PHD #179: The Gentleman's Hunt
The Gentleman's Hunt
Summary: Three rednecks with access to military hardware and capabilities go hunting.
Date: 24 Aug 2041 AE
Related Logs: Anything Saggie or related to hippo steaks.
Constin Mackay Tillman 
TP Room
Sceneset below.
Post-Holocaust Day: #179

Constin would have been told to gear up and meet a Raptor that was touching down. True to the alert, the aircraft didn't even shut down. The hatch just popped. In the back is the XO and Weps. Each one has an M120C though Tillman would just hand his off as soon as the Marine was aboard. A real quick brief would be given to Constin: Direct Action against Enemy Hippo Elements populating a river a hundred miles off. There's a HUGE plastic case at the rear of the Raptor - presumedly to bring home spoils of war in. Raptors, being as fast as they are, cut the trip's time down quite a bit.

Tillman is in full Marine battlegear but he's opted for a simple shooter's cap and sunglasses. There's a backpack under his jumpseat and a GMAR + GL on the one beside him. "Sergeant Eleftharios Constin? This is Captain Sigurd Mackay," Tillman introduces. "Sig? Constin here led the balls-out HALO jump onto Leonis for the rescue op." The team that had no planned extraction when they left. "Constin? Weps here is big into the hunt. Figured we'd come down and get you guys some BBQ. Even packed some spices and shit from the galley." He grins. "If anyone here is looking for rank, we can drop 'em back off. Just goin' out for a good time. So you can dispense with the 'Sirs', Elf."

Constin had jogged up the the Raptor upon touchdown, the ever-present assault rifle slung for a casual carry. As the Weps officer is named, the marine gets off only a curt nod, look through his dark shades to Mackay and the first- and final "Sir," as Tillman forbids it a breath later. "Well shit, you just cut down half my vocabulary," he states to Tillman over the sound of idling Raptor engines as he climbs aboard and offers his right hand to Sig.

For his part, Sigard Mackay has the battle gear of the marine on, over the dull greens of some dirty looking Navy fatigues. Clearly, this pair has been used times over in pinches, and in repair work. Black and green, apparently are in fashion for the Weapon Gallery this summer. Only other color would be the dark navy blue cap worn on his head, the words long since faded off, and the bill bent, and frayed to shit. Oh yes, and there is the eye-patch on the tough old bastard.

Upon introductions being made,Sig is leaning forward from his seat and offering a scarred hand out to the marine. "Shit from Zeus' ass son, you got the most godsdamned ridiculous name." However the smile that comes with it-no offense is made. "Nice to meet you, Elf?" a look over to Tillman, and then a nod to Constin. "Elf. Like that better." a grunt as he is hoisting a rather large canteen out to the Sergeant. "Figured you boys might be thirsty, so packed heavy." IE one big godsdamned canteen, full of whiskey. There's a brief pause as the Weps is content to listen to the movement of the Raptor "Elf, you the young feller, who was lookin' to be touchin' my guns?" casual conversation has begun.

"Ha! Yeah, I remember the feelin, Elf." Tillman spins his finger towards the ECO and they're off: Go! He watches the canteen get offered and nods towards Constin. "Drink up, Sarge. Its gonna be a hot afternoon." Tillman just grins like an idiot. Great. Marines and a Weps officer drinking with high-powered rifles. This can only go two ways: Great and BAD. Though the XO sure doesn't look like he's going to skip out. "Yeah, El. How'd you feel about getting to play with some serious artillery?" he offers. The Raptor dives and rolls through the valleys on their way to the dropoff. He reaches into his vest then and produces a trio of glossy photorecon shots. "Here's the target zone. Our LZ is marked in red. We'll have to hoof it about two miles to the ridgeline marked in green. We can probably shoot from there." Gods, its gotta be more than a thousand meters to the river - where two or three dozen black dots can be seen. Dinner.

Constin cracks a big grin at Mackay's jab at his name. "I'm mighty fond of it- Sigurd, was it? Good to meet you-" the marine almost audibly bites off adding the knee-jerk 'sir'. "Well hell- you keep the drinks coming and you can chop up my name however you like," he notes with a chuckle accepting the canteen with a nod and taking the first welcome hit of drink. "I think that sounds like a helluva lot of fun," he drawls to the notion of 'serious artillery'. The man;s voice is slightly higher pitched than one might guess from his size. "About as much fun as unloading a Karl at these ah- Enemy Hippo Elements?" His throat stirs with a low chuckle as the Sergeant settles into a seat and leans the Grizzly's barrel against his shoulder, back bolt between his boots.

Mackay just grins right one back, strong enough to crinkle up his eye patch just a little. "Oh Shit, Clive, I think I like this frakker already." And his hoarse laugh skitters out as he leans back against the Raptor's bulkhead. A nod is passed back to the Marine. "Alright then, Elf. You let me toy around with one of yer big guns-an I'll let you have a hand at shooting one of my anti ship guns-come our next exercise. We got a lot of satellites, that we can target." A nod there to the offered deal before he is sniggering at the notion. "Shit-EHE's. They don't stand a frakkin chance.." A motion is made over to the XO with the hand that isn't holding onto the m120 tween his legs. "Clive, be sure to drink your fill too. I ain't going to try to pour this shit back in the bottle I got it from."

Tillman leans a foot out and kicks a box under Constin's jumpseat. "I checked-out a G48, too, El. Got a HEAT round and two flechettes. Area we're heading to isn't pop'd by the SSLF, but I figured we might pack it just in case. You went on the jaunt to pick this shit up so you say where the rounds go." He leans out and beckons for the canteen from Constin. "Now these Tango's we're going to be going after? They're armed with forty mike mike tusks and two-hundred mike mike feet. Tusks have a range of about two meters, so watch your corners. We've got fire support on Tac One from the Corsair if we need it. Our callsign is 'Whiskey Whiskey'." The XO grins once more. He then glances to Mackay with a grin. "Shit, Sig. Only three things we're gonna be drainin out there. This canteen, our bladders, and Enemy Elements." The man lifts his chin to Constin once more. "So what's sayin, Sarge? Gonna let Sig here pop off a G48 or two?"

Up front, the pilot calls back. "Two minutes!"

Constin cracks up chuckling when Tillman mentions the Corsair being on fire support. The rest had earned a bemused grin, but the Flak Frigate is the joke that cracks his composure. "I'd say you've got yourself a Karl, old timer," he drawls to Sigurd, "If these Ee-Aych-Ees truck up with armored support, that Heat round just might come in handy." Another rolling chuckle stirs his throat. "I say let's frakking do this!" The canteen is passed to Tillman as Mackay indicates.

"Only thing, I want from today, aside a big ol' hippo burger-or steak is the satisfaction, that we let loose quite the bit of ordinance." And with that he is now reaching out towards Tillman for his own swig of the whisky (Once the Xo is done of course)- He's not going to be left out to dry on this one. "Two minutes? Shit." The weps offers with a laugh as he settles in his chair. All too ready to get out of here and kill some poor armored hippo. Mackay coughs once as he rolls his shoulder. "See- I love how marines frakkin' think. I am specting we might need that Karl. Those godsdamned hippo bitches have been known to call in for ground support." A snort. "You know I am almost tempted to just call down a rain of fire from the Corsair, you know that Clive?"

Clive takes the canteen and lifts it in salute before taking a nice swig. "Ahhhhellyeah." He reseals it and hands it back towards Mackay as he rises off the seat. "Go ahead and unpack that Karl, El? I'll hump it and the rounds once we're off this Raptor." The Major seems more than willing to pull his share and he's obviously in high spirits. The XO hasn't put a boot on the surface of a planet in more than six months. He probably can't wait. "Hell, boys. The hippos ARE the armored support. They don't truck with no infantry." Then, an easy laugh to Sig. "Somehow I frakkin knew you were gonna say that. As hilarious as it might be to watch, I think Pewter might shit a gasket at me for it. But DAMNED if you aren't right. Might be worth it."

The Raptor touches down and the ECO opens the hatch for them with a laughed salutation, "Have fun, sirs. Bring home the good stuff. We'll be here when you're ready for us to come on down." Tillman steps down off the Raptor and into the sunlight, slinging his GMAR. Its mostly open grassland here with a few stands of trees randomly thrown onto the terrain. To the east is the ridgeline, plainly visible. That's their destination. Tillman turns to help them unload gear.

"Now where's the fun in that?" Constin demands of Sigurd, with another chuckle- that bit about the Corsair got him again. Shaking his head and adjusting the solid black ballcap that combines with his shades to keep the sun off the sergeant's sun (and worse) burned face. Hopping down onto the ground, with the Grizzly shouldered, be reaches back to lend Tillman a hand with unloading the Karlstov, before setting down the AT Rifle to go about prepping the shoulder mounted doom. Regarding the lack of infantry, "That there might be a strategic oversight the enemy may not live to regret. What's their air support like?" Everyone should have this much fun at least once.

Mackay grunts, as he is rising. Already moving to sling the m120 Cal over his shoulder. Despite always being on board the ship, this Captain is used to the hard work aspect as well. And seemingly is not shying away from the notion of having to pull his weight with the two marines. Though before he is, there is a swig of whiskey to be had. Cap screwed down, and he is moving to help unload the gear and get all tucked up with what needs to be carried. "Maggie, my dead ex wife-" Sig begins. "Used to say I had the back of an ox. Could carry lots of shit and not complain.." a grunt as he is looking for the coolers they were to bring. "I guess she was right, because I carried her ass for seven years…" a grunt before he's grinning to Constin "Elf, there's a frakton of fun to be had, right there. If you haven't seen an orbital bombardment, you ain't lived."

Tillman takes up the G48 and goes about strapping it to his rucksack. What the hell is in that damned thing? Looks like he's ready to spend a few days out here. The rounds are slotted into the outside pockets before he slings it back up. "Agreed, El. Moving armor without infantry support? In this terrain?" He clicks his teeth, looking around. "Suicide. Their air support? Well, they generally eat it. Damned things just can't seem to form a combined arms campaign to save their lives. Only thing going for them is that they are quite frakkin adept at amphibious operations. Little shits. We'll show 'em how the fleet does it. If I could square us some air support for this, I would have." He shakes his head and slices a hand towards the ridge and starts walking, the GMAR dangling from its sling across his front. "Seven years? Godsdamn, man. You got off -light-! You barely even got rights to declare marriage. Gotta run a train on a decade at least before you can start talkin' like that. Unless she beat ya. Did she beat ya, Sig? Did she?" He grabs off the canteen from Weps and takes his own swig before offering it to someone else.

Constin turns a big old grin at Mackay to ask, "Oh, I've seen it, Sig- from the ground, no less. Ripping up clouds and making the sky flash? I'll admit- it is one helluva thing to see." Tillman's needling of Mackay draws another laugh. As does the combined arms joke. "They gotta have one helluva armored marine corp, then." Of both, he drawls, "So what- you folks allowed to enjoy that marriage shit upfront, or does it go to hell right out the gate?"

"Seven is a lot to account for, if you had my kids along the ride." A faint chuckle, before Sig is looking back to Tillman with a grin. "Sides, I wasn't the one who dropped whom. She's just gods damned lucky, I never shot the son of a bitch she was with." grunted out before he is looking over to the other marine-well, still active marine. "Well good on ya. I've seen from the ground and from the sky. Brings a tear to my good eye everytime." A snort, before he's raising a brow over to Tillman, and then a look to Constin. "I think it goes when it supposed to, unless she's the good one you run into as opposed to the piss poor one." And then after a beat as he is moving to heft his bag up a bit higher on the other shoulder. "You were down on Leonis, weren't you Elf?" making sure he remembers right, before they got into the talk of their target for the day.

"Shit, they ARE the Marine Corps." Tillman just laughs as they walk. "Imagine an army of Pewters ambling their way up the beach, growlin at your ass. Huffin an puffin." He looks sidelong to Sig while the man talks and he gives a chuckle at the good eye remark. "I think that makes all of us, then. I did forward air control in the Marines. Had to handle Vipers, Raptors, and naval gunfire. Ain't nothin prettier. I sat on a bombed-out hill one night with a radio, a pack of smokes, and a flask while the Navy pounded the frak out of an enemy infantry division. I was hootin an hollarin the whole time. When you're twenty-three, few things're sweeter. Course when you're forty, its just a canvas of art." Then Clive looks to Constin and arches his brow. "Enjoy it. Not while it lasts, just enjoy it. You start thinkin about an end, it'll get there before you're ready." He seems like he might ask something else but just opts to let the Sergeant reply or not. He takes another sip of his canteen before passing it off to Constin.

"Yes, I was," Constin drawls back to Mackay with an easy grin. "Hay-lo jump from five miles up, as stage one of the extraction op," he notes, not without pride. Tillman's Pewter quip draws both a barked laugh and a protest from Elf: "Now see here- you show me a marine built like the Cee-Oh. No WAY a fella like that survives the Corp- Only Command could support that much weight," he quips with a smirk. As for Tillman's advice, he returns lightly, "There any other way to be, these days?" accepting the canteen with another nod of thanks and tossing back a swallow.

"I see." Sig adds as he looks back over to Constin. "Then you've seen my handiwork all up close and frakkin personal." A grin there, for the Weps is a man who takes pride in his work. And with that he is moving on up ahead a few paces.

Now that has the Weps officer sputtering and dying. "Did you just compare our jolly ol' CO to a godsdamned hippo." And even more laughter, as if that wouldn't give away their position. Because it will not. Still there's a look tween the two men as Tillman adds his two cubits. A grunt. "He said it better. Don't frakkin listen to me, unless I'm givin' gun coordinates…" A grin as he nods over towards the XO. "Don't look at me boys. I fire ship guns- my ground combat's been limited to jack, and shit. Unless you count the hellweek war games you get in basic." And with that it's a deep breath of Sagittaron air. "But, I do love to hunt."

Clive laughs again at Constin. "Yeah, no shit, El. Dude is built like a" Somewhere there are remarks about not insulting superiors? Bah. They're off duty. Sorta. "Swear I got called into his office one day and he was in his skivvies and tanks. Thought I'd stumbled into a house of horrors." Tillman shakes his head and readjusts his pack while they walk, smirking to Mackay. "Hell no. Course not. I'd never undermine our illustrious CO like that. He's the pillar of what a CO should be. A real sit-down kind of guy, too." He shakes his head at Mack and looks up as they approach the ridge's base. "Nah, you got good advice Sig. Just gotta salt it like my wife's pot roast." To Constin, he shrugs. "Be any way that works. Got a particular reason for askin about marriage, El?" He gives the man a knowing look, if not a little good-natured needling. "Cuz Captain Quinn might have your ass if you're lookin to make an honest man out of me."

"That I did," Constin nods to the 'up close' nature of witnessing planetary bombardment as he keeps step easily with the two superior officers. Another smirk as he notes, "Now- undermining the Enemy Hippo Cee-Oh.. that's another matter altogether, yeah?" Tillman's follow up query is met with another chuckle and shake of his head. "An honest man out of you? Shit, I'll take on a brigade of Centurions with a jump knife if I get ordered to, but even I won't take on a hopeless assignment." Tipping the brim of his cap to the Major, he adds, "Nah. She keeps trying to set me up with somebody, and I keep shooting her down. Looking for ammo for the next volley is all."

"Course you godsdamned marines would be interested in getting each others asses. So them tales of your basic were true.." Sig throws out with a chuckle, before he's reaching in a pocket. "godsfrakkingdamnit." all run out as he's stooping to pick up his lighter, and smoke that dropped. Still both are applied and soon enough the CWO is smoking while marching along happily with the other two. A look over towards Constin and there's a faint snort, and a hack of smoke that follows. "Who the frak is playin' matchmaker in the marine bunks?" A good question to ask, when not roasting the hippo CO.

Tillman leads the way up the ridgeline. Though he has to stop at Constin's quip at him, bending at the waist and resting his hands on his knees while he laughs SO hard. "Oh SHIT, El!" The man rises and lifts his head back until he stops. "Daaaaaaamn! What, no love and faith for your XO? Sa'll right. I'll just putter along. Frakkin Sergeants. I swear, they issue you all a set of retorts with the stripes." The man then continues on and grins to Mackay. "No fear, Sig. No fear. Shit, some of the women in the Corps slap bigger balls than the men. Gotta take bets on who plays what role in those relationships." Reaching the crest, Tillman unbuckles the ruck and slowly slings it off his shoulder. "What, El? I saw you gettin' doe-eyed at that woman in Sickbay. Things didn't work out with her or did you leave her clamborin somewhere, sobbin in a corner?"

"Nobody," Constin mutters back to Mackay, "It's the frakking Air Wingers, of course," the sergeant snorts, before cracking a big 'gotcha' grin as Tillman breaks down briefly. The 'woman in sickbay' prompts the words: "It is what it is- don't mean it's gotta turn into some kinda clusterfrak of Thing just because pilots read too many trashy books." Narrowing his eyes behind the shades he squints at the downslope from the crest of the ridge.

Mackay is snickering back. "Well, that explains everything and nothing. Just like the military." A grunt as once they have gotten up to the crest. Eyes looking down as he is moving to unshoulder the massive rifle from his shoulder and lower the pack down for a bit. His good eye narrowing for a bit. "You know." added around his cigarette, before he is reaching back for his binoculars. "Sometimes I wish I could just hook a camera in on my other socket for this sorta shit." a faint grin as he's trying to site something-anything. "But then I lose the look of a grizzled sailor- and look more like some godsdamned monstrosity from one of them shitty war movies." a beat as he lowers the binocs, and glances to Constin as if he would know "What was it-Colonial soldier-where they revived corpses to fight the cylons?"

"The Wang." Tillman shakes his head and looks to Constin. "Well hey. Don't frak it up. I know how you all think." He taps his head wit ha finger. "You can't roll in there with heavy artillery and hippos." He grins and looks back out as the ruck is set down, chuckling at Sig. "Oh no. No cameras for this one. We're about to violate about thirty-seven different federal laws. Probably even quite a few Naval regs. So El? Avert your eyes." He throws another grin towards the MP and nods. "Yeah. Godsdamn that movie was awful. What the frak was that bad guy's name? Ralph Lundin? He's made more B movies than Pewter has consumed donuts. Maybe." He takes off his sunglasses and looks upon the Promised Land. "Bow before the great land of opportunity and behold the firing line."

Stretched out before them the ridge falls away quickly, the steep incline dropping about two hundred meters into the river valley. With very few trees its easy to spot their targets. Circling in the river and sunning themselves on the riverline are close to forty of them. With a clear line of sight, its an ideal spot for taking shots. A gentle breeze blows up from the valley, cooling them in the heat of the afternoon.

"That's the one," Elf supplies to Mackay's query before chuckling to Tillman's complaint. "That fella's a damn legend. Half expect we'll his old ass still walking around on one of these rocks," he chuckles. "Hey, I'm doing pretty damned well, thank you very much," at the knowing of how he thinks. Regarding the targets, he drawls, "All I see? Is enemy armored units, owing allegiance to the Domestic Hippo resistance. Heh. Target acquired." A grin aside to Mackay, "You ever fired one of these before, Sig?"

"If he is, I'd sepct we could ask him, how come he ain't won the frakkin war yet. And then tell him to quit hiding on Sagittaron like a godsdamned pussy." Mackay cracks, before he is looking down at the targets. A look over to Elf, there's a faint shake of his head as he looks to the massive rifle in his hands. "Can't say I have- but I've shot plenty of deer rifles. Spect this is like that." a pause for a moment as he is moving to get down in a prone stance. "Do I need to know anything important?" the Weps asks, with a glance over his shoulder. Yes- he is going to kill him a godsdamned hippo.

"Uh huh," is all Tillman has to say for a moment. "Some gimme the godsdamned canteen. Gotta take some measurements while you two nilly with your pea shooters." The Major dips to his knees and opens his ruck. Beers spill out into the grass. "Huh. Don't remember packing those. Ah well. What gets drank, I don't have to hump home. Help yourselves cuz I'm busy." He reaches further in and pulls out a camo canvas pouch. Ripping the velcro he removes a few fairly high-tech instruments marked with 'Property of CMC'. Personal plundering, no doubt. Clive then removes a spotters scope and begins extending the legs as he cracks a beer with his teeth. "Yeah, Sig, you excitable frak. You need windage and exact range. Think an eighteen mike mike has a flat trajectory out here? This ain't space. Though..they kinda look like basestars from this range." Tillman shrugs and uncaps the spotting scope while he takes a long sip of his beer. "Photorecon puts us about eleven-seventy-five from our side of the river. That means our buddies from the Domestic Hippo Resistence, fourteenth armored, are just beyond." There's a thumbs up to Constin and a grin.

Constin chuckles. "It's a whole lot nastier than that- More like firing off an anti-aircraft round than anything else- it WAS designed to take out small ships during takeoff and landing," he notes dryly. "And even though it's semi-automatic, don't get too excited squeezing off shots. Mechanism can probably handle it, but you might start scooting your cycloptic ass back down the ridge," he warns with a chuckle, setting down his own Grizzly in position, and reaching to grab one of the dropped beers. "Oh, HELLS yeah." The Fourteenth Armored line gets another laugh out of the sergeant.

"So basically, I gotta remember how to shoot a godsdamned ground cannon.." or an actual sailing ship cannon. Awesome. Still Mackay is just getting in behind the scope- and well, getting the sucker able so he can look out of it. "Alright now- what th' frak am I doing?" Letting his mouth hang open slightly, before he's latching onto his cigarette Sniggering he is looking down his scope, as another line of smoke joins the air. "Yeah, well just watch my Cyclopedian ass, kill big King Hippo, right as the parade of the armored is saluting him." A grumble for a second as he reaches up a hand to adjust the scope. "Uh huh." muttered back to Tillman.

"We free to engage then, I take it? Weapons free?"

"Standby," Tillman says, taking another long chug of his beer. He crushes it and tosses it over his shoulder with a loud burp. Classy. He peers through the scope and adjusts the focus from his seat on the grass. A nod then he starts turning on that gear he dumped out. A hand holds one up and a small plastic fan stars spinning at the tip. "Winds are..steady. Zero-six miles per hour, heading zero-eight-five." Another is picked-up and he lifts it to his eye. This one is much bigger and looks like a set of binoculars. "Range: One. Two. Zero. Eight. Meters." He shifts it down towards the ground and begins scribbling down on a piece of paper that flutters in the breeze. "Frak, I really shoulda practiced this before we came out," he grumbles. "Elevation change: One. Seven. Six. Meters." He looks over to Constin. "You're the Marine, tell him how to fix his scope for that info. I'll spot for you guys." The Major settles himself down at his spotting scope and peers into it. "Okay. Target Identified!" The Marine bark is back in full force. "Armored Beheamoth! Far side of river bed! Sunning itself next to a large white boulder, six meters south! Ready.. ready.. Send it!"

"Adjusting the scope-" Constin chimes in, as Tillman starts rattling off numbers, turning in sequence two of the dials on the massive weapon's scope to account for the range, wind, and gradient. "Should be all clear. Weapon is live, you are cleared to open fire on the Enemy Hippo Element." A grin but no laugh this time, as he searched out the target hippo through his own scope, to watch the results…

The coordinates called in, Mackay is taking time to adjust his sites, and then is looking back down as he lines up his shot. Believe it or not the old man isn't too jittery when it comes to this sort of firing. There's a long drag on his cigarette as the smoke is eased out from his nostrils. "And so when all them other Lords were talkin about who had the biggest nuts, killed the most men. Zeus almighty laughed so hard he nigh pissed himself. An said: 'You bitches ain't seen shit.' " And then with that Sig is squeezing the trigger. Smooth and slow. "Let that thunder roll." he is hollering after.

<FS3> Mackay rolls Gunnery *CASUAL*: Great Success.

It doesn't just kick. That's an eighteen millimeter. It shoves. The roar is nearly deafening, too. When the round leaves the barrel, the shockwave rolls the beercans away in the grass and birds scatter from the trees. It echoes across the terrain like thunder, the bassy sound dipping far into the ground beneath their feet. But the most beautiful part for the men is what they can see thround the scope. The round is travelling so fast that is creates multiple shockwaves in the air. The round isn't visible, but the distortion in the air around it is. It tracks out and falls away like an artillery round being lobbed at a target..tracking..tracking.. The bullet slows dramatically so the hippo hears the shot before it arrives. They all do. Heads turn but nothing moves otherwise. Except for the targeted member of the Domestic Hippo Resistance. When the round lands, it impacts center of mass and cuts a clean hole. But a HEAT round is designed to spall and when it does inside the target, the resulting effect actually lifts the hippo off the ground as the other side empties out into the dirt. Internal organs fling high into the air and finally land a moment later draped upon the surrounding bushes like tinsel on a Christmas tree.

"That is the greatest thing I have ever seen," Tillman whispers.

Constin is less reflective than Tillman. He is also less quiet, hooting wordlessly and raising a closed fist into the air. "Oh sonuva BITCH, Old Timer! Haw!" he belts out, before cheering again, wordlessly. "You see how far that frakker jumped? Damnation!" His beer is passed to Mackay in congratulation.

Mackay is coming up from where he was shoved back. A look up after watching that cinematic glory in his scope. One hand briefly rubbing his shoulder, before he is grinning like a kid who just opened the best present on his birthday. "Holy shit." is all Sig can utter before he is laughing, loudly. Frak his cigarette. He's cheering, before offering his fist to Constin-for a dapping of knuckles as the other hand, is reaching for the beer. "See, I still know how to kill a motherfrakker." Said with a grin. "Athena wept, that was beautiful."

"Well.." Tillman then belches and looks around for another beer as he moves his eye from the scope. Finding one, he turns back to the other two with a grin. "Looks like the ranging was right. We need two more. Who shoots next? I'm shit with a rifle so you guys duke it out." He cracks the beer and rolls a few over towards the other two. "Athena wept? Bitch just orgasmed. I..I think you actually put a frakking crater in the ground under that damned thing!" He grins. "Now just don't shoot anything in the water because I'll be damned if I'm wading in there to haul one out. Which ever one of you swingin cods does that gets to yank it out on your own." He levels his finger off the beer car, aiming it between the two of them alternatively.

Constin chuckles at the threat letting out a bullish breath through the nose. "Oh, I'll be DAMNED if we're gonna listen to you bitch about not getting any piece of ground ops-" the marine drawls back at Tillman. "Get your ass behind the trigger and stare down the enemy. Every damned one of us is scoring a hit today, and that's plain frakking fact."

Mackay grunts, as he cracks open his beer. "Get back there, Clive." Sig hollers as he's getting up and moving over by Constin, to leave that mean son of a bitch lying there, ready for the next shooter. "Shit we'll eat like kings for a good bit." the Weps muses before taking a long swig-hell- he is shotgunning his beer, before he will be reaching for another. Nothing like beer and Whisky to make the afternoon slow down.

Tillman looks between the two and shrugs. "Shit. Hell, its your ammo, Elf. Like I'm gonna frakkin argue." He slowly rises from the spotter's scope with his beer and walks over. Another long few chugs of his beer and he crushes this one, too, tossing it over his shoulder. He slides up under the rifle and takes hold of the rifle in his hands. "Oh Gods. This is the greatest sight picture ever. How come none of the skinjobs are fat? This could be a godsdamned Olympic sport." Clive cracks his neck and takes a few measured breaths. "Target acquired," he says steadily. "Contact. Looks like..ten meters south of previous target." Another measured breath. "Okay. Fiiiiring." One more breath and he gets to the bottom of his exhale. "On the way."

Tillman spends 1 luck points on KILL DA HIPPO!.
<FS3> Tillman rolls Firearms *CASUAL*: Good Success.

The second shot out of the Grizzly roars over the ridge with a boom undiminished by its predecessor. Whereas Mackay's shot had taken the King Hippo center mass, Tillman's contribution to the suppression of the Hippo Resistance takes his target just forward of center mass, taking the armored unit fully in the head. As if a giant fist had reached down from above, the beast is slammed headfirst into the ground, the sheer impact sending the body flipping over the impact site, and spiralling once in the air, a keen eye able to note the absence of a head from the carcass by the time it crashes back to earth.

"Ho, SHIT!" Constin belts out in another big laugh. "Think you hit that one at his card game!"

"Sweet godsdamn!" Mackay is shouting as one hand is raised in the air. The one with his beer, letting foam drop down his wrist and arm, before he's sipping. And laughing. " You hit that bastard in the face! Down goes Lennox, Down goes Lennox!" echoing a famous phrase from boxing, well back when there was boxing to listen to and watch. Something his dad worked with him on. A phrase that brought his dad to tears of joy. Something his mother remarked the old bastard didn't even do when they were married.

"BAM!" Mack is shouting with a punch in the air. "Right in the kisser."

Tillman bucks back half a foot with the recoil and shimmies back up quickly to reacquire through his scope. "C'mon.." He whispers, watching the shockwaves through the air. It hits and his jaw drops into the grass. "Holy. Frakking. SHIT!!" Tillman rises to his knees with both fists raised in the air. "BOOOOOOOM!!! HELL YEAH!" he hoots at the top of his lungs. "Hair, teeth, and eyeballs!" He rises from his knees and rubs at his shoulder, greedily looking for that canteen. "I need a damned drink!" Finding it, he unscrews the top and takes a big sip from it, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Okay, Const. Kick that pig. We can use the Karlstov to clear the rest of them frakkers out when we hump down there for a cleanin." The Major stumbles over to his ruck and begins unstrapping the G48.

"Oh HELL yeah," Constin yells along with Tillman's exhuberance. A look aside at Mackay and a shit-eating grin. "Old timer, you are gonna LOVE the Karl- Direct fire, biiiig kill zone, whole lotta hurt." Settling down behind the placed Grizzly, he prompts of the two senior officers, "Which one you boys wanna see shot up?" Chuckling to himself, he peers through the scope, scanning along the river and looking for the most likely element of the 14th Armored Hippo Resistance Corp. "Oh shit- one of them's about to lift off," he chuckles, zoning in on the target and squeezing off a merry shot.

<FS3> Constin rolls Firearms *CASUAL*: Good Success.

"I bet them Frakkers are wondering what angry and vengeful god they've done pissed off." Mackay murmurs over the lip of his beer, as he stumbles to get behind them fancy range finding equipment, that Tillman was behind earlier. Leaning in carefully. His eye trains in on the scene before him. "Wonder why they ain't scattered yet.." he says softer. Time to get quiet, so as not to spoil Costin's shot.

And as if the Hippos finally got the idea- some of them are starting to move-so as to get out of the way-however something comes buzzing in. Even as the sky thunders again fate is cruel to one such wary hippo-which sought escape. The bullet catches it in the head, under the ear, causing brains, and skull matter to pop out like a confetti bomb of gore. The force itself raises up and spins the trying to flee hippo in the air, before dropping it. Bereft of life.

"Gods damned.." Mackay murmurs. "I didn't know a body could do that." If Constin wants a hippo skull bowl…he's got half of one down there.

"Let's see your shit fly, El." Tillman challenges him with a grin. He drops his ass down behind the spotting scope and peers through it while he digs in the backpack for one of the G48 rounds. "Oh I think they'll get the idea about the time Karl starts barkin." When the round kicks off, he flinches and begins unscrewing the canteen again. "Ooh! OOH! HIT!!" Tillman backs from the scope and looks to Constin with both arms raised, droplets of whiskey sloshing out of the canteen. "That's a kill!! DAMNED fine shootin, Elf!! Yow! I didn't think Rejn could dance like that, but apparently he does!!"

Constin laughs so hard at Tillman's Rejn crack that he beats the ground with a fist twice before climbing up to his feet, and picking up the deployed Grizzly as he does so. "Dance, you fat frakker!" he hollers down at the disturbed remains of the Enemy Hippo Elements strung along the river. A big breath drawn and let out. "Alright, Sig- That right there?" he indicates the G48. "That is Karl. Karl is about to provide you with a religious experience. Lets move on down a little bit closer and get to the REAL good shit."

Mackay of course is looking from the shot in the viewer and then back over to Karl. Perhaps still in awe at what he just witnessed. Moving down to where the G48 is, the Weps does at least kill off his beer, as hands are then wiped down at his side and on his knees. "Alright, so I am about to see Zeus.." the Captain remarks before he's looking back to where the hippos are in their watery confusion. "This should be enlightening."

Tillman begins packing up his gear. It doesn't take long since he's more interest in more booms and not packing everything properly. Especially when half the beer has been summarily executed and there is more room in the pack. He lifts the G48 to Mackay, unloaded, and rises from the ground, slinging his pack with him. The GMAR is draped over his shoulders and he seems to have gotten another beer into one hand and the G48 HEAT round in the other. Bad things happen this way. "Alright. I'm game. I'll call our buddies for a ride after we let Sig enjoy his recoilless rifle." He grins and moves to head down the ridge towards the river. Clive starts singing out a Marine cadence as he walks, hefting his beer with it. "Way back when at the dawn of time.. In the valley of death where the sun don't shine.. The roughest, toughest fighter ever known was made.. From an SMI and a live grenade.." The Major trails off, humming the rest. "Elf, how far we humpin? I'm gonna buzz the fly babies if its more than like five hundred meters."

"How'd Zeus put it?" Constin drawls to MacKay's remark. "'Bitch, you ain't seen shit yet'?" The sergeant gives a grin aside, recommending to Tillman, "Lets let him start with the flechette. Weps see high explosive all the time, yeah?" The question of how far to go, "Wanna get closer than that, so best buzz the airy fairies before they shit thierselves," he advises with a chuckle.

Mackay gives a look to Constin as he grabs up the G48 and begins to come closer to the Marine. "Who has th' flechette.." and then a beat as he's kicking a can out of the way-the wall eyed Captain is looking on down to where they need to be moving. "Need a smoke." muttered out, as he pats himself down one more time. A curious look over to Tillman before a cigarette is placed between his lips. "Ain't a Flechette basically like a real assed skiny bullet…Or am I thinking of them older dart like models.." See, Even a man of ship borne guns, appreciates all sorts of ammo.

Tillman chuckles to Constin and nods. "Copy, Elf." He lifts a radio out of his gear and calls for an airlift. A few miles back, a Raptor can be heard beginning to power up. "Sorta, Sig. Its anti-personnel, anti-vegitation. Its like shooting a thousand darts out of one of those frakkers. It'll froth blood. Kinda disgusting and pretty entertaining."

The Raptor is there in a few minutes and picks them up, the pilots fairly amused at the drunk trio. The pilot flies them over to a location about four hundred meters from the rivers edge. Some of the hippo's scatter. Some are dumb enough to stick around. A patch of trees nearby stands tall, dumping shade across the grass. When they get out, Tillman grabs one of the flechettes from his bag. Each hand holds one round - HEAT or flechette. "I'd suggest the trees for the best effect with the flechette. Or the water to clear those bastards out with the HEAT."

Constin chuckles again at Mackay's question. "Oh- oh HELL are you gonna shit yourself," he drawls, as Till starts to explain. "I recommend the flechette, Sig- but if you prefer the high explosive, that's your call." The Grizzlies are packed back up, and the spent shells replaced. "Three shots, three Aych-Ay-Vees off the table. Heh!"

"Well frak me running, boys." The Captain remarks, before he's looking at the trees, and then the water. Well despite how cool it is to send twenty anti personnel darts into something, he's reaching for the heat. "Don't need those frakkers charging us when we're skinnin' their kin do we." Then that are not smart enough to move. Watch it, because Sig, shall be loading and firing quite soon. And he aims to scatter him some hippos. Lock and loaded. He's aiming out towards the water.

"Fire in the hole." wait, safety off first-then He's firing. No kick means better aim, yes? Of course he has one eye, and has been drinking.

Tillman chuckles at Constin. "Now that is how you conserve firepower. Damn! Could you imagine usin' one of those bad mamas on a Centurian? Probably plow a hole right through a line of them. BAM!" Tillman pounds a fist into his other hand and looks over to Mackay as he sets up. The Major steps out of the way and nods. "Straight forward. Just point and click. Its like a mouse."

The 'recoilless rifle' lives up to its moniker. The backblast is signifigant, though. The first sound is a -clink- as the primer is tapped by a steel rod before the huge BLAM that belches fire out the rear of the tube. When the actual round leave the tube it blows MAckay's hat clean off. Travelling down range, the shockwave blows the grass down as the round flies, rooster-tailing the water once it flies low over the surface. When it impacts, the round skips off the surface, heading back airb-. It explodes in a puff of black dust and sends water splashing dozens of feet into the air. The overpressure and sound is massive at this range, popping ears and nearly deafening everyone as the bass reverberates across the terrain. Shards of the round completely shred the vegitation on the other side while the water slowly settles back into a frothing mass. Hippos run for the hills, charging at full speed for the shore and then deep into the brush.

"Elf?" Tillman reaches out to grab the Marine by his shoulder as he stares wide-eyed at the devastation. "Elf, we need more of those. Oh my Gods, we need more of those."

"Does this mean, you'll sign off on another salvage run?" Constin grins big and bright back at Tillman. "Cause I know where to find more, is all I'm saying. And you ain't even SEEN the flechette, yet- Less boom, but twice the 'oh my frakking gods what the shit happened to that patch of world?'," the sergeant laughs back. "You alright there, Sig?"

Mackay just stands there for a moment. Hell his hand is coming up as rubbing at his ear once the barrel is loaded. Still a look behind him for where his hat went. "Gods damn-Where is my frakkin' Hat." bellowed out before he is passing the G48-towards Constin. It's perhaps the look of pure bewilderment still plastered on his face-which should show that the round had the desired effect. "I picked the wrong line o' work.."

"Elf, I'll sign off on as many as you need," Tillman breathes, letting go of the man's shoulder. He then shakes it off and looks around to grab Sig's hat and hand it off to him. "Here. Take it and be glad Athena's orgasm didn't swallow it that time." He gives the man a hardy grin and offers up the flechette. "Might as well scatter them further away. Wanna take out those trees? Nothin like a little brushclearing to make a man's day complete, yeah?" Clive glances to Constin. They're his rounds.

Constin chuckles and nods. "Alright, Sig- you are gonna feel REAL good about owing me one on the big guns after this.." Picking up the flechette round Tillman had brought, he notes, "Not only are we REAL well stocked with anti-personnel shells for these babies? We can manufacture more flechette real easy back on the boat, so I feel real good spending one more. Now then-" he drawls as the Karl is reloaded, and he points toward the trees, "Take a real good look at the target area before the shot.. Cause you're taking this shot too, old timer- try not to have a coronary on me, alright?" he needles with a broad grin. "And unload when you hear Athena begging loud enough."

Mackay is reaching back for the Karl, once it's been loaded. And this time he is bracing himself. Even if the blow back is going to kick his damned hat off again, it seems that Mackay is intent on firing this frakking round into the brush where those big bastards ran off to. There's a look over his shoulder towards the Marines. "Alright..hold onto your butts.."Even if they both know what is coming, He? Does not. And again another shot taken to the scattering behemoths.

-Click-, BLAM. The round fires, kicking a ton of dust up behind themas smoke and flame belch out the back like a beer from Tillman's gut. Once more, Mackay's hat flips up into the air and flutters around in the breeze. When the round exits, its a distinctly different sight. The sabot that was carrying the steel rods tumbles through the air and ends up skipping across the ground, cutting a swatch through the grass in front of them. There's a distinct buzzing sound made by the supersonic darts, too. Further down range a few rounds plunk into the water like so many thrown pebbles. But the vegitation is another story. Bushes along the far shoreline just collapse. Its like the Gods dropped a weedwhacker in the middle of the bushes. A cone about thirty feed wide is blown clean into the greenery, shredding and knocking down everything in its path - including a small tree.

Tillman is officially struck dumb as he reaches for the canteen on his belt. Insects buzz around his gaping maw.

"Annnnd, have a look AFTER," Constin declares with arms gesturing wide at the swathe of creation that had just met Karl. "Shit, that skinny little tree even got chopped into pieces before it fell down!" Another good laugh, as he looks back over the pair and bellows, "URAA!"

Mackay just grins as he lowers the barrel and starts laughing. "Zeus' blue frakkin' balls. I think I just came." The best response ever is now the shit eating grin that is plastered on his face. Hell, even the flyboys have to appreciate this shit. "Son." said over to Constin "You ever wanna be a gunner-lemme know, if it means I get to shoot shit like this? You can be on a cannon, any frakkin day."

With the rounds expended and the enemy armor dispersed by overwhelming firepower due to the efforts of Tres Rednecks, they became free to go about cleaning their kills. But only after Tillman remembers to run a check on radiation to make sure they're edible. Slicing off large amounts of meat from these animals, though, takes time. Its into the evening when they finally get everything loaded into the overflowing bin. The Hippos even tried to return a few times. Whenever a grunt or stomping feet could be heard from the brush, Tillman would make a call: "Checkmate Six One, Whiskey Whiskey. We need a guns run.." and call out the position. The Raptor crew got to have its own fun digging ditches into the terrain with its twenty millimeter miniguns. But at the end of the day, everything ended without further incident and Whiskey Whiskey was returned to basecamp with fresh kills for all. Guess who gets first choice on cutlets of hippo steak?

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