**Disclaimer: Sailor Moon and all character names and distinctive likenesses thereof are copyright Naoko Takeuchi and the production companies.
Not really sure what made me get the crazy idea of doing a self-insertion…in Sailor Moon of all things. Probably because I have a strange sense of humor, or just because I felt like punishing myself writing this instead of studying for finals. o_O
Oh well, on to the insanity! And don't shoot me if I get the attacks wrong, I don't have my research material in front of me. Enjoy!
Edit: As of 25 June 2003 I have cleaned up some confusing issues within this first chapter. Anything with an asterick (***) by it will have an explaination as to what it is at the bottom of the page. Sorry about the confusion.
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RBL_M1A2Tanker
A Soldier in Tokyo
Prologue: This is Dragon fife-zero delta, over.
"Got a light?" A soldier mumbled to another. The latter, a short stocky man in BDUs***, LBE*** and Kevlar helmet shakes his head. The short one also carried an M4 Carbine assault rifle, made to be collapsible and adaptable. It looked like a shorter version of the venerable M16 rifle. It was late at night, about 0155 hours. The surrounding woodland was quiet, with a bird chirping once in awhile in contended rest…something the two men wish they could do at the moment.
"Now Lott, you should know better by now than to ask me if I have a light." The short man chides his companion. "I mean we've been crewing together for over a year now on the same damn tank, and have I yet come out to the field with a pack of smokes?"
His buddy chuckles, "Yea, I know. But I get such a kick getting ya worked up every time I ask ya."
"Ehhh…go chuck a fucking round already." The short one said, without malice.
Lott snorts, "Shit, I would, if it'd get me out of this bullshit."
"Amen to that."
Both men were soldiers. Specifically, they were M1 Abrams Main Battle Tank crewmen, trained on the United States Army's newest and baddest piece of high-tech machinery, the M1A2***.
What these two tankers were doing though, had absolutely nothing to do with tanks. They were deep in the middle of doing what all soldiers have to do, even in peacetime…pull guard. They were on a late night shift watching the radios, listening for any special orders that may come down from command. So far, it had been a quiet night, with nothing more than the usual checking in to let command know that they were still where they said they were. It wasn't wise to call up and say they weren't where they said they were...those command peoples really get upset about that for some reason.
Lott was a fairly tall man. Dark, strongly built, with a mischievous smile, he looked like nothing more than a shirker, a bum. But when it came time to get to business, he was a cool customer. Serious, right to the point, and always on task in the field, he was the best man to have helping you do whatever needed done on the tank. His job was to load the 120mm smoothbore cannon of the M1A2, and he was good at it***. It was timed that he could load a 45-55 pound depleted-uranium shell, arm the gun, and clear the recoil area in less than 3 seconds, and maintain that speed.
The other was a man who stood no higher than 5'6. Stocky, pale, with short red/orange hair, he was hard to get his be-freckled face to smile. His manner was always courteous, yet he questioned more things than a man of his rank really had the right to. In the field or back on base, as serious as he looked, he could always be found telling a story or cracking a joke. He was the driver***. It is disputable as to just how good he was at his job, but it was well known that, no matter how good at his job he was, he was damn fast. No tank driver ever drove as fast as he did when it came time to practice and qualify. Because of his small stature and fireplug shape, he went by the handle of "Tank."
"How much longer till the shift is up man?" Tank asked Lott. Lott looked at his watch.
"I'd say about five mikes***, and about damn time too. I'm freezing my ass off." Lott shivered.
Tank rolled his eyes, "Shit, this isn't cold. When you're seeing your breath and you can't feel your nose, now that is cold!"
"Well, I can't feel my dick, does that count?" Lott grinned.
"What's the difference? You can't feel what you don't have." Tank grinned lopsidedly.
Lott looked at him, crestfallen. "That's fucked up man, especially since your mom wasn't complaining last night." He now grinned triumphantly.
"Just remember Lott, my mom charges more than yours does, and my mom's free." Tank verbally parried.
Before Lott could reply, they could hear footsteps approach. Both serious now, Lott pulled out his sidearm, a 9mm Berretta pistol, while Tank lifted the rifle. Both men aimed it at the entrance of the armored personnel carrier as Lott called out softly, "Halt! Who goes there?"
"Sergeant Evans and Specialist Gomez."
"Advance and be recognized." The footsteps came closer, and two inky shapes appeared from the darkness.
"Halt. Masters of." Lott said the password.
"The Universe." Came the countersign. Both men lowered their weapons, for even though they didn't have any ammunition for them it was best to go through the motions for whenever they did. They crawled out of the APC to allow their replacements to take their places inside.
Evans grumbled as they stepped on the APC's ramp, "Who the fuck came up with these dumbass passwords?" He sighed. "Anything going on?"
"Nah, all quiet Sarge." Lott replied.
"I'm not a scum-sucking fish dammit. It's Sergeant." Evans chided, without any heat.
"Oh yea, hard to tell in the dark." For that, Lott got a kick in the ass.
"Get the fuck outta here Lott, you bitch." Evans chuckled.
Tank and Lott ambled away chuckling to themselves as they headed to their tank, called A-50, or by it's unofficial name, "Azazel"***. When they reached the rear of the tank, Lott reached up and grabbed the heavy metal lid that covered the fuel cap, placed a booted foot in the sprocket that made the tank move, and hauled himself up. Tank called to him, "Hey man, I'll be right back. I'm going to hit the tree line."
"Alright man. I'm going to sleep, mind if I use your drivers hole?"***
"Naw, go ahead. I prefer the back-deck. Let's me straighten my back out."
"Alright, thanks." Lott ambled away out of site to the front of the vehicle. Tank turned around and walked wearily over to a line of trees not more than ten feet away. Finding a particularly useful bush, he proceeded to answer Natures call.
"Ahhh…much better. Damn, I shouldn't have drunk so much water." He reconsidered the comment, "No, it was probably a good idea. Was damn hot today." His business finished, he took one step away from the trees when he heard something moving deeper into the woods. He froze. "Animal? No…there are not enough feet, and the footfalls are too heavy. Better check it out." He brought the M4 forward into the ready position, keeping it aimed forward and low and quickly moved into the woods.
He found some footprints in the moist ground, and still heard the sounds of twigs snapping as the figure kept moving. Tank kept following.
"Still moving deeper into the woods. It's probably a damn local trying to see if he can get his hands on some pre-Surplus items." He thought to himself as he continued to follow the prints. "Sure is easy to follow though, almost like the asshole wants to be followed. These guys usually don't run in straight lines. Foot seems narrow too. Best be careful, some of them are crazy fuckers." He carefully stepped over a gnarled tree root, when two things happened. One, he noticed that the prints stopped suddenly, and two, he sensed a presence behind him.
"Shit!" He exclaimed as he whirled about.
It wasn't fast enough.
He felt something press against his neck and a small hiss followed it. He felt his limbs go numb, and he collapsed into the cradle the root made. Before darkness overtook him, he saw a lithe form with rather long hair step in front of him.
"Damn…taken down by a fucking hippie. I'll never live this down. This is just not my day." It was his last coherent thought for quite awhile.
Several hours later…
He saw red first as he regained consciousness. That was because his eyes were still closed, which puzzled him.
"Ok…one step at a time. Do a mental body check first." Without moving, he felt every part of his body, making sure he could still feel and sense his limbs. His heart rate was slow, but was picking up speed in short order. His breath was low, but as he waited, he could regain more and more of his lung capacity, taking in deeper breaths, clearing his head. He felt the handle of the rifle in his hand still. His helmet sat heavily on his head, and a knot in the root dug deeply into his back.
Taking the next step, he slowly pried his eyes open, which he squinted tightly as the pupils adjusted to the early morning light.
"Aww shit!" He lamented. "I've been here all fucking night! My ass is grass." He winced as he sat up, his muscles protesting against any sudden movements. He ignored them as he raised himself to a kneeling, then standing position. He looked about himself, slinging his rifle as he did so.
"Something doesn't feel right. Why do I get the feeling that my dumb ass was left behind?" Soldiers have a sixth sense when it comes to matters of where they were and where their unit was. A soldier could tell something was wrong when he was still at his post and nobody had come to get him in a long time (it's called common sense), although, in Tank's case, this was a bit extreme, but our hero doesn't know it yet.
He looked himself over, and, other than leaves and needles, wasn't the worse for wear, excluding the dent in his back and crick in his neck. He twisted his head to the side, fixing the latter problem with a loud sustained pop.
"Whew…that's better." He rubbed his neck for a moment. "Well, I best get back to the unit and take my ass chewing. That was pretty fucking stupid of me to go chasing a sound like that." He wondered why he did it. No answer came to mind readily.
He started to back track when he noticed something was wrong immediately. "The trees…they're all wrong. What the fuck…" He looked about himself. Instead of mostly pines, he saw nothing but deciduous trees, such as oak, ash, and others. He became highly alert, all fog in his mind gone, replaced with absolute confusion. The rifle was back in his hands, useless for the most part, but it would make do as a club if needed. He started to head for the outer boundary of the tree line, back in the direction that he took in last night, but was much more cautious in his motions. He darted from tree to tree, not certain if it would help, but figured it was better than just ambling along until someone ran into him…or something. "Death by bear or wildcat isn't what I had in mind for when I go to the great beyond." He thought to himself grimly.
Not far, he saw that beyond the thick forest growth it became lighter, signifying an open field. He hoped it was his company's assembly area but doubted it***. He slipped between cover slowly, until he finally came to the edge of the woods. Peeking around a large tree, he expected to see tanks, infantry tents, maybe even just an open grassy field. What he saw shocked him though.
His jaw wide, he gazed upon tall structures, and roads with only slight traffic on them. Before him, travelling from right to left about 20 feet out, he could see a sidewalk leading to the road. It went down a couple steps, the broke off into a T, becoming a different sidewalk. Alongside this one, starting near the steps, a white brick wall with boxwood bushes in them. They hadn't yet grown together to form a continuous bush, so they looked like balls of yarn on a stick. Lampposts were placed at equal distances apart from each other, with matching lampposts opposite them on the sidewalk. Shops had their metal grates up, showing their wares to any and all comers. Large signs filled the spaces above the entrances to said shops, broadcasting who they where. Problem was Tank didn't have a clue as to what they said. All the signs were in Japanese.
"Awww fuck." He swore under his breath. "My ass is in Japan! And here I thought my day couldn't get any worse. Out-fucking-standing."
He was pretty sure it was Japanese, having read somewhere that the Japanese people wrote the strange symbols in an up and down pattern. Then again, it had been awhile since he had last read about the Japanese culture, so it was quite possible he was wrong. He wasn't wrong about the general location though, by the many Oriental folks that had walked by his position on the sidewalk. None saw him, or looked his way, thankfully. He didn't like the idea of the locals seeing him, especially considering his garb, and the fact that he was armed, ammo-less as he was.
"Shit shit shit. How the fuck did I get here?" His mind whirled, totally at a loss. He slipped back into the woods, away from any possible prying eyes, while he pondered his predicament.
"Ok, sitrep*** isn't good. I'm down to a canteen and a half of water, no food…wait, one MRE***," he felt the bulky thing in his BDU pants pocket, "no ammo, two weapons, a camo paint pad, pen and notepad, and me in camouflage and helmet. No clue where the unit is, and they haven't a clue where I am. Overall, I'm in a shitty situation." He leaned up against the same tree he awoke against, placing the rifle against his shoulder. He slipped the heavy Kevlar helmet off, and ran a hand through his short hair, scratching some places.
"Alright Tanker, what do you do?" He assessed his options. "Well, I can't go out into the public like this. Probably get hauled into jail or something. So I have to get some civilian garb. Food, water and shelter are also priorities. Anything I do will attract attention, since I'm quite the foreigner here, so I'll have to post out a store and 'acquire' what I need at night." He nodded, feeling he had a pretty good idea what to do now.
"Well, this shit sucks, but until I can get to the bottom of this, and get back to my unit, I'm stuck here." He murmured aloud to himself. Placing the Kevlar with the round side on the ground, he pulled out his pistol, and his weapon cleaning gear, and proceeded to disassemble and clean his weapons, for lack of anything better else to do.
A few weeks passed, and while he didn't manage to get his hands on any clothing, he did manage to locate an old tent that had been discarded in the woods. It was an old tarp actually, but for his purposes it would do very nicely. At night he could wander about almost at will. A boon came to him on his fourth night when he discovered a local food vendor didn't lock his back door, and there weren't any security devices near or around it. The soldier took several items, making sure to take it from the warehouse stock, not the shelf stock. It was too easy to notice something missing if he did. Within the store, he did finally confirm that he was in Japan by the roadmaps that were stocked in back.
Ammunition wasn't quick in coming, the sports and hardware store was a lot more stringent about their security, not that it would take much to keep him out. A locked door was really all that was needed. He got lucky when he ran into a local street tough, who wasn't near as quick on his feet as the tanker was. A Kevlar helmet to the head before he caught a glimpse of him was enough to take him out of the picture. Rummaging the lads things, he acquired a small tanto knife and self-sharpening sheaf.
"Nice…always wanted to get one of these. Thanks dick." He said cheerfully to the prostrate and out cold teen. In the boys trouser belt, he found an old pistol of an unfamiliar make that used 9mm bullets…all three of them. "Shit kid. You use this thing, and it's liable to blow up on you." He scowled at the pistol, which was slightly rusted, the barrel foul with carbon, and the moving parts in dire need of oil. The bullets where new though, signifying that he'd either used the pistol before, or had just gotten it. He pocketed the bullets, disassembled the pistol with great difficulty, and pocketed the parts, leaving the kid with the handle assembly. He also kept the knife, and left the kid in the alley. He tossed the parts into a hole he scooped out of the ground back at his little campsite.
Water was another thing entirely. The food vendor kept him supplied in dry stores, but, oddly, the owner locked the bathrooms, cutting him off from using the sinks for water. The park itself lacked water fountains. It wasn't until the fifth day of his first week that he located a source of water. A creek ran through the woods, giving him a long lasting supply, so long as he boiled it first.
"Ok, not bad." He nodded appreciatively at his findings and current possesions a few days after his 'acquirement' of the knife and bullets. Laid out before him were several canned goods, his weapons, the three bullets, two full canteens, his helmet, and the LBE. He placed the two tin cups that came with the canteens back in the canteen pouch, and then placed the canteens within them. "Well, might as well get some more explore time in." He said as he shrugged the LBE harness on. Over a week ago he had painted his face using his camo paint pad so his pale skin wouldn't give him away at night, making it easier for him to blend in the darkness. His face was rough, rougher than he'd ever had it, and he was pretty sure that he was ripe, if not overripe. He couldn't tell, but figured that since the mosquitoes had left him alone over a day ago it was a good indication. He placed the bullets in the magazine for his pistol, loaded it, and then slid the pistol into his holster. He slipped the sheaf of the knife into the top of his boot, and then wrapped the strap around his leg. It was now in an easy to reach place if needed.
He placed his canned food and his rifle in the tarp, and tied it up. Using a rope that had been attached to the tarp, he pulled the tarp high into the tree, far out of reach of prying eyes. He tied it off on a decently high branch on another tree a couple feet away. "It'll do for now." He murmured, as he grasped his helmet. Putting it on, he quickly left his camp, and headed out into the park.
Before he reached the edge, he saw some bright flashing lights. He froze in place, fearing he had finally been discovered. "Shit!" He exclaimed as he took cover. Fortunately it was near the edge, allowing him to peer around the tree, and into the park. This time he got his second shock since arriving…correction…awaking in Japan.
Before him on the sidewalk was a large…creature of some sort, facing off against five girls in what looked like school uniforms of a sort, made up of a white tight top and skirt, with a large bow parked between their breasts. All had a headband on, and each of their skirts where a different color than the other.
"Fuck…why does this seem familiar now?" He rubbed his eyes a moment, and then looked again. "Yup, still there." One girl, with two small buns on top of her head with long pigtails trailing from them was shouting something at the creature, making several silly postures. All of the others did the same silly postures as well. Tank raised an eyebrow, "What the hell are they doing? Are they mimes or something?". He gazed at the...thing across from them, and nearest him.
The creature looked to be a cross with a woman and a pistol handle. Two shapely legs protruded from the handle, with the handle itself being the butt, literally. The upper body was made up of where the barrel would be, with the trigger placed where its' stomach would be. The head looked like a flat coin, with only the nose and cheeks raised from the surface. The arms extended out from the slide of the assembly, and how the creature could put breasts on it, simply baffled the soldier, but somehow it did.
"Strange…that handle looks…shit! That's the handle assembly I left with that dumb ass kid!" He started, recognizing the handle he left with the street tough some nights ago. The creature now screamed something back at the girls, and pulled its' trigger. From its' mouth, a black ball shaped projectile shot forth, scattering the girls. One started to chant something, and within her hands a bow made of flame appeared. Before she could release anything, the creature fired again, this time getting a direct hit. She flew back a few feet, and crumpled.
"Oh Hell no!" Tank said angrily. He rushed from cover, and charged the critter, which was now taking shots at the other women, hitting another, this one with short blue hair. His heart pumping, and the adrenaline rushing, he leapt up and landed a booted kick into the side of the creature, ramming it into a lamppost. It shook it's head and looked up at its' new attacker.
Sailor Moon blinked at the newcomer. His face was rough, unshaven, apparently covered with some kind of dark paint. He was dressed in a dark uniform of some kind, with splotches of green, black, and brown all over it. His feet were clad in black boots, tightened with straps instead of strings. Upon his head was a helmet, also colored like his uniform. Upon his body was some kind of harness, with several items clinking about on it, and in his hand he held a weapon.
"Hey fucker," the newcomer addressed the youma in a different tongue, "don't you know it's not nice to hit the ladies?" His eyes were hard as he gazed down the sights of his pistol.
"Good work Tanker, you got its' attention. Now what? Do you shoot the thing?" A little voice said in the back of his mind. "Aah shaddap, I'll deal with it when I get to that point. I'm working the issue, so if you wouldn't mind..." He angrily told the voice.
"Sailor Moon, who's that?" Jupiter said, wary.
"I don't know, I've never seen him before." Was the reply.
"Is he a friend? Or an enemy?" Mars asked, also wary.
"Well, he isn't fighting us is he?" Mercury tossed out.
"Yea, and he's kinda cute too." Everyone turned to Venus, who blushed. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself. I had to say it."
The Youma rose slowly, gazing at the soldier. "You are a fool human. Now your energy will be added to my collection!" It pulled out a crystal of some sort, and aimed it at Tank. He blinked, puzzled as the monster shook its crystal in a vain attempt to make it work.
"I haven't a clue what you said, but is that thing supposed to do something?" He asked, smirking. "If it is, I think it's broken. Here, lemme make sure." And with that, Tank aimed at the crystal and fired. The bullet ran true, hitting the crystal and shattering it, releasing its' energies. The bullet traveled up the youmas' arm and lodged itself into its' armpit. It howled in pain, clutching its wounded extremity.
"How dare you! You die!" It cried as it charged Tank faster than he could dodge. It swiped the pistol out of his grip, and then took swing at his head.
"Oh fuck!" He managed to get out as he ducked much too slowly. The blow landed on his helmet, sending him flying. The youma shrieked, holding its hand in pain from the blow on the bulletproof helmet.
Tank staggered to his feet, shacking his head. "Damn…that hurt. That's it, you're mine now bitch!" He snarled as he rushed it. The Sailor Scouts watched…transfixed as a regular person, even if he was strangely clad, launched himself at the youma. He slid, tangling his legs into its' legs, tripping it. He quickly jumped on top of it, and landed several blows to its head before he realized that wasn't working. "Damn, that hurts! I need something better. I got it!" He yanked his helmet off and proceeded to give the evil being the K-pod treatment.
On every downswing, he would cry some obscenity, or curse.
"Bitch!" Slam
"Fucker!" Slam
"Take that!" Slam
"Die dammit!" Slam
"Attack women will you?" Slam
"Think you're getting up now?" Slam
"Who's your daddy?" Slam
"No soup for you!" Slam
"You're my bitch now!" Slam
At the last exclamation, the youma finally got enough sense to take a swing back in response. This time, it connected with his head and not the helmet. He rolled several feet away, not far from the Scouts as little tanks rolled about his head.
"Ok, so far, so good. I've gotten its attention, and now I've gone and pissed it off. I'm getting good at this distraction stuff. Aww to hell with this shit…it hurts to damn much." He thought groggily as he struggled to get up. The youma wasn't in much better condition. Tank placed a shaking hand down, and grasped something cool. He looked…it was his sidearm. He smiled wickedly.
As the youma finally lifted its head, it gazed into a barrel.
"Night Gracie." He pulled the trigger, and the bullet lodged into its forehead. It collapsed like a heavy sack of grain. Sighing deeply, he holstered the 9mm, and then kicked the monster for good measure. Slipping the K-pod back on, he turned, only to face the Sailor Scouts.
"Ahh…Howdy." He said cheerfully. "Ok…now what?" He looked into at the girls, and they looked back in return, a couple curious, a couple in awe…and one in shock.
"Shock? Uh oh." He felt something rise behind him, so he quickly ducked and rolled to the left, just as Sailor Jupiter fired a blast. "Jupiter Oak Evolution!" The youma screeched in pain, its' skin sizzling, smoke pouring.
"Moon Tiara Attack!" Sailor Moon finished the job, and the creature collapsed again, only this time, its' body melted away.
"Ok…remind me never to do that again." Tank said aloud, to no one in particular.
"Who are you mister?" Jupiter asked. Tank didn't reply, as he looked himself over for any injuries. "Well, other than a little bit of a headache, I didn't too badly for myself." Jupiter scowled, thinking he was ignoring her.
"Hey, I asked you a question." Her tone was demanding, and Tank looked up quizzically.
"Hmm? Are you trying to talk to me?" He placed a finger to his ear, tapped it, then scratched his head, then shrugged, in an attempt to let them know he didn't understand them. "Sorry ladies, I don't speak Japanese." He tried a different tack..."Me no speakea Japanea, comprende?"
One of them understood what he said though…from the moment he arrived. Sailor Mercury was blushing quite fiercely as she remembered all that he said during the battle. A couple of the other Scouts noticed. "Hey Mercury, what's wrong?"
"Ahh.." she stammered, "n-nothing. I just know what he was saying the whole time. He speaks English. He doesn't know Japanese."
The proverbial light bulb clicked on all their faces.
"So what is he then? A gajinn?"
Tank interrupted. "Hey now, I don't know how to speak it, but I know some Japanese words, and I'm not sure I like being called a gajinn."
"I'm sorry sir. It's nothing personal." Mercury replied apologetically.
"Finally! Someone who speaks English around here." Tank said in relief. He took a couple steps closer into the lamplight, giving the Scouts a better look at him. His face was even rougher in the skeletal light, with green, brown, and black paint smeered all over his face, making it impossible to tell what he looked like, even in the dark. Venus gave an coy glance over the strangers body, and was the first to notice a flap of fabric hanging by a string on the left side of his chest.
"Hey, he's been cut!" Venus exclaimed, pointing at his uniform. Tank looked, and sure enough, the youma had made a cut in his uniform. The monster had cleanly cut off the nametape, and nearly took the pocket that was below it with it.
"Damn. This was one of my good BDUs too." He muttered, fingering the hanging pocket on his chest.
Mercury looked closer. On the right side of his uniform was another nametape. This one stated in large letters, "US ARMY," upon which she started.
"What? What is it Mercury?" Sailor Moon asked, concerned. Tank blinked in response. "What now?"
"This man is in the United States Army! He's a soldier!" She exclaimed. Everyone looked at Tank now in more surprise, making him feel highly uncomfortable.
"Umm…would you gals please stop that? I'm starting to think I was growing a second head or something." He said.
"Sorry sir." Mercury said automatically.
Equally automatically, Tank replied, "Don't call me Sir, I'm a Sergeant, I work for a living." "Now why did I have to go and say that? And I'm not a Sergeant yet, you idiot." He slapped himself mentally.
"Sorry, Sergeant." Tank had to stop himself from making the other automatic comment, "Oh, so I'm a sorry Sergeant now am I?"
"That's ok. I apologize, I shouldn't have snapped. It was an automatic thing." He apologized, a little germ of a memory starting to grow as the adrenaline dissipated.
"So what do we call him Ami?" Mars asked. Ami translated.
"Call me Tank, Tanker, or Sergeant. Any of those will work." Tank responded. "Well, I may not have my Sergeant stripes yet, but I best get used to hearing it now for when I do…when I get back."
"Now, may I ask who you all are?" Tank had a sneaking suspicion that he knew, but wanted to be certain.
"Certainly! We are the Sailor Scouts, defenders of….sir, er, Sergeant? Are you alright?"
Tank was not all right though. He had collapsed to the ground, not in pain, but in anguish. "Shit! I knew it! Dammit! My sorry ass is being punished for all the stupid crap I've pulled over the years!" He proceeded to slam his helmeted head into the grass. The Scouts watched in abject confusion and surprise as he beat himself up for several minutes. Finally though, he came out of it. Taking a deep breath, he stood back up, and faced them, things much more clear now than they had been in weeks. Well, they were clear, up to the point he beat himself up.
"Ami, there's no more need for introductions." Ami started, her eyes now glazed in fear. He continued. "I already know who you all are. Right now, I wouldn't doubt I know more than you do, and that isn't much. Would you translate to Serena please?"
Ami dutifully did so, and soon, all the Scouts were either looking upon him in apprehension, fear, or distrust.
"Can we go somewhere more private than this? Besides, I sure could stand to clean up a bit, especially after that little fight." Tank suggested.
"Ahh…sure. We can go to my house." Ami replied, and then translated. The others agreed, and they all quickly left the lighted park.
To be continued….
Here's that promised real short Glossary of Terms:
BDUs, or Battle Dress Uniforms, are the standard uniform for soldiers in the US Army,
LBE, or Load Bearing Equipment harness, which is itself fitted out with a usual assortment of soldier stuff, such as ammo pouches, canteens, flashlight, and a field dressing, or giant bandage.
0155 hours equals 1:55 am. This is standard Greenwich, or 24 hour time.
All tank crewmen in the US Army proudly refer to themselves as tankers, continuing a tradition that began in World War II. Scorned by foot soldiers and paratroopers, hated by Rangers, looked upon with envy and awe by other troops, and always belittled and verbally abused by their mechanics, tankers were in a field all to their own. When the shit hits the fan a tanker becomes the foot soldiers, paratroopers, and yes, even the Rangers best friend. Whatever ground the tank is sitting on, is the ground that the tank owns. They are the big dogs of the Army (although you won't hear Rangers or many other different soldiers agree to that).
Another tradition that has been in place since World War I is naming your tank. It's your home and your ride, and much as the cavalry did, tankers would name their rides. It's a tradition that's still in place, more or less today in the US Army.
Driver and Loader are also referred to by the first letter of their job by the Army's phoentic alphabet. So a Driver would be called the Delta element, and a Loader would be called the Lima element.
Mikes is just another way of using the phoentic alphabet to say minutes. Less letters to have to deal with when talking.
The driver's hole is the little area in the front of the tank where the driver sat and...well...drove the tank. It is reclined, making it a perfect place to sleep, if you didn't mind being bent over for awhile the next day.
Being a soldier is one of the only professions in the world that allows a person to not only be an optimist, but also a pessimist in the same vein.
Sitrep is short for Situation Report.
MRE stands for Meal-Ready-to-Eat...or Man's-Rejected-Experiments..take your pick. ^_^