"For the sake of argument, if you came at me in a public situation.If I had to defend myself outside your apartment, watching you through your window, and I had to shoot through a crowd of people to defend myself.
Its 2am, a self defense situation.
I'm not gonna be happy about the devastation, but I will be happy I defended my own life" Vanechka Penkina
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COOPERATIVE REPORTPENKINA, VANECHKA
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DEPARTMENT OF THE COLONIAL NAVY
UNITED STATES COLONIAL MARINE CORPS
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DEPARTMENT OF THE COLONIAL NAVY
UNITED STATES COLONIAL MARINE CORPS
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big thanks to kavlo for making this- John Murry
There are many who know Murry, many to label him wrong, many to label him right. Some call him suicidal, I call that wrong. Why? I met him all those years ago, in our co-ed boot camp. He proved to be efficient, and effective at whatever he was made to do in camp. We both left with nary a mark, without a sweat. It wasn’t hard, we just slammed through it. Why do I mention this? When is the last time you talked to someone, and they said ‘Yeah. Bootcamp was calm. It wasn’t too bad, just boring.’
Murry is a survivalist at heart, and before you go pissing your britches laughing - tell me. How long have you served in active combat? Probably not long. Murry and I have ten active combat years under our belt. We’ve deployed over several shitholes across this ‘Outer Rim’. You don’t get through ten years of combat by being suicidal. He’s a man of many skills, just like I, and he’d be one to tell you of all the times he has used special issued gear. Take, for example the time he used an AT shell on a disposal launcher to shoot through a truck’s windshield driving at high speeds to hit the driver. Excessive? Yes. Effective? I think it’s hard to deny getting hit by an AT rocket would hurt.
Though, just like myself, we’d both prefer to stick with our basic tools. A pulse rifle and a machete for him, a M37A2 shotgun for myself. Stay simple, stay alive. It’s worked for ten years, and I doubt it’ll fail us again. Though, a feeling many of us share - this next operation, it’ll be our last. And I’m not sure why. - Heinz Mueller
Mueller is a man of incredible stature, and given his Germanic heritage I don’t think anyone is surprised. He’s been the squad leader for our cut of the Almayer, ‘Delta Squad’. Quite notably, he is relatively newer amongst us. Though, that doesn’t matter to the majority of us, anyways. His combat skills - good, enough, or just good. I care not for the finer details of how someone leads and shoots at the same time. What matters to me, can this man rally the squad when needed? And he can, quite well when put to the task. A man with effective combat skills is formidable in combat. A man with effective combat skills, a knack for tactics, and the ability to rally his squad in the heat of combat?
That’s unmeasurable. You know his nickname, Wulfe, right? There’s a reason he has it. I remember on a shithole, swarming with CLF. Wolves hunt in packs, that much you know. He lead us on many a operation in the woods, smashing down convoy after convoy. Not a single hard target was fought, but an army was crumpled nonetheless. Logistics are the neck of any army, and any Wulfe knows that if you’re able to bite the neck, you’d naturally go for it. - Lother Jones
Many people in our corps are deranged. They’re wrong in the head. You wouldn’t know this just by looking at them. Lother Jones is the exception to this deal. He’s a fat, little man. He is always spewing random shit whenever you see him, either to himself or someone else. Many a time he would wake up with a modified ID. Sometimes as ‘Osama ‘Bin’ Garfield’ or something along the lines. There’s a reason why Command leaves him on the ship, and it’s because when you’re unhinged, you’ll do things others are not willing to do. I’m sure you’ve heard the fabled ‘Glass Cannon’, right?
It’s a device that we used against CLF. A dirty bomb of sorts. We hauled down over fifty throwing knives in our packs, alongside some grenades. With a flamethrower in hand, we would set up the knives with a grenade behind them. When a CLF was in sight, we’d light the grenade on fire. It would explode and turn whoever was in front of the knives into mincemeat. It was very effective, and we killed many a gook in our efforts. Until our grenades were made more powerful, causing our knives to spread. We haven’t figured out a stopgap to make it accurate again, but we will find a way. - Jackson Dee
Smartgunners are the most polarized group of people in this Corps. You get brain dead retards, and then you get the courageous heroes who push - even when they shouldn’t. Jackson might hit the cryo gas a little bit too hard, but there isn’t anything wrong with that in Jackson’s case. Wielding his M56B, he slowly waddles his way through combat, gunning down those who dare disagree with us - with effectiveness mostly unmatched, fit for ‘The Prophet of Unga’.
I’ll give an example why he is called the Prophet of Unga. A famous quote, by me which will bring Dee much dismay. “It’s prime staying conditions, Dee!” With this line, we pushed into a cave inhabited by CLF. For the next day and a half, we walked through the caves, slowly sweeping every corner, every nook and cranny. While we might of not killed sixteen thousand gooks in our push, we definitely did a number on them. Making ourselves out of the cave, we were wounded - battered, hurt. And even if he had no intent on pushing into that cave, and no intent of letting me go into that cave, he followed like a true Prophet of Unga, and with that we cleared the cave with righteous fury. Even if we came out, starving and dehydrated. Oorah. - Randal Wilkerson
It’s no lie that the Military Police are not liked. At all, full stop. It’s also easy to tell that most MPs on the Almayer die a little on the inside when one man steps past them. That’s Randal Wilkerson. You’d not assume much from his name, given that it sounds like his name is for an eighty year old man who likes eating his pocket lint, but this motherfucker riles up those shits in red every operation.
Be it a brawl, theft, pantsing important members of command staff - Randal is there, and more often than not, in the forefront of it all. I’d love to comment on his combat skills, but as far as I’m aware, he does more locker hiding than deploying. - Broden Ackers
Falling in line with Lother Jones, this is a marine who just isn’t right in the head. In line with someone who would slip on their own drool if they weren’t paying attention, all it takes is one drool slipper for shit to go wrong. I’ve always seen him try and stir up riots, a mutiny, a brawl, or something of the kind. A fight, violence, perhaps he’d just like to give someone a walloping. That isn’t the case.
Broden is the kind of person to start this shit, and leave as soon as it happens. He would much prefer to stand from a distance, laughing to himself as he watches. Broden is definitely not well liked in the corps. But when you need someone dumb enough, he can work as a meat head. - Osalaa Wooki
You probably heard the name ‘fore, and wondered, “What?” Yeah. He’s got an interesting name. Most just call him Wooki, for obvious reasons. He’s a balding ------, [AFRICAN AMERICAN] who is soft spoken. You wouldn’t hear him over the crowd, you definitely wouldn’t see him over the crowd. I’ve seen the man smoke six packets of lucky strikes before briefing has even started, and another two packets on the way to deployment. That ain’t the weirdest thing, though.
Every time he wakes up, he stuffs his little satchel in disposals. Every time. Weird, isn’t it? Well. I took myself the liberty of askin’ for his satchel if he was gonna throw it out anyways. Inside? A fully armoured Santa Claus suit. Just staring at it invoked memories, violent one. What kind of man has a fully armoured Santa suit? Wooki does, and when he brings it out, hell is loose. - Cliff Campbell
Medical. What do you think of when you hear that word? Probably some smokin’ hot nurse, or smokin’ hot doctor, depending on your whole ‘sexual orientation’ or therefore lack of it - and I can’t blame you for thinking like that. Cliff, as no one actually calls him, is better known by the pseudonym ‘Chubs’. The man who is going to patch you up and keep you alive on the field? He’s a grossly obese ginger. You haven’t seen war until Chubs truffle shuffles his away across the battlefield snatching any candy and or snacks that fall out of various pockets (and or quite literally from under his gut, he stores candy there too).
I remember bleeding out, I was blasted to high hell and back. Utterly fucked, and resembled a pot of stew reanimated into a golem. That is, of course, until Chubs waddled his pathetic stack of shame over to me. In what felt like a short few seconds, I was given a slew of drugs, half a boonie bar, two sips of a soda, and a splint before I could realize what the fuck happened.
‘Course, I realized what happened, ‘cause the protein bars strapped in a baggie to my armour were gone. - Julian Petrov
The USCMC is a diverse place, I’ll tell ya that. In the case of Petrov? They let in a Neanderthal that was unthawed from kabajillions of years of icey sleep. Or, well, that’s what everyone says. Petrov is another smartgunner on our ship we call home. ‘Sides the look, he isn’t as dumb as you’d bet your money on. Fact is, that little rock eating sunvabitch got that little spark of genius in him, the kinda stuff that would’ve propelled his race into global domination, and not us humans.
I remember sitting in the FOB one day, using one of those ammo drum boxes as a good ol’ spitoon. Petrov, in all his raw genius, cleans the fuck out of it. In the next half hour, he managed to convert an M56D, several drums of ammo, and spare electronics into a walking death shitpile. We never used it, ‘course, cause the colony turned out to be fine, but we did have a good time blasting down some walls. In self defense, of course. - Adan Howard
Adan is a slimy little man, and it isn’t hard to tell that from a glance. Rumor is, he’s the way he is ‘cause his father beat him when he was a kid. Looking back at Adan, whoever his father was, I hate him. Not ‘cause child abuse is bad, or whatever, but because he didn’t beat Adan hard enough. - Noah Cruz
A fellow acolyte of iron. A physique of iron, and a will of steel this engineer is the man you want if you’re clearing out a CLF base. Competent with his fortifications, he really shines when it comes to his beloved M56D and explosives. If I had to pick any engineer to help me wipe out the menace that is the charlie rats next door, it would be Cruz. Unlike most grease monkeys, this man can handle any weapon given to him in a fight. If you need one to have your back, Cruz is the man for the job.
Able to whip up a quick fortification, Cruz has been known to devise holdouts so devastating and visceral to the enemy, that he and his M56D alone reclaim hope for forlorn marines. ‘Course, he don’t ever get the credit for it. It’s always the valiant LTs who pissed themselves. - Blast Hardman
The USCMC’s finest soldier. When anyone talks about the best marine in the corps, you’ll never hear his name. Why? ‘Cause everyone is subconsciously talking about the second best. He’s the undisputed reigning champion of hope and freedom. His deeds, limitless, and his combat effectiveness unbelievable.
I remember some line to line, shoulder to shoulder, muddy trench warfare. A complete slog, and nothing was gettin’ nowhere. ‘Course, that is ‘till Blast came in on his own dropship. You think he’d parachute out the back like a normal operator? No sir, he wouldn’t. In an M40 Ridgeway Heavy tank, he ‘came a soaring down from the sky, hotdropped from our best pilots, two dropships carrying one tank to drop into the front. The CLF instantly routed, watching that Ridgeway come down from the sky. Watching that 115m main cannon light up entrenched positions was surreal, as the 60mm mortar on it was blasting away.
Best part? He hadn’t landed yet, ‘fore all the CLF were gone. - Elena Mei
Another little slimy man, ‘cept that they might actually be a woman. With these gooks, those china men - I can’t tell anyways, all the same. It beats me why they let these little ratlings into the Corps. Far as I’m concerned, having a little gook healing our boys is a problem. Why? ‘Cause you know that little snotling is gonna feel bad for the fellow yellow skins being killed. As they’re treatin’ a marine. But ‘till that day, they’re an alright medic in my books. But I don’t have any hesitations to end them where they stand if they decide that they feel bad for their fellow degenerates. - Mya Miller
A rarely seen, always uppity maint tech. Always stirring shit, always flirting with anything that moves, they’re pleasant to be ‘round most of the time. That is, until they get the MPs called on you, and you’re fumbling as they’re off scot free. - Alicia Parker
Alicia? Now this is a sniveling rotten sack of shit. They hail from ‘cross the pond, Wales or some shit. Their shitty culture really shines when they muster up the will to speak more than a couple words at a time. Long as I’ve known them, they’ve been a less than stellar medic. But that’s okay, ‘cause there’s someone else to do their job but better. The main problem comes round when they display their less than stellar personality. She is as bland as she looks, though my main concerns come from ‘er aptitude of being a two faced loser.
Always been a nasty woman, vile even, to me - as long as they’ve been around. But as soon as they turn to one of their lesbian fuckbuddies, they’re a completely different person. Shocking, really, and almost impressive how someone could so actively be sleazy and slimy. But considerin’ they come from ‘cross the pond, having the morals of a rat, and the foundation of vomit - I’m not surprised, just disappointed at the end of the day. - Barry Packer
Packer’s an all round good lad. Looks like the Aussie dad who would stand out front on his porch, in his cargo shorts n’ socks n’sandals, cookin’ burgs on the barbie ‘till the sun went down. Built like one too, ‘course that means he got into several scraps here and there. One of the only Charles who’ll stick to his guns, and the only one who’ll stick to ‘is fists when needed to. Outstanding, chief. - Reinhard Shriver
When ya call this lad a dwarf, it ain’t no insult. This man is built like an actual dwarf, a giant ol’ ginger beard, and enough muscles and aptitude towards the mechanical you’d think we just pulled ‘em out of a fable. Physically, one ‘unnit percent dwarf. ‘Till ya actually get to hear him speak, soft spoken and kind. Isn’t rowdy, either, almost completely opposite of a dwarf personality wise. ‘Sides the fact he’s one welcomin’ lad, so he gets points for that. - Lydia Tournier
A french woman from ‘cross the pond. If you mixed the looks of a depressed soccer mom, wit’ a campus frat girl who was overused by the lads, you’d make the ungodly abomination that is this Charles. With the lips o’a professional dick suckin’ ghetto thottie, and an accent that flows like a dumpster broth in your ears, this marine - if you can stop laughin’ long ‘enuff to spit that out - exemplifies what it TRULY means to be in charlie squad.
It’s in her french blood to be a washed up whore, and she serves her squad proud by being the poster child of washed up degeneracy that those Charles ‘old up to a proud standard. If ya manage to bring your gas mask to briefin’, and look past all these things, they’re aight - ish, I should add. Extended talks probably ain’t recommended, lest ya get some crusty skank ass bitch suckin’ ya off in the hyper sleeper. - Kestrel Han
Definitely not a good gunner - they’re a skillful engineer I’d like to have in my arsenal any day of the week. Their hand eye coordination, it’s abysmal, though I attribute that to her people, the Mongolians, havin those slanted eyes. When you ask for her to have your back, you better hope this chipper ass grease monkey decides that your back deserves a metal ‘cade, ‘cause if she deems you worthy of overwatch - your corpse will need a corpsman in no time.
Assembling line after line of stalwart defenses, her quick work is instantly recognizable, and it brings hope to even the most cynical marines when they have a Kestrel wall. When most ‘rines come shufflin’ back, wounded and shittered to high hell and back, they usually get a stiffy when they see ‘er. Not ‘cause of her looks, ‘cause those leave somethin’ to desire, and she isn’t packing any heat, but moreso - the new safe haven amongst a warscarred shithole.
