1LT Gavin Barr:
"World war three asshole, that is what brings me here," Gavin said, as if the question was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. He took his ID back, having established that he was in fact a 1st LT while this fucktard was a E-4.
"Now unless you have some 155 rounds shoved up your ass with the stick that's already there, step aside, because I'm heading to 3-19. And tell whoever is in charge here to start running some fucking patrols and establish an LP/OP out there," Gavin said, motioning off into the darkness from the direction he had just come from.
"Because if an ID check point is your idea of establishing control of your fucking AO, then you guys deserved to get smoked when Ivan rolls through here. This is war Specialist Decker, not the drunk driver checkpoint you ran into after fingerbanging your skank girlfriend at your highschool prom."
With that, Gavin turned back toward the FISTv, intent on finding 3-19.
Pfc Abernathy laughed into her CVC from behind the sixty as Gavin Barr followed the already well-worn tracks around the M757 in the middle of the two-lane road north toward 3-19 FA.
"
Babe, you should have seen that fucking Oreo cookie crumble" she laughed, slapping at the black plastic stock of the belt-fed weapon in front of her as the FISTV whipped through the hot early morning air. "
I couldn't see his face, but I was sure after you chewed his ass the way he snapped to and saluted as you walked off, that he was going to cry."
After another five hundred meters on the northbound road, 1Lt Barr turned left. He knew he was close when the guns of three one nine went off, ripping the dark calm with 155mm muzzle flashes that created a very intense, very violent art of sorts.
To the south just the far side of 100m distant, more armored vehicles from 3-77, like the ones he and Abernathy just passed, were set up in a defensive position to the south. Their infantry pickets were set up to either side, and Gavin could see fires and the occasionally cherry from a cigarette glow red hot in the summer morning air.
Barr pulled up in the motor pool next to a very worn looking five ton. Underneath it, an Irishman in dirty coveralls was screaming, kicking, and swearing occasionally in time with the guns of 3-19.
"<Cannon fire>
...fookin' air filter, fookin' Yanks and their fookin'....<cannon fire>
.....why the fook I fookin'....<cannon fire>
...I'll never fookin' know" the man yelled as 1Lt Bar closed the door on the FISTV.