Eric trudged across the coalfield, where his imprisoned compatriots were
working; he didn't bother to wave or anything, but a few of the men smiled
as he passed, he was with them in spirit; it was another dull, dismal
Thursday, Eric remained bored out of his mind.
Eric thought intently about all the people who were wondering where the hell he was, as he gingerly dusted the coal dust off of his boots. He finally came to the barn where the fights were held; he proceeded to the ring. Eric had no sooner begun to climb through the ropes when a boot struck him across the eyes and the bridge of his nose.
"You little cocksucker!" shouted the foreman, as Eric struggled back up and into the ring, bruises forming around his eyes "If I don't start winning, there's gonna be hell to pay!"
"Patience, my son" Eric said in an oriental voice, as the world around him faded back into focus
"Don't give me that bullshit, meat," growled the foreman angrily "Just show me some techniques"
Eric did as he was told, and did some blocking drills with the foreman: he was shown pretty much every block there is; the front block, the rising block, the low block, the wedging block, the cross block, the swinging twin forearm block, inner and outer forearm blocks... the list goes on and on.
Finally there came the call for the prisoners to go back to their cells, the foreman looked at Eric as he walked away, and shouted after him
"If I don't see results soon, your ass is grass!"
Eric was ushered to his cell, where Carson was standing against the wall vigorously shadow-sparring... Eric thought it looked like Carson was still getting his ass kicked.
"What the hell does he know?" asked Carson in a monotone voice, without stopping his barrage of dynamic punches
"Blocks," Eric stated, wiping the sweat off his face "He'll play a pretty defensive fight"
"Any that would break one o' those godamn holds?"
"A few," said Eric "Why, you plan on using them?" Carson dropped his hands
"Well, shit, you never know!"
The NOD buck private standing guard near where the GDI forces may have been hiding... however...
It was quiet... too quiet...
...Then, a quiet humming grows louder...
*TING, TING, TING, TING, TING, TING, TING, THWAP THAP THWAP*
Several Orcas passed overhead, including the one who had just gunned down a lone soldier, there were 6 in all, and they traveled in an extended diamond formation, flying around 80 feet off the ground, just barely underneath NOD radar, and probably didn't show up when they pulled up to land; Captain Masterson and Lieutenant Kapp stood on the roof of which the squadron leader chose to land upon, a particularly savage looking Orca.
The cockpit opened, and a hand helped a body climb out of the aircraft, hiding the 39 skulls on the side marking dogfight victories underneath the name of the pilot: "Doug MacPherson"
"Lieutenant Colonel MacPherson, sir, it's a damn fine honor to see you again"
"As with you, Captain Masterson," said Lt. Colonel MacPherson; he had the appearance of death itself; his dark green Kevlar jumpsuit with the name "MacPherson" rumpled up on his breast pocket, his helmet was the same dull shade of olive, with chrome grooves where it had been skimmed by bullets; his tinted visor hid his eyes, and he chewed menacingly on an unlit cigar.
GDI forces were crouched around the edge of the building, waiting to scrag anyone who dared take a shot at them.
"To the chase," Masterson said "Most of their forces have been diverted to Huston, so all we need is for you to take out their air force, and their radio relay post, and we'll finish it for ya"
MacPherson bent down to tie his boot; boy, did he need new laces; and he began to speak in acceptance of his mission, when a bullet whizzed right over him, and ripped Masterson's hat off his head; he dropped to the ground; a lance corporal with a bazooka rose to the occasion, and fired at the first sign of movement; the explosion sent down a huge piece of concrete with a black-hand sniper clinging on for dear life as he plummeted 14 stories to his death.
MacPherson looked at Barney helping Captain Masterson to his feet, and saw that there was no time to waste; he removed his cigar, and let out an ear splitting whistle, and jogged to his Orca, as his men did the same. The blue flame from the takeoff turbines bathed them in a hellish glow as they rose to perform a noble service.
Death to NOD.
"Programming Windows applications is like nailing jello to the ceiling... Easy with the right kind of nails" -Ivor Horton
Eric thought intently about all the people who were wondering where the hell he was, as he gingerly dusted the coal dust off of his boots. He finally came to the barn where the fights were held; he proceeded to the ring. Eric had no sooner begun to climb through the ropes when a boot struck him across the eyes and the bridge of his nose.
"You little cocksucker!" shouted the foreman, as Eric struggled back up and into the ring, bruises forming around his eyes "If I don't start winning, there's gonna be hell to pay!"
"Patience, my son" Eric said in an oriental voice, as the world around him faded back into focus
"Don't give me that bullshit, meat," growled the foreman angrily "Just show me some techniques"
Eric did as he was told, and did some blocking drills with the foreman: he was shown pretty much every block there is; the front block, the rising block, the low block, the wedging block, the cross block, the swinging twin forearm block, inner and outer forearm blocks... the list goes on and on.
Finally there came the call for the prisoners to go back to their cells, the foreman looked at Eric as he walked away, and shouted after him
"If I don't see results soon, your ass is grass!"
Eric was ushered to his cell, where Carson was standing against the wall vigorously shadow-sparring... Eric thought it looked like Carson was still getting his ass kicked.
"What the hell does he know?" asked Carson in a monotone voice, without stopping his barrage of dynamic punches
"Blocks," Eric stated, wiping the sweat off his face "He'll play a pretty defensive fight"
"Any that would break one o' those godamn holds?"
"A few," said Eric "Why, you plan on using them?" Carson dropped his hands
"Well, shit, you never know!"
The NOD buck private standing guard near where the GDI forces may have been hiding... however...
It was quiet... too quiet...
...Then, a quiet humming grows louder...
*TING, TING, TING, TING, TING, TING, TING, THWAP THAP THWAP*
Several Orcas passed overhead, including the one who had just gunned down a lone soldier, there were 6 in all, and they traveled in an extended diamond formation, flying around 80 feet off the ground, just barely underneath NOD radar, and probably didn't show up when they pulled up to land; Captain Masterson and Lieutenant Kapp stood on the roof of which the squadron leader chose to land upon, a particularly savage looking Orca.
The cockpit opened, and a hand helped a body climb out of the aircraft, hiding the 39 skulls on the side marking dogfight victories underneath the name of the pilot: "Doug MacPherson"
"Lieutenant Colonel MacPherson, sir, it's a damn fine honor to see you again"
"As with you, Captain Masterson," said Lt. Colonel MacPherson; he had the appearance of death itself; his dark green Kevlar jumpsuit with the name "MacPherson" rumpled up on his breast pocket, his helmet was the same dull shade of olive, with chrome grooves where it had been skimmed by bullets; his tinted visor hid his eyes, and he chewed menacingly on an unlit cigar.
GDI forces were crouched around the edge of the building, waiting to scrag anyone who dared take a shot at them.
"To the chase," Masterson said "Most of their forces have been diverted to Huston, so all we need is for you to take out their air force, and their radio relay post, and we'll finish it for ya"
MacPherson bent down to tie his boot; boy, did he need new laces; and he began to speak in acceptance of his mission, when a bullet whizzed right over him, and ripped Masterson's hat off his head; he dropped to the ground; a lance corporal with a bazooka rose to the occasion, and fired at the first sign of movement; the explosion sent down a huge piece of concrete with a black-hand sniper clinging on for dear life as he plummeted 14 stories to his death.
MacPherson looked at Barney helping Captain Masterson to his feet, and saw that there was no time to waste; he removed his cigar, and let out an ear splitting whistle, and jogged to his Orca, as his men did the same. The blue flame from the takeoff turbines bathed them in a hellish glow as they rose to perform a noble service.
Death to NOD.
"Programming Windows applications is like nailing jello to the ceiling... Easy with the right kind of nails" -Ivor Horton