother probably dying and she pulls this shit on us? Fuck this bitch.
>>
>>22046912
[x] “Lieutenant, Go fuck the horse you rode in on.”
[x] Leave the room. Try to call the family through any means necessary.
>>
>>22046950
>>22046970

Too cold. Too clinical.

The shock hasn't left him, yet.
>>
>>22046912

[X] Leave the room. Try to call the family through any means necessary.
>>
>>22046912
"Wittman, he is not doing this for glory, he's a Bishop. There is only one damn reason any of the Bishop family would ever get into a fight like that, because it's the only way to keep everyone else safe. So shut the fuck up, my brother might be dying or dead and you're trying to insult him, what the fuck is wrong with you?"
>>
>>22046912
Point out we don't know what is going on up there and that Frank wouldn't do something like thst without a damn good reason.
>>
>>22046912
[x] “Lieutenant, this is not a fight you want to pick.”
If he's fighting outnumbered like that then he has a damn good reason for it.
5-to-1 would be glory-seeking. 30-to-1? That's a death wish, and Frank would never do that to us.
>>
>>22046987
I like the cut of this guy's jib. But explain. Always back up with explanations.
>>
>>22046912
Gotta love that woman.
Just my humor.

>>22046987
Supporting the part with the horse, though.
>>
>>22047010
I'm liking this responds.
>>
>>22046992
as opposed to flying off the handle and doing something rash and likely damaging to teamwork?
>>
>>22047065

It would be justifiable.
>>
>>22046987
this.
>>
>>22046912

[X] “Lieutenant, this is not a fight you want to pick.”
[X] Leave the room. Try to call the family through any means necessary.
>>
>>22047065
Like snide comments about close relatives in acute danger?
>>
>>22046987

Do it.
>>
>>22046912

[x] “Lieutenant, this is not a fight you want to pick.”

This is rather unacceptable behavior from a subordinate.
>>
>>22047065
You can't be picking the 100% best option in meta-terms all the time, that ain't conducive to roleplaying. The guy's already angry from the previous conversations, the witches' luxuries, it would be totally out of character to suddenly be level-headed when she hits him with something like this.
>>
>>22046987
thisthisthis
>>
>>22047133
Ohhhhhh yeah.
>>
>>22046912

THIS >>22047010 plus

[X] Leave the room. Try to call the family through any means necessary.
>>
>>22046912

[] "Lieutenant, if I know my brother, he's not doing it for the fucking glory. Please, this is not the time for this argument."

[] Leave the room. Try to call the family through any means necessary.

Then run off the the nearest clerk and demand the KIA/MIA/Wounded list.
>>
>You insult my family again, and I'll ram that butterbar so far up your ass, they'll have to get it out with a magnet.
>>
Hey guys, I know this is a shit thing to drop on us, but we can't do anything for Frank.

What we can do is sort out the Witch mail issues. Except the LT's. We hang onto the German Bitch's mail. She gets it when she apologizes.
>>
>>22047237
Now that's just childish and petulant. We're mad at her for family shit and then we pull something of the same on her?

We really shouldn't just forgive and forget this shit though.
>>
>>22046987
>>22047233
>>22047266
stop samefagging
>>
Jake's a Captain, Wittmann's a Lieutenant. Use that rank: order her to knock that shit off and have her scrub toilets for a week.

Problem solved.
>>
>>22047266
I have always said "Don't get angry, get even." We thought we sorted this shit out with LT Wittman.
>>
>>22047237

Or we could be a fucking adult and an officer and NJP her ass like she so richly deserves.
>>
>>22047286
What part of "She's a Witch" and therefore privileged did you miss? Though I highly doubt Colonel Carpenter would side with the Witches over disciplinary action.
>>
>>22047327
If they stop a Captain from giving an disciplinary action in HIS unit because of 'witch' then they might as well strip him of his command. He'll have no way to give affective command after that.
>>
>>22047294
No, its war time, and the witches make up more than HALF our fighting strength. We need her on the line, shooting. So, little things.

Actually, latrine duty might not be so bad a punishment after all, if we decide to punish.
>>
>>22047366

No, wrong. An NJP is merely a nonjudicial punishment of some kind, it can be anything from a formal reprimand to restriction / limits.
>>
>>22047366
>>22047398

And since she's been undermining the chain of command, some form of official process is necessary here.
>>
>>22047398
well, works for me. I suppose we wait for MightyM0use to post now.
>>
>>22047414
agreed
>>
Wait a minute, didn't Ghost say that none of the news agencys named the pilot?

How does Whittmann know who's in that fighter?
>>
>>22047481
Clearly she is a Russian spy.
>>
>>22047481

Maybe this is a later report with updated information?
>>
>>22047481
Witch?

Frank saved what, 2 A-10 witches plus a shitton of regular pilots.
>>
File: 1355542028104.jpg-(255 KB, 1280x720, Frank's old bird, over An(...).jpg)
255 KB
> [] “Lieutenant, this is not a fight you want to pick.”

She crosses her arms smugly. Wittmann's not showing any emotion on her face, but you can tell she's pleased with herself.

You, on the other hand, are shaking with emotion. You're enraged with Wittmann for pulling this shit. Showing you footage of your brother's airframe being shot to ribbons, him along with it, then accusing your family of being medal hunters, is completely unacceptable. You're pissed off with whoever started this war. If it hadn't been for them, you'd be sipping a stout in a beer garden right now. But you're afraid for Frank. You're not quite sure how you, let alone anyone else in your family, would handle the loss. Frank was always the golden child.

“Lieutenant,” you say, your voice trembling with rage “Second Lieutenant Wittmann, this is the wrong fight for you to pick. I swear on my bars that if you ever, ever pull this sort of petty, childish, stupid bullshit ever again, I will personally tear your bar from your collar and remove you from the military. Go find me a phone line that will get me through to the United States, right fucking now.”

“Captain, I-” You cut her off.

“That's a fucking order, Wittmann. Find a phone. Then hold it. I'll find you.”

She stomps past you, her own brand of rage twisting her face.

1/2
>>
You follow her out, balling your hands into fists as you make your way to the postmaster's tent. It too, is an incredibly large tent, with bagloads of mail alphabetized and sorted into their own piles. You haven't been here before, but news of your recent successes precede you. The young PFC at the desk looks up as you enter, and sets his pen down.

“Captain Bishop, sir!” He stands to attention. “What can I do for you today?”

[] Short, to the point, but professional. You need to call home ASAP, but fucking with the guy who handles your mail would probably be a bad idea.
[] “Find my witches mail. NOW.”
[] other.
>>
[] Short, to the point, but professional. You need to call home ASAP, but fucking with the guy who handles your mail would probably be a bad idea.
A PFC isn't going to be fucking with mail unless he's ordered to do so.
>>
>>22047563
[x] Short, to the point, but professional. You need to call home ASAP, but fucking with the guy who handles your mail would probably be a bad idea.
>>
>>22047563

[X] Short, to the point, but professional. You need to call home ASAP, but fucking with the guy who handles your mail would probably be a bad idea.

Our jimmies are rustled about our brother, but that's not the PFC's fault. No need to take it out on him.
>>
>>22047563
[X] Short, to the point, but professional. You need to call home ASAP, but fucking with the guy who handles your mail would probably be a bad idea.

He's not the one we're angry with, he's just a private. He's not going to be fucking with the mail, at least not without someone telling him to. We're mad at that person, and at Wittmann.
>>
>>22047563
>[x] Short, to the point, but professional. You need to call home ASAP, but fucking with the guy who handles your mail would probably be a bad idea.

Maybe make a quip about the witches mail; but we'll talk to him after the fact
>>
>>22047563
[X] Short, to the point, but professional. You need to call home ASAP, but fucking with the guy who handles your mail would probably be a bad idea.

It is not this poor bastards fault we have a dipshit German Witch trying to fuck with us. So we attempt to be nice to him?

Probably some idiot orders from up high.
>>
>>22047563
>[x] Short, to the point, but professional. You need to call home ASAP, but fucking with the guy who handles your mail would probably be a bad idea.
Not this guy's fault, and no need to shit on his day what's probably not within his control.
>>
[X] Short, to the point, but professional. You need to call home ASAP, but fucking with the guy who handles your mail would probably be a bad idea.
[x] Ask why afterwards the Witches' mail haven't been arriving.

We did promise to look into that, giving up now wouldn't be a nice thing.
>>
>>22047563
>[] Short, to the point, but professional. You need to call home ASAP, but fucking with the guy who handles your mail would probably be a bad idea.

Someone's been fucking with my witches' mail. I want to know who.
>>
>>22047563
as someone who was that dumb E-3 (for 8 months but still), don't fuck with him, he didn't ask for this, shit probally rolled downhill like it always does.
>>
File: 1355543205225.jpg-(44 KB, 320x213, Somehow, it's organized..jpg)
44 KB
>[] Short, to the point, but professional. You need to call home ASAP, but fucking with the guy who handles your mail would probably be a bad idea.

You somehow gather your composure. “Private, I am in an incredibly bad mood, fair warning. I appreciate your courtesy and niceties, but I'm going to be short and get to the point here. My unit received it's mail today. My witches didn't receive anything. Why?”

He looks blankly at you.

“Um..sir, witches have to gather their own mail. We have it here, but we can't deliver it to a unit with non-sparkly mail. Especially packages. Postmaster Regs 114.3r-w.”

“Son...if you're lying to me....” You start, before he answers.

“No sir! I've got the regs right here on the table, here.”

He brushes a few papers to the side before pulling out a black three ring binder and flipping to the page in question. Sure enough, there it is in black and white. “Magical mail may not, under any circumstances, be delivered with conventional mail. It may be gathered by it's recipient at the postmaster's quarters.”

“Sir, I know the reg is stupid. I don't know any reason for it, so please don't rip into me for it. I didn't write it.” He says, genuinely concerned.

“No, son, I'm not going to ream you for this. Just, next time our mail is delivered, could someone leave a note informing those air-headed broom riders of this rule?” You say through gritted teeth. You really, really need to yell at someone right now.

1/2
>>
“Absolutely sir, I'll write a note for the sandlers right now.” He says, scurrying for a pen and pad.

“Thank you, private....Franks.”

Goddamnit.

[] Go find wittmann, call home.
[] make wittmann stand out in the cold a little while longer. She doesn't have pants and what she did to you was malicious.
[] Other.
>>
>>22047845
[x] Go find wittmann, call home.

We've made our point. When we grab the phone from here, make a passive-agressive remark about them forgetting to pick up their own damn mail.
>>
>>22047845

>[] Go find wittmann, call home.

Home.

Family first.
>>
>>22047845
>[] make wittmann stand out in the cold a little while longer. She doesn't have pants and what she did to you was malicious.

We're pissed off, and what she just did was NOT ON.
>>
>>22047836
Tell him that that order is being over-ridden by local authority under resident war powers, shit like that gets over-ridden, I mean unless its like core related shit which must be followed unless CO says do it.

[other] EMBRACE THE OFFICER POWER, and then give wittman some fun fun counselling chits, that was highly unprofessional, and needs to be pointed out on a critique. We are a professional service, after all.
>>
>>22047845
[X] Go find wittmann, call home.

As much as we would like to fuck with her for what she did, the highest priority right now is calling home.

After we call home and get whatever information we can, we'll dole out some NJPs and verbally tear her a new asshole.
>>
>>22047845
[x] Go find wittmann, call home.
>>
>>22047845
>[x] make wittmann stand out in the cold a little while longer. She doesn't have pants and what she did to you was malicious.
>>
>>22047845
[] Go find wittmann, call home.
As much as I'd love to pick the second option her burning hate towards us is probably keeping her plenty warm.
>>
>>22047845

[X] Go find wittmann, call home.

Family FIRST. We'll deal with Wittmann later after we've called the folks and cooled off a little.

If Wittmann has at least two functioning brain cells, she knows she crossed a line that she shouldn't have & hopefully (for her) won't do that again.
>>
[X] Go find wittmann, call home.

What kind of rule is that? And not even a notification of mail arriving so they can pick it up? Damn I guess Col. Bitchtits isn't the only sexist in this war.
>>
>>22047845
>>22047889
This. There's a time and place for this crap. Right now it's about family and finding out if Franks dead or not.
>>
>>22047845
>[x] Go find wittmann, call home.
Finding out why Frank did what he did takes precedence.
Then we'll make a note of Wittmann's unprofessional conduct in a report.
>>
>>22047918
it depends, is it a general order or an instruction, what local authority does it follow, is it a procedure, there is a way of managing these things, its very very Kafkaesque at times, but once you learn doublethink, it makes doubleplusgood sense.
>>
>>22047845
>[X] Go find wittmann, call home.

I liked how that was written. Poor private, he dodged a bullet today.

Wittman on the other hand......
>>
>>22047964

I agree it's a stupid reg, but at least we know that all the girls need to do is go to the postmaster's quarters to get their mail (or send one of their number to get it for the group).
>>
>>22047845
[x] Go find wittmann, call home.

There is a time and place for bullshit. It is not here, and it is not now.
>>
>>22047845
>[x] Go find wittmann, call home.
>>
>>22047845
[x]Tell him we're overriding this bullshit for the duration of hostilities, and that if somebody complains he can send them to us.

Aside from every other reason why this is asinine, it's a great way to have one or more witches take that much longer to scramble if something goes pear-shaped and they need to fight in a hurry.

...alternatively, we stick Wittman on mail duty.
>>
>>22048225
This. I like this.
>>
>>22048225
See, the best thing to do would be to fuck their evals, make sure they will get the worse assigments possible (like Oklahoma, the worst duty station in USA that isn't a missile silo)
>>
>>22048273
Oklahoma is worse than Mississippi? Really?
>>
>>22048295
See, I hear Mississippi has fun, but Oklahoma has the combination of the shitty weather and nothing for fucking miles, (Thank god i can never go there!)
>>
>>22048295
No. Mississippi is a fucking shit hole, that aside from the Gulf Coast of said state, needs bathed in the cleansing fires of thermo nuclear flame.
>>
File: 1355546038138.jpg-(25 KB, 302x307, Home..jpg)
25 KB
>[] Go find Wittmann, call home.

You step out of the postmaster's tent, back into the night. Now, to find Wittmann.

You take your time in the night, definitely feeling the bite of the late-fall air. You pull your armor a little closer to your body to try to insulate a little more, and start your search.

It doesn't take TOO long before you find the second lieutenant, who is shivering in the cold.

“Thh-this is the only one that will go to the States and isn't occupied, sir.” She says through chattering teeth.

“Thank you, lieutenant. You may go, but you stay where I can find you. We need to have a talk.” You say, your rage building again after the thought of what she just did to you. She nods, brings her heels together, then leaves, moving pretty quickly to get back to her tent.

You punch in your phone card's information before dialing the family house.

“Hello, Bishops! The fightenest family in the west!” Your dad picks up cheerily.

“Dad!” You say, excited to finally hear a familiar voice.

“Jacob me lad! How the hell are you!?” Your dad responds, almost shouting. No doubt he's trying to get the other's attention to take the phone from him, he's never been much of a talker outside of face to face.

“Shit, I'm still here dad, despite how much the Reds want me gone. Hey, I dunno how much time I have left on this card, have you guys heard from Frank? I just saw the news report.”
>>
“Shit, I'm still here dad, despite how much the Reds want me gone. Hey, I dunno how much time I have left on this card, have you guys heard from Frank? I just saw the news report.”

“Oh, hell Jake, you know Bishops are harder to kill than that. Frank called yesterday, he's fine. Back with his unit already!” He replies, the undertones of a chuckle forming in his voice. “Hey, here's your mom. I just got back from golfing, I'm gonna go relax. You take care of yourself, Jacob. There's a Ducks game on! 42-10, Oregon.” He says, before passing the phone off.

Your heart soars, knowing your older brother is safe. And already back with his unit! Someone had to have some serious miracles going on for them, to manage that one. It's also nice to hear that your school is winning, but that certainly takes a backseat to your family's welfare.

Your mom's voice fills the receiver. “You know, I figured you'd have called earlier. Frank's shoot-down has been all over the news.”

“Ma, there's a war going on over here. Kinda hard to get to a phone.”

Mom's always been hard on you for that sort of thing.

“Hm, well either way, I'm glad to hear your voice. How are you, baby boy?”

Thank god nobody else can hear her call you that, you'd never live it down.

“Cold, tired, hungry. Same shit, different day mom. It's only been a few weeks and I'm tired of fighting.” You can't lie to your mom. Even the hardest facade you put on for the Penetrators, mom's voice always breaks it down.

2/3
>>
“Well Jacob, you're doing the right thing. We're so proud of you boys. Did you get our package?” She asks, right after punching you in the gut with feels.

“Yeah mom. The brownies are delicious, just like always. I've got them stashed in my tank, and I threatened the penetrators with horrendous post-mortem mutilation should one come up missing.”

“And Jessica wants to know if you got her cookies?” She says, now with her own chuckle undertone.

“Oh, you mean the ziploc bag of charcoal briquettes? Yeah, they're good for grilling with.” Your stomach lurches just at the thought. “Next time, have her send Frank her cupcakes.”

“Be nice to your sister, Jacob. You never know when you'll be fighting alongside her.”

“Yes mom. Hey, I gotta go. I'm not sure how much time I have left on this phone card, and I don't know when I'll be able to get another one. I love you mom. Take care.” You say, apt to end the conversation.

“I love you too baby boy. Be careful, stay safe.”

You hang up the reciever. That's always the hardest part.

You start walking back to the witch tent before a runner finds you. “Here sir, Colonel Carpenter needs to see you. Someone really high thinks you're slaying dragons.” He says, handing you a sealed letter.

“Well, that's just fan-fucking-tastic.” you mutter to yourself, turning to the colonel's tent.

3/3
>>
Alright Gentlemen, that's it for tonight! It's always a pleasure.

I'll be back with more Tanks'89 a week from today, 21DEC2012 at 1500 PST, 1800 EST, if we're all still alive!

Stupid mayans.
>>
>>22048547

thanks for the thread, man! See you next week.
>>
>>22048547
Thank you for the run!
>>
>>22048547
HA, damn Mayans better step the fuck back or they will feel the wraith of one pissed off Murrican. Good thread M0use, see you next week.
>>
>>22048596

Nah, you'll be fine. It's just the end of the year for them. No such thing as the end of the world.

besides, you won't even see it coming,.
>>
>>22048665
Mainly said it as a joke, think they have another thing going on in later March as well.



Delete Post [File Only] Password
Style
[a / b / c / d / e / f / g / gif / h / hr / k / m / o / p / r / s / t / u / v / vg / w / wg] [i / ic] [r9k] [cm / hm / y] [3 / adv / an / cgl / ck / co / diy / fa / fit / hc / int / jp / lit / mlp / mu / n / po / pol / sci / soc / sp / tg / toy / trv / tv / vp / wsg / x] [rs] [status / q / @] [Settings] [Home]
[Disable Mobile View / Use Desktop Site]

[Enable Mobile View / Use Mobile Site]

- futaba + yotsuba -
All trademarks and copyrights on this page are owned by their respective parties. Images uploaded are the responsibility of the Poster. Comments are owned by the Poster.