Sadie spared the Orlock a glance, more irritated than cowed by the man’s rifle. She knew he wouldn’t actually use it on any of them. No one, not even a bad tempered Orlock, would be so stupid as to shoot a member of their own team. That could jeopardise their chances of – what were the words he’d used? – making sure everyone lives. Attempting at least to play the obedient little soldier, Sadie had resisted the urge to give another of her infamous eye-rolls at the man’s ‘we’re all in this together’ speech. She couldn’t, however, resist pulling a face at Mika in the mirror when Gask wasn’t looking. Looks like someone doesn’t have a sense of humour today. Well, that just made it all the more fun. She looked over at him and nodded at the cigarette in his hand. “You know smoking’s bad for you, right?”
Gaston observed the storm outside, unfazed. He had confidence in his driver, or else he wouldn't have been chosen to drive the Captain. Gaston looked away from the window, sliding the metal-plating back in place. "How long you think this trip'll take, Cap'n?"
Omar paled as he stared down the barrel of Gask's rifle. What a bunch of psychos! Even after everyone had settled back down, the doctor was left shaken. The military was really going downhill. With Reavers and Bloods and Drekks to contend with, the only people willing to fight were the ones with nothing to lose, and the clinically insane. After a few minutes, the drugs he'd taken dulled his judgment a bit, and he decided he'd take another stab at conversation. "So... aside from threatening the lives of your teammates, what do you soldier-types do for fun? Talk about, like, guns and bombs and show each other your war wounds? 'Cause I have a nasty one on my thigh. Ripped out most of the vastus lateralus muscle of my left leg. That's why I tend to limp a bit. I dunno if any of you noticed... Hey! Can I have a go driving? I always wanted to drive one of these things..."
"For God's sake put it away, Gask," Mika said, not appreciating that she had the muzzle of the Reaver gun pointed at her in his process of threatening the other two, "if you kill someone here Gabriel will have your balls and you know it. Just drive the damned truck. We waited for you, after all."
“You know smoking’s bad for you, right?” Gask took a drag on the cigarette and pulled it away from his face, looking it over as though he were giving great consideration to her words. He frowned again, or maybe he had been frowning the entire time. He sighed and tossed it to the floor, dropping a heavy boot on it. He almost instantly produced another nearly broken cigarette and lit it up. "Yeah...can't stand the little bastards myself. Don't see why anyone would ever smoke 'em." "For God's sake put it away, Gask," Mika said, "if you kill someone here Gabriel will have your balls and you know it. Just drive the damned truck. We waited for you, after all." Without look back he took a drag and spoke around the smoke. "Ah calm down, you didn't have a choice. I'd like to see any of you drive this thing half as well as me."
As the lead truck began to move away from the compound and the beginning of their journey starts Hawke takes out the map and spreads it out before him looking at the route they’re about to take. It’s an eighty mile trek before they can cross the main cliffs off Cornwall and hit the frozen sea. Otherwise known as Callis Dune which is certainly a perilous journey and at that point Hawke was glad he wasn’t the one handling the large truck. “Hit the lights at half power once we reach Cornwall’s main cliffs.” Hawke says looking at David. Callis Dune itself harbours great amounts of Van Haar raiding convoys. More danger ahead. Though Callis didn’t usually see much Drekk activity there was always that chance. Hawke folded the map away again and wiped his side window as it began to steam up from the inside warm air meeting the cold air that consumed the glass.
"Oh, yeah, just ignore me, whydon'tcha. Y'know what? I'm starving. That 'breakfast' they served at the mess was terrible. I hate British food, especially army-grade..." Omar was conscious of the ever-building tension within the cramped armoured vehicle. It made him nervous. Especially when guns are involved. And he talked a lot when he was nervous. He tried to force himself to shut up, but it was almost a compulsion.
Lewis sees the trucks heading away and starts sprinting towards them "HEY HEY!!! STOP STOP!!! WHAT YA DOIN YA" slips on patch of ice "****!!! ****, ****, NO....NOOOO!" gets up waving and jumping like a loon
Mika's mouth curved into an ironic half-smile. Boris, her Orlock husband, had taught her to drive and she could handle the truck if need be. She didn't bother contradicting Gask because he was probably right that he could handle it better than she could. Still, they'd hardly be helpless if he fell into a crevasse at some point and with the attitude he had she half-hoped he would.
"Anyway," Omar continued. "I'm just saying that, biologically speaking, women -- in general -- aren't as capable as men when it comes to hunting. It's simple evolution. I'm sure individually, you two are very good at killing things and blowing **** up... I mean, why else would you be here? It's just, without 'balls', as you so eloquently put, you'll lack certain biological elements which give you that killer's instinct. This is science talking, not me. But hell, I've only got two Ph.D.s and a Medical degree. What do I know?"
Steward pulls of his gun in panic takes aim and fires a few burst of rounds towards the trucks, mumbling under his breathe "Come on, Come on please, please stop"
"Did you know," Mika replied to the Iranian conversationally, "that men are biologically full of sh*t?" She managed not to laugh but it was a close-run thing.
Gask stifled a slight laugh at Mika's comment. "Oh and by the way Doc...strictly medically speaking, your little degrees can kiss my a**. They won't count for a damned thing when you are being eaten alive by Reavers."
"Did you know, that men are biologically full of sh*t?" Omar laughed heartily. "Aren't you a frisky little vixen, eh? How did you ever--" "Oh and by the way Doc...strictly medically speaking, your little degrees can kiss my ass. They won't count for a damned thing when you are being eaten alive by Reavers." the driver interrupted. The doctor stretched out, trying to get comfortable. "Hah, we'll see the truth in those sentiments when you're lying in the snow with your insides splayed out, expecting me to remember where all your organs are supposed to go back. If your precious little gun jams, it'll be my education you're relying on next."
Mika didn't bother to reply to the doc's vixen comment. The man was educated, certainly, but she'd met roughnecks who were more gentlemanly and respectful than this guy. Her opinion of him was scraping bottom, degree or no degree.
Gask could do nothing but shake his head. The man may be the best there was, but out here on the ice it didn't mean a damn thing. Doc had no clue. There was no way he could know about the horrors of which he spoke so casually. "Yeah...yeah I guess we'll see," he said around a lung full of smoke.
Omar laid back, satisfied in his belief that he'd won the argument. A few more minutes passed. He tried to keep the terrified thoughts from bouncing around his head. Reavers. He'd heard plenty of stories, about what they look like... what they do to people. He never in a million years imagined seeing one up close, let alone fighting against them. The thought made him want to jump out of this can and run back to base while he still could. The silence started to drag on, so he decided to try for a third time: "So... Why don't you all tell me about yourselves? Before you two came in, Mika and I were engaged in a pleasant little conversation about having no friends or family..."
The Orlock offered no response to Chris's self admittedly ridculous pick-up line. It looked as if by simply talking to her he'd made her incredibly uncomfortable. "Hey i was just joshin' ya. I understand if you got a husband or--" His apology was cut short by the "Ping" of rounds bouncing off the shell of the vehicle. "What the f**k? We're getting attacked already?" Chris said gripping his seat belt. "We've barely even moved!" The Driver slowed the vehicle and dropped the ramp. "We've got a late arrival." She said in her soft silken voice. Chris was going to compliment her on how sweet she sounded, but instead opted to shiver violently at the unexpected blast of cold that tore through the cabin. He eyed the bundle of jackets waving and running up to the vehicle. "Hurry it up!!" Chris screamed at him. "You're letting all the heat out!!"
Helena eased the truck to a stop when she noticed a driver ahead doing the same thing. She had heard the gunshot and wasn't quite sure what was going on. She grabbed her shotgun and flung open the driver side door. She noticed a bundled form slipping and sliding toward them. "Tardy mother@#$%." She muttered and slammed the truck door again before all the heat left the cab. "Nice to know we are working with real professionals isn't it?"
"So... Why don't you all tell me about yourselves? Before you two came in, Mika and I were engaged in a pleasant little conversation about having no friends or family..." Gask chewed on the filter of his cigarette a little before tossing it down, stomping it out, and lighting up another. He absentmindedly switched around a gear on the wheel and took a drag. "Well...it seems we will have at least one thing in common. I've got no family that I know of. Ive been on convoys since I was born. Up until I was fifteen I worked on the same convoy delivering supplies to the English with my mom, dad, two older brothers and younger sister. That was back when the storms would get really bad, not at all like they are now but much worse. This storm was one for the record books. It was so bad all our instruments were thrown off. We lost all our reference points and eventually became hopelessly lost. I remember having to huddle together near the rear engines with the whole family just to stay warm enough to be able to move at all. One night, we were all huddled up keeping each other warm..." Gask shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "As soon became painfully obvious, we were holed up right in the middle of a Reaver territory. I was young, only barely a young man. Reavers were a thing my mom used to say would come steal me away in the night if I didn't eat my vegetables. It was like they stepped out of nightmare. They broke all the windows out and flung bottles of fire and gas in. I could see my father through the smoke trying to start up the truck, but the damned thing was frozen solid. I could smell him burning, see him as he struggled with the controls and the flames licked up his body. One of their harpoons came through the back door and ripped the thing open. My brothers were doing what they could to hold off the bastards with their shotguns, but there were to many of them. My oldest brother took a shot in the face from one of their rifles. My other brother was hit in the knees and went down. The next thing I remember is seeing the monsters step up through the flames, skin and bones of their past victims pieced in with their clothes, faces disfigured and tattooed to look like things out of scary stories, covered in the blood of my family. They took my brother first, burning him alive and eating him right there in front of us. I was too shocked to even scream, but my mother and sister cried out with such a terror that sometimes I still hear it when I sleep. They raped 'em both before they killed 'em and fed 'em to each other, forcing me to watch. They didn't kill me though. They took me and kept me as a plaything. Giving me just enough food to stay alive. I didn't eat at first because I knew it couldn't have been animal meat, but hunger can force you not to think about where the food comes from. I would sleep in short burst between the tortures. They branded me with their symbols on my back and arms. They cut my legs and hands to ribbons. The pain never ceased for three years, but after the first few months I couldn't feel it anymore anyway. I was numb in more than one sense. They made me an animal, a pet. Then, one night, I just snapped. I couldn't take it anymore. All the things I had seen and done had finally pushed me past the breaking point. I broke out of my cage while they slept and killed the guard with a sharp rock I had been hiding. I loved the sight of his blood. I wanted to taste it, but that was the part of me they had created. That is how they keep their group. They reprogram you. I gave in though, I wanted to show them the monster they had created. So I stole the dead guy's rifle and stalked my way around to each of their nasty little homes and killed each and every one of them, the women and children included. I took their clothes and dressed myself like them, in the skin and bone of humans and animals alike. Then I ran out into the ice. I was out there for maybe three months...just surviving as best as I could. I was an animal to the definition. Then one day I saw a convoy, the first familiar sight in a long time. It all came out at that point. I started crying and running towards them. Almost got myself gunned down because they thought I was a Reaver. I couldn't even talk. I hadn't spoken in years and the sound of my own voice was strange to me. The convoy took me to an English settlement where I was eventually worked back into normal society. I eventually went to work on other convoys, became one of the best drivers in the fleet. That's why I'm here today I suppose." He took another long drag on his cigarette.
"That's why I'm here today, I suppose." "That was very er... engrossing, Mr. Driver," Omar said, hoping the man hadn't noticed him dozing off. "I'm wondering how much of it you might've made up just to creep me out, but it was a good story, nonetheless. Happy there's someone as talkative as I am... even if he is a self-proclaimed ex-Reaver. I just love to hear about how psychologically deranged the people whose hands I'm placing my life into are..."
"Yeah well...they chose Hawke because he's mentally stable. I'm just here to drive." Gask reached for a couple of switches on the instrument panel and pulled another gear on the wheel. His eyes darted all other the spinning dials and mechanisms as he made minute adjustments to their course. "There is a storm on the way."
Omar rummaged in the medical supply pack, pulled out a ration. The label was gone. Mystery meal. Sausages and beans, no doubt. Or the classic 'shit on a shingle'. The army sucks. Omar opened the ration, and he still wasn't sure what it was. An odd brown mush that tasted like cardboard and curry spices. "Gask, right?" Omar asked, mouth full. "Is that a first name, or a last name? Or a spunky nickname?"
Mika let the conversation slide past her as she went into an energy saving mode. The constant cold sapped human strength and vitality so most people learned to do this when they had a chance. She leaned back in her seat, letting her eyes drift shut, half-aware of her surroundings as she drifted. She vaguely heard Omar ask Gask, "Is that a first name, or a last name? Or a spunky nickname?" and wondered if the doc was actively trying to commit suicide.
