Story Market Day
- Thread starter ComCamGuy
- Start date
It is praise, not because of what I've written, but because of what you have. I'm not a technical person regarding security. However, the way you've written it I can "see" what is going on. More importantly I see the characters and not just a technical manual and catalog. I can really get inside the characters' heads. I gotta say it is a very mentally attractive story you are sharing. You know these characters inside and out.
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Sorry, been a little off my game and progress the last couple days, and will be for about a week I guess. Thursday my wife spent 8 1/2 hours on the surgeons table doing some repair work. I have been one hour on, one off since then.
Next update below
Next update below
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
The old man’s car lot and surplus yard was still there and, fortunately, above the high-water line. She drove Logan’s truck up to the swinging pipe gate in front of the lot. She was hoping to see the old man out and about, but no such luck. He must be hole up in the trailer in the back of the lot. She slung the two M4s over shoulder, along with a small knapsack with a couple hundred rounds and five or six empty magazines for the M4s. the rounds were loose in the bottom, pulled from the metal magazines. All of this was from the bad guys’ rescue casualties. She didn’t want to hand things over with ready to go mags, that was poor planning.
Garen had done business with him before, and she had been along for a couple of times, but there was no guarantee he would remember her. She was trying to look non-threatening, without appearing weak. She had her sub gun slung across her back and the M4s on her shoulder, muzzle down with empty mag wells.
As she approached the travel trailer, she kept looking about, trying to gauge what he had and the trailers available. These she weighed against what she had to trade. She finally saw what she really wanted towards the back. They were some surplus military trailers made to match up with the HMMWVs. They could easily carry a ton and a half or more over almost any terrain. Her main worry was Logan’s truck’s ability to pull it while loaded. Terry’s SUV was built and outfitted for such things. She was debating one or two when a voice came out of the trailer.
“I’m not dead, so you’re not gonna loot!”
Bekka froze. She knew she was out in the open under his gun. She was also counting on this to make him feel a little more at ease since he ‘had the drop’ on her. She made sure her hands were empty and visible. As she kept walking forward.
“Sir? I don’t know if you remember me, but I came here a time or two with my husband Garen.” She paused to give him time to process what she had said.
“Garen? How is that red-headed old bastard doing? You were here with him looking at that surplus generator got shipped in.” His tone was suddenly friendly, far too friendly.
Garen did deal with him about a generator being shipped in, but it was the engine for the eight wheeled monster in the training building. That part is true, but by no means would Garen be considered old, at least by this guy who had at least twenty to twenty-five years on him. And he was not, nor ever had been a red-head.
“Sir, you must be remembering the wrong guy.” She tried to remember something to bring the right memory, or prove she was who she was claiming to be. “I drove him down here one day to pick up a surplus vehicle recovery truck. The blue one you got from the auction in Barstow. You told us the story about Carl’s not putting a patty on your cheeseburger at the drive through. That set Garen off on quoting Joe Pesci for the next twenty minutes.”
The old man cackled. “Because they **** you at the Drive-Through! Yeah, Bekka. I knew it had to be you but I figured if there was trouble, you would have just went with it. Come on up here and let’s talk. We are both too old and dignified to keep yelling across the way.”
Bekka walked a little easier as she went up on the porch. She definitely liked the idea of talking inside rather than attracting attention outside.
Garen had done business with him before, and she had been along for a couple of times, but there was no guarantee he would remember her. She was trying to look non-threatening, without appearing weak. She had her sub gun slung across her back and the M4s on her shoulder, muzzle down with empty mag wells.
As she approached the travel trailer, she kept looking about, trying to gauge what he had and the trailers available. These she weighed against what she had to trade. She finally saw what she really wanted towards the back. They were some surplus military trailers made to match up with the HMMWVs. They could easily carry a ton and a half or more over almost any terrain. Her main worry was Logan’s truck’s ability to pull it while loaded. Terry’s SUV was built and outfitted for such things. She was debating one or two when a voice came out of the trailer.
“I’m not dead, so you’re not gonna loot!”
Bekka froze. She knew she was out in the open under his gun. She was also counting on this to make him feel a little more at ease since he ‘had the drop’ on her. She made sure her hands were empty and visible. As she kept walking forward.
“Sir? I don’t know if you remember me, but I came here a time or two with my husband Garen.” She paused to give him time to process what she had said.
“Garen? How is that red-headed old bastard doing? You were here with him looking at that surplus generator got shipped in.” His tone was suddenly friendly, far too friendly.
Garen did deal with him about a generator being shipped in, but it was the engine for the eight wheeled monster in the training building. That part is true, but by no means would Garen be considered old, at least by this guy who had at least twenty to twenty-five years on him. And he was not, nor ever had been a red-head.
“Sir, you must be remembering the wrong guy.” She tried to remember something to bring the right memory, or prove she was who she was claiming to be. “I drove him down here one day to pick up a surplus vehicle recovery truck. The blue one you got from the auction in Barstow. You told us the story about Carl’s not putting a patty on your cheeseburger at the drive through. That set Garen off on quoting Joe Pesci for the next twenty minutes.”
The old man cackled. “Because they **** you at the Drive-Through! Yeah, Bekka. I knew it had to be you but I figured if there was trouble, you would have just went with it. Come on up here and let’s talk. We are both too old and dignified to keep yelling across the way.”
Bekka walked a little easier as she went up on the porch. She definitely liked the idea of talking inside rather than attracting attention outside.
Lake Lili
Veteran Member
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Once inside the trailer, Bekka was able to see it was just the front room or parlor for a larger home. There was a hallway leading, she assumed through the large wall she had seen at the back of the lot. She hadn’t considered there to be more than the travel trailer there. That was obviously the idea.
The old man, she couldn’t remember his name and was a bit embarrassed to reveal that fact, gestured for her to take a seat so they could talk. She really didn’t have the time, but some things have their own pace. To try and change that would be rude and wrong. She learned that lesson overseas time and time again. She had tried to teach her troops this as well. They offer you a drink, you accept at least the first one. They offer you a meal, you don’t hurry through it and you learn the right customs to go with it. You clean your plate in Japan, they will keep bringing food until you can’t and will feel some shame and embarrassment for not serving enough. That is if she remembered correctly. Conversely, in some other places, to not eat all that is provided looks bad because you are wasting food. In many places, if you are seen as a guest, they will share their last morsel of food or drink, and apologize for not having more. She had watched some arrogant troops, who should have been taught better before they were turned loose, almost screw up six weeks’ worth of rapport building in one brief encounter. She sat down.
“So young lady, what can I do you for?” His speech was a bit smoother and less ‘hickish’ than when they were out in the yard.
“Sir, I have found myself trailer poor and firearm rich. I would like to trade two rifles for two trailers.” May as well start off honest and up front.
“That sounds like a decent amount of horse trading. Did you have a particular type in mind? I figure you weren’t looking for landscaping trailers.”
“Actually, I was after a pair of your surplus HMMWV trailers. I figure my trade gear would be worth five, but I only want two.”
“Oh, really? ARs are a dime a dozen. They have been running under $500 if you shop around. What makes these so special that I should trade you trailers that I normally sell for two thousand dollars apiece for two five hundred rifles?” He didn’t sound insulted, but not far from it.
“Because these aren’t four-hundred-dollar gun show specials. These are factory fresh, select fire and not listed on any ATF list around here.” She slid one of the carbines around and held it out to him by the barrel. He took it and began examining it.
“Well, you have my attention.” He sat back and thought a moment. After a minute or three, he seemed to come to a decision about something and sat forward. “Your deal works, young lady. I might be able to make it an even better deal though.”
Bekka was pleased he was willing to do the trade. She wasn’t sure about what else he might want for a sweeter deal.
“What do you have in mind?”
The old man, she couldn’t remember his name and was a bit embarrassed to reveal that fact, gestured for her to take a seat so they could talk. She really didn’t have the time, but some things have their own pace. To try and change that would be rude and wrong. She learned that lesson overseas time and time again. She had tried to teach her troops this as well. They offer you a drink, you accept at least the first one. They offer you a meal, you don’t hurry through it and you learn the right customs to go with it. You clean your plate in Japan, they will keep bringing food until you can’t and will feel some shame and embarrassment for not serving enough. That is if she remembered correctly. Conversely, in some other places, to not eat all that is provided looks bad because you are wasting food. In many places, if you are seen as a guest, they will share their last morsel of food or drink, and apologize for not having more. She had watched some arrogant troops, who should have been taught better before they were turned loose, almost screw up six weeks’ worth of rapport building in one brief encounter. She sat down.
“So young lady, what can I do you for?” His speech was a bit smoother and less ‘hickish’ than when they were out in the yard.
“Sir, I have found myself trailer poor and firearm rich. I would like to trade two rifles for two trailers.” May as well start off honest and up front.
“That sounds like a decent amount of horse trading. Did you have a particular type in mind? I figure you weren’t looking for landscaping trailers.”
“Actually, I was after a pair of your surplus HMMWV trailers. I figure my trade gear would be worth five, but I only want two.”
“Oh, really? ARs are a dime a dozen. They have been running under $500 if you shop around. What makes these so special that I should trade you trailers that I normally sell for two thousand dollars apiece for two five hundred rifles?” He didn’t sound insulted, but not far from it.
“Because these aren’t four-hundred-dollar gun show specials. These are factory fresh, select fire and not listed on any ATF list around here.” She slid one of the carbines around and held it out to him by the barrel. He took it and began examining it.
“Well, you have my attention.” He sat back and thought a moment. After a minute or three, he seemed to come to a decision about something and sat forward. “Your deal works, young lady. I might be able to make it an even better deal though.”
Bekka was pleased he was willing to do the trade. She wasn’t sure about what else he might want for a sweeter deal.
“What do you have in mind?”
Your work as healer far transcends your labors as writer. Unseen friends, here and elsewhere deem ourselves privileged to send swift response and humble pleas on your behalf. In reply, we are led to believe that good outcomes are underway. In this regard, I was pleased to receive these words:
He lacks not faith, and yet concern weighs heavy on his anxious soul.
His bride and dearest friend must suffer grievous risk to be made whole.
At Heaven’s urging, he invites the faith and prayers of friends unseen,
That their petitions join with his to hush his fears and heal his queen.
On fervent knees they bow their heads and ask that Father send relief.
Restoring, soon, his loved one’s health in answer to their firm belief
That angels sent from Heaven’s Home will aid those worthy of God’s care
Infusing skill and strength to mortal healers working there.
Thus earth and heaven join as one to brace and bless these kindly souls
And we rejoice to add our pleas that unseen friends shall soon be whole.
Be at peace, unseen friend, your family's lives well-spent are worthy of Divine intervention.
He Lacks Not Faith
He lacks not faith, and yet concern weighs heavy on his anxious soul.
His bride and dearest friend must suffer grievous risk to be made whole.
At Heaven’s urging, he invites the faith and prayers of friends unseen,
That their petitions join with his to hush his fears and heal his queen.
On fervent knees they bow their heads and ask that Father send relief.
Restoring, soon, his loved one’s health in answer to their firm belief
That angels sent from Heaven’s Home will aid those worthy of God’s care
Infusing skill and strength to mortal healers working there.
Thus earth and heaven join as one to brace and bless these kindly souls
And we rejoice to add our pleas that unseen friends shall soon be whole.
Be at peace, unseen friend, your family's lives well-spent are worthy of Divine intervention.
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ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
“That POS truck you are driving out there won’t pull the trailer even half full with any speed or maneuverability.”
Bekka could only nod. She knew it, and he knew vehicles much better than she did. At her nod, he continued.
“So, I need a back up plan. The house is safe for now, but there’s no good guarantee. You live out in the country. Garen didn’t tell me where or how far out, he was pretty vague. You survived, you’re in town the morning after all hell broke loose, you have full auto weapons you are willing to give away, and you need trailers. To my mind, you have stuff and someplace more safe than town to live. Am I right?”
Bekka wasn’t sure where this was going but she now had a decision to make. She was sure there was a big hook in the middle of the juicy worm, but she needed to hear how good the worm was before she bit the hook.
“Most places are safer than town. It’s all relative. What are you thinking sir?” What are you trying to get me to promise you old goat, she really wanted to scream.
“If everything stabilizes soon, there won’t be any issues, but if not, my health won’t hold out forever without my meds. I have someone very special to me that I need to make sure has a possible way out if things get worse.”
A really big sharp hook. Better find out what she could of the hook. It might be so big there might not be enough bait to ever hide it.
“So, who is it you want a golden parachute for?”
“My granddaughter-in-law and her two kids. My grandson is up in Alaska on a crab boat. It will take quite a bit of time for him to make his way south to here. Her apartment building was flooded on the bottom couple of floors and she didn’t want to stay in a crappy position. She came here to stay with me. I have the room and a larger perimeter. What I’m looking for is a fallback position incase things go bad here.”
“Ok, that’s the hook, what’s the bait?” She sat forward.
“I have a surplus project I have been working for some years. It started out as a stock HMMWV. I then went through and did a bunch of upgrades to it to emulate the special ops desert patrol ones out there. Most of it is looks, on the old school frame, but the engine and drive train is improved, it has the aux fuel tank, cargo racks in the back and what I could upgrade, I did. No armor on it. It’s a four seat canvas top and side model, but she’s strong, faster than stock and dead nuts reliable. She’s all yours if I can get this safety net for them. I keep your truck and the two rifles, you get the HMMWV and the two trailers.”
She wasn’t sure about this. It could get hairy quickly. New people can be good or bad.
“I need to meet them before I agree.”
Bekka could only nod. She knew it, and he knew vehicles much better than she did. At her nod, he continued.
“So, I need a back up plan. The house is safe for now, but there’s no good guarantee. You live out in the country. Garen didn’t tell me where or how far out, he was pretty vague. You survived, you’re in town the morning after all hell broke loose, you have full auto weapons you are willing to give away, and you need trailers. To my mind, you have stuff and someplace more safe than town to live. Am I right?”
Bekka wasn’t sure where this was going but she now had a decision to make. She was sure there was a big hook in the middle of the juicy worm, but she needed to hear how good the worm was before she bit the hook.
“Most places are safer than town. It’s all relative. What are you thinking sir?” What are you trying to get me to promise you old goat, she really wanted to scream.
“If everything stabilizes soon, there won’t be any issues, but if not, my health won’t hold out forever without my meds. I have someone very special to me that I need to make sure has a possible way out if things get worse.”
A really big sharp hook. Better find out what she could of the hook. It might be so big there might not be enough bait to ever hide it.
“So, who is it you want a golden parachute for?”
“My granddaughter-in-law and her two kids. My grandson is up in Alaska on a crab boat. It will take quite a bit of time for him to make his way south to here. Her apartment building was flooded on the bottom couple of floors and she didn’t want to stay in a crappy position. She came here to stay with me. I have the room and a larger perimeter. What I’m looking for is a fallback position incase things go bad here.”
“Ok, that’s the hook, what’s the bait?” She sat forward.
“I have a surplus project I have been working for some years. It started out as a stock HMMWV. I then went through and did a bunch of upgrades to it to emulate the special ops desert patrol ones out there. Most of it is looks, on the old school frame, but the engine and drive train is improved, it has the aux fuel tank, cargo racks in the back and what I could upgrade, I did. No armor on it. It’s a four seat canvas top and side model, but she’s strong, faster than stock and dead nuts reliable. She’s all yours if I can get this safety net for them. I keep your truck and the two rifles, you get the HMMWV and the two trailers.”
She wasn’t sure about this. It could get hairy quickly. New people can be good or bad.
“I need to meet them before I agree.”
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Very nice 
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Very nice
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
I hate doing all this on the fly. I hate being in town any longer. I hate we are spread out over three location. It scares the crap out of me. The bad guys brought in a very well set up extraction team. This was a level of tactical sophistication not revealed by the earlier reconnaissance. Does that mean the original crew was the second string and we lured in the pro squad to take over operations in town? Or were they just there to clean up the mess and eliminate any link back to a larger organization? Maybe they were a hired subcontractor, brought in for just the escape and paid well. None of these would make me feel any better. So far, we have skirted major injuries for the most part. Garen’s head will heal, aside from a new permanent part. The rest of us have picked up new scars, both inside and out. Arguably, the latest injuries to Angelique could be the most serious. Depending on the destruction of ligaments and such, these could cripple her mobility, at the very least temporarily if not permanently.
Allyson’s current condition is more difficult to work on. Angelique can do stretching and strengthening exercises to rebuild the body. Allyson’s injury is to her mind. This is really the first time she has been in a full-fledged battle. She is still torn between pre-event law and order and post event chaos and loss of control. If I thought there was anywhere else in the country she could go and be normal, I would recommend and assist her in going there. Unfortunately, the cascade of events will tear the rest of the fabric of the country apart. Here we can help her, and she can help us.
That brings me back around to this latest problem at hand. We have an opportunity to gather more supplies without looting form our fellow inhabitants. I won’t go strip the stuff out of somebody’s house. Some may say that is a little naïve, but that would be taking stuff others may need to live. More importantly, it would make us look like a band of looters and a danger to others. Someone to be hated and hunted to eliminate a potential threat. We need to be seen as “good guys”. Now taking the stuff from these trafficking bastards, on the other hand, will help us stretch our capability and let us stay hidden longer. To carry as much as possible, we need trailers. To get them, I have to make a decision on the fly to open us up to accepting an additional three refugees. I can easily just say yes and give them bogus link up info, but that would be wrong. I could say no, and keep us safe, but that means we give up taking the further supplies we could have. Or I can say yes. Garen brought Angelique in, making that snap decision without checking with anyone else. It has worked out so far. We could use the extra help at the house, we have the room, and besides, this is an in case of situation. I guess I’m just trying to convince myself it isn’t just greed in wanting the extra stuff. The trailers and the HMMWV will be more useful than Logan’s truck and the extra carbines. Alright Soupy, let’s see what’s behind door number two.
Allyson’s current condition is more difficult to work on. Angelique can do stretching and strengthening exercises to rebuild the body. Allyson’s injury is to her mind. This is really the first time she has been in a full-fledged battle. She is still torn between pre-event law and order and post event chaos and loss of control. If I thought there was anywhere else in the country she could go and be normal, I would recommend and assist her in going there. Unfortunately, the cascade of events will tear the rest of the fabric of the country apart. Here we can help her, and she can help us.
That brings me back around to this latest problem at hand. We have an opportunity to gather more supplies without looting form our fellow inhabitants. I won’t go strip the stuff out of somebody’s house. Some may say that is a little naïve, but that would be taking stuff others may need to live. More importantly, it would make us look like a band of looters and a danger to others. Someone to be hated and hunted to eliminate a potential threat. We need to be seen as “good guys”. Now taking the stuff from these trafficking bastards, on the other hand, will help us stretch our capability and let us stay hidden longer. To carry as much as possible, we need trailers. To get them, I have to make a decision on the fly to open us up to accepting an additional three refugees. I can easily just say yes and give them bogus link up info, but that would be wrong. I could say no, and keep us safe, but that means we give up taking the further supplies we could have. Or I can say yes. Garen brought Angelique in, making that snap decision without checking with anyone else. It has worked out so far. We could use the extra help at the house, we have the room, and besides, this is an in case of situation. I guess I’m just trying to convince myself it isn’t just greed in wanting the extra stuff. The trailers and the HMMWV will be more useful than Logan’s truck and the extra carbines. Alright Soupy, let’s see what’s behind door number two.
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
“I would have worried if you accepted them sight unseen. Odina, can you come in here please? I know you are listening.” Moments later, a fairly tall and imposing woman came into the room. Bekka was momentarily surprised by her size and bearing. The woman who walked in was as tall or taller than Kara, over six feet for sure. Where Kara looked taller than she was due to how thin she was compared to her shoulders, this woman had a set of broad shoulders with a solidity similar to Allyson, only super-sized. Coal black hair and a walnut complexion helped complete the image of a powerful woman. It was like someone took a classic Pocahontas stereotype and sent her to the gym with Schwarzenegger for a year or two. Not really bulky, just strong looking.
“Odina, I would like you to meet Bekka. She and her husband have some land out northeast of town. I have done some business with them off and on for quite some time. This town isn’t getting any safer. You and the kids need a safe place to go if it gets much worse.”
“And what is it costing you, Grandfather?” Her voice was concerned but not too pensive.
“A couple surplus trailers and that piece and part HMMWV in the back workshop. It’s not like people will be beating down the doors to buy stuff right now. We have enough stuff to trade for what we need for quite a while. It’s just like buying car insurance. I just need somewhere safe for you and the kids.”
“We are safe here with you.”
“Bullshit! You heard the gun battle around dawn. Things aren’t getting better right now. I’m not saying you should go now, just setting up for the in case of.” He sighed. “Odina, I worry”
Bekka chimed in. “I haven’t agreed yet. I wanted to meet and talk with you first.”
“Oh? To make sure I’m fit to be in your house?” There was a shift in tone, and to an offended tone at that. “What? You concerned about some Res trash cluttering up your house?”
Bekka lashed back. "It has nothing to do with racial prejudice. I could care less of your genetics. It has to do with attitude, willingness to work and overall compatibility. We believer in the Starship Troopers concept. Everybody works, nobody quits, and be willing to defend the household and lands. As far as who is in charge there, Garen and myself have final vote, but all opinions are welcome to be heard, time allowing. You will find no better friend, no worse enemy. What skills do you bring to the plate? Oh, and as far as Indian or Native American issues, I will defer to Garen for that. Your two tribes will have to work it out.”
Odina paused a moment before answering Bekka’s question. She looked over at her grandfather, then back to Bekka. “Skills? I work as a short order cook and am trained as a chef. My husband says my best skills come from my crappiest upbringing. I grew up with nothing. I can make something out of nothing and know a lot of old versions of things.”
The Grandfather spoke up. “On the Reservation, she grew up like it was the Great Depression, and therefore knows hardship. Bekka, I’m not trying to foster city flowers off on you, nor useless mouths to feed.”
Bekka looked between the two of them, finally settling on her. “So, tell me more.”
Odina still had her cackles up. “11 years as chef and crew on a Alaska fishing boat, moved back here to raise our children while my husband kept working on the boat. Seven-year-old twins, one of each. I know hard work without stopping from the boats I can hunt and fish, and I know how to fight being a girl on the Reservation. What else you want to know?”
In spite of herself, Bekka was getting a good feeling from her. They could do a lot worse by adding her to the compound. If it comes to it. This was all a hypothetical maybe.
“Ok, let’s see this HMMWV.”
“Odina, I would like you to meet Bekka. She and her husband have some land out northeast of town. I have done some business with them off and on for quite some time. This town isn’t getting any safer. You and the kids need a safe place to go if it gets much worse.”
“And what is it costing you, Grandfather?” Her voice was concerned but not too pensive.
“A couple surplus trailers and that piece and part HMMWV in the back workshop. It’s not like people will be beating down the doors to buy stuff right now. We have enough stuff to trade for what we need for quite a while. It’s just like buying car insurance. I just need somewhere safe for you and the kids.”
“We are safe here with you.”
“Bullshit! You heard the gun battle around dawn. Things aren’t getting better right now. I’m not saying you should go now, just setting up for the in case of.” He sighed. “Odina, I worry”
Bekka chimed in. “I haven’t agreed yet. I wanted to meet and talk with you first.”
“Oh? To make sure I’m fit to be in your house?” There was a shift in tone, and to an offended tone at that. “What? You concerned about some Res trash cluttering up your house?”
Bekka lashed back. "It has nothing to do with racial prejudice. I could care less of your genetics. It has to do with attitude, willingness to work and overall compatibility. We believer in the Starship Troopers concept. Everybody works, nobody quits, and be willing to defend the household and lands. As far as who is in charge there, Garen and myself have final vote, but all opinions are welcome to be heard, time allowing. You will find no better friend, no worse enemy. What skills do you bring to the plate? Oh, and as far as Indian or Native American issues, I will defer to Garen for that. Your two tribes will have to work it out.”
Odina paused a moment before answering Bekka’s question. She looked over at her grandfather, then back to Bekka. “Skills? I work as a short order cook and am trained as a chef. My husband says my best skills come from my crappiest upbringing. I grew up with nothing. I can make something out of nothing and know a lot of old versions of things.”
The Grandfather spoke up. “On the Reservation, she grew up like it was the Great Depression, and therefore knows hardship. Bekka, I’m not trying to foster city flowers off on you, nor useless mouths to feed.”
Bekka looked between the two of them, finally settling on her. “So, tell me more.”
Odina still had her cackles up. “11 years as chef and crew on a Alaska fishing boat, moved back here to raise our children while my husband kept working on the boat. Seven-year-old twins, one of each. I know hard work without stopping from the boats I can hunt and fish, and I know how to fight being a girl on the Reservation. What else you want to know?”
In spite of herself, Bekka was getting a good feeling from her. They could do a lot worse by adding her to the compound. If it comes to it. This was all a hypothetical maybe.
“Ok, let’s see this HMMWV.”
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Oh good someone who really knows how to work in many ways.
Now me I am the opposite in size, never made 5 ft. Starting going along on rabbit and bird hunts at 6 yrs old. Learning how butcher and stretch hides, started cooking and babysitting at 9. Love reading of women in stories that are competent
Now me I am the opposite in size, never made 5 ft. Starting going along on rabbit and bird hunts at 6 yrs old. Learning how butcher and stretch hides, started cooking and babysitting at 9. Love reading of women in stories that are competent
Grouchy Granny
Deceased
You go Odina girl!
Thanks CCG - this is just getting better and better!!
Just hope no ambush on the way home.
Thanks CCG - this is just getting better and better!!
Just hope no ambush on the way home.
Texican
Live Free & Die Free.... God Freedom Country....
“Ok, let’s see this HMMWV.”
Seems hat Odina and the twins have a place to go and probably now....
Talk about out numbered, Garren and the male twin do not have a chance....
Thanks CCG for the chapter....
Hope that the DW is doing better....
Texican....
Seems hat Odina and the twins have a place to go and probably now....
Talk about out numbered, Garren and the male twin do not have a chance....
Thanks CCG for the chapter....
Hope that the DW is doing better....
Texican....
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
They went down the tunnel and out through a side door. This led into a yard area behind the big wall, not visible from either the sales yard or the road on the other side of the block. The whole yard was paved with brick. Bekka saw they were walking to an extremely oversized, multi-door garage. It looked somewhat familiar, but she couldn’t place where she had seen something like it before. The doors were enormous. They finally made sense when she saw the circular pattern of bricks in front of them. This is a four-door roundhouse from the age of steam.
Once inside, the huge room had several project vehicles, workshop space and a storage area with many shelves of parts and equipment. It was obvious to Bekka that military vehicles were not just a business, they were also a hobby. A Ferret armored car sat partially assembled in one corner. There was a German G-Wagon, a cute little Swiss Pinzgauer, and off to one side, what had to be one of his most prized items; a ‘Pink Panther’ SAS Land Rover. She always thought they were neat. A combat vehicle for sneaking around the desert painted pink. The color was actually Mountbatten Pink, a mauve-ish grey-pink that blended into desert areas quite well. They were also set up with extra fuel tanks as well as lots of racks for gear and weapons. Sitting next it is a modern incarnation. It looks like it would be right at home in Iraq circa 2004. These were neat, but not on her menu today and she was still trying to get done quickly and get out of here.
Going around behind the others, she saw the HMMWV. It was an obvious piece mill project. There were racks and fuel cans all over it. The radio trays in the front were there, but empty. That was no problem, she could fill them. There were a few non-military additions she could spot as well. Winches and extra lights were the most visible, but he had mentioned engine and drive train upgrades. Trading Logan’s truck and the rifles for this rig and the trailers was a no brainer. An open invitation ticket for others to come join them? That was the part that made her twitch.
Once inside, the huge room had several project vehicles, workshop space and a storage area with many shelves of parts and equipment. It was obvious to Bekka that military vehicles were not just a business, they were also a hobby. A Ferret armored car sat partially assembled in one corner. There was a German G-Wagon, a cute little Swiss Pinzgauer, and off to one side, what had to be one of his most prized items; a ‘Pink Panther’ SAS Land Rover. She always thought they were neat. A combat vehicle for sneaking around the desert painted pink. The color was actually Mountbatten Pink, a mauve-ish grey-pink that blended into desert areas quite well. They were also set up with extra fuel tanks as well as lots of racks for gear and weapons. Sitting next it is a modern incarnation. It looks like it would be right at home in Iraq circa 2004. These were neat, but not on her menu today and she was still trying to get done quickly and get out of here.
Going around behind the others, she saw the HMMWV. It was an obvious piece mill project. There were racks and fuel cans all over it. The radio trays in the front were there, but empty. That was no problem, she could fill them. There were a few non-military additions she could spot as well. Winches and extra lights were the most visible, but he had mentioned engine and drive train upgrades. Trading Logan’s truck and the rifles for this rig and the trailers was a no brainer. An open invitation ticket for others to come join them? That was the part that made her twitch.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you.
Our prayers have not stopped--for your wife to have the best possible outcome; for her attending treaters to exercise their greatest skill, experience, and compassion; for the hospital to remain substantially free of peril of infections; and for you to continue to be strong in faith and support on her behalf. In this regard, your request for prayers was a notable act of faith. We, your fans, who admire your own healing skills and avocation, are pleased you think enough of us to motivate you to reach out to us.
To me, the real story here is the care and recovery of Mrs. CCG! That's a story of eternal consequence.
To me, the real story here is the care and recovery of Mrs. CCG! That's a story of eternal consequence.
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Allyson was trying to keep herself busy and productive as she waited on Bekka’s return. She was splitting her time between monitoring Angelique medically plus adjusting her meds, and going through the pile of equipment they picked up from the react force.
The gear was a decent mix of fairly high end equipment. This included middle to upper quality AR platforms, good day optics, thermal sights, lasers (with both visible and IR beams), tactical lights, in short, all the latest items for the properly dressed carbine. They had good helmets with the latest night vision gear. They were using high quality armor with plates. Bekka told her the radio gear was top drawer as well.
The pistols were a bit of a surprise. Why would a crew with gear this new and modern be using 90 year old design pistols? Granted, they were still effective and these versions were fairly new manufacture, but she was surprised to see .40 caliber Hi-Powers, especially this dressed out. These went into another stack.
Bekka and Allyson had even done a pocket dump on most of them. This led to flashlights, pocket knives, and a whole assortment of every day pocket gear. This step was time consuming for Allyson at first. Bekka showed her a faster, more efficient way. Using a rescue hook, slide it down the outer edge of the pants pocket. This opened it all up for review. Bekka also reminded her of watches. All of this pocket stuff was piled in a couple of five gallon buckets.
Allyson was methodical. She first went through all the carbines and made sure all battery powered elements were turned off. Then it was the NVGs, and the radios. Once all the electronics were secured, it was time for the magazines and ammo.
Between this and keeping up with Angelique, Allyson was busy for a couple hours.
Where the hell was Bekka?
The gear was a decent mix of fairly high end equipment. This included middle to upper quality AR platforms, good day optics, thermal sights, lasers (with both visible and IR beams), tactical lights, in short, all the latest items for the properly dressed carbine. They had good helmets with the latest night vision gear. They were using high quality armor with plates. Bekka told her the radio gear was top drawer as well.
The pistols were a bit of a surprise. Why would a crew with gear this new and modern be using 90 year old design pistols? Granted, they were still effective and these versions were fairly new manufacture, but she was surprised to see .40 caliber Hi-Powers, especially this dressed out. These went into another stack.
Bekka and Allyson had even done a pocket dump on most of them. This led to flashlights, pocket knives, and a whole assortment of every day pocket gear. This step was time consuming for Allyson at first. Bekka showed her a faster, more efficient way. Using a rescue hook, slide it down the outer edge of the pants pocket. This opened it all up for review. Bekka also reminded her of watches. All of this pocket stuff was piled in a couple of five gallon buckets.
Allyson was methodical. She first went through all the carbines and made sure all battery powered elements were turned off. Then it was the NVGs, and the radios. Once all the electronics were secured, it was time for the magazines and ammo.
Between this and keeping up with Angelique, Allyson was busy for a couple hours.
Where the hell was Bekka?