04-10-2007, 02:04 PM
<3:40:00|Antarctica|NW of Landing Site Six>
Scorpion Grenadier Sergeant Ellar Von Kessel swerved the wheel of the Indian, swore, and slammed it back, avoiding the snow dune hidden in the storm. Both his feet labored the pedals. The Indian's wheels spluttered, ground, and tore for purchase, its iron teeth digging ice. His hands screamed. Slush went airborne behind him and the whipping wind slowed, the jeep chewing on an ice bed beneath the snow.
Ellar lifted his foot from the gas. His heart slowed. The wind grew, the Indian's engine purring complacent, his breathing returning to its Servernan pride, deep and full. He could see snow falling from the storm clouds.
"Could never get used to you, damn piece of junk." He said at the Jeep's navigation radar. "Detect everything but the weather itself."
The Indian slowed to a stop. Through the insulation of his helmet visor, Ellar peered through the snow fall.
Antarctica was a bleak hole. Outside the headlamps of the Indian rest a moving grey screen, laying on a grey ocean solid enough to walk across, flat, mirror-like, and free of landmarks. His eyes scratched the upwards into the pitch-colored clouds covering the day's sun. The snow began falling heavier. He knew everytime the snow sheets turned solid the storm had reached its peak, where visibility dropped below human eyes.
Sighing, Ellar unbuckled the driver's harness. He grabbed his Autogun and pulled out down the glove compartment. After shifting through a leaf-let manual, ripped out the ignition procedure page in the process, pulling out a deposit box. Inside was a single flar canister and gun.
"So much for driving back." Ellar opened a channel into his walkie-link. "Kessel to Landing Point Six, I've lost it in the storm and need pick up. Ready to flare."
"Reading you Kessel this is Colonel-High Marshall Lorne, waiting for signal." Replied a statically charged voice.
Ellar chambered the canister. He pointed the gun above his head and pressed the trigger. A hiss of fire, an ignition, and he turned to see the white flare ball into the sky.
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<5:01:59|Singapore Beach|Shore leave>
Book slung his beach duffle and slipped on his sandals. He armed his sunglasses, SPF 30 across his snout, nose plugs, umbrella, and blanket, and began shuffling across the white sand, looking for a spot.
Scorpion Grenadier Sergeant Ellar Von Kessel swerved the wheel of the Indian, swore, and slammed it back, avoiding the snow dune hidden in the storm. Both his feet labored the pedals. The Indian's wheels spluttered, ground, and tore for purchase, its iron teeth digging ice. His hands screamed. Slush went airborne behind him and the whipping wind slowed, the jeep chewing on an ice bed beneath the snow.
Ellar lifted his foot from the gas. His heart slowed. The wind grew, the Indian's engine purring complacent, his breathing returning to its Servernan pride, deep and full. He could see snow falling from the storm clouds.
"Could never get used to you, damn piece of junk." He said at the Jeep's navigation radar. "Detect everything but the weather itself."
The Indian slowed to a stop. Through the insulation of his helmet visor, Ellar peered through the snow fall.
Antarctica was a bleak hole. Outside the headlamps of the Indian rest a moving grey screen, laying on a grey ocean solid enough to walk across, flat, mirror-like, and free of landmarks. His eyes scratched the upwards into the pitch-colored clouds covering the day's sun. The snow began falling heavier. He knew everytime the snow sheets turned solid the storm had reached its peak, where visibility dropped below human eyes.
Sighing, Ellar unbuckled the driver's harness. He grabbed his Autogun and pulled out down the glove compartment. After shifting through a leaf-let manual, ripped out the ignition procedure page in the process, pulling out a deposit box. Inside was a single flar canister and gun.
"So much for driving back." Ellar opened a channel into his walkie-link. "Kessel to Landing Point Six, I've lost it in the storm and need pick up. Ready to flare."
"Reading you Kessel this is Colonel-High Marshall Lorne, waiting for signal." Replied a statically charged voice.
Ellar chambered the canister. He pointed the gun above his head and pressed the trigger. A hiss of fire, an ignition, and he turned to see the white flare ball into the sky.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
<5:01:59|Singapore Beach|Shore leave>
Book slung his beach duffle and slipped on his sandals. He armed his sunglasses, SPF 30 across his snout, nose plugs, umbrella, and blanket, and began shuffling across the white sand, looking for a spot.