Okay. Don't say I didn't warn you. Heh. I guess I should just post it but stick it into a quote box?
Edited:
As I said I was trying a strange style of writing, maybe it will seem normal to others but here you go. I've not got that much written out yet.
November 12th
When I took this job I never really thought how different it would be from my expectations. Or from how it was described to me by the Commanding officers back home.
A once in a lifetime opportunity. Yeah once in a lifetime because the chances of survival are pretty much zilch. Funny they give us these journals to write into and such but I don't understand why, am I supposed to hand this in when I get home? Fat chance. They should title the book as. "This is how you died" so some poor soul who finds it can at-least have something to read before he sets his head down for the night in god only knows where in this entire hell hole of a zone.
Saying that I've made a lot of friends, I guess it's Ironic at this point to state out I've lost nearly all of them at the same time. Mytka has been by me since briefing amazing really how such things can bring two people to an almost brotherly state of emotion towards each other.
I'm getting ahead of myself here. This is the first time I've written in this stupid journal so I guess it would be fitting that I at-least backed up and recapped up to this point for whoever is reading this.
----
February 5th.
I've only got one problem with insects they are small and creepy. Much like all the rookies that litter this Military Outpost. Cordon. The literal funnel for the crap that goes in and out of this place. Both legal and illegal.
I was propositioned with the idea of working in what's known as the "Zone" told stories of how theres riches buried far and wide how it's full of friendly faces and that when noted down on my list of active and past duties it would look immaculate towards any future endeavours I wish to embark upon within my Military Career.
Trust those sneaky fucks to leave out important details like…oh I don't know…I pretty much signed over my life to the "Zone" as soon as I put my name on that piece of paper.
I guess I better get into the story and make it interesting and readable for whoever finds this thing.
After signing that contract and paperwork to allow both access to the "Zone" and to….one second just to clarify I'm gonna stop putting quotes on Zone. Drives me nuts.
ANYWAY - To be allowed into the Zone and to also get my ID as Military Personnel on duty. They gave me one week to say farewells to my family and do what I wished before I was flown over. Well I did say goodbye but not to my family…I was raised actually by Foster parents, sad story I know that wasn't my point. I said bye to them I also said goodbye to some close friends on my block headed to the airport suited and booted and hopped into the chopper.
Also who designed those damn things they are so horrendously uncomfortable?
Sorry I'm diverting.
I'm not entirely sure how long the entire flight was I kinda dozed off and fell asleep now and then. Doesn't help everyone on the Chopper was about as tantalizing as a fart in a space suit. Well apart from one guy who kind of stood out. Seemed very eager to get to the Zone. More upbeat. More at ease with what's going on. Well getting close to the LZ the pilot came over the headsets.
"Get your shit together ETA 2 Mikes."
Here's where I rant a little bit. You see the PMC I contract under gives you very shoddy weapons. I mean who seriously outfits troops with XM8's? These damn things melt under constant discharge over long periods. Granted I don't expect we are gonna have any insanely huge amounts of firefights lasting long enough for me to discharge my weapon constantly to melt the damn thing, but it's a point of principle. They don't even provide us with a damn sling for the thing gotta carry the bastard with one hand. Ontop of that we don't get any actual body armour at all, we just got our tac vest that have no plates in and a standard outfit. IE Boots, socks, pants, shirts, vests, and a cap. No armour, no Helmet….
The landing was somewhat bumpy, maybe because I didn't have myself braced as I was still trying to put my backpack on with one arm whilst carrying this paperweight of a rifle with the other, and theres no room to put the damn thing down apart from on your lap, and sitting and putting a pack on isn't easy.
We put the headsets down onto our seats and after getting all our stuff the guy upfront once we all clear checked opened the door, and we left out the side door one by one.
I don't mean to be fussy but this outpost was run down looked tacky, and incredibly unsafe. The Military stationed here before us PMC guys came in didn't really take care of the place and apparently liked to dick with the numerous people called STALKERS who live here. In-fact I should probably be more in-depth.
In the Zone there are people called STALKERS. People who come into the Zone to try and find little trinkets and things that they can sell to the outside world via their connections to try and look after their families and yadda yadda. It doesn't end there, they actually have their own factions I guess you can call them.
I guess you can base them out to their ideals.
There are those who want to just make some money and pass each day. Those are put into the Category of Loners.
Theres the Criminals who came here looking for money, and to avoid the law as most countries jurisdiction ends in the Zone. They go under Bandits.
Then it gets interesting - Theres two others called Freedom and Duty. One believes the Zone should be free to all and the other believes the Zone is Satan Incarnate and wants to cut it off from the outside world and make it disappear.
Aside from that you have the Military who have a couple camps here and there.
Us PMC guys who have just flown into the Zone.
And Some Scientists a bit further North from our PMC HQ. Which we call Eggheads.
Aside from that we don't know of what's further north because of some strange Psionic interference that inhibits our advance or anyone else's for that matter.
Anyway the Military liked to rattle on the STALKERS up the road, and they would retaliate. I always wondered where they got the weapons but they somehow struck a deal with the old Military company stationed here to allow them to bring in weapons and other goodies from outside the zone. In return they paid off the Company and gave them a split of the goods.
Here is where things get a bit more in-depth.
After hopping off the chopper we were all greeted by a small outfit of high ranking PMC Commanders. We were split into groups of 3. Each taken off and briefed on what our goal and mission was, our restrictions within the Zone and our resources and rationing.
Well we weren't in any of the first groups to be briefed so we waited outside. I got to know the 2 people in my group. One guy called Mytka, and another fellow named Lev. Lev was a very quiet man. Never really said anything. Mytka was actually the young lad from the chopper who seemed eager. He was infact very cool and collected. He was sitting down on the grass legs straight laid slanting back arms behind him with a cigarette in his mouth.
We gave the usual small talk, names, age, all that. We were then called in for Briefing.
And elder man maybe mid 40's. Rough beard, slightly wrinkled, cut short hair. lead us into a small building lead us up the stairs and into a small room, maybe only 6 feet by 6 feet. A watchtower basically with a whiteboard and a desk and a few chairs. He sat us down.
"Welcome Gentlemen." "
"You are here because you have chosen or been chosen to take part in rehabilitating the Zone - Our Contractors have bought us in to take over the job that the Military could not achieve."
"They wish to have control over the Zone, it's importation and exportation of weapons and other goods. And whatever other duties follow in the way"
"You Gentlemen are in for a long ride, one that will not stop until this mission is complete is that clear?"
We all clean and clear and in a monotone manner responded. "Yes Sir"
He stood out of his chair, put his arms behind his back, stood firm and saluted. "You are dismissed."
We left the room not entirely sure of what we had to do specifically. It wasn't entirely clear. Not to mention that's the shortest briefing I've ever had in my life. It seemed as if we were running some kind of UN type of deal. But we all went down the stairs and out into the courtyard across and into the main complex. A fire in the middle of the main area and a few chairs, a TV and old cigarette butts and packets. I took my pack off. Finally put my weapon down next to it. Lent my pack against the wall and laid my head onto it. Shut my eyes and just let my mind wander. I remember distinctly what I kept thinking of too.
How much I hate flying in Helicopters.
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