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#Post#: 1025--------------------------------------------------
Military Campaign Stories
By: Mayclore Date: June 30, 2012, 2:58 pm
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All right, I'm going to put my stuff here as I write it so you
all have a target to aim for in your own work. [s]I'd ask that
you present questions/concerns in another thread so I can keep
it together in this one. Either Story Bits or Off Topic or
Framework or whatever.
[/s]
I'm going to group stories by post, so this first post will have
the stories that occur right after the evacuation is over. The
phases will involve increasingly heavy firepower until the end,
in which the President orders whatever carpet bombing and
everything explodes and so on. If my guess is right, Perry
melts down sometime in late phase 3/early 4, and might be what
finally forces the President's hand vis a vis the B-52s, which
are the ultimate weapon I can use short of ICBMs/SLBMs. By the
way, stories without numbers means I haven't yet decided the
specific order of the stories in that phase. I'll fill them in
as I write more.
Phase 1: Lol fluffy ponies, r u srs bro
Story 0: Your Kids Are One Time Zone That Way
>You are a soldier in A Company, 1st Battalion, 22nd Infantry
Regiment.
>You've left your home at Fort Carson in a convoy bound for
Peterson Air Force Base.
>Not a terribly long drive, this; both installations are near
Colorado Springs.
>You've all been watching the chaos in Cleveland on the news.
>Now that the city's been evacuated, the President has ordered
military intervention.
>Some units were in Cleveland already helping evacuate the
civilians.
>Mostly National Guard guys. Your unit will be amongst the
first regular Army to arrive.
>The company commander, a Captain, will be briefing you as you
wait for the C-17 that will be carrying you to Akron.
>From Akron, you'll be riding in CH-47s to your new home, some
airport a few miles outside of Cleveland.
>It takes a while for the airlines to get their traffic out of
the way, since Peterson shares its runways with the City of
Colorado Springs.
>The planes you'll be taking are from 445th Airlift Wing in
Dayton, Ohio.
>They also helped get people out of Cleveland during the
evacuation.
>While you wait, you kill time in the terminal by watching the
news.
>The view from news helicopters shows a city choked with fluffy
ponies.
>Parts of it are flooded with sewage.
>The area around that theme park looks like someone blew up a
cotton ball factory with paintball bombs.
>The Captain tells you about your objectives in Cleveland.
>First, you have to clear and secure the airport.
>Lost Nation Municipal. Sounds familiar; the Army evacuated
people with Chinooks from there.
>Second, you are to determine just how bad the situation is in
the airport area.
>Doesn't seem too hard.
>Before long, your company is piled on to a C-17 for the flight
to Ohio.
>Fortunately, you don't have to share the hold with any
equipment; that's coming behind you on other planes.
>About twenty minutes after you're airborne, you realize you're
not alone in the hold.
>An orange and yellow fluffy pony is waddling about, with one
green and one blue foal clinging to her back fluff.
>She's screaming about something, but you can't hear her.
>It's probably about the noise, of which there is a copious
amount.
>She waddles from soldier to soldier, hugging their boots and
trying to climb in laps.
>She gets nudged away. Sometimes, she gets kicked.
>Her foals fall off when that happens, and she spends a few
minutes finding them, hugging them, and helping them up onto her
back again.
>You wonder how she even got in here.
>Perhaps she was looking for shade.
>Oh, she's coming over to you now. She leans up on your legs,
screaming something.
>No idea what; you can't read human lips, much less fluffy pony
lips.
>On a whim, you pick her up and put her in your lap.
>She clings to you as hard as she can.
>You look over at the Captain, who just shrugs his indifference
at you.
>She stays in your lap for a while. Her foals are squirming
around, so she shifts herself and starts feeding them.
>Somehow, it's all very cute.
>It stops being cute when she shits on you.
>Now the loadmaster is giving you an amused look, and a few
people are laughing.
>You throw the fluffy pony off your lap and try to clean it off.
>The rest of the flight to Akron is spent watching the fluffy
pony waddle around.
>Once you land and park and the rear doors are opened, you can
finally hear her talk.
>”Pwease hewp fin' babehs!”
“They're on your back.”
>”Haf mo' babehs! Fwuffy wookin' fo' nummies in big pwace, wose
babehs!”
>She must have been a stray wandering the base.
>Her other babies are thirteen hundred miles away now.
>She follows you out of the plane and over to the waiting CH-47s
for the forty-five mile trip to Lost Nation.
>There are some fluffy ponies wandering around, maybe a few
dozen or so.
>”Pwease hewp fin' babehs!”
>When your helicopter takes off, she gets blown away down the
tarmac, losing her remaining foals to the mighty wind.
>Other fluffy ponies suffer the same fate after trying to give
the Chinooks 'huggies'.
>You're beginning to wonder what the problem is.
>You didn't see any massive fluffy hordes outside just now.
>That all changes a few miles outside of Cleveland.
>There's some sort of tower thing...looks like spaghetti?
>The ground is covered with pastel blobs.
>They thin out some as you go north, away from the tower, but
not much.
>You arrive at your destination, the down-wash from the Chinooks
blasting clean an ellipse on the tarmac.
>Your chopper lands near the largest of the hangars.
>You exit the Chinooks with your company. They leave to go back
to Akron, get the rest of the battalion, and your vehicles.
>They'll need a few trips to accomplish this.
>Meanwhile, your orders are to clear the airport grounds of
fluffy ponies.
>Once the loud noise is gone, the fluffies are very friendly.
>”Hooman fwuff wook funny!”
>”New fwiend!”
>”Sowwy, make bad poopies...”
>”Pwease take to sgetti wan'!”
>They waddle and hug and shit everywhere. The smell is
unbelievable.
>And there are, quite literally, thousands of the things.
>”We'd better get to herding,” the Staff Sergeant says.
>You take another look over the scene.
>Maybe you should have volunteered for Syria instead.
Story 1: If Only It Were Traffic
>You are a soldier in A Company, 1st Battalion, 22nd Infantry
Regiment.
>Your unit is currently in Humvees travelling toward the city of
Cleveland along Lake Erie on Ohio State Route 2.
>Just about to reach the interchange with I-90, and there's not
a soul on the roads.
>You'll be meeting up with C Company, 2nd Battallion, 56th
Stryker Brigade, a unit from the Pennsylvania National Guard.
>They've been here for a while; their vehicles were required to
help make a path for evacuees.
>Clumps of fluffy ponies dot the roadside.
>You've lost count of how many your vehicle's run over.
>It's not long before you see the Strykers up ahead.
>After coming to a halt and exchanging hellos, their company
commander and yours start fleshing out details.
>III Corps in Fort Hood, Texas, the final word in the field for
this operation, wants your two units to determine how far light
vehicles can penetrate into the city.
>You're not even bothering with the theme park itself, it's
overwhelmed.
>”Pway?” a fluffy pony asks, waddling over.
>“Why hooman fwuff wook funny?”
>Kick that bastard clear off the bridge.
>You hear a chorus of 'new fwiend!' and 'gif huggies!'
>Mount up again and continue down I-90, Humvees leading the way.
>The closer you get to Cleveland, the more fluffies begin
choking the roads.
>Pretty soon, you're driving through a living sea, screaming
'pwease move!' and 'fwuffy no can wun!'
>”Damn it, it feels like ice!” the driver complains.
>Fluffy pony gore defeats the traction of your tires.
>He opens the door and looks down. Several fluffies try to hug
him.
>”Hey, Ramirez! Open up with the forty!”
>The gunner, standing up in the back, acknowledges. Grenades
begin pelting the fluffy ponies.
>The explosives manage to dent the squirming fluffy glob, and
the noise makes them scatter.
>Scatter might be a generous term.
>They waddle at top speed, which is approximately not very fast
miles an hour.
>You can move forward again, but you only reach Gordon Park
before you get bogged down.
>”Fuck me upside down on a pogo stick.” the driver exclaims.
Fluffy ponies choke the landscape.
>Untold hundreds are washing up on the shores of Lake Erie to
your right.
>”Charlie Company, bring up your Strykers and clear us a path,
would you?”
>The IFVs rumble past you, their sloped forward undersides
shoving piles of the screaming creatures away.
>They look like wakes of water, if they could talk, bleed, and
cry.
>Your Humvees fall in behind them and continue on, but when you
reach the East 55th Street bridge, there are so many ponies,
their compressed corpses lift the Stryker's front ends up.
>Not even their eighteen tons can squish the dead enough to
press on.
“I'm calling the Captain. Sir, we got to East 55th and I-90,
but not even the Strykers can get any farther.”
>You have to yell over the noise of fluffies begging for food,
screaming in pain, and asking where Spaghetti Land is.
>”Roger, I'll send it along to regimental HQ.”
>”Man, we need a fucking Abrams,” the guy in the left rear seat
says.
“Now that you mention it, where the hell is Dealer Company?”
>Before you can ask the Captain, you realize something.
>Your vehicles are surrounded by fluffies, two and three deep.
>They want hugs, and food, and directions.
“Oh...shit.”
>You try backing up, only for the pile of dead you create to
lift up your rear tires.
“Captain, we're stuck and surrounded!”
>The Strykers have better luck.
>Their infantry passengers emerge and start blasting fluffies
with their M1014 shotguns, leveling the trail of death enough
for the Humvees to start rolling.
>”Why huwt fwuffy?!”
>Fuck, do these things ever shut up?
>Everyone but the drivers have to get out now, stomping and
kicking and shooting fluffies so their vehicles can get going.
>This oughta look real good in the regimental history. From
Hemingway in France to slaughtering living kids' toys in Ohio.
>More fluffies are coming in from behind you, half screaming
about that damn theme park.
>Others are crying about a 'big wooshy munsta'.
>You look up. Thank fuck, an M1A2 is coming.
>Its sixty-eight ton bulk flattens the little bastards into
bloody puddles.
>It pulls up to the rear of your procession, does a pivot turn,
and plows a path back.
>After a lot of three point turns, you fall in behind it.
>The fluffies waddle away from the turbine noise, so you have
much better luck getting back to the interchange.
>Now the ruined theme park is off to your right.
>The best way you can describe the sight surrounding it is a
pile of fluffies.
>Once you get back, your company checks in and gets the word
from other companies that have attempted to reach Cleveland.
>Sounds like those west of the city have fared a little better
than you, as they were going with the fuzzy flow.
>Fluffies continue to accost you, begging for help in reaching
the 'big sgettis'.
>You kick them. Some of the other soldiers turn them into
bloody poofs with a shotgun shell.
>The company commander is already talking about artillery and
air support.
>He also remarks about reports of people still in the city, but
they're on their own.
>III Corps will have to take the fluffy problem a bit more
seriously now.
>You continue to kick fluffies that waddle up to you.
>You're not shooting them, yet.
>Probably will on your way back to the camp at Lost Nation
Municipal Airport.
>If these fluffy little bastards haven't overrun it by now.
Story 2: The Enemy of My Enemy
>You are a soldier with 1st Battalion, 18th Infantry Regiment.
>You're currently on the 14th tee at Shaker Heights Country
Club, but you're not playing golf.
>As with almost everywhere near Cleveland, fluffy ponies waddle
through the landscape.
>You have your binoculars trained on some strange looking
fluffies.
>They're larger than the rest, and all white, with empty blue
eyes.
>There's a clump of about two dozen, slowly walking around.
>They only break ranks when approached by regular fluffies.
>Every time this happens, they attack those fluffies and kill
them.
“Sergeant, you wouldn't believe what I'm looking at.”
>You pass along this info to your NCO, who then sends it up to
the company commander.
>Your squad continues to watch the white fluffies, who are about
a hundred meters away.
>They reach an orange, bloated fluffy dam stuck in a sandtrap.
>”New fwiends, pwease hewp mumma! No can woll! Am stuck!”
>Two of the whites walk over to her.
>One grabs her tail, and the other grabs the stubby horn on her
head.
>They start yanking in opposite directions.
>”Nuuuuuuu! Why huwt mumma?! Mumma good fwuffy, pwease no huwt
babehs!”
>The other whites begin coming over, delivering kicks and bites
to her swollen torso.
>”Stop huwt! Stop huwt babehs!” the dam shrieks frantically.
>With a sharp pop, she explodes out of stress.
>The whites don't seem injured.
>They start looking around for the foals.
>Once they find all four, they begin stomping the chirping
creatures.
>After they fall silent, the whites regroup and begin moving
again.
>It's not long before they encounter a large herd of regular
fluffies.
>”Smawty fwiend say dese ow gwassies, big fwuffies go 'way!”
>A bluish-green earth fluffy seems to be in charge of the
regulars.
>He stomps and puffs and generally looks like a moron.
>The whites say nothing in response.
>They surround the smarty and begin tearing him apart.
>”Nuuuuuuuuuuu! HEWP FWUFFY!” he screams, thrashing around and
flinging blood all over the whites.
>Once he's dead, the whites are charged by the herd.
>Despite being outnumbered five to one, they annihilate the
regulars with graceful ease.
>The massacre is punctuated by the rounding up of the regular
fillies and colts, who are systematically executed by having
their heads bitten off.
>Suddenly, one of the whites looks at you.
>They all turn to face you, but just stand there and stare.
>You take the squad and walk over to investigate.
“Why are you killing these fluffy ponies?”
>They stare up at you.
>”No huwt fwuffies. Fwuffies haf acciden'.”
“I just watched you kill them all.”
>”Fuzzies no huwt fwuffies.”
>Fuzzies, huh?
“Well...don't mind us. Go kill some more fluffies.”
>They stand up as one, waddling off.
>However, they don't attack any other fluffies that come near
them.
>With a shrug, you head back up the course to your Humvee.
>As soon as you get there, you can hear the screams of fluffy
ponies behind you once again.
>Another herd is being destroyed.
>Young fluffies are torn apart as their parents beat helplessly
on the bigger fuzzies.
>When the little ones are dealt with, their elders are
annihilated.
>This continues again the next day.
>You see roving packs of fuzzies slaughtering fluffy ponies.
>They always stop when they realize they're being watched by
humans.
>Once you move away, they return to murdergasming the moment
they think you've left.
>Your company commander asks 1st Infantry Division what the
policy is on these things.
>The reply comes down from the Major General himself:
>”If it's fluffy and pony-shaped, kill it.”
>Very well.
>Your patrol moves down Fairmount Boulevard, popping all sorts
of military-issued caps in fluffy ponies and fuzzies alike.
>The Sergeant has a little fun with some of the fuzzies.
>”Hey, you.”
>”Hewwo, hooman.”
>”Stand here and let me shoot you.”
>”Okay. Fuzzies do wha hooman say.”
>He shoots one right in the head with his M9.
The fuzzies around it don't even flinch.
>”You gotta be shittin' me.”
>They obediently remain there until the last one has been
killed.
>A klick east, you find some more.
>They're soaked with blood, enveloped by dead fluffy ponies.
“Hey, let me try this time, sir.”
>”Go for it.”
”Hey, fuzzies!”
>A hollow chorus of 'hewwo, hooman'.
“I command you to die.”
>They look at each other, then up at you again.
>”Okay, if hooman say so.”
>They twitch a little.
>A few begin falling over, their eyes bulging out.
>When they've all collapsed and gone still, you reach down and
feel their bodies.
“Shit, they really did die!”
>Everyone else in your patrol is laughing as they mount up
again.
>You're just creeped the fuck out.
>Maybe you should be shooting the geneticists that designed
these things, and not the fuzzies.
Story 3: And Then We Serious'd The Fuck Up
>You are a soldier in A Company, 1st Battalion, 22nd Infantry
Regiment.
>You're currently at camp on the grounds of Lost Nation Airport.
>That godforsaken theme park is six klicks due south, but you
can still just see the huge spaghetti tower.
>It's been almost a week since you were first deployed here.
>In that time, E Company, your battalion's engineer and forward
support company, has erected barracks.
>2nd Battalion's engineers have arrived by land to help them
finish up.
>They were among the last to get here by truck; the area is too
choked with fluffies to make land transport feasible any longer.
>They're helping finish the barracks, and preparing for the
next task: building up facilities and lengthening runways to
accept fully laden C-17s.
>Until they're done, only hit-and-miss airdrops and CH-47s will
be supplying you.
>Your job is to get and keep the fluffy ponies off the damn
tarmac, and out of the engineers' way.
>To this end, concertina wire fencing has been erected around
the camp perimeter.
>It's absolutely choked with fluffies, trapped in the barbs and
unable to escape.
>”Hooman, pwease hewp fwuffy! Meanie tingy gif big owwies, no
wet fwuffy wun!”
>”Move fwuffy! Wan wun to hooman, hooman gif nummies! Fwuffies
hung'y!”
>Fluffies outside are ramming against those stuck in the fence,
pushing some through and slashing them open.
>”Nuuuuuuu, fwuffy make boo-boo juice! Why meanie poni huwt
fwuffy?!”
>Elsewhere, fluffies climb over the piles of dead and enter the
perimeter.
>”Fwuffy see wock ting! Wock ting go to sgetti wan'!”
>A herd of twenty waddles directly toward a runway.
>You and your squad run over and shoo them away from it.
>By 'shoo', you mean 'kill and throw the corpses out of the
way'.
>Fluffy patrol is endless.
>The damn things have totally clogged the fences and are
climbing in over the corpses.
>The company commanders authorize the use of grenades to scare
them off, unless they're on the runway.
>Those on the runway have to be removed manually so not to
damage the tarmac.
>All the companies that aren't engaged in construction are now
ordered to keep the runways clear.
>Even with over seven hundred soldiers, it's still a task.
>”Pwease hooman, onwy wan' nummies fo' babehs!” a mother with
four crying foals pleads.
>She's on the runway, so she dies, as do her children.
>You receive word that a C-17 is inbound to land.
>It's carrying, among other things, the Air Force traffic
controllers that will be relieving the civilians who stayed
here.
>Those poor guys are due for a break. They helped direct the
helicopter evacuations of the north side of Cleveland.
>Not only do you have to prevent fluffies from reaching the
runways, you have to clear the remains of those who did.
>They may be the most pathetic creatures alive, but they're
still stronger than sensitive turbofan engines.
>You start shooting fluffy ponies at random.
>The noise makes most of them scatter, but some are persistent.
>”Hooman, onwy wan' know whewe big sgettis!”
>Pop, right in the head. Throw the corpse out of the way.
>The runway is mostly clear when the C-17 from 437th Airlift
Wing arrives.
>Everyone has to stand off to the side to avoid being blown away
by the engines.
>Fluffy ponies do not comprehend this.
>They waddle over to hug the 'big fwy fwiend' and get hurled
through the air.
>The ones with wings seem to be happy until they crash into the
ground.
>All the others cry and shit everywhere.
>Your company is removed from patrol to go help unload the
plane.
>This one is carrying, besides the controllers, some supplies
for the camp.
>Mostly food and some ammunition.
>There are long wooden boxes up near the front of the cargo bay.
“Hey, what's in these things?”
>A loadmaster checks the manifest.
>”Fifty new build M202s.”
>Oh, fuck yes. You got to use an M202 in Afghanistan.
>It's a four-barrel rocket launcher that fires incendaries.
>Should be a huge help against the fluffy horde.
>Under the watchful eyes of the loadmasters, it doesn't take
your company long to empty the plane.
>Unfortunately, while you were doing that, the companies on
fluffy patrol lost control of the tarmac.
>Fluffy ponies choke the runways.
>You'll fix this. You ask for a crowbar to open up a box of
M202s.
>Your company commander approves of your idea, and soon all
fifty of the launchers have been distributed and loaded.
>After the other companies get out of the way, you begin firing
rockets into the fluffy herd.
>They catch on fire like kindling, shrieking in pain and
waddling around.
>Dumber fluffies hug them and also ignite.
>Four rockets just set about eight hundred of them on fire.
“That was easy...”
>”Don't gloat, we still gotta clean all that up,” your Staff
Sergeant grumbles.
>The sight of flames causes smarter, uninjured fluffies to
become afraid and flee.
>They can't get out. There's no corpse pile to scale on this
side of the fencing.
>As it turns out, a fluffy pony burns pretty well.
>Still have to sweep away the bones, but it's not that bad.
>More fluffies are coming, bleating about the 'big fwy fwiend'.
>Fuck! You'll never be able to stop all these damn things!
“Sir, call the Captain! The plane's gotta leave before the
fluffies overwhelm us again!”
>You grab another M202 and catch a Humvee driving to the middle
of the runway.
>Once there, you stand up in the gunner's position and start
launching rockets, one at a time.
>”Nuuu! Fiuh ba' fo' fwuffies!”
>”No cwy babeh, mumma gif huggies!”
>”Pway?”
>Behind you, you hear the C-17's engines power up.
>They to taxi to the runway.
>”Corporal, behind us!”
>Shit, a ton of pegasus fluffies broke the perimeter.
>”Big fwy fwiend! Wingie fwuffies wuv you, pwease take to big
sgettis?”
>You fire your last rocket into the clump.
>”Nuuuuuuuuu, wawm! Too wawm! Fwuffy no wike! Hewp!”
>They don't scatter.
>”Big fwy fwiend hewp fwuffies! Meanie gif owwies!”
>They're running right to the damn plane.
>The C-17 has already begun its takeoff run, barreling down the
tarmac.
>The driver moves your Humvee away from the runway.
“Sir! The runway's not clear!”
>”It's the clearest of the two! Besides, they're empty, they
said can get over the ponies.”
>Bloated dams are being rolled toward the C-17 as it approaches.
>”Big fwy fwiend, pwease hewp mummas fin' nummies?”
>The increasing noise terrifies them.
>They begin exploding out of stress, two and three at a time.
>The C-17 is already off the ground as it reaches the pegasus
fluffies, but not by too much.
>All the remaining dams explode at once, their foals tumbling
through the air.
>Every one of them gets ingested by the number two and three
engines.
“Shit!”
>You watch the C-17 trail flames as it tries to come back
around.
>An explosion in the number two nacelle shreds the wing, and the
plane tumbles out of the sky, crashing near the corner of
Lakeshore Boulevard and Reynolds Road.
>”Damn it! Fuck the fluffies, we've gotta get the medics over
there!” your Captain yells over the radio.
>The rest of your company and B Company mount up and head toward
the camp entrance.
>Medics are loaded into 56th's Strykers, and you all drive out
toward the column of billowing black smoke.
>You take the gunner's position again.
>All the annoyance with your assignment is gone in a flash.
>You're going to kill every single one of these little bastards,
if it's the last thing you do.
#Post#: 1026--------------------------------------------------
Re: Military Campaign Stories
By: Mayclore Date: June 30, 2012, 2:58 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
This post reserved for...
Phase 2: All right, maybe we should get a flamethrower
Story 1: The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions
>You are an MQ-9 Reaper.
>Currently, you are lazily flying around over...
>Your navigation systems say this is 'Ohio City, Cleveland,
Ohio', generally speaking.
>Specifically, you are over Monroe Cemetery, on Monroe Avenue.
>Your pilot, who is many miles away flying you, commands your
camera to look down.
>The cemetery is filled with multicolored fluffy things.
>You don't know what they are.
>Not that you are capable of the concept of unawareness, as you
are not an AI.
>There are things on your wings.
>The pilot commands you to drop one.
>You do this, because you are a good UCAV.
>Not that the concept of obedience is something you can
acknowledge.
>The pilot then orders you to circle this area, aiming your TV
cameras at the ground.
>The thing you just dropped, a long, narrow tube, hits the
ground.
>It explodes with a great bloom of white heat that saturates
your IR sensors.
>The fuzzy things on the ground scatter slowly.
>Many of them now have greatly increased heat signatures.
>They waddle into other fuzzy things and spread their heat
around.
>In a few minutes, it seems like the entire surface directly
below you is on fire.
>The heat begins to spread to the trees in the cemetery.
>After a few minutes more, it spreads to the structures across
the street.
>If you were capable of consciousness and deductive reasoning,
you'd be pretty sure this is not supposed to be happening.
------
>You are the guy piloting the MQ-9, and your services are in
high demand since the fluffy ponies knocked down that C-17.
>You dropped something called the Clean Lightweight Area Weapon
on the fluffy ponies occupying the cemetery.
>It's a device that's still technically in testing, but
Cleveland is a great proving ground now.
>The good news? It worked perfectly.
>The whole cemetery was covered in cleansing explosive power.
>The bad news? It caught some of them on fire.
>You watched as the fluffy ponies hugged each other, spreading
the flames.
>When the trees caught on fire, you called over your commander
to watch.
>When the houses began catching on fire, you both realized there
was a problem.
>You direct the MQ-9 to follow the conflagration as it spreads
toward St. Ignatius High School.
>Not only are buildings going up, but so are more fluffy ponies.
>The high school ignites.
>You pass word along to First Air Force about the...situation.
>Two F-15Cs from 120th Fighter Wing are nearby.
>They report that they're loaded with CBU-87s.
>You have an idea: what if they used their cluster bombs to
snuff out the fire?
>Hell, the Russians can do it for oil rigs.
>The idea goes up the chain of command and comes back down with
approval.
>The Eagles are vectored toward the high school, and you
position the MQ-9 out of their way with a good view of their
drop zone.
>You watch as the ordnance comes down, exploding and scattering
sub-munitions.
>Eight hundred puffs of heat riddle the flames. Most of them do
go out.
>Oh...fluffy ponies are flying through the air.
>Fluffy ponies on fire. They pelt unburned vegetation and
structures.
>Well, that probably wasn't supposed to happen.
------
>You are a blue male pegasus fluffy named Puffy.
>You and thousands of your fluffy friends were heading toward
Spaghetti Land.
>Your owner was yelling at you not to go, but you didn't have
much choice.
>A big herd came by while you were outside playing, and you got
swept away.
>After hundreds of miles, you reached the human place where the
spaghetti was supposed to be.
>There were so many fluffy friends, however, you couldn't move!
>Your herd decided to rest in a grassies place with lots of gray
rocks and big trees.
>There were lots of other wingie friends playing with you.
>Even though you hadn't found the spaghetti yet, you were still
happy.
>It was your turn to help watch the baby fluffies when you heard
the buzzy noise above you.
“Puffy see fwy fwiend! Wan' gif huggies!”
>All the wingie friends agreed with you, trying fly up to it.
>Even the babies with wingies tried, chirping 'fwiend!'
>None of you could reach it, which made you all sad.
>Something fell off of it! It's giving you a present!
“Yay! Fwiend gif goo' fwuffies sgettis!”
>It didn't look like spaghetti, though. It was a tube thing.
>The spaghetti is probably inside!
>You wait for it to open as it falls.
>It opened, but spaghetti didn't come out.
>Fire and pain and suffering came out.
>Now, you're running from the herd because they're engulfed in
flames.
“Nuuuuuu! Puffy no wike wawm!”
>You once burned your hoof on the hot human nummies-maker
circle.
>It hurt you for a long time afterward. You know hot is bad.
>You run past charred corpses and babies on fire, trying to get
to the human houses across the grey path.
>You'll be safe there.
>Oh, the fluffies with the fire hugging them are hugging other
fluffies without fire!
>Now the fire is all over the place!
>You keep running past human homes. You still hear the buzzy
noise above you.
>It's following you!
“Fwy fwiend, pwease hewp goo' fwuffies!”
>It doesn't seem to hear you, but it's still following you.
>You finally get to a place that has a big human home.
>The fluffies behind you run past you as you hide.
>They're all on fire, screaming and making hurt poopies and
crying.
>You want to hug them, but you can't, because you don't want
their fire.
>The big human home is on fire now. You have to move.
>Fluffies rush around you. You get swept up in the tide again.
“Nuuu, Puffy wan' wun! Wingies hewp Puffy fwy 'way!”
>After a while you hear the loudest noises ever.
>They make all the poopies come out of you.
>You briefly see two fly friends streak past at unfathomable
speed.
“Fas'! Fwy fwiend fas', hewp Puffy go fas'!”
>More noises come, even louder than the last.
>Pops and bangs and booms and fluffies are flying!
>Even ones without wings are flying!
“Wan' fwy! Wan' fwy 'way!”
>You get your wish. An explosion sends you tumbling through the
air.
>Your back half is torn off, and the rest of your body is
shattered.
“No...no wan' owwies fwy...”
>You land on a pile of fluffy friends that are burning. You,
too, catch on fire.
“No wike...no wike dis...”
>All you wanted was spaghetti.
>This was definitely not supposed to happen.
Story 2: Like Fluffy Hand Grenades
>You are a soldier in A Company, 1st Battalion, 22nd Infantry
Regiment.
>Ever since the C-17 went down, your unit has been killing
fluffy ponies as fast as it can.
>The number of them you've killed by yourself is probably
incalculable.
>Your company has become experts at using the M202 on them.
>One of you will fire a rocket that scares them and makes them
run as one in a direction.
>The rest of you, waiting in ambush, pelt them with rockets as
they get tired.
>Something is happening, though. You're beginning to see
fatter, slower fluffies.
>They're not pregnant moms.
>Something is definitely wrong with them.
>”Fwuffy tummy huwt,” they moan.
>The other soldiers have asked if it's all right to kill these,
since they might have some sort of disease.
>It takes a couple of hours to get an affirmative reply.
>Now that you're back on patrol, you see a whole clump of them.
>They're hardly able to move, crying in pain and begging you for
hugs.
>Instead of a hug, you give them a rocket.
>As usual, it catches a lot of them on fire.
>The corpses, however, start exploding.
>Everyone gets behind their vehicles for cover as the fluffies
cook off.
“What the hell is this?”
>You can hear little dings as their broken bones strike the
Humvee's side.
>You radio the camp to warn them about the exploding fat
fluffies.
>Sounds like it's too late; you can hear popping in the
background.
>Your Staff Sergeant decides to take the patrol back to camp and
see what's going on.
>When you get back to the airport, small fires are everywhere.
>Soldiers are trying to stomp them out, or run them over.
>Sure, they could use fire extinguishers, but those are being
saved for things that actually matter.
>The Captain comes over, weaving his way through B Company as
they stomp out some fluffies.
>”Why are the fat ones exploding?”
“No idea, sir. The ones we killed over at Primrose Acres did
the same thing.”
>”Well, they're causing chaos. We'd better figure out what's
going on before we start killing more.”
>All the companies are brought into the camp perimeter.
>Since you're no longer allowed to use the incendiaries, your
tactics are limited to shooting into the air and using
flash-bang grenades to scare the fluffies.
>Flash-bangs produce an interesting effect.
>Whenever one is used, the fluffies scream and run around in
little circles.
>”Why dawk? Why noisie huwt fwuffy? Why no see? Why buzzy?”
>Some of them even faint and fall over.
>This is all very amusing, but it doesn't make them leave.
>They couldn't get out anyway.
>The concertina wire is smothered with corpses.
>It's sunset, and the troops are ready to give up for the
evening.
>God knows what the airport will look like tomorrow.
>The next morning, you look out the window and are amazed.
>The ground looks like carpet.
>That is, if it were carpet commissioned by Peter Max during a
bad acid trip.
>There are literally piles of fluffy ponies squirming around.
>Fat, normal sized, pregnant dams, foals, adults, every shape
and color and size is represented.
>You need help shoving the door open to even get outside.
>”Meanie munsta no gif owwies!” an angry yellow unicorn dam
says.
>She has four foals on her back, crying for food.
>You kick her aside. You kick every fluffy pony that comes near
your legs.
“This shit is ridiculous...”
>The officers are meeting in one of the small hangars while the
enlisted guys play fluffy pony soccer.
>When they finally come out, they have to wade through the
pastel blob.
>You learn from them that the Air Force is sending a couple of
CV-22B Ospreys from 8th Special Operations Squadron.
>They're carrying a few necessary supplies and a special
passenger.
>While they're here, they'll use their powerful rotor down-wash
to try and sweep away the fluffy hordes.
>You spend the next hour slaughtering the regular sized
fluffies.
>When the Ospreys arrive, you all take cover in the hangars.
>The air they displace sends fluffies tumbling across the
ground, screaming in terror.
>The fatter ones roll, lethargically yelling “No huwt fwuffy...”
>The tiltrotors land in swept-clean circles of their own making,
and your company rushes over to help unload them.
>As it turns out, one of the Ospreys has two passengers. One is
a grizzled-looking Lieutenant Colonel in an Army Combat Uniform.
>The other is someone in glasses wearing the insignia of a Chief
Warrant Officer 5 on his Army Service Uniform.
>The former you know; he's the battalion commander. Quick
salutes are exchanged as he leaves the Osprey's cargo bay.
>”Good lord, the report didn't do it justice,” the Colonel says,
surveying the scene.
>Fluffy ponies are stuck on their backs, waving their hooves and
crying “Upsies! Upsies! No can wun!”
>The warrant officer notices some of the fat ones that rolled up
against the front of the hangar.
>The company commanders brief the Colonel on the fat ponies as
the WO examines them.
>Since no one is ordering you around, you follow the new guy.
>Around you, the other soldiers are back to keeping fluffy
ponies away from the Ospreys.
“Hey, sir, do you know what's wrong with them?”
>He nods up at you. “They've been eating garbage. They're full
of methane.”
“Natural gas?”
>”That's right. When they catch on fire, they explode and
spread the flames.”
>The WO is called back by the Colonel, so you follow him back
over.
>”Colonel, these fat ones are a fire hazard. They're loaded
with natural gas.”
>”What happens if they go up?”
>”The sewer is clogged, the water is out, there's no way to
fight it unless you bring in airborne tankers. You could have a
Waldo Canyon-style fire spreading through the city.”
”I think I already smell something burning...”
>You all look around until a column of smoke from the other side
of Cleveland catches your eyes.
>Two F-15s fly over to your south.
>”Yeah,” the WO says, “Something like that.”
Story 3: Can't Taste Any Worse Than a Hot Pocket
>You were an exterminator once...
>Actually, you basically still are.
>You've been sent east to Ohio, where the President has
requested the particular skills of people like you.
>As it turns out, you're one of the best.
>You've been commissioned as a Captain in the Ohio Army National
Guard.
>Immediately after, you were transferred to the Regular Army.
>Your expertise is now helping the Department of Defense unfuck
Cleveland.
>You've been attached to the newly raised 2nd Battalion, 35th
Armor Regiment.
>As part of the 2nd Heavy Brigade Combat Team, your area of
operations consists of the northeastern part of the city along
Lake Erie.
>The neighborhoods of North and South Collinwood, Euclid Green,
Glenville, Forest Hills, and St. Clair Superior are your unit's
responsibility.
>Operations in the Ohio City part of town, just south of the
downtown area, have resulted in massive destruction.
>First Air Force bombed ferals with incendiaries, causing them
to explode into flames and catch several dozen buildings on
fire.
>You can see the smoke even from here, billowing up past the
abandoned skyline.
>At your recommendation, III Corps is trying a different tactic
here in the north.
>You will be advising another Captain, from the Armor Branch, as
they test a new weapon.
>He will be in charge of a platoon of four experimental vehicles
specfically built to kill fluffies.
>Your testing will begin in North Collinwood.
>The four vehicles, M60A3 hulls that have had turreted versions
of the Active Denial System mounted, surround Humphrey Park.
>The ADS heats water molecules in skin, causing discomfort in
humans.
>It should wreck a fluffy pony.
>The vehicles, known to the Army as M904A1s, but to everyone
else as microwave tanks, are situated at the corners of the
park.
>The Army wants to see if it can kill fluffies without causing
collateral damage, and the suburbs shall be their guinea pig.
>”Why did you say to keep the engines off? What if we need to
move?”
>You stop looking at the nervous, cornered ferals through your
binoculars to look at the Captain.
“Loud noises will make them scatter. We won't need to chase
them if they're not afraid.”
>”Won't they run when they start dying?”
“They won't understand what's happening. Since they can't see
the threat, they'll be too focused on trying to hug their
wounded friends.”
>”How the hell do you know all this?”
“It's my job.”
>A fluffy conglomeration of about six hundred is occupying the
park.
>They've grazed it completely bare, but aren't willing to leave
because of the 'big munstas' around them.
“Let's get started.”
>The other Captain issues instructions to the individual vehicle
commanders.
>”I hope the power unit noise doesn't scare them off.”
>A hum begins as each ADS is powered up. You're standing right
beside one, and it's not too bad.
>”No wike buzzy noise!” a nearby feral yelps. It tries to
'hide'.
>Most of the other ferals do too; only the smarty friends of the
combined herd stand, puffy cheeked and yelling threats.
>”Wow, this is like shooting fish in a thimble. All right,
start the test.”
>At first, nothing seems to be happening.
>ADS was designed to annoy humans; its radiation doesn't
penetrate very far.
>”Shit, what if it can't get through the fluff?”
“We'll see.”
>Ten minutes on, the fluffies are starting to complain about
'too wawm'.
“Are they at full power?”
>”They will be now, just a second.”
>He radios the order out.
>”Owwies! Wha huwt fwuffy?!”
>There it is. You watch as they begin wobbling around on their
bellies, flailing their hooves.
>They're trying to swat away the invisible assailant.
>Pop. What just exploded? You both scan the herd with
binoculars.
>You find a pale orange pegasus fluffy shrieking incoherently.
Its eyes have exploded.
>”WHY DAWK, WHY NO SEE, WHY OWWIES?!”
>There goes another one.
>Smoke attracts your attention. It's pouring from the ears of a
silver earth fluffy.
>”Heba wub fooowaga weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh!” it
screams, before becoming still.
>A smarty friend staring directly at the ADS dish suddenly lacks
his eyes.
>Any fluffy that doesn't have their eyes covered yells about it
getting dark, big owwies, and then their eyeballs pop.
>The vehicle commanders begin aiming the dishes.
>Unit Three points theirs at the center of the fluffy blob,
where all the pregnant dams and new mothers are sheltering.
>Shrill chirps begin to enter the chorus of agony.
>Foals, whose tiny bodies offer even less resistance than their
parents, are actually frying through.
>You catch sight of one flopping around and screaming. It's
red.
>Looks exactly like bacon.
>Dams, now blind, can't find their children.
>They usually step on them and kill them in their frantic
search.
>A bigger pop occurs. One of the pregnant dams just
fluffsploded.
>Her foals fly through the air, sizzling as they hit the ground.
>No flames. That's a good sign.
>”Looks like the fluff is acting as a conductor.”
>Fluffies continue to roast and bleed to death.
>Most are now hugging each other for comfort, begging the
'munsta' to go away.
>It takes two hours, but the whole herd has been cooked to some
level.
>Only a few were smart enough to try and leave.
>They blindly waddle around, yelling for the shiny ball to come
back.
>You go with the Captain to survey the results.
>80% of the adult fluffies are now eyeless, and still alive.
You leave them to bleed out.
>Nearly 99% of the younger fluffies are cooked through, their
corpses emitting soft sizzling noises.
>Only one pregnant dam exploded. The rest have steam coming
from their rear ends.
>Looks like the waves boiled their amniotic fluids.
>The rest of the adults are smoldering a bit, unable to move
because of the pain.
“What do you think?”
>The Captain scratches his head.
>”They're sure as hell not going anywhere else, and we didn't
die. I call it a success.”
>You listen idly as he places his report to III Corps
Headquarters at Fort Hood.
>He seems to be pleased with the results, although he recommends
further tests.
>Looks like the Lima Tank Plant is going to be converting a few
more old Pattons soon.
Story 4: And Thus, We Come Full Circle
>You are a soldier in A Company, 1st Battalion, 22nd Infantry
Regiment.
>And you are being overwhelmed by a swarm of fluffy ponies.
>The fluffies in the airport's area have decided the humans here
are a threat.
>Of course, this thought only occurred to them after you'd
killed several thousand of their friends.
>They've poured over the piles of corpses clogging the
concertina wire and surrounded your barracks, giving anyone
who's outside 'big owwies'.
>It's about as effective as tickling a skyscraper with a dove's
feather, but the horde is beginning to cause real issues.
>For one, there isn't nearly enough ammunition to deal with them
all.
>For another, even though you can stomp them to death easily,
that gets very tiring after a while.
>To save energy, your company commanders have decided to offload
incoming supplies onto the fluffy ponies.
>The soldiers kick and stomp their way through attacking
fluffies to meet the helicopters.
>Despite your dire situation, you've been asked to check on the
status of 1st Battalion, 18th Infantry Regiment.
>They're based at Cuyahoga County Airport, which is even closer
to the theme park than you are.
>Communication has been lost with them; helicopter flyovers have
revealed only piles of fluffy ponies.
>This poses a serious problem; other units are being evacuated
because of the overwhelming amount of fluffies.
>Before you can leave, you have to make sure there's no one to
save at CCA.
>To this end, the Chinooks are bringing you 120mm canister
rounds for your tank company's use.
>HEAT rounds get swallowed up by the fluffy goo, not that they
don't do huge damage.
>And kinetic energy penetrators just kill fluffies in a straight
line for a klick and a half.
>A Chinook is arriving, a crate suspended beneath its fuselage.
>It just lowers the crate onto a swarm of suddenly terrified
ponies, squashing them flat.
>You rush to the crate while the horde is distracted, and pry it
open.
>It's full of glorious canisters.
>The soldiers form a chain to the hangars, where the tanks are
parked, and begin passing the shells to the crews that are
standing with their vehicles.
>Another crate is delivered, and within the hour all the tanks
are loaded full.
>At least fuel won't be a problem; after one day of trying to
fight the fluffy ponies with the tanks, the Captain decided not
to bother without better ammo.
>The company's three platoons – twelve Abrams in all – roll out
of the hangars, parting the fluffy sea with no effort.
>They crush a path to the vehicle pool.
>One more Chinook, carrying extra shotgun shells and grenades,
arrives. This one lands.
>Once the cargo is out, the four remaining civilians, mostly
people from the neighborhood that helped during the evacuation,
are put on the helicopter.
>They could have left earlier, but they've been killing fluffy
ponies for days in an effort to reclaim their property.
>Now, they have no choice but to go.
>Once the helicopter is away, you mount up in Strykers and
Humvees for the trip south.
>Four tanks will go ahead, four will be behind, and four will be
with you in the middle in case anyone gets stuck.
>Because of the amount of fluffies waddling around, determining
whether or not you're on a road is a crapshoot.
>The Abrams just go where the buildings aren't, and you let the
Strykers' navigation handle the rest.
>In theory, you're going down State Route 2, the tanks clearing
a path with canister shots.
>In actuality, you're just flattening and shredding an endless,
waddling flood of fluffy ponies.
>After cutting a path south and ending up on what everyone hopes
is Richmond Road, you weave through abandoned suburbia.
>Finally, the airport is in sight.
>Unlike Lost Nation, there are a lot more hangars here and only
one runway.
>Some of these hangars have collapsed.
>You have to dismount and check the place on foot.
>Fluffy ponies have filled some of the hangars so full, they
blew out and fell, crushing their occupants.
>Any pile of fluff less than human-sized gets a shotgun blast.
Terrified fluffies waddle away, but there are few places for
them to go.
>As always, they never shut up. They beg for food and hugs, or
to help find their babies.
>If you found them, you'd just stomp them into paste.
>Fuck these things.
>You finally see some people waving out the windows of a
building.
>”Did you find anyone out there? We haven't been able to leave
this structure,” a man says. >He's wearing Major's insignia;
must be the battalion executive officer.
“No sir, where were you all holed up?”
>”In the hangars!”
>You look around. Only two of them are still standing.
“We'll check, sir. Just hang tight.”
>With shotguns blazing, you make your way slowly to one of the
two intact hangars.
>After ten minutes of shooting at the ones blocking the door,
you manage to clear enough space for you to open it.
>”Hooman come fo' fwuffy?”
>”Yay, no mo' dawk!”
>”God damn, about time someone showed up!”
>Inside are about fifty soldiers and five times as many
fluffies.
>Many of the ponies have wilted under the afternoon heat, and
the humans don't look good either.
“Come on, let's go.”
>”Dawk pwace! No hawt in dere!”
>You fight back a rush of fluffy ponies desperate for shade with
your shotgun.
“Hurry! Before they all come in!”
>Other soldiers help them out of the hangar. The Staff Sergeant
calls an Abrams and the Strykers around.
>If you can't reclaim this airport, you'll have to carry them
back to yours.
>For now, they can get treatment from the medics riding inside.
>When they arrive, the WO that was dropped off a couple of days
ago is walking beside them.
>”We should make this fast, almost all of these ponies are
swollen...I wouldn't use grenades, either.”
>It takes six Strykers to fit the men you've rescued.
>Another company is helping the Major and those guys get out, so
your squad goes to check the second hangar.
>The door has been jammed open. Fluffies try to push in, but
can't.
>You see why as you get closer; the pile of ponies in there is
at least five feet deep.
>You also see the outstretched hands of soldiers reaching up out
of the fluffy mass.
>They're not moving.
“...this one's a write off. We don't have time to dig them
out.”
>You hear one of the Abrams firing their gun nearby.
>You don't think much of it until you hear yells of 'fire'.
>The WO looks around the side of the hangar.
>”I thought the power was out? That streetlight is sparking!”
>Bloated fluffies waddle around in flames.
“Time to go!”
>Everyone mounts up again, punting away fluffy ponies as they
run to their vehicles.
>The Abrams take up point, snuffing out paths with their bulk.
>You ended up in a Humvee, so you can see the flames spread.
>You stand up out of the gunner's position, firing your shotgun
at the ponies trying to follow you.
>By the time your whole unit is clear of the airport, it's
completely engulfed in flames.
>You receive word that the officers have asked for immediate
evacuation.
>It's granted. You're the last personnel in the theme park
area, so all the helos will be coming for you.
>The equipment will have to be left, except for the tanks. They
can drive out.
>The biggest, flattest spot nearby is the space across from
Euclid Square Mall on East 260th Street, so that's where you go.
>A large herd is spread out there, so you all scare them off, or
shoot at them if they refuse to leave.
>A high amount of mothers defending their foals die this way.
>When the Chinooks and Blackhawks come, corpses and living
fluffies alike are swept aside.
>The last fluffy pony you see before boarding is an orange and
yellow one a distance away, crying as she hugs something blue
and green.
#Post#: 1027--------------------------------------------------
Re: Military Campaign Stories
By: Mayclore Date: June 30, 2012, 2:59 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
This post reserved for...
Phase 3: We're gonna need bigger sticks
Story 1: I've Seen Fire, and I've Seen Fire
>You are the commanding general of III Corps.
>You're holed up in Akron for now, overseeing operations in
Cleveland.
>They have been an abject disaster.
>Too many fluffy ponies have choked the area.
>While units on the west side of the city made good progress in
getting near downtown, they got stuck as fluffy ponies piled up
in the streets.
>With the number of ponies in the Cleveland-Spaghetti Land area
outnumbering your troops forty to one, you've had to change
tactics.
>Instead of trying to eliminate them all, you've elected to let
them go to the areas, then cordon them off.
>Any fluffy pony trying to get in can get in, but any trying to
leave will be killed.
>The cordon is a six mile circle around the city, overlapping
with an eighteen mile circle around the theme park.
>The distance for the latter was determined as the one to the
nearest usable airfield, Geauga County Airport.
>Thanks to the civilian exterminators that have joined, you know
that loud noises make fluffy ponies run around.
>Therefore, your brilliant plan involves bombing the outer edges
of the circle first, forcing the ponies in.
>Any leaks will be plugged by tanks, infantry, and whatever else
happens to be handy.
>To further hamper fluffy pony progress in Cleveland, artillery
and airstrikes will be used against the bridges.
>Surely, Northern Command will approve of this idea.
>The microwave tanks don't kill the damn things fast enough.
>And there's not enough small arms ammo and grenades on the
planet to do the job.
>With the fluffy ponies all in one place, artillery and bombing
will kill thousands at a time.
>Northern Command is a bit perturbed at the idea of destroying
infrastructure.
>You remind them that millions of fluffy ponies have been
****ting in it for days. It's way past ruined.
>Grudgingly, they accept your proposal.
>Over thirty years in the Army, and your shot at a fourth star
is hinging on killing millions of living kids' toys.
>Idly, you look out the window of City Hall.
>A few kids have cornered some fluffy ponies, and are
systematically killing them with firecrackers up the ass.
>You wonder if they're old enough to recruit.
------
>You are an F-15E pilot.
>Your unit, the 334th Fighter Squadron, has just been moved from
North Carolina to Dayton and attached to the First Air Force.
>You are currently on what the Air Force calls a 'fluffy pony
interdiction patrol'.
>The pilots call it a 'barbecue run'.
>Your aircraft is loaded with Mark 79 incendiary bombs.
>These are just one thousand pound versions of the Mark 77,
which is full of what everyone calls napalm.
>Technically, it's not, but the effect is exactly the same.
>You will loiter at ten thousand feet for a while until a drone
pilot gives you a place to bomb.
>While you could theoretically drop your weapons into a clump of
ponies anywhere, the fact that they're awful fire hazards
complicates things.
>Nobody wants unharmed areas catching on fire, so you have to
await instructions.
>It's boring work, at least as boring as flying a Strike Eagle
can be.
>The other plane in your flight heads out to find the KC-10 to
refuel, leaving your bird the only one on station.
>That's when the call comes up.
>A drone has been following a herd that has set up shop in a
place called the Rookery, along State Route 322.
>They've stopped, for some reason, and they've isolated
themselves from other herds.
>The area is heavily wooded, and few structures are nearby.
>Your superiors want to see the effects of the Mark 79, and this
area seems like a prime testing ground.
>The smaller bombs are being used near the 'front', the edge of
the eighteen mile circle around Spaghetti Land.
>If the bigger bombs are safe, they can be used to herd the
fluffy ponies into the cordon area, while killing more of them.
>You head out to the Rookery.
------
>You are a male fluffy pony named...you've forgotten your name.
>You have pretty blue fluff and a red mane and tail.
>You even have a horn!
>You vaguely remember having a daddy, but that was very long
ago.
>He stopped loving you, though. You remember that.
>He threw you out of the house in a box and didn't let you back
in, no matter how much you cried.
>Some fluffy friends came by and told you about the land of
spaghetti.
>You went with them.
>Your new herd never managed to reach that place.
>There were so many fluffy friends, you couldn't move.
>So your herd turned around and went back.
>You've found a places with lots of trees, with really big
puddles of water nearby, and a stream.
>The smarty friend says this is your new home.
>It's much cooler here with the shade of the trees. Water is
easy to find, and so are grassies in the clearings.
>Since the other fluffies attract humans with loud sticks and
big monster boxes, your smarty friend says you're going to stay
here, away from them.
>If we don't bother the human things, maybe they won't bother
us, he explains.
>It seems to work. A flying thing is overhead, but it doesn't
hurt any of you.
>The fluffies with babies inside need help eating and drinking.
>You help keep them out of the stream.
>”Wawa goo' fo' babehs,” they coo, hugging their big bellies.
>You hear a far away noise that gets louder as it gets closer.
>A big flying thing shoots overhead, leaving as quickly as it
came.
>The mommies panic and cry at the noise.
>You look up and back.
>The flying thing had babies! White things tumble down from the
sky.
>They crash into the ground a distance away, and suddenly
there's fire.
>So much fire. The smarty friend wasn't hurt. He comes running
toward the flames, and you follow him.
>”Fwuffies too wawm! Go in wawa! Wawa stop wawm!”
>You watch fluffy friends waddle painfully into the stream.
>The fire clings to them, dripping off their fluff like glowing
orange honey.
>Some of them completely submerge themselves, yet the flames
continue to consume them.
>”Why wawa no hewp fwuffies?” the smarty asks.
>A mommy fluffy comes by with three burning foals on her back.
>”Hewp babehs! Hewp mumma! He--”
>She falls down suddenly, wailing in agony as the fire-honey on
her foals plunges through her fluff and skin.
>You want to hug her, but something in your mind says no.
>The flames spread as if by magic, their orange and yellow wisps
flowing through the trees like water.
>You see silhouettes of fluffy friends through the light before
the fire erases their forms.
>They die hugging each other, holes bored through their bodies
by the scary fire-honey.
>The smarty friend goes into the flames to save his mate.
>You are much too scared to follow him and run away, hiding by a
tree trunk when you can run no more.
>You only open your eyes again when the shiny bright suddenly
goes away. You look up.
>A very angry looking cloud is above you.
>Fluffies are running past now, screaming for help.
>The trees begin to bend and bow. The invisible force becomes
so strong, you can no longer hug onto the tree trunk.
>The firestorm, generating its own wind, sucks you back into its
core.
>You can only get out two words before being engulfed by the
flames:
“Wan' daaaaaaaddyyyyy!”
------
>You are the commanding general of III Corps.
>While you listen in on the operation that is fighting the
Rookery fire from the air, you're formulating a resignation
letter in your head.
>Your idea to test the larger bombs has caused a huge
conflagration.
>Northern Command is going to have your ass for this.
>Oh, they're calling now. You're ****ed.
>Maybe not. While you get reprimanded slightly for the fire,
the effects of the firestorm are very intriguing.
>Since fluffy ponies are so light, a large enough conflagration
could suck in thousands more without the need for further bombs.
>Your idea is filed away for later.
>Perhaps you'll get that fourth star after all.
Story 2: Rocket Man
>You are the gunner for an M270A1 MLRS.
>Gunner is a bit of a misnomer; this is a rocket launcher.
>You're attached to 3rd Battalion, 13th Field Artillery
Regiment, and you're parked in the suburbs of Akron.
>That's right, Ohio.
>Your unit, along with several others, is preparing to fire on
the city of Cleveland.
>III Corps, under the direction of US Army North, is forming a
cordon to contain the fluffy ponies in the city.
>Over eight million of the little bastards.
>You didn't think there were that many fluffies on the planet,
much less in America.
>1st and 4th Infantry are using I-90 and I-77 to move in
soldiers to establish a large perimeter.
>Your unit's mission, now that the evacuation is over, is to
provide firepower.
>There are seven other M270s in your section.
>They're all loaded with the new MGM-140 missile.
>Only two of the big rockets will fit in your launcher, but two
is more than enough.
>You can see your commanding officer, a Captain, on the horn
with Battery C, 26th Field Artillery.
>They're the guys that will tell you where to launch the
hardware.
>There's not much conversation between you, the driver, and your
section chief.
>Just waiting for the order.
>You know why the Staff Sergeant's quiet; he was born in
Cleveland.
>Now he has to help level it.
“I can't ****in' believe this, man...”
>You look around.
>Your section is set up in Schneider Park, north and west of
downtown Akron.
>You're surrounded by suburbia. There's a church across the
road south.
>You even see a couple of herds of fluffies trying to go north.
>They get slaughtered by military police.
>Captain's still talking to Battery C.
>Army North's plan is to demolish all the bridges in Cleveland,
but with the massive fluffy pony influx, sending in sappers
isn't feasible right now.
>Instead, III Corps Artillery, of which your unit is a part, is
going to do that, along with zoomies from the First Air Force.
>He's done talking. Even though he's right over there, not
twenty yards away, he gets his field radio.
>It's go time. He's issuing orders to the section.
>You receive an assignment to attack the Memorial Shoreway
bridge as well as West Superior Avenue's bridge.
>You head to the launcher, looking at the maps to figure out
where they are.
>The Staff Sergeant already knows.
>”I have to launch against Riverfront Park?” he asks in
disbelief.
>Your targets are very close to Lake Erie. The whole section
will be attacking them.
>You hear over the radio that both Wendy Park and Riverfront are
absolutely choked with fluffy ponies.
>Even Humvees have had trouble navigating the pile of fluff.
>Therefore, your missiles will be launched first.
>They contain nine hundred and fifty submunitions each, designed
to kill personnel.
>The other launchers' weapons have five hundred pound high
explosive single charges, for use against the structures.
>Your missiles should kill most of the fluffies, allowing
engineers to get in if your section can't finish off the
bridges.
>You're all inside or away from the launchers now.
>You're setting up the fire control system.
>You press the 'button'.
>The vehicle shudders a bit as the missile punches out of its
canister and blasts up and away.
>The noise is shrill and penetrating for a brief time, but fades
as the missile speeds downrange.
>You just launched live ammunition on an American city.
>Silently, you hope you don't hit anything alive besides fluffy
ponies.
------
“Gif owwies!”
>Your massive herd fights against the endless tide of ponies
ahead, trying to make progress.
>You're also trying not get driven into the Big Water on your
right.
>”Fwuffies go Sgetti Wan'! No wet otha fwuffies ge' sgettis!”
yells a pegasus before you stomp his face.
>You've been fighting for what feels like an eternity.
>Your purple fluff is stained with red.
>Your left ear has been ripped almost clean off.
>Your horn is chipped and aching.
>And yet, you've prevailed. Your herd is mostly strong earth
ponies.
>You've been able to overwhelm opposition until you found
yourself surrounded by human home places.
>You directed your fluffies to retreat to a grassies place where
Big Water and some Winding Water met.
>You managed to rest enough, eat some grassies, and recuperate
for a day.
>Now you're stuck.
>You can't swim across Winding Water, and the way back to the
gray path that crosses it is blocked by herds that are coming
from behind you.
>You have to fight your way out.
>Your mares are being viciously attacked.
>There are no foals left in your group; they've all either been
killed or lost in the chaos.
>The males of your herd go to defend their mates, but the
endless stream of enemy fluffies swallows them.
>Screams fill the air.
>You can pick out words sometimes, but it's all just a chorus of
agony.
>You see a pink mare with a foal, desperate to get away and find
shelter.
>Her smell says she is with the enemy. You rush through the
scrum and stomp her foal.
>Then you gore her in the tummy as she wails over her dead baby.
>Your males protecting their mates succeed in breaking out and
rejoining your group.
>”Nee' go, too many bad fwuffies! Haffa fin' safe pwace for
giwl fwuffies!”
>You cannot make any headway. Solid walls of bleeding,
shrieking fluff pin you from all directions.
“No can move! Too many fwuffies aww ova pwace! Am stuck!”
>You're forced to hold your position, goring and biting any
fluffy that tries to hide in your clump.
>”Wook! Wook! See fwy tingy!”
>You look up as more fluffies shout those words.
>An indistinct shape is above you, coming almost straight down.
>It makes a loud noise, and a huge number of smaller things come
out.
>”Fwy tingy haf babehs?” your yellow wingie friend mate asks.
>More enemy children. You know what to do.
“Fwuffies huwt babehs when dey co--”
>Your senses can barely comprehend the carnage that happens
next.
>Sharp, deafening bangs engulf your herd.
>You see parts of fluffies flying through the air.
>Eyeballs, legs, wings, halves of fluffies, foals hanging from
severed torsos of dams by their umbilical cords.
>They pelt your herd, causing them to scream with primal fear.
>A mighty bang comes from nearby, causing fluffies to tumble
through the air, trailing misty red in their wakes.
>They land on other fluffies and crush them.
>The bang noises get closer and farther away at the same time.
>You watch helplessly as you see members of your own herd begin
to fly overhead.
>”Smawty, pwease hewp fwuffy!” some shriek.
>You see one of your only surviving dams get flung up by a close
bang.
>She explodes in the air, her foals fanning out and landing
amidst the panicking fluffy mass.
>”Nuuuuuuuuuu! Smawty fwiend pwease hewp fwiend's babehs!” your
mate cries.
>A very loud bang.
>You feel hot, sharp owwies rip through your flesh.
>The boo-boo juice of your mate splatters your face, causing you
to lose sight for a moment.
>The bangs stop.
>You manage to pull yourself up on your front leggies again.
>You no longer feel the back ones.
>As you blink away the boo-boo juice, you feel like throwing up
your nummies.
>The fluffies around you are shredded to bits, but a lot are
still able to wail in pain.
>Separated heads lie on the ground, their lips moving for a
moment before going still forever, their eyes frozen open with
terror.
>Back halves of bodies mix with severed limbs and eyes and parts
of dead foals.
>Everything is drenched with scared poopies, pee, and boo-boo
juice.
“Why...why dis happen...”
>You tip backwards, suddenly resting on your spilled innards.
>The pain is just another ripple in the sea of your white-hot
agony.
“Fwuffies onwy wan' sgettis, why...why fwy tingy gif big owwies
to...to good fwuffies...”
>As your eyes involuntarily roll back, they see another shape
approaching in the blue sky.
“No...no wan' owwies, fwy tingy...fwuffies sowwy...”
>Like the one before, it has many little black babies.
“No, pwease no...pwease no gif owwies babehs, fwuffies go 'way,
babehs can haf sgettis...”
>The babies don't listen.
>One of them flies right at you.
>It is the last thing you ever see.
Story 3: Tanks For the Memories
>You are the commander of an M1A2 Abrams.
>Through your optics, you look over the battlefield.
>Afghanistan? Nope.
>Your four-tank platoon is parked on the Innerbelt Bridge, the
part of I-90 that goes over the Cuyahoga.
>You can see Progressive Field across the river.
>It, like the rest of the city, is a wreck.
>In a perfect world, this bridge would not actually be here
right now.
>Most of the bridges in Cleveland have been destroyed to prevent
the fluffy plague from escaping.
>Unfortunately, all the loud noises caused them to try fleeing
anyway.
>Their corpses have choked the river system, and now the area is
flooding with a fetid brew of dead ponies and their unbelievably
foul feces.
>Northern Command changed their strategy; since the fluffies
weren't bothering to use the bridges, no point in blowing them
up anymore.
>All the four lane bridges, like this one, and the Carnegie
Avenue Bridge half a klick north and west of you, were spared
bombing.
>You're currently engaged in what 1st Armored Division calls a
'leak plugging' watch.
>The four vehicles in your platoon are tasked with stopping any
attempt by the fluffy ponies to escape the rising waters by
using this bridge.
>Backing you up are four Stryker Mobile Gun Systems from 3rd
Battallion, 41st Infantry Regiment, one of the Army's Stryker
Brigade Combat Teams.
>You continue to look around for activity.
>”Damn, this is boring.”
>That would be your gunner complaining, as usual.
“I'd rather be deployed here than a place where the enemy
actually shoots back.”
>That shuts him up, at least for a second.
>”Can't we just drive in there and run over the ****ing things?”
>There's not enough oil in Saudi Arabia to power this tank long
enough to run over nine-plus million fluffy ponies.
>On the radio, you hear the platoon commander, a Second
Lieutenant right out of West Point, ask for a report.
“No targets in sight on I-90.”
>A few moments later, you hear that the tanks on Carnegie Avenue
are engaging fluffies.
>You look through the optics again.
>Sure enough, a multicolored, living glacier is slowly making
its way toward your position.
>”Man, I wanna go home.”
“Stop flapping your lips and get the sights on those ponies.”
>With a groan, the gunner begins actually doing his job.
>A white fluffy pony with a rainbow mane catches your attention.
>It's at the head of the pack; perhaps it's the leader.
“You see that one with the rainbow hair?”
>”Yeah, got the reticle on him now.”
>You call down to the loader.
“Canister.”
>He grabs a shell off the rack, pushes it into the open breech
with his fist, then closes the breech block.
>”Round up!” he yells back.
>You belay giving the command to fire until the fuzzy blob
closes the distance a bit more.
>You can't use high explosive, you might damage the bridge.
>Instead, the loader's put an M1028 into the gun.
>They're just about to begin crossing the bridge, almost two
hundred meters away.
>Close enough.
“Fire!”
>The tank rocks as the gunner fires the gun, producing a solid
thunk that vibrates both you and your crew.
>You watch through the optics.
>The fluffies barely have time to react to the noise, panicking
and running in frightened circles.
>A large chunk of them suddenly disappear into a red cloud.
>The round just fired is a fragmenting canister full of over a
thousand tungsten balls, ten millimeters in diameter.
>They fan out into a cone as they fly at a thousand meters a
second.
>They could go through a Humvee; fluffy ponies offer barely more
resistance than air.
>You detect three more thunks as the other tanks in your platoon
fire.
>The fluffies are terrified, but they seem unwilling to go back.
>Probably scared of drowning. They've surely seen the piles of
corpses in the rivers.
>You can see them talking as they run around helplessly, but
you've no idea what they're saying.
>Doesn't matter; time to shut a few more of them up permanently.
“Canister!”
>The round goes into the gun. The gunner picks a distinctive
fluffy.
>The gun goes thunk, and that fluffy, along with several hundred
of its friends, ceases to be.
>The dumb little bastards have no idea what's happening.
>Instead of turning away from the loud noises and the bloody
smears that used to be other fluffies, they run at full speed
toward your platoon.
“Fire at will!”
>You hear smaller reports as the Strykers begin firing their
105s.
>They too have canister rounds, a design hastily scaled down
from the 120s your tank uses.
>Each time you hear a gun go off, you see a cloud of red tear
through the massive herd.
>They don't have any idea what to do, so they run.
>They're still coming.
>You cannot fire fast enough.
“We're gonna get overwhelmed!”
>You hear the Lieutenant call brigade headquarters for support.
>They call back and grant it.
“Driver, reverse. Gunner, keep firing.”
>Your tank platoon begins to retreat slowly, still shooting.
>The Strykers, having automatically loaded cannons, provide
'covering' fire while you move.
>You're backing up because you don't want to die in the upcoming
fire.
>As you move, you decide to open the hatch and get a good view
of the show.
>Fluff ponies are backed up forever on the other side of the
river.
>It takes about ten minutes before you see the F-16s coming from
the south.
>By now, everyone's backed way up, including the Strykers.
You're at least three hundred meters from the bridge.
>With the loud noises having stopped, the fluffies are confident
enough to try crossing the bridge in an orderly fashion.
>They stream across just as the F-16s drop their payload.
>The Mark 77 bombs plow into the fluffy clump and detonate.
>A few fluffies go flying through the air. They're the lucky
ones.
>The rest are engulfed in a mixture of kerosene, white
phosphorus, and a classified oxidizing agent.
>They burst into flames immediately.
>You watch them burn through a pair of binoculars.
>You can just barely hear the pops of exploding fluffy ponies.
>Even some of the Stryker crews have gotten out to watch.
>The fire is what finally breaks the will of the herd to press
on; you can see the ones in the back start waddling quickly back
into the city.
>They've decided drowning is better than catching on fire.
>You all stick around to make sure the fire doesn't get too far
out of control.
>The flames exhaust the screaming, crying fuel fairly quickly.
>It's not windy, but you check for floating embers, as well as
damage to the bridge.
>Doesn't look too bad, at least not from here.
>Maybe the stench of burned fluffy flesh will keep them from
trying to cross here again.
>Actually, it kind of smells like an MRE, and you're hungry.
>You duck back into the turret and ask the loader where he's
stowed them.
Story 4: The Beginning of the Endgame
>You are the commanding general of III Corps.
>The cordon system has worked fairly well, but another problem
has arisen.
>There are so many fluffies in the area, their shit is becoming
hazardous.
>Since nobody but their creators understand how their internals
work, god only knows what comes out of their asses.
>The EPA and CDC say they could ruin the water table and spread
all sorts of hellish diseases.
>They have literally become a living plague.
>You have exhausted basically every option you have.
>The microwave tanks leave corpses to rot, which really pisses
off the CDC.
>Regular tanks are becoming unwieldy, and can't blast the ponies
to vapor fast enough.
>Helicopter gunships don't carry enough ordnance.
>And Russia and China combined wouldn't have enough infantry to
quell a herd like this.
>Therefore, Northern Command is drawing up a new plan.
>Since all the evacuees are long gone, having been moved to
Michigan, Indiana, Illinois and Kentucky, you may as well let
the big dogs off the chain.
>The plan calls for a massive air bombardment, killing as many
fluffies as possible, or at least rendering the environment
untenable for their survival.
>They're going to turn north central Ohio into a lunar
landscape.
>To this end, every single available bomber aircraft unit has
been attached to First Air Force.
>The 2nd, 5th, and 307th Bomb Wings will be bringing their
B-52Hs.
>The 7th and 28th Bomb Wings will be bringing their B-1Bs.
>And the 509th and 137th Bomb Wings will be bringing their
B-2As.
>Beyond this, every bomb-capable fighter will be fitted with
incendiary weapons.
>Yes, you'll have to undertake a massive clean-up later, but
rebuilding an entire region is going to create a ton of jobs.
>And sure, there will be a lot of smoke wafting around.
>However, it is a conventional attack, and the only things
stronger than this you could use are Minuteman III ICBMs or
nerve gas.
>The President is probably not going to let you nuke the city,
and you can't wait for winter to thin the megaherd.
>The call begins.
>You, along with Northern Command's combatant commander, present
the plan to the Secretary of Defense and the Joint Chiefs.
>They balk at it at first until the CDC Director comes in,
explaining that fluffy feces could be a bioweapon.
>It's certainly ruining the rivers and lakes, if they haven't
already filled up with fluffy corpses.
>The living ponies, in fact, might prove to be less of a problem
than the dead.
>The EPA guys arrive and bring reports about how badly Lake Erie
is being damaged by the runoff of dead fluffies and shit.
>The Secretary asks how bombing them will make that better.
>You chime in.
“If they're burned to powder, nature can take care of the rest.”
>He admits that this is a valid point.
>The commanding general of First Air Force speaks next.
>He explains that every available offensive aircraft in the
United States has been put on standby to participate in this
operation.
>No planes have been recalled from overseas operations, or moved
from European bases.
>The rest of NATO, therefore, is happy with the whole idea.
>Of course they are; it's not their land that's about to get
bomb-fucked.
>Northern Command talks about the weapons they'd like to use.
>Factories are pumping out third generation 'napalm' as fast as
they can.
>The inventory of obsolete dumb bombs is going to be taken care
of.
>Old bomb designs are even being brought back, such as an
updated version of the World War II M-69.
>The pros and cons of such a massive attack are argued.
>This would certainly make Cleveland uninhabitable.
>It already is.
>The local environment would be obliterated.
>It's well on its way.
>We don't know that their feces contains diseases.
>We also don't know that it doesn't, because the company won't
release the fine details of their guts.
>The Secretary seems worried about the chance of accidents.
>Department of Energy is brought onto the call.
>They're talking about Perry Nuclear, choked with fluffy ponies
and fast approaching a Fukushima-style disaster.
>It's a huge cluster-fuck all around, but the Secretary still
seems hesitant.
>The Joint Chiefs Chairman finally asks the ultimate question.
>What if the megaherd leaves Cleveland?
>Faced with the prospect of having this discussion again, the
Secretary heaves a big sigh.
>He agrees to take the plan to the President.
>The call ends, so you go back to monitoring the cordon.
>It's still holding. The number of fluffy ponies inside of it
are incalculable.
>Two hours pass before you and Northern Command are summoned
back to the situation room.
>The Secretary is joined this time by two more Secretaries,
Energy and Homeland Security.
>DHS says that they can't possibly do another Cleveland-style
evacuation right now.
>DoE says that the situation at Perry is getting out of hand,
and the fluffy ponies need to be cleared or thinned out so
people can get in there and assess it.
>Finally, the Secretary of Defense says that they have all
spoken with the President.
“What was his response, sir?”
>”We have no choice. Perry is off limits, but level everything
else.”
#Post#: 1028--------------------------------------------------
Re: Military Campaign Stories
By: Mayclore Date: June 30, 2012, 3:02 pm
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This post reserved for...
Phase 4: How I learned to love the bombers
#Post#: 1075--------------------------------------------------
Re: Military Campaign Stories
By: Mayclore Date: July 2, 2012, 10:41 am
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Oh...uh, you can comment here now, sorry. I just wanted to
claim the first four posts. Derp.
#Post#: 1077--------------------------------------------------
Re: Military Campaign Stories
By: Lord Anubis Date: July 2, 2012, 11:05 am
---------------------------------------------------------
I think you've done a fantastic job so far. The military stories
will do a lot to establish the sheer volume of fluffies, and
highlight how bad it's gotten.
#Post#: 1079--------------------------------------------------
Re: Military Campaign Stories
By: Mayclore Date: July 2, 2012, 11:26 am
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Look at the newest phase one story. Shit got srs quick.
#Post#: 1080--------------------------------------------------
Re: Military Campaign Stories
By: Lord Anubis Date: July 2, 2012, 11:45 am
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Oh damn. Fluffies took out a plane. It just got real.
#Post#: 1081--------------------------------------------------
Re: Military Campaign Stories
By: Giant_Neckbeard Date: July 2, 2012, 11:49 am
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Goddamn! Very nice!
#Post#: 1085--------------------------------------------------
Re: Military Campaign Stories
By: PhilSrobeighn Date: July 2, 2012, 1:52 pm
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Fluffies: 1
Military: Well, a lot, actually. But not enough! :o
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