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Hell's Half Acre

Chapter 2 - Visitors

Outpost 19 (H.H.A.) - Armory
1400
Quartermaster 'Cumin'

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The quartermaster left out a sigh, as he finished inventory of all the weapons and ammo in his building, but he still had more work to do. There were still the attachments, gadgets and other addons, not to mention the supplies that rolled in this morning with the greens (fresh troops not yet tested by Pandora or Hell's Half Acre).

"More paperwork, always, always more and more paperwork."

Then in a mocking manner the Quartermaster continued his rant: "'Sorry, but I think I dented this part of the rifle', 'I hear this funny rattle when..', or 'I dropped my assault rifle in the mud, running from a pack of viper wolves, sorry man, I don't have time to clean all the gunk out'"

With a long suffering sigh, he got right back to accounting for the attachments and addons. Those would still need to be rechecked and recalibrated if necessary, but not today. Various people on base thought he was anal about everything passing across his 'desk', maybe even to an OCD extent. In a way, he might be. You don't put firearms on the gun racks in improper, unclean states. They should be relatively clean and ready for use, it was standard. Small scratches were fine, as long as they weren't on any optics, sensors, or 'delicate' pieces of equipment.

He felt somewhat responsible for them, which he was, but it was more than that. They reflect on him, that was part of it. If a soldier in the field has a serious weapon malfunction, it could lead to his death, and the deaths of whoever he is with, if the weapon fails the soldier. It might have been the Quartermaster's fault or it could have been the soldier's, for not maintaining it. What would matter, are any deaths occurring or worse.
The soldiers sometimes signed out weapons for long periods of time, which was allowed, unlike the security personnel, who had to return everything but their side arms when off-duty. Veterans usually signed out their weapons long-term.
He was moving a few of the new supply crates into the back room of the armory. More grenades: check, more 5.56: check, a lot more .50 cal: check, small consignment of nitro express .700 rounds..?

"Hm, well, big game is plenty, but a poor soldier's weapon."

After entering the last crate into the inventory manifest, he left the clipboard on the wall peg, equipped an exopack (mask with air supply), picked up a Franchi SPAS 12 shotgun, and went outside. It was after mid-day, there were workers maintaining equipment and the multitude of machines and wiring which made up the complex of outpost 19.

He made to breathe in fresh air, but, remembering that it was Pandora and that while he wore an exopack, there wasn't any 'fresh' air. Just another thing he never got used to and one of the things he missed most.

"Tired of gun oil, already? You forgot again, didn't you, Cumin?"

The Quartermaster turned to see a very familiar face; a maintenance worker by the name of Donovan.

"Every time, and each time it feels slightly worse. Such a simple pleasure, yet it's denied to us here. If it wasn't for that one thing, I might actually like it here."

"Really? What about all the nasties?"

Cumin just shrugged, "Not my problem just as long as you greasers do your jobs", gesturing to the small sub-transformer Donovan was working on."

The nickname 'Cumin', came from Q-man, from his position title: Quartermaster. Say Q-man enough, you may start saying Cumin, instead. The nickname stuck. Walking over to the edge of the 'parade ground' (large open area of the central complex), he observed some heavy duty crates being loaded onto a mule train (refer to Vietnam logistics cargo vehicle). Cumin was about to light a cigarette, then reconsidered, as he had the damn mask over his face, grumbling. He tried to pick out any detail or designation on any of the boxes. Aside from serial numbers of the production series and batch produced from the factory, there were some 'explosive contents' stickers.

Well, if they were regular ordnance, they would be headed to the armory, or its warehouse behind it. Vehicle, artillery and cannon ammo typically went to the motor pool warehouse.

"I bet those are landmines. Took them long enough to make it out here."

"Yeah, but chances are they are more of the same AP mines designed for use against humans. Someone might need to suggest to procurement or the local R&D (research and development) department that they should consider that Nav'ii have ankles located much higher than humans." But they still did the job for most other things, like the viperwolves.

"Don't electrocute yourself you electrical contractor scumbag, and make sure you label everything right! I swear to god, if I find a single breaker that has only the word 'General' on it, I will make sure you get the rustiest piece of shit gun I have."

Donovan just chuckled. "Is this still about that one electrician from Earth?"

"Never trust any contractors, always expect them to swipe something or recycle shit in order to sell off the premium materials you paid for!"

"Yeah, you should probably get back to polishing bullets and reminding everyone that they can't engrave their initials or old clichés into anything from your armory."

With that he went back to the armory, cycling through the air lock, and hung his exopack back on the peg. Walking past his desk/counter, he snagged the clipboard of the latest procurement requests. He made his way over to a nearby wooden crate of .308's and lit a cigarette, taking a seat.

He skimmed the entries: 25 more m6 frag grenades, 5 40mm HE grenades, 11 40mm white flare rounds. So far it just looks like typical patrol expenditures. Then he notices a peculiarity; a request for 10 road flares and 60 glow sticks. He wouldn't bat an eye at 10 road flares, if it weren't for the fact that it was made by the same individual who also wanted 60 glow sticks. They were never expended that quickly. He denied both requests.

They typically didn't even have glow sticks in the armory, as everything that isn't guns and bullets, or the things you hang them from, or assist the soldier in active combat is always found in the regular warehouse with its own quartermaster. He probably shut down this guy too, and that's why he's trying it here. Some people need to grow up.

With that, he took his last pull at the cigarette before flicking it into an ash can, and went to finish authorizing the 'reasonable' requests.

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Outpost 19

Operations control center
-Alice
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"This is convoy three Sierra echo, checking in with Op. Center 19, we are about 3 klicks out. Will make short stop over at '19, then carry on our way to the Morzov petrol processing plant, do you copy?"

"This is . 19, we copy your last. See you in a few, control center, out."

"Op. 19, be advised we made contact with a hostile local group a few klicks back. Might be another 'followed me home' case."

"The CIC has been notified (combat information center), thanks for the update, Op. 19 out." As the one on-duty employee had heard the entire exchange. This wasn't Hell's Gate or a newly established site, so there wasn't much going on aside from occasional sentry reports, updates and intermittent silence over the security band. The man's nametag said 'Jim', although that's all anyone really knew or cared to know about the man, whom passed on the warning to the perimeter security units.

The operations controller next to Alice, leaned toward her, "Hey Alice? Isn't it a bit soon for another supply run?"

"Its not for us, its for Morzov Processing Plant. Stuff needs to be replaced, and the production inventory accumulates until its transported out, I suppose, and with the number of staff they have, which need to be fed."

"That was equivalent to the monthly supply consignment, and they already received it last week, so why are they getting another so soon?"

"Maybe some supplies were lost enroute, or had spoiled? No that's not quite right, most of those could only spoil or decay after a decade, and besides, we would hear something if a convoy was lost. They might have boosted production at the facility, and need to expand existing infrastructure. Who knows, who cares."

"How bored are you, Alice, if you are thinking that deeply into something that doesn't matter like another supply run? If you like...we could work the remedy to said boredom, sometime?"

"Not happening. Keep it professional on duty" Alice reminded him.

"Well, here's my card..."
SMACK
"Owww!" He gingerly rubs the back of his head.

"Bitch." As Alice turns back to her console, the speakers crackle, as an element updates the center.

"OCC19, this is Sierra Echo, we are one minute out, have that gate open."

"This is the Op. Cent. 19, it will be. Proceed to the receiving area and refuel at the depot as needed, out."

"Copy on move order."

Alice looked through the window, as the last vehicle in the convoy rolled through, the gates closing behind it. The up-armored humvee had a few arrows sticking out.

After a good 5 minute staring contest with her terminal screens and readouts, the relative silence of the control room was broken by radio.

"This is Northeast sentry, we have contacts beyond the usual curious critter or two. Might have a few smurfs in the woods. Requesting heightened alert level of entire perimeter and additional security elements, over."

"CIC copies, we are sending more elements to shore up the wall, over."

End of Chapter 2

Updated: Jan 4th, 2016
Updated: May 5th, 2016

Created: March 14th, 2016

Author note to self: (**** add technical section on the C7 rifle, and a few others)
(*** look up specs for the SPAS 12)