Author's Note: I've mentioned in my other story that I intended to do an entire trilogy based from the views of troops in each of the three main factions. I decided to do the NRA leg next, seeing as it has the most connections with the 12th Battalion leg. For those who don't know, I set the prologue in the faction's darkest hour, but the first chapter will actually start before the meteors. Again, this is an OC based story and, perhaps even more than the other, is not intended to be a realistic authentic military fic.
I've been contemplating the idea of an NRA story for a while now. Surely, there were some honest (or at least decent) soldiers caught beneath Greyfield, so what about them? What did they go through?
Author's Note (2): Chapter has been revised as of 2015.
X Western Lazuria, a year after the meteors. X
Darkness choked the air surrounding one of Lazuria's largest military bases, cutting off visibility to within two yards. Built around part of an artificial inland sea in the country's northwest sector, the facilities were responsible for building, repairing, and equipping some of the Lazurian Navy's biggest and most advanced ships. Its existence was common knowledge.
However, what wasn't common knowledge was that this naval facility also housed one of the world's two deadliest missile complexes. In a little over a square mile in the base's northern corner were weapons that could destroy the world several times over. However, these missiles were locked far below in the underground, behind closed doors and several security protocols, as they had been for over a year since the world had been destroyed by an altogether different force—nature. Certain individuals were trying to change that, of course.
In a story below, a lot of activity was taking place in front of a large, reinforced blast door. Thin soldiers clad in equally thin but effective body armor worked on opening the door in question. Several worked on the two terminals flanking the door, while others carried supplies to and from the surface. To an outsider, the soldiers almost resembled a colony of ants working to build a hill, save for one individual, and this man was wearing the blood-red dress uniform of a fleet admiral. Every few seconds, he would glance up at the soldiers with a disapproving expression while pacing up and down the pavement. This continued for only two minutes before the admiral, his face already in a deep shade of purple, approached one of the soldiers standing guard with his rifle.
"You!" the admiral snapped. "Why the hell is this taking so long?"
"When the meteors hit the planet a year ago, they destroyed the world," the soldier began.
"You think I didn't know that already?"
"They also knocked out most of the complex electronics," the soldier went on, ignoring the man's anger. "In order to access the missiles, we have to replace the components and bypass the security measures. There are ten levels in the facility. It'll take us three days per level, and ten more to reprogram the Caulder missiles." Perhaps noting the man's impatience, the soldier added, "These are the most powerful missiles in existence. If you have them, you can't be defeated." The admiral seemed to calm down slightly, and instead stalked back over to resume his pacing. He would've ordered them to work faster, but as much as it irked him to admit it, they weren't his men; his forces, his weak, USELESS forces, were back on the surface. All he could do was to wait.
A few moments passed, and then an officer wearing a similar red uniform rushed down the ramp and past some soldiers carrying a crate. Panting, he stumbled to a start in front of the admiral. "Admiral Greyfield, sir!" he wheezed. "They found us—the Wolves found out about the missiles!" Admiral Greyfield stiffened, but he managed to regain his composure; panic was for the weak.
"How?" he demanded. The Wolves were a poor, ragged excuse for an army, no matter how long they'd survived. The fact they found out about the missiles—let alone find them so quickly—was inconceivable.
"We don't know sir, but they're all here. The Navy can't see a damn thing and we lost all our aircraft on that last operation. This is going to be a land battle, sir." The last part turned his face into a dangerous shade of red. Those infernal Wolves had beaten his army, which he had found to be full of weak, simple-minded fools, time and time again. He knew he could count on his navy, but now they were just as useless!
"I see… I shall take personal command of the troops myself," he declared. "It is time they saw what a strong leader looks like!" He dutifully strode back towards the surface. The officer hesitated, and then followed reluctantly. He held his doubts in only for fear of his life. It was pointless, really. Who at this point actually believed success was still possible?
X In a dry dock, a few miles from the complex. X
In one of the docks, several cruisers and gunboats belonging to Admiral Greyfield's fleet sat still and quiet, their crews sleeping off several days of stressful sailing and hunting, apparently unaware of what was to happen next. Meanwhile, in one of the dry docks, two gunboats drifted out of the darkness, their engines cut off to prevent them from blowing their cover. On the boats, the crew and the infantrymen they carried all used paddles to project the small boat to a ladder. One of the boats got close, and the troops aboard all began to climb up.
"Let's try and stay quiet, Marines," their leader said, pulling himself up onto the concrete. His red uniform blended in slightly with the weathered stone, just as the others did. And just like him, they all proudly wore the 'bloody anchor' patch of the Rubinelle Marine Corps as well as a newer, makeshift patch with equal pride—the wolf's head of the 12th Battalion, Brenner's Wolves.
"You know me, Yankee," one of the other Marines said as he pulled himself up. "I'm always quiet." He said it while affectionately patting the rocket launcher strapped to his back.
"Tell that to the building you blew up the other day, Bulldog." A female Marine pulled herself up after them.
"Whatever you say, Lucky," the Marine replied as two other members of their team climbed up after them.
"Keep it quiet," the squad leader repeated. They all slunk over to a nearby wall, drawing their weapons as they did, a dingy collection of assault rifles, anti-tank rocket launchers, and a lone machine gun held together haphazardly with tape. All the Marines were thin, and their uniforms were just as tattered as their weapons. But, there was a fire in the eyes of these combat veterans, and it burned with their desire for revenge.
A few minutes later, the other gunboat slunk up as another squad, this time made up of soldiers wearing blue uniforms with the 'merman' patch of the Lazurian Naval Infantry, speedily climbed up and joined the Marines at the wall, themselves carrying better-looking equipment and wearing far cleaner uniforms. If things hadn't been tense one would have noted the irony in the situation—Lazurian and Rubinelle troops, sworn enemies ever since their countries were born, now side by side and huddled against a wall.
"Well, here we are," the Marine squad leader observed.
"So it would seem, Rube," the Lazurian Naval Infantry sergeant in charge of the newly-arrived squad said as he looked around him. This was his country—his land, the Rodina. Now, it was occupied by madmen. And their only hope of reclaiming it was joining forces with his sworn enemies.
"Well, Marine," the Lazurian sergeant said as he looked back at the Marine squad leader, "let's see how 'fearsome' you really are." The Marine grinned back at him.
"We got an axe to grind with these NRA bastards just as much as you do. No one fucks with the Wolves and goes home healthy. Why don't we just put the past behind us, and focus on the future, eh?" He extended a hand. The Lazurian sergeant hesitated for a few seconds before shaking it.
"For a better future." Both he and the Marine shared a nod.
"Won't be easy," a Lazurian private said. "There must be a fleet's worth of ships here. Look." He pointed to a massive shape anchored some yards away, its massive form made visible by the several lights glowing on its deck.
"The Hellhound," the Lazurian sergeant growled as his eyes narrowed at the sight of the battleship. "She's killed many of our people."
"Well, you can get some payback," the Marine sergeant suggested. "The NRA has been bullying people for too long. Today, they all die."
X Aboard the New Rubinelle Army—Navy Carrier Odin. X
My footsteps echoed throughout the dull grey hallway as I walked down the dimly lit corridor. The massive ship was largely empty, over half of its complement having been buried at sea in just the past few months. Well, it could have been worse. At least that horrible sickness isn't here. Every ship in the Navy was secured from that particular threat.
There were still other threats though, and the thought made me close my eyes and shake my head. Foolish people. It was hard to understand why they'd done what they had. It was an offense to their jobs, their duty as Rubinelle soldiers, and an insult to everyone else that fought and died, especially me. Everything we had accomplished at a heavy cost... stolen by them at the last minute. I held no compassion or sympathy for them after that. They deserved whatever was coming to them.
Sadly though, it seemed they would avoid even that. They'd been spotted not too far from where we were, but no plan of action had been made to act on it. I'd even gone to ask, but the Carrier Air Wing staff wasn't even at their post. Absolutely no effort was being put towards combat readiness, despite the fact that we were the one part of the Navy that could effectively operate in this peculiar environment.
But, the order to go to combat stations was only inevitable, so that's what I was going to tell everyone. It was my duty as deputy squadron commander, and it was especially since our actual 'commander' was in the sick bay with her pathetic lackey. A true fall from grace. I thought. Power did terrible things to weak people.
The living quarters for pilots were just as empty as the rest of the ship—a dangerous sign for a warship based on aircraft. There were only four rooms that I knew were occupied, including mine, all well spaced from each other. I was glad for that; there were a particular occupant of one that I wanted to stay as far away as possible. I arrived at the quarters I stayed in and walked through the door. The room had three other occupants, women like me, who immediately looked up from their beds.
"They said anything, Vera?" One of them asked worriedly. Her black hair was disheveled, her face pale, and her whole body jittery. Sadly, such a state wasn't unusual aboard the ship.
"No, they didn't." I shook my head.
"This is bad." She shook her head as if she was willing everything to go away like a bad dream. "None of this is right. We're the ones who brought the country together. We're the ones who fixed everything. What right do they have to kill us?" She was starting to break down, just like many others had done recently. It wasn't surprising, but it also wasn't helpful.
"Madeline," I said as I grabbed my friend and fellow pilot by the shoulders. "Calm down." She stopped freaking out and plopped back into her bed, a dazed expression on her face. "There isn't anything planned yet," I said as I sat down on my bunk, "but we should be ready, because something will definitely happen."
"Why don't we just run like we should've when this whole mess started? Staying will probably get us killed." A voice called from the top bunk above Madeline. I rolled my eyes at the suggestion.
But where do we go? Hmm? Kayla never thought these things through; she just went with whatever happened. She's not fit to be making suggestions. I better say something before she poisons everyone's mind.
"Well, I think we should stay and see things out." I stood up and glared at her. "Are we honestly going to let a bunch of traitors take away everything we've accomplished? The 12th Battalion is nothing but a bunch of idiots in rags. The Lazurians with them aren't any better. They haven't even a fraction of the equipment that we got. And we've always won, so why stop now?"
"Vera has a point," someone commented above me. I smirked. Heather always is a true friend. "Besides, we've gained so much; we can't stop now," she finished. That was the best motivation we had right now.
"Exactly!" I put my fist in my palm. "Remember how far we've come, how much we've done. And remember what's on the line here. This will be the last time in the history of humanity that war occurs, and all we have to do is wipe out the last of them—just like what Admiral Greyfield told us." They all nodded their heads after a moment of thought.
"But it doesn't feel right," Kayla interrupted. "We fought alongside them for so long— when we got shot down and captured it was 12th Battalion troops that rescued us." I felt a slight pang inside my chest, and then I shrugged. What was done was done. Anything we may have owed them became irrelevant when they freed the Lazurians.
"That was the past. They've started acting unreasonable since then. We should probably be thankful nothing happened to us while we were with them."
"They all seemed so nice though…" Kayla hung her head down. I suppressed a sigh. Why couldn't she see anywhere beyond the past?
"I don't care if they helped us," Madeline said as she got up and crossed her arms. I started to smile. Finally, some logic. Then, she said, "As good as they are, we'll probably get ourselves killed." My smile faded. I should've known it was too good to be true. "Remember that old fighter pilot they had? He shot down the same ace that killed twenty-three of the NRA's best pilots. And those helicopter troops of theirs? They broke us out of a heavily guarded base—"
"And in case you've forgotten, there are more of us than there are of them." I blew a blond strand off my face in agitation. She does have a point. For such a motley collection, they were amazing fighters; such a waste.
"It's not like we have a choice," Heather said as she jumped from the bed and brushed her brown hair out of the way. "I don't think they'll accept surrender." I nodded.
"We never should've signed up for this program in the first place," Kayla said. "I don't like the military anymore, it's been too chaotic." I closed my eyes. Chaotic was, if anything, an understatement. Looking back over the last year, it was hard to remember everything we had lost and the things that had changed. Too bad.
I turned to her and softened my voice slightly; I was trying to find a common ground with her even if I didn't consider her that smart. "I know—but it's over now. All we can do is focus on the future." I tried not to sound aggrieved. "And there's a sure future if we beat them. All need to do is fight."
For a peaceful future, certainly. That's what I wanted, and it was just within reach: an end to the struggle that had seemed endless just a few months ago. The chance to finally go home, to start a normal life—that was what I'd been working for all this time, and I wasn't going to stop now. Fighting was the only way to end it.
A knock on the door made all of us jump; we'd gotten used to the ship being quiet and deserted. I got up and opened the door to see an enlisted man. Judging from the way he looked at us, he had a message to deliver.
"Admiral Ryman is calling all pilots to the briefing room to discuss the current situation. You all need to be there as soon as possible." Our ears perked up at the mention of our commander. He had been unusually passive recently, and to hear him call for a meeting was surprising.
"Are we finally getting combat orders?" I asked.
"No, Ma'am." He shook his head. "From what I've heard, it's more like a revolt."
X In a campsite near the NRA Field HQ. X
Why is it always ME?
"This is NOT good." I stretched my arms out, but I could barely find any room. I wished we had something better to hide under than a Humvee, but what choice did we have? They would be here any second! Those guys stopped for nothing. They were gonna go right over us. Why couldn't they have stayed on our side? What did I do to deserve this? My only option was to hide and hope they moved on.
"This is horrible," Russell said in agreement. My bigger friend had an even harder time fitting under here than I did. I kind of wished he'd hid somewhere else. "Nate, how'd we get here again?"
"Well, let me see." I tried to play out the last year and a half in my mind. "Our parents sold us to the Army, the world got destroyed, we got forced into a war, and we won the war, but a couple of crazy people free the prisoners and escape, and now we're hiding under here because those crazies and prisoners are here and trying to kill us."
All because of one lousy mistake. Yeah, I'd messed up. But why would it get me killed?
"This sucks," Russell said acidly. "That fire was an accident! Did our folks listen? No! They sold us out. And now we're going to get shot. This is entirely your fault."
"My fault?" I said, affronted. "You bought the damn thing!" I elbowed him in the side. Yeah, blame me. You had nothing do to with it, asshole.
"Yeah, and you should've made sure it wasn't broken before we used it!" he retorted.
"What's it matter now?" I demanded. "We're screwed—everyone's screwed! That disease, the executions—everything's gone south! We tried, and this is where it got us!"
"Told you." He was actually trying to be smug at a time like this.
"Screw you, Russell." I turned my head and glanced out into the darkness. A lot of the others were out there. I kind of felt bad, leaving them after we'd been together for so long, but I was done. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my girlfriend again. I wanted to do something that would actually mean something, 'cause this war sure as hell wasn't.
We were so close, too. What was with those guys? They seemed so awesome...
"Found them!" A female voice called behind us.
Not her again! We both shouted in terror as a hand seized each of our legs and dragged us from our cover. Not again! We both grunted as a heavy foot stood square on each of our backs.
"Damnit Carla, get your man feet off us!" Russell squirmed pointlessly. I winced as the boots seemed to dig in deeper.
"I thought you boys outgrew this behavior?" A brunette leaned down in front of us, watching our faces with bemused and concerned eyes. My face started burning. Quit staring at me like that, I'm not a kid. She never seemed to get that fact.
"After all the fighting we've done, you're gonna run away now?" Carla asked from above.
Yeah, so we can get away from you. Even if the two of them had been my best friends (Or at least I thought they were.) these past few months and squad mates recently, I just couldn't do this anymore. No way.
"Carla, Macy, you can both shut it," Russell growled. "I've had enough of this. I am not going to face those guys. There are at least two thousand other fanatics here that'll do it."
"We aren't fighting the 12th or the Lazurians." A new face announced. I craned my neck to the side to watch our sergeant approach, a rifle in each of his hands. I felt a bit relieved. Even if I'd never quite grown to appreciate him like my previous superiors, he definitely wasn't going to shoot us for hiding like that.
"Sergeant Campbell?" Carla asked, confused. I was wondering about it, too. If he was bringing us our rifles, there was going to be fighting. So, who was it going to be if not those guys?
"I said we ain't fighting them. Let them up." He waved his arm. I gasped as the weight left my back.
"Get up, shorty." Carla hauled me up.
Bitch. Just because I'm shorter the\an you don't mean you have to remind me every day. I shrugged her off, and then a rifle was pushed into my chest. I took it with reluctance. I STILL hate using this thing.
"I know you boys never wanted to join in the first place, but just bear with us for a few more hours." Sergeant Campbell handed Russell his rifle back, but he refused to take it.
"You can forget it." He shook his head. "We've been fighting the past year. I'm through. Let all those idiots out there fight. We're not fighting anymore, right man?" He looked over at me. I felt my resolve stiffen. Why give in just because they found us again?
"Why should we? In case you guys haven't noticed, things have fallen apart." I tried not to look nervous. They can't keep forcing us to stay forever. They'd let us go if we insisted, right? They'd let a ton of people leave already, during that time when we finally entered Darrett and right before the 12th betrayed us.
"Yeah, and we're about to fix it; General Stanhope has called a meeting for all remaining regular Army forces." Sergeant Campbell changed the subject suddenly. As important as saving my own skin was to me, I couldn't help but feel slightly curious.
"How many is that? Four hundred guys?" Russell said sarcastically. "The regular Army died out a while ago. It's just those fanatics out there." When Russell mentioned those guys, I shuddered a little. Those guys—those guys were straight wackos. They did things to the prisoners I couldn't even visualize in my worst nightmares.
"Last time I counted, we had at least six hundred men, most of them from our division. Now come on, unless you'd rather be dragged there?" I deflated a little inside; we weren't getting out of this one. If we resisted, it'd just lead to more embarrassment. Grumbling, the two of us reluctantly followed.
"Nervous?" Macy asked me. My face went red again.
"Yeah," I admitted, avoiding her eyes. "We were never soldier material—you know that."
"Nonsense," she said. "You two have fought pretty well up till now. You just insist on being the outcasts."
"That's what we are."
"As long as you think you are, you will be. Are you scared?"
"No!" I scoffed. "It's just… things have gotten weird the past few weeks. The rebellions, the prisoners, and now we've been dragged out here with some promise of things finally smoothing out. I just don't buy it. Things aren't going to fix themselves just like that."
"Smart thinking," Macy said, smiling. "If it means anything to you, I don't want to fight them, either. The 12th are good people. I'm sure they had a good reason for what they did." I glanced at her in surprise.
"…They shot at us. They saved the people that have spent decades trying to kill us. What could possibly make sense about that?"
"Well, they didn't just do it for the hell of it," she pointed out.
"Everything's gotten crazy lately. I don't like it." I shook my head.
"You'll be fine." She put a hand on my shoulder.
"Yeah, if I survive the fighting," I grumbled.
"I don't think we'll be fighting, at least not anyone competent." Sergeant Campbell said from ahead.
"And why is that?" Russell spat.
"We should've deployed thirty minutes ago. General Stanhope defied that order; that's why he's calling us together." I almost stopped in surprise. Not following orders? That was rank insubordination—it carried severe penalties. What was happening?
"…He did?" Even Russell was thrown off.
"Yeah," Sergeant Campbell said as he looked up into the darkness. "It seems like everything has been building up to this moment." He said that last part in a soft voice.
"Ready, shorty?" Carla called. I almost threw back an insult, but I stopped when I realized she wasn't trying to antagonize me.
"I suppose," I said as we neared the assembly area. "I just wish I knew what to be ready for."
"What you should be ready for—" Sergeant Campbell said as he turned and faced us "—is a rebellion."
XX Author's Notes XX
Some may have noticed this story is rated T, while my other one is rated M. I intend to keep this one T. While I'm going for a gritty, violent, and vulgar experience in that one, I want to try and keep this one cleaner and simpler. I also want to try less extreme characters. As of now, there is no plan to change that.
Now, for my OC policy: Two small groups of people can't win an entire war, let alone three wars. They will no doubt work with other characters along the way, ranging in roles and types. As a show of thanks to my readers, I will gladly use any character ideas they have ideas for. Simply send them in via a private message with their roles, appearance, weapons, locations, etc. I will also gladly accept names for ships, tanks, or aircraft squadrons (with the nature of the story, ships would be very much appreciated). And I will accept OCs here even if you already submitted some to the other story. Lastly, all three of the stories are inter-connected; this means characters may appear in more than one part of the trilogy. The squad of Marines mentioned earlier in this chapter was an OC submitted by user boomer101, while user SkyFighter submitted the battleship mentioned. Both were submitted in the other story, and used here with permission.
8/10/12: I'm adding the bios at the end of this chapter because I've learned that the bios on their own as a chapter were against the site rules.
X Character Biographies. X
Information is valid at the beginning of the story. Some characters have not appeared in the prologue, and some might not be included for reasons to be explained later. These are really just to create a basic idea of the character. My main theme in this particular leg would be non-soldier personalities in a soldier's role, as they would no doubt respond to war much differently than a soldier who'd been expecting the day.
NRA Carrier Odin, Fighter-Interceptor Wing.
Height: 5 foot 8'
Hair Color: Blond
Eye Color: Green
Bio: She was the only child of a wealthy business couple. Always at the top of her class, she was always ahead of her peers even at an early age. She joined the Rubinelle Navy through a scholarship offer only as a stepping-stone to her higher goals.
Personality: She is self-centered and considers herself a natural leader. She is usually very proper and professional, a likely result of her upbringing, and has a very strong sense of identity. She prefers to keep her true opinions to herself. She has a difficult time forming actual bonds with people, as she often sees many of them as below her, though she still gets along well with them. She can be cold to people when she considers them to be beneath her notice.
Height: 5 foot 9'
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Green
Bio: Always gaining top scores at all of the schools she attended, she was always granted special attention. Due to an unknown incident, she nearly failed her last year. Though she passed, she lost most of her scholarship offers. Shortly thereafter she enlisted in a scholarship program under the Rubinelle Navy with the hope of going on to study in college.
Personality: Similar to Vera, she is very professional and proper. She is more laid back and enjoys relaxing whenever the opportunity arises, though she prefers not to discuss them.
Height: 5 foot 8'
Hair Color: Black
Eye color: Blue
Bio: She was the last of three kids born to a pair of firefighters. Though she was encouraged to follow in her parents' footsteps, she preferred to aim for a higher goal. She enlisted in order to go to college, though she has yet to choose a course to study.
Personality: She is friendly and supportive, and will usually follow her friends in any instance. She is overly cautious and rarely takes the initiative, a side effect of her parent's overemphasis on safety and caution.
Height: 5 foot 10'
Hair Color: Brown
Bio: She grew up in the city, passing her schooling with slightly above-average marks. After graduation, she joined the scholarship program at a mere suggestion of a recruiter.
Personality: She is still a care-free teenager at heart, though she does take certain matters seriously. She often improvises, and doesn't plan ahead much.
Height: 5 foot 10'
Hair Color: Black
Bio: Losing both of her parents in the Great War, she spent several years of her childhood in an orphanage before being sent to a private school, and then to a military school, courtesy of the federal government.
Personality: She has a distorted view of life that closely resembles the views of persons suffering from a superiority complex. She has a natural distrust of other people, most likely an effect of her upbringing at an orphanage. She expects nothing but perfection and complete obedience from her subordinates.
Height: 6 feet
Hair Color: Brown
Bio: He is the son of an influential political leader on one of the islands in the Channel under Rubinelle control. He attended the best schools and passed, though only with the bare minimum. He enlisted with the goal of going to college to fill in his 'old man's shoes', much to the skepticism of others.
Personality: He thinks highly of himself, often overestimating his abilities, which later end in mishap. He has a very poor grasp of how other people think. He is not hesitant to speak his mind, which also gets him in a lot of trouble.
Height: 6 foot 1'
Hair Color: Copper
Bio: His father was a general store clerk, and his mother a maid. He grew up listening to war stories from his uncle, a Great War veteran. He enlisted with the goal of becoming a career soldier after college.
Personality: He is quiet but thoughtful, observing everything that goes on around him. He is slightly anti-social, but easy to start a conversation with.
Height: 6 foot 2'
Hair Color: Brown
Personality: He is a serious person, and lacks any sense of humor. Once set on a task, he can be ruthless on finding the means to accomplish it. He is very friendly otherwise, and will gladly help out if asked.
Height: 5 foot 7'
Hair Color: Black
Bio: She was raised mostly by her mother, who was a stockbroker for a major manufacturing company. Later on, she helped her mother with the trade, sometimes missing school, and she eventually sought to go to college to follow in her mother's footsteps.
Personality: She can be highly competitive and aggressive to the point that she ends up harming the other side, though she rarely shows it. Otherwise, she is very cheerful and sociable.
Height: 5 foot 7'
Hair Color: Red
Bio: Being the seventh child in a rather large family, she wasn't given much attention as a child, and she often had to compete for what little there was. She joined the Navy as a tribute to the memory of one of her older brothers she was attached to, who died in a traffic accident before he could enlist.
Personality: She is very shy, and doesn't talk to others unless spoken to. She is very quiet about her goals and her whole life in general.
Height: 5 foot 8'
Hair Color: Blond
Bio: Her father left their family when she was very young, and her mother was more of a friend than a parent, so she grew up mostly with little to no influence or discipline. She enlisted simply because she didn't have anywhere else to go.
Personality: She has a slight authority problem, as well as a few disciplinary ones, both of which get her in trouble with her superiors. She enjoys socializing with others, but not much with individuals in her job, which is why she views each passing day as a step closer to a discharge.
49th Airborne Division
Height: 5 foot 6'
Hair Color: Black
Bio: He was always known as a slacker, never putting too much effort into things. Instead, he spends most of his time relaxing with friends, and in their activities he is often a spectator rather than a participant. He was sent to the Army as an alternative punishment to prison.
Personality: He is reclusive, preferring to stay away from anything big or public. He doesn't usually aim for anything higher than the bare minimum. He has a sense of self-preservation that often causes him more harm than good.
Height: 6 feet
Hair Color: Brown
Bio: He earned the title of 'black sheep' and 'hooligan' fairly early in life, either from his first arrest at age twelve or the fact he failed two grades in as many years—the subject is still open to debate.
Personality: Even though he is not smart book-wise, he can be surprisingly knowledgeable on human behavior. He is not serious about anything but saving his own skin. He is very creative on ways to pass the time, though some of his ideas may turn out to be bad ones.
Height: 5 foot 9'
Hair Color: Brown
Bio: She was the older sister to four brothers, and she often played caretaker and peacekeeper to them, which cut into her academic and social life for much of her early years. She enlisted as an opportunity to broaden her horizons.
Personality: She has a very caring personality, particularly to those younger than her. She is very sociable, talkative, and occasionally nosy.
Height: 6 foot 3'
Hair Color: Black
Bio: Her 'unique' appearance resulted in her being taunted frequently as a child, though these experiences only made her stronger. She enlisted at the same time with two of her brothers. While one ended up with a dishonorable discharge due to a major misdemeanor and the other ended up in a dead-end position with no hope of further advancement, she was commissioned as a corporal very quickly and was screened for Officer Candidate School.
Personality: She has a commanding personality and is not afraid to take charge. She can be dangerous when angry, and does not appreciate back talk or disrespect of any sort. She can show sympathy, but only if she believes they've deserved it.
XX Author's Notes XX
I believe variety is good for these types of stories. It adds several factors in the interactions among the characters, and it also means each of them will develop differently as the story progresses.
I will admit some of the characters are influenced by figures in various forms of media, and some are even modeled after characters in the game. Admittedly, most of those traits are modeled after people that I have known—which make me question myself, actually.