"Good," Gavin said in response to Abernathy's confirmation that she wasn't seriously injured.  His heart had been in his throat between when he asked the question and when she answered.  Barr was deluding himself to think that what he felt for her wasn't serious... that he hand't already fallen for Abernathy... that all they shared was casual sex... but war often demanded such self-delusion.  Like the delusion that he and Captain Rivers both wanted - more shells and a fighting chance for the men of 2-21st FA.

At the checkpoint, Barr flashed his lights twice in response, then held one hand out of the driver side window.  He opened the door and approached the checkpoint on foot, his rifle slung.

"Evening gentlemen.  I'm with second of the twenty first ef eh, looking for three nineteen."

As Barr moved closer, a figure stepped out and began walking towards him. A voice, more of a hoarse whisper than a yell echoed in the distance but the FSO managed to catch it.

"Here we go again, Decker's up this time, cover him any problems you know the signal"

"Good morning, sir" a black Specialist with a very white accent said when he closed to within 20m. "Please put your hands in the air. Thank you."

Barr complied, moving slowly and keeping his hands visible at all times

About twenty issue flashlights were on Gavin Barr as he awaited the fifth degree from this unit's roadblock. The effect was like being drunk at a very cheap disco: disorienting and in the end a waste of time. When Specialist Decker was close enough to see Gavin Bar was a First Lieutenant, he came to attention, saluted, and then went about his business without searching or disarming Barr.

"Does the First Lieutenant have some sort of ID, sir?" Spc Decker asked very politely. The whole scene reminded Barr of a routine traffic stop back in the US. It was a complete 180 from the Soviet foot patrol using his FISTV to improve their aim only a few minutes before.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:46, Sun 20 Jan 2013.

In reply to Niewiele Dupek (msg # 37):

"Oh for fu...come on" Pfc Abernathy said from behind the sixty. Her hands were on her head more out of boredom than any perceived threat as she leaned against the rear of the open turret ring. "Let's go."

"Yep," Barr said.  He slowly moved his hand to a top BDU pocked and fished out his ID.  His other hand remained on his head.  He held the ID out for the Specialist to review.  He thought very unflattering thoughts about the Cavalry branch, but kept them to himself as this idiocy played out.

In reply to 1LT Gavin Barr (msg # 39):

"<b>Thank you, Sir</b>" Spc Decker said with a nod. He lowered the blue-lensed issue flashlight to his side, recognizing h1Lt Barr was who he said he was. "What brings you to see DivComm today, Sir?"

"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.

"These guys are worried about infiltrators when the damn logistics failure is what's going to get us killed," Gavin said after the cleared the 3-77 checkpoint.

As they pulled up to 3-19th, Gavin listend to the Irishman for a few seconds, smiling while he did so.

"There's no pot o' gold under that 5 ton if that's what you are rilled up about." he said as he approached the vehicle.  He squatted down near one of the wheels to get a look at the man working under the truck.

"Wha...wha...who the FOOK....???" the Irish soldier swore as he wiggled out from under the truck, his dirty overalls picking up dirt as he wallowed in an effort to get out fast and kick someone's ass.

"Who the FOOK...I'll FOOKIN kill ya...you...?" the Irish maintenance man said, shining the light he had been using to work on the truck in Barr's face. Seeing the man was an officer, the Irish soldier changed his tone, although he was still clearly upset, which is strange, because the Irish were not know for their passionate nature.

"Sorry, sir" the man faltered, turning the engine light down. He saluted, but he had an oily rag in his right hand, and the 'salute' just got his face even dirtier; not an easy accomplishment considering the circumstances. "I....sorry."

"No need to apologize," Gavin said.  He held out his hand, "Andrew Gavin Barr," he said, hoping the Irishman would return the introduction.

In reply to 1LT Gavin Barr (msg # 45):

"Suh!" said the greasy mechanic, lift and then stamping his foot. "Private Seamus Murphy, 19th King's Royal Hussars."

Murphy then saluted again, and this time the rag hit him in the eye. He looked at 1Lt Barr, who stared at him in the dark.

"Well, that's not exactly right, is it sir?" the Irishman asked, rubbing his eye. "I mean, I've been with this unit for only a month or so. I've been passed around so much, I don't really recall who I'm with. Sir."

In reply to Niewiele Dupek (msg # 46):

"Who is in charge here Private Murphy?  I'm looking to acquire some 155 rounds for 2-21st FA.  They are out of ammo and are as useless as tits on a boar right now."  Gavin said.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:15, Fri 25 Jan 2013.

The Irish are known all over the world for their ability to turn a phrase. Unlike the Poles, God gave them at least one gift to offset the alcoholism and rampant sexuality...or was it the fact that both countries were plagued by the scourge that is the Catholic church? In either even, Murphy smiled at the FSO's use of the spoken word.

"Ah, that would be Major Wilson, sir" Seamus Murphy said. "He's either down at the battery or the TOC...or his quarters. It is late you know, sir."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:15, Fri 25 Jan 2013.

Gavin grabbed a half full bottle of vodka from his truck.  "Have a pull with me Private.  It's not whisky, but like most of the local girls, it still goes down and gets the job done."  Gavin said as he took a quick sip.

"Uh, reckon I shouldn't sir" Murphy said, looking down as he rubbed his shaking hands nervously with the dirty rag. Like all Catholics, the first thing Murphy thought of was guilt, and seemed unsure if the FSO was trying to test him. "That Lieutenant with the lisp said he wanted this truck done before morning."

"I respect your dedication Private," Gavin said.  "I'll leave you a bit so you can have a well-earned drink when you are done.  Got a cup or something handy?  Maybe back here somewhere?" Gavin said, moving to the back of the truck and looking in the cargo bed with his flashlight.

[Private to Niewiele Dupek: Looking for good loot of course!  ;)]

"Aha, NO suh!" the Irish-born maintenance soldier said, taking the chance that 1Lt Barr was not trying to turn him in for D&D. He opened the door to the truck and fumbled around for ten seconds. When he came back into view, he had a well worn but still functioning silver metal thermos. "Ah, here 'tis!"

OOC:

ESY:SCR please

After checking the back, Gavin poured a bit of vodka.  Not enough to get the Private in trouble.  At least not an Irish or Russian Private.. ;)

[Private to Niewiele Dupek: No SCR skill, but figured I'd roll to see if I got a 1 or something weird.  Nope!  Rivers should have sent a real scrounger if he wanted shells.  lol

09:38, Today: 1LT Gavin Barr rolled 72 using 1d100. SCR. ]

In reply to 1LT Gavin Barr (msg # 53):

As was the custom all vehicles were emptied before going to maintenance, unless a tank was having a pack pulled in the field or a cargo truck full of howitzer shells broke down in the field. Hoping against hope, Gavin Barr checked the back of the cargo truck anyway. When the search came up a big goose egg, he poured Murphy a drink.

"Alright, let's see if we find Major Wilson," Gavin said after screwing the top back on the bottle.  He headed back to the FISTv to secure the vodka before moving out toward the TOC.

Even though they were not out of ammo like 2-21 FA, 3-19 FA fired nowhere near the volume of rounds that were coming into the TOC. As Private Murphy led 1Lt Barr to the tent serving as 'call center' for the regiment, it seemed as if there was more noise coming from the tent there was the gun line.

The guards at the tent flap recognized Murphy and saluted Barr. With the noise Gavin could barely hear the mechanic, but the fact that he wouldn't go in and motioned inside told him all he needed to know.

"Thanks," Gavin said to Murphy before he entered the TOC.

"I'm looking for Major Wilson," he announced as stepped inside.

In reply to 1LT Gavin Barr (msg # 57):

Walking into the TOC filled Gavin Barr with mixed emotions. On the one hand, the flurry of activity of men at radios, runners, a large chalkboard, and an almost anthill-like movement reminded him of home in that it was a very familiar feeling.

On the other hand, he had become used to the freedom that an FSO enjoys, and so the homecoming was more like a college student returning to their childhood home: the memory of the place only reminded Barr how much had changed, and how much he had changed.

Looking at the far side of the '20 manner' tent, he could see a Major being pestered by a slwe of people from Privates acting as runners to Lieutenants from the gun line and everyone in between.

In the time it took 1Lt Barr to walk across the tent to the Major, he had already processed three 'visitors'. When Gavin closed to conversational range, he was signing some sort of requisition order on the pack of a Specialist who desperately needed a clipboard.

"No" Major Wilson said, not looking up from the paperwork as Barr moved close to him. He initialled in two places. "Two places, Pete?"

"Three sir" the Specialist said, still bent over.

"Three sir" the Major said absently, looking over both sides of the form in an effort to find the third block for his three initials.