Armadillo3
Member
Thanks for the continuing story!
Story Market Day
- Thread starter ComCamGuy
- Start date
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Thanks, CCG!
feralferret
Veteran Member
CCG, thanks!
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Just spent the day yesterday reading another fiction series by Harley Tate called Fault Lines.
Why am I posting this here? It deals with a massive mega-quake and Tsunami off the Pacific Northwest. I had to compare. They go more nuts and bolts into the first week or so with a couple survivors. It was a good read for a different slant on the same sort of event of Market Day. My brain could see it as an inset type of view to the bigger picture I painted here.
Why am I posting this here? It deals with a massive mega-quake and Tsunami off the Pacific Northwest. I had to compare. They go more nuts and bolts into the first week or so with a couple survivors. It was a good read for a different slant on the same sort of event of Market Day. My brain could see it as an inset type of view to the bigger picture I painted here.
Knighttemplar
Veteran Member
CCG have you read Deep Winter? It's about a mega quake in the PWN also But only 4 books.
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
That will be next. Gives me something to read in the hot tub since it's harder to type there
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
The 1st volume was truly excellent but the last two fell way off.
Just an opinion
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Up North, Near Town
Barbara was up again, well before dawn. She took the time to put more fuel in her and top off her water after rolling up the poncho and liner. She tried to force her mind onto practical things. It might help keep the worries and doubts at bay.
As soon as she felt it was safe enough, she set out in the predawn light. Her path was going to be harder now. She wanted to avoid as many people as she could, move fast and yet not look like somebody suspicious zooming along on a bicycle.
Now that she was getting into town, Barbara had to concentrate more on her navigation. She was coming in from a direction she was unfamiliar with. Her waypoints and street by street turns were scrawled on pieces of scrap cardboard. She had them broken into sections and disguised in shorthand as food delivery instructions.
If something happened, she didn’t want to leave a trail back to anywhere. The scraps were color-coded and had a couple random extra instructions on each. On the blue one, she would follow only every other direction. The red one? Only the first five mattered, not the last three. The green one she went backwards. The black one led nowhere.
When Barbara got to the end of one set, she pitched it away. If she went back the same way, well she wasn’t. She would be driving back with Stephen and would come in from another direction.
Barbara was up again, well before dawn. She took the time to put more fuel in her and top off her water after rolling up the poncho and liner. She tried to force her mind onto practical things. It might help keep the worries and doubts at bay.
As soon as she felt it was safe enough, she set out in the predawn light. Her path was going to be harder now. She wanted to avoid as many people as she could, move fast and yet not look like somebody suspicious zooming along on a bicycle.
Now that she was getting into town, Barbara had to concentrate more on her navigation. She was coming in from a direction she was unfamiliar with. Her waypoints and street by street turns were scrawled on pieces of scrap cardboard. She had them broken into sections and disguised in shorthand as food delivery instructions.
If something happened, she didn’t want to leave a trail back to anywhere. The scraps were color-coded and had a couple random extra instructions on each. On the blue one, she would follow only every other direction. The red one? Only the first five mattered, not the last three. The green one she went backwards. The black one led nowhere.
When Barbara got to the end of one set, she pitched it away. If she went back the same way, well she wasn’t. She would be driving back with Stephen and would come in from another direction.
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Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
I've read some of Tate's stuff - pretty good story lines and detail but I'm not sure how you're thinking of "an insert" - as news items? as a quoted/add in?
The 1st would work as contextual background but not sure about the 2nd.
ETA
as may people OR as many people
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Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
Important to note the limited # of volumes
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ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Not an official insert into Market Day, more like just my own thought process for what some of it might be like for some of the survivors we didn't see in Market Day, people caught in the water zone, scaling buildings to escape the flood and such.
To truly make it a part wouldn't work, too many differences in the overall elements and would also require collaboration with the other author. Just commenting on how I was viewing what they described.
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Later
There was plenty of light for Barbara to see things now, and what she saw didn’t make her feel warm and fuzzy. Signs of looting and violence got more common as she moved forward. She went around downed trees and made huge detours to avoid downed powerlines. She had a lot of luck avoiding people, mainly because she was up so early, she told herself at first. Later, she realized she just wasn’t seeing that many signs of people still around.
She had her main landmark in sight now. She would ride up the side of the embankment holding one of the elevated freeways, scope out the way ahead for obstacles and problems, then press on to her little bungalow, grab the keys…
There was mud and debris along the base of the embankment. She could see where the water had receded in the direction of the nearest intersection leading under the freeway. The caked mud and dirt at the base squished as she powered through it. She was in a low enough gear she should be able to ride on the diagonal all the way to the top. She knew it would be easier than getting off and pushing it up, she hoped.
When she made it to the road, she was surprised to find it still held cars. Shew wasn’t sure why until she looked down towards the intersection and saw the huge gap where the overpass used to be. Overpasses down, no offramps in this section and no one willing or able to force a guardrail out of the way.
Barbara lifted her bike over the rail and walked across to the seaward side, anxious to get moving. When she got to the other side, she stopped and stared. Down towards her goal, she could see the signs of water at least halfway up the sides of buildings. Cars in the street tossed haphazardly. She looked farther. She tried to see the airport. It was then it dawned on her. With all the training, all the practice, the thousands of topo maps she had worked with, she never put it all together.
Barbara realized the airport was down by the sea, even lower than the late-fifties sprawl of houses and buildings she, Randy and Benji lived in. If the water was this high here, everything at the airport was flooded and or washed away.
Stephen’s truck, if it was even there anymore, was waterlogged and dead. In reality, it was probably offshore somewhere, soon to be a new reef for fish. Randy and Benji’s trucks were toast as well. How was she going to save Stephen now?
Barbara sat on the guardrail and cried.
There was plenty of light for Barbara to see things now, and what she saw didn’t make her feel warm and fuzzy. Signs of looting and violence got more common as she moved forward. She went around downed trees and made huge detours to avoid downed powerlines. She had a lot of luck avoiding people, mainly because she was up so early, she told herself at first. Later, she realized she just wasn’t seeing that many signs of people still around.
She had her main landmark in sight now. She would ride up the side of the embankment holding one of the elevated freeways, scope out the way ahead for obstacles and problems, then press on to her little bungalow, grab the keys…
There was mud and debris along the base of the embankment. She could see where the water had receded in the direction of the nearest intersection leading under the freeway. The caked mud and dirt at the base squished as she powered through it. She was in a low enough gear she should be able to ride on the diagonal all the way to the top. She knew it would be easier than getting off and pushing it up, she hoped.
When she made it to the road, she was surprised to find it still held cars. Shew wasn’t sure why until she looked down towards the intersection and saw the huge gap where the overpass used to be. Overpasses down, no offramps in this section and no one willing or able to force a guardrail out of the way.
Barbara lifted her bike over the rail and walked across to the seaward side, anxious to get moving. When she got to the other side, she stopped and stared. Down towards her goal, she could see the signs of water at least halfway up the sides of buildings. Cars in the street tossed haphazardly. She looked farther. She tried to see the airport. It was then it dawned on her. With all the training, all the practice, the thousands of topo maps she had worked with, she never put it all together.
Barbara realized the airport was down by the sea, even lower than the late-fifties sprawl of houses and buildings she, Randy and Benji lived in. If the water was this high here, everything at the airport was flooded and or washed away.
Stephen’s truck, if it was even there anymore, was waterlogged and dead. In reality, it was probably offshore somewhere, soon to be a new reef for fish. Randy and Benji’s trucks were toast as well. How was she going to save Stephen now?
Barbara sat on the guardrail and cried.
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223shootersc
Veteran Member
Thanks, CCG!
Dannab1
Contributing Member
Thanks for sharing! Just finished book one, off to read 2 and 3! Then will have to see what else she's written!
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ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Later
Barbara had to be careful down here. She was constantly amazed how some areas were destroyed, flattened and just awash with busted everything, then she would get to one of the major streets headed from uphill to the coast and find it seem empty in comparison, just debris piled along the sides. She tried to see why.
The best Barbara could figure was where the water was unrestricted in it’s rush, both inland and back to the sea, the waters didn’t stay as long and deposit as much crap. She kept looking at the devastation and tried to imagine somewhere flatter like down in Southern California. With what she heard over the radio, and comparing it to the jumble here, it must be just a sea of shattered building and destruction ten times worse than here.
Barbara quickly learned to stay towards the middle of the road. Anywhere close to the edges got deeper mud and debris. She already wished she was back above the freeway berm. The collapsed overpasses, combined with the earthen walls seemed to keep most of the water and the accumulated trash carried by the water on the seaward side.
Here, the stench of mud, stagnant water and a thousand other things swirled into a pervading assault to her nose. It reminded her of when they went down to help with hurricane recovery efforts. At least she wasn’t wading through the water here like they did down there.
Each cross-street she came to was a mass of stranded everything, the roads clogged with cars, boats, parts of buildings and she didn’t know what else. Each street she crossed took her closer and closer to her bungalow, but she wasn’t even sure why she was going there anymore. It’s not like she needed keys for Stephen’s truck anymore.
Her thought processes were derailed a moment later. She came to a cross street that was different. This was one of the main roads through town, running parallel to the coast. If it was like the others, it would be clogged with trash. This one wasn’t.
She stopped and stared, trying to make sense of it. It had plenty of junk, but it was all pushed to the sides. How? It reminded her of when she was up north and the snowplows came through. Had someone ‘plowed’ the debris out of the road? Why?
She looked around. Something caught her eye. It was a clean sheet of paper tacked up on a pole sticking out of a pile of whatever it was. She went closer. It was a flyer.
‘Well, at least it looks like someone is out here trying to help’ she thought as she moved farther towards her once home.
Barbara had to be careful down here. She was constantly amazed how some areas were destroyed, flattened and just awash with busted everything, then she would get to one of the major streets headed from uphill to the coast and find it seem empty in comparison, just debris piled along the sides. She tried to see why.
The best Barbara could figure was where the water was unrestricted in it’s rush, both inland and back to the sea, the waters didn’t stay as long and deposit as much crap. She kept looking at the devastation and tried to imagine somewhere flatter like down in Southern California. With what she heard over the radio, and comparing it to the jumble here, it must be just a sea of shattered building and destruction ten times worse than here.
Barbara quickly learned to stay towards the middle of the road. Anywhere close to the edges got deeper mud and debris. She already wished she was back above the freeway berm. The collapsed overpasses, combined with the earthen walls seemed to keep most of the water and the accumulated trash carried by the water on the seaward side.
Here, the stench of mud, stagnant water and a thousand other things swirled into a pervading assault to her nose. It reminded her of when they went down to help with hurricane recovery efforts. At least she wasn’t wading through the water here like they did down there.
Each cross-street she came to was a mass of stranded everything, the roads clogged with cars, boats, parts of buildings and she didn’t know what else. Each street she crossed took her closer and closer to her bungalow, but she wasn’t even sure why she was going there anymore. It’s not like she needed keys for Stephen’s truck anymore.
Her thought processes were derailed a moment later. She came to a cross street that was different. This was one of the main roads through town, running parallel to the coast. If it was like the others, it would be clogged with trash. This one wasn’t.
She stopped and stared, trying to make sense of it. It had plenty of junk, but it was all pushed to the sides. How? It reminded her of when she was up north and the snowplows came through. Had someone ‘plowed’ the debris out of the road? Why?
She looked around. Something caught her eye. It was a clean sheet of paper tacked up on a pole sticking out of a pile of whatever it was. She went closer. It was a flyer.
Tsunami Relief Effort
Food, Water, Shelter, Medical Assistance Available
Report to the Stadium
No weapons allowed. This is to be a safe space.
Tsunami Relief Effort
Food, Water, Shelter, Medical Assistance Available
Report to the Stadium
No weapons allowed. This is to be a safe space.
Tsunami Relief Effort
‘Well, at least it looks like someone is out here trying to help’ she thought as she moved farther towards her once home.
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
Report to the Stadium.
No weapons allowed.
I know, I know; we're probably all skeptics by nature, experience or both but those two lines plus having a cleared path to what sounds like a cachement/collection point makes the hair on the back of neck stand up.
I'm hoping she's got some optical assistance at her bungalow.
No weapons allowed.
I know, I know; we're probably all skeptics by nature, experience or both but those two lines plus having a cleared path to what sounds like a cachement/collection point makes the hair on the back of neck stand up.
I'm hoping she's got some optical assistance at her bungalow.
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Danger, Will Robinson! Danger! Thanks, CCG!
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
Sure but this is from Barbara's "new perspective" not Bekka & Garen's
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
At the Bungalow
As Barbara approached the door to her small bungalow apartment in the backyard of her landlord’s house, she was moving through mud and small bits of junk that was small enough to make it into the space but not back out. She could see lines on the house and bungalow where the water was at least waist high here.
With all the destruction she just traveled through, she was trying to prepare herself for what she would find when she got here, what horrible damage she might have. She didn’t have a lot of anything and a bunch was out at the cabin now, she kept telling herself.
Barbara opened the door. What she saw inside was both better and worse than she expected. The smell hit her. Stagnant water and who knows what else. She stepped inside. The watermarks in her little apartment were high enough. She knew the bed would be a giant sponge that she shouldn’t even touch. She just stood and stared, trying to take it all in.
There was enough water in here at one point to float her dresser, which now lay face down on the mud, along with the TV and lamp it once held. The refrigerator had left it’s nook but was still upright. The small bookcase was still against the wall, but all the books on the lower three shelves were a waterlogged mess.
She looked over at the closet. Some of the clothes hanging up might survive, along with anything on the top shelf. And the trunks. They would be there.
The top trunk was where she normally stored things like extra ammo for her pistols, cleaning kits, a couple pieces of jewelry and other precious trinkets. The other trunk? That held the before stuff. The last time she got into it was when she got her tan backpack out of it to give to Stephen.
Barbara knew she would be getting into it when she rode this way from the cabin, but that was to grab some stuff for the run south. Now? Well, she probably had to get whatever she wanted to keep and stash it in the trunks to protect them. But…
Barbara didn’t know what she was going to do. How was she going to go south to get Stephen? She had no vehicle. With what she saw out there, she didn’t think there would be any car rental places around she could use. Buy a car? With what?
Barbara lived well by appearances, but that was an illusion from her frugality. She had her military medical retirement, but she never applied for her VA benefits other than her GI Bill since it would all but guarantee never being able to go back in when she was better.
The GI Bill, with it’s housing stipend, was the thing keeping her well-funded, along with her summer temp jobs out in the wilderness. She didn’t have a big nest egg, no big credit capability, no card with a limit big enough for a vehicle, not that she knew of a car dealer still open anyway.
The idea popped into her head. Steal one? No. that wasn’t her. She wasn’t talking about taking something from an enemy.
She was going to end up heading back to the cabin. She knew that now. She took another look around the room. Anything she left here was as good as gone. She had to decide what she would take with her.
As Barbara approached the door to her small bungalow apartment in the backyard of her landlord’s house, she was moving through mud and small bits of junk that was small enough to make it into the space but not back out. She could see lines on the house and bungalow where the water was at least waist high here.
With all the destruction she just traveled through, she was trying to prepare herself for what she would find when she got here, what horrible damage she might have. She didn’t have a lot of anything and a bunch was out at the cabin now, she kept telling herself.
Barbara opened the door. What she saw inside was both better and worse than she expected. The smell hit her. Stagnant water and who knows what else. She stepped inside. The watermarks in her little apartment were high enough. She knew the bed would be a giant sponge that she shouldn’t even touch. She just stood and stared, trying to take it all in.
There was enough water in here at one point to float her dresser, which now lay face down on the mud, along with the TV and lamp it once held. The refrigerator had left it’s nook but was still upright. The small bookcase was still against the wall, but all the books on the lower three shelves were a waterlogged mess.
She looked over at the closet. Some of the clothes hanging up might survive, along with anything on the top shelf. And the trunks. They would be there.
The top trunk was where she normally stored things like extra ammo for her pistols, cleaning kits, a couple pieces of jewelry and other precious trinkets. The other trunk? That held the before stuff. The last time she got into it was when she got her tan backpack out of it to give to Stephen.
Barbara knew she would be getting into it when she rode this way from the cabin, but that was to grab some stuff for the run south. Now? Well, she probably had to get whatever she wanted to keep and stash it in the trunks to protect them. But…
Barbara didn’t know what she was going to do. How was she going to go south to get Stephen? She had no vehicle. With what she saw out there, she didn’t think there would be any car rental places around she could use. Buy a car? With what?
Barbara lived well by appearances, but that was an illusion from her frugality. She had her military medical retirement, but she never applied for her VA benefits other than her GI Bill since it would all but guarantee never being able to go back in when she was better.
The GI Bill, with it’s housing stipend, was the thing keeping her well-funded, along with her summer temp jobs out in the wilderness. She didn’t have a big nest egg, no big credit capability, no card with a limit big enough for a vehicle, not that she knew of a car dealer still open anyway.
The idea popped into her head. Steal one? No. that wasn’t her. She wasn’t talking about taking something from an enemy.
She was going to end up heading back to the cabin. She knew that now. She took another look around the room. Anything she left here was as good as gone. She had to decide what she would take with her.
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Barbara went over to the table and set her hydration pack down. Out came the poncho. She could lay this on the bed to make a dry place to sort and organize what she would take back to the cabin. The trunks would be too big.
The top trunk she set on the back of the dresser. It didn’t take too long to pull the important parts out. Her jewelry fit in a small pouch, and the other tidbits other than ammo and such were the easy things. She closed the lid and got the other trunk. This one still hurt.
Barbara lifted the lid. Velcro, patches, nametapes, and pouches lined the lid of the trunk. The first thing she pulled out was the pack, a multi-cam twin of the tan one she gave to Stephen. On him it was a little bigger than a standard three-day pack, just at the limits of carry-on size. On her, it was a full-fledged rucksack, especially with all the external pouches.
They were old school packs from back at the start of the War on Terror. The company didn’t even make military-style packs anymore and long since closed down their military division. She loved it when she got it for it’s bombproof construction and capability. That’s what she needed for the job back then. Now, she would stuff the remains of both her old lives into it for the trek back to the cabin.
In the trunk under the pack was a bunch of odds and ends she had bought back then. She pulled out her rigger’s belt and the pouches she used to wear on it, with their multi-tool, fixed blade, folding knife, flashlight, and the small waistpack style pouch. It was a lot, but not much different than what she had on her now, just all tactical style, in nylon.
A fleece, an OD green wool shirt, a pair of boots, two very expensive aftermarket uniforms, a holster for a type of pistol she didn’t own, all stuff she hadn’t worn since then. She would take it all.
She looked at the lid again and started pulling the nametapes and patches. They didn’t take up much space, she told herself. She might as well take them. Then she looked at the pouches. She pulled out the envelopes. She knew what was in each. One held all her military paperwork, including her DD214. The other one had pictures. Real, printed pictures, and the postcards from Jamie.
Wherever Jamie was, she wasn’t slogging through the mud of her own destroyed apartment, trying to figure out what the hell she was going to do next. Barbara almost threw the envelope, but she stopped herself. It wasn’t Jamie’s fault. She tried everything she could that day. Barbara was the unlucky one. She put the envelope with the other one to take with her.
The last pouch. Barbara zipped it open. She knew what was in here, even though she never opened this pouch. She pulled out the faded wool bundle and held it in her hands for the first time in years. She held it in her palms and looked inside. There were her nametags for her blues, her badges and ribbon rack, woefully small compared to some of her peers now, but Italy was supposed to be the start of her climb towards…
She saw drops of liquid on the wool now, her tears falling unchecked as she stared at the stuff in her hands. She was so proud when she first got to put the beret on, it’s sage color representative of so much.
Barbara turned towards the bed, gently setting the bundle on the pack. She had things to do and she could cry and sort at the same time.
The top trunk she set on the back of the dresser. It didn’t take too long to pull the important parts out. Her jewelry fit in a small pouch, and the other tidbits other than ammo and such were the easy things. She closed the lid and got the other trunk. This one still hurt.
Barbara lifted the lid. Velcro, patches, nametapes, and pouches lined the lid of the trunk. The first thing she pulled out was the pack, a multi-cam twin of the tan one she gave to Stephen. On him it was a little bigger than a standard three-day pack, just at the limits of carry-on size. On her, it was a full-fledged rucksack, especially with all the external pouches.
They were old school packs from back at the start of the War on Terror. The company didn’t even make military-style packs anymore and long since closed down their military division. She loved it when she got it for it’s bombproof construction and capability. That’s what she needed for the job back then. Now, she would stuff the remains of both her old lives into it for the trek back to the cabin.
In the trunk under the pack was a bunch of odds and ends she had bought back then. She pulled out her rigger’s belt and the pouches she used to wear on it, with their multi-tool, fixed blade, folding knife, flashlight, and the small waistpack style pouch. It was a lot, but not much different than what she had on her now, just all tactical style, in nylon.
A fleece, an OD green wool shirt, a pair of boots, two very expensive aftermarket uniforms, a holster for a type of pistol she didn’t own, all stuff she hadn’t worn since then. She would take it all.
She looked at the lid again and started pulling the nametapes and patches. They didn’t take up much space, she told herself. She might as well take them. Then she looked at the pouches. She pulled out the envelopes. She knew what was in each. One held all her military paperwork, including her DD214. The other one had pictures. Real, printed pictures, and the postcards from Jamie.
Wherever Jamie was, she wasn’t slogging through the mud of her own destroyed apartment, trying to figure out what the hell she was going to do next. Barbara almost threw the envelope, but she stopped herself. It wasn’t Jamie’s fault. She tried everything she could that day. Barbara was the unlucky one. She put the envelope with the other one to take with her.
The last pouch. Barbara zipped it open. She knew what was in here, even though she never opened this pouch. She pulled out the faded wool bundle and held it in her hands for the first time in years. She held it in her palms and looked inside. There were her nametags for her blues, her badges and ribbon rack, woefully small compared to some of her peers now, but Italy was supposed to be the start of her climb towards…
She saw drops of liquid on the wool now, her tears falling unchecked as she stared at the stuff in her hands. She was so proud when she first got to put the beret on, it’s sage color representative of so much.
Barbara turned towards the bed, gently setting the bundle on the pack. She had things to do and she could cry and sort at the same time.
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Thanks, CCG!
Hudsonhawk
Member
CCG,
Haven't been on the site in a few years and what a gift to find Market Day, and all the awesome reading. I've spent the past month catching up on the story thus far. Thank you for sharing it with us.
A little about me, my first medical cert was WEMT, and since then I have worked as an EMT, ED Tech, and then went to PA school and worked as an EMPA in a large system with both rural and big teaching hospitals. I then took a job working in Alaska doing rural solo-coverage clinic work, where I was rad tech, RN, pharmacist, provider chaplain, and chauffer. And have also deployed with NGO's to disaster relief sites, and humanitarian crisis's.
All of that to say the way you have weaved story in with excellent medical care, that was detailed and accurate as well as understandable from a lay perspective and built up near on 200 characters all while being both informative and entertaining has been masterful. Thank you again.
Haven't been on the site in a few years and what a gift to find Market Day, and all the awesome reading. I've spent the past month catching up on the story thus far. Thank you for sharing it with us.
A little about me, my first medical cert was WEMT, and since then I have worked as an EMT, ED Tech, and then went to PA school and worked as an EMPA in a large system with both rural and big teaching hospitals. I then took a job working in Alaska doing rural solo-coverage clinic work, where I was rad tech, RN, pharmacist, provider chaplain, and chauffer. And have also deployed with NGO's to disaster relief sites, and humanitarian crisis's.
All of that to say the way you have weaved story in with excellent medical care, that was detailed and accurate as well as understandable from a lay perspective and built up near on 200 characters all while being both informative and entertaining has been masterful. Thank you again.
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Thanks, CCG!
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Thank you very much
if you end up getting around to checking out the published version of part one, would be interested in your opinion on the improved version
Available now at your favorite digital store!
Market Day Part 1, Bekka’s Story by Richard Siers, Kimberly A Yearyean-Siers
books2read.com
Hudsonhawk
Member
Plan on picking it up and working thru it this weekend.Thank you very much
if you end up getting around to checking out the published version of part one, would be interested in your opinion on the improved version
Available now at your favorite digital store!
Market Day Part 1, Bekka’s Story by Richard Siers, Kimberly A Yearyean-Siers
Armadillo3
Member
USAF Combat Weather Team or Special Reconnaissance
Airborne and Freefall or HALO qualified
Can't make out the beret flash
Airborne and Freefall or HALO qualified
Can't make out the beret flash
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Close, but not quite
Decoding Those Air Force Berets
Recently, an SSD reader commented that they didn’t understand why Security Forces and TACPs wear the same color beret. They don’t. Cops wear Dark Blue (which they appropriated from CCT) and TACP wear Black but the colors are close and based on fading, you could definitely confuse the two. One of the funniest stories I heard was from a TACCS who told me that a Soldier in the Army commented about how nice it was that the Army was letting them wear their headgear. TACPS wore Black berets long before the Army handed them out to everyone.Currently, several careerfields wear berets. It’s really been a helter skelter smattering of who has a beret and who doesn’t with more and more added over the years. In some cases the beret is worn by actual combat oriented AFSCs and in others only by certain members of careerfields. Take for example, Combat Weather where only Weather Parachutists sport berets. On the other hand, you’ve got the entire AF Security Forces careerfield which wears a beret. Being in a Special Tactics Squadron you can find every one of these colors in a formation along with Airmen wearing ball caps or flight caps.
Berets have often been considered a mark of the elite (despite the US Army’s decision to institutionalize the Black beret for all Soldiers) and by extension parachutists. When you look at the list, the Air Force’s beret policy really doesn’t make much sense. For instance Air Force parachutists in careerfields other than those below do not wear a beret (although in many joint billets they do in spite of AF uniform regs) while non-parachutists in some AFSCs do wear them.
CCT/STO – Scarlet
PJ/CRO – Maroon
TACP/ALO – Black
Weather Parachutists – Grey
Security Force – Blue
SERE Specialists – Sage Green
Not shown is a Sky Blue beret worn by cadets at the US Air Force Academy while BCT introduction to first year cadets.
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Armadillo3
Member
Learn something new every day.
I am from the old days before SERE was a career field. Didn't know they had a sage green beret.
Interesting.
Kind of a neat color that I never seen in the US military, but have seen in a few foreign militaries.
I am from the old days before SERE was a career field. Didn't know they had a sage green beret.
Interesting.
Kind of a neat color that I never seen in the US military, but have seen in a few foreign militaries.
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
I’m old but USAF SERE Instructor has been its own AFSC/MOS since at least 1966
Armadillo3
Member
Took the class in 1981, but did not know they were their own AFSC.
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
Welcome back - or is it 'home'?
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
I was 93, and the wife in 98
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
One of the first chores Barbara tackled was looking at what she had in her pockets and on her belt. She knew there would be redundancies, but some jackass always likes to point out ‘two is one and one is none’. Her supervisor liked to combat this with his own version based on the ‘buy once, cry once’ axiom of get good gear that won’t break, use it responsibly, and you don’t have to carry twelve of them.
Barbara knew it was also from his desire to carry as little as possible, something to do with injuries from something he didn’t talk about, but resulted in him getting reassigned to the schoolhouse instead of out operationally. People kept trying to get more details from him. She didn’t understand then why he didn’t want to talk about it. Know, she knew far too well.
The stuff she added to her belt and her pockets were mainly the core items she wanted to make sure she didn’t lose, even if she had to ditch her bag for some reason. It was with this sort of mentality she approached what would go in her pack, and in the stuff she would strap to the racks on the front and back of her bicycle.
Barbara knew she could hold a lot on her bike. The four of them had used their bicycles to carry large loads, so they were set up with heavy-duty racks in the front and back. She didn’t take the lower bags off before she came here, so she would load them up with all the other stuff she wanted to take back.
One of the first thoughts she had was a potentially unpleasant one. She retrieved the roll of trash bags from under her sink. The roll was wet, but the bags would protect stuff and keep it segregated.
The first bag she filled with all the remaining underwear from the dresser. They were still wet and stunk, but underwear was one of the hardest things to replace. She bundled it all up in the plastic bag, then sat on the bag to squeeze as much of the water and air as she could out of them. Socks, panties, bras. Once she had them clean, she could make or improvise or scrounge other things. She had a mesh laundry bag she would put it all into, then hang it in the stream by the cabin and agitate the snot out of it to rinse the flood gunk from them.
The next bag got all the spare stuff from the medicine cabinet, not that there was much above the high-water mark. Spare toothbrush, some other over the counter meds, extra toothpaste, tweezers, anything she thought might be useful, it went into the bag. Under the sink was a disaster. About the only thing she could save was a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a bottle of shampoo.
The kitchen wasn’t much better. She grabbed the few spices, her good cooking knife, and the half a dozen cans of food still here. She still had plenty of room for what she could salvage from the closet.
Most of Barbara’s practical clothes were already out at the cabin. What she had here in the closet were the things she didn’t figure to wear just walking through the woods. A couple nice blouses, some dressier slacks, a skirt. She grabbed them all. She left behind the couple of dresses she had in there. They were long enough to be ruined by the floodwater and unlike the practical underwear, wouldn’t fare well with aggressive cleaning.
It didn’t take long for her to stuff all of this into the rear panniers of the bike. She even had some room for other stuff from the trunk, leaving room in the pack. She figured she would strap that down to the top of the rear rack.
Before Barbara knew it, she was done. She stood in her tiny little apartment. Here was where she tried to put her life back together. Here was where she struggled and fought to get her strength back, her endurance back. She looked over at the water-logged workout chart on the wall, all it’s exercises aimed at hitting the pass mark for Indoc.
She looked at the bed. That was where she made love to Stephen for the first time in a bed. Not the first time they slept together or made love, but the first time in a real bed. As much as she loved the cabin in the woods, there were a lot of memories here. She wasn’t sure when she would come back here, if she would come back.
Barbara stepped out the door, locking it behind her. She put the key on top of the light fixture by the door. She looked around the backyard. Her eye was drawn by movement in the window of her landlord’s house.
Barbara knew it was also from his desire to carry as little as possible, something to do with injuries from something he didn’t talk about, but resulted in him getting reassigned to the schoolhouse instead of out operationally. People kept trying to get more details from him. She didn’t understand then why he didn’t want to talk about it. Know, she knew far too well.
The stuff she added to her belt and her pockets were mainly the core items she wanted to make sure she didn’t lose, even if she had to ditch her bag for some reason. It was with this sort of mentality she approached what would go in her pack, and in the stuff she would strap to the racks on the front and back of her bicycle.
Barbara knew she could hold a lot on her bike. The four of them had used their bicycles to carry large loads, so they were set up with heavy-duty racks in the front and back. She didn’t take the lower bags off before she came here, so she would load them up with all the other stuff she wanted to take back.
One of the first thoughts she had was a potentially unpleasant one. She retrieved the roll of trash bags from under her sink. The roll was wet, but the bags would protect stuff and keep it segregated.
The first bag she filled with all the remaining underwear from the dresser. They were still wet and stunk, but underwear was one of the hardest things to replace. She bundled it all up in the plastic bag, then sat on the bag to squeeze as much of the water and air as she could out of them. Socks, panties, bras. Once she had them clean, she could make or improvise or scrounge other things. She had a mesh laundry bag she would put it all into, then hang it in the stream by the cabin and agitate the snot out of it to rinse the flood gunk from them.
The next bag got all the spare stuff from the medicine cabinet, not that there was much above the high-water mark. Spare toothbrush, some other over the counter meds, extra toothpaste, tweezers, anything she thought might be useful, it went into the bag. Under the sink was a disaster. About the only thing she could save was a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a bottle of shampoo.
The kitchen wasn’t much better. She grabbed the few spices, her good cooking knife, and the half a dozen cans of food still here. She still had plenty of room for what she could salvage from the closet.
Most of Barbara’s practical clothes were already out at the cabin. What she had here in the closet were the things she didn’t figure to wear just walking through the woods. A couple nice blouses, some dressier slacks, a skirt. She grabbed them all. She left behind the couple of dresses she had in there. They were long enough to be ruined by the floodwater and unlike the practical underwear, wouldn’t fare well with aggressive cleaning.
It didn’t take long for her to stuff all of this into the rear panniers of the bike. She even had some room for other stuff from the trunk, leaving room in the pack. She figured she would strap that down to the top of the rear rack.
Before Barbara knew it, she was done. She stood in her tiny little apartment. Here was where she tried to put her life back together. Here was where she struggled and fought to get her strength back, her endurance back. She looked over at the water-logged workout chart on the wall, all it’s exercises aimed at hitting the pass mark for Indoc.
She looked at the bed. That was where she made love to Stephen for the first time in a bed. Not the first time they slept together or made love, but the first time in a real bed. As much as she loved the cabin in the woods, there were a lot of memories here. She wasn’t sure when she would come back here, if she would come back.
Barbara stepped out the door, locking it behind her. She put the key on top of the light fixture by the door. She looked around the backyard. Her eye was drawn by movement in the window of her landlord’s house.
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Thanks, CCG!