An overcast day out and I am perched atop this broken bridge. I’m acting as a lookout and from this vantage point, I can see a bandit south out in the distance. He is stationed at one of the camps just north of the parking lot. Only a matter of time before he decides to wander over here and cause trouble. This is a heavily contested area and I would like it to remain in Loner control for a while longer.
Not too long ago I had a simple task. Rescue some newbie that went missing in the Glades. I have done this before with effortless execution. This time I made one critical error. I did not properly clear that passage back.
The Traveler I left guarding the bridge at that time had been ambushed. I could hear the commotion on my way to the Glades but foolishly assumed the assailants to be Bandits. In Cordon, Bandits are not often much of a threat. Well, not to me. I can only assume this rescue. Let’s call him Bob, was quite surprised when he went charging at the bridge with his shit for a shotgun. I know I was.
I remember explicitly ordering Bob to wait. I remember contemplating a game reload as I helplessly watched Bob charge right on by. I remember the shock on my face when I realized that there was not one or two but three well-armed Military officers guarding that passage under the bridge. They seemed well prepared for the intrusion.
Bob had elected to charge straight into the passage under the bridge. I thought it best to flank him on the right and pray. I ran breathlessly along the that rusted out tractor and popped out shooting at anything that appeared hostile. The officers were quite coordinated in their response. First, they dropped Bob like the idiot he was. Then trained their focus on me and fired relentlessly.
The projection of pain dominated everything. I crouched low behind the tractor and did a quick assessment. My gear was OK but I was bleeding out badly. Inventory time was out of the question as the officers had already begun moving in on my position.
Reloads might be necessary.
With nothing to lose. I jumped out from behind the tractor, successfully dropping one officer with a few well-placed rounds courtesy of my AK. The remaining two responded by putting more bullets into my gear. More damage. More bleeding and a momentary loss of consciousness. I crouched low and crawled to the left of the tractor. Catching one officer off guard running for cover. Dropped him with a few more rounds before my vision blurred. My breathing is now very erratic.
A reload may be inevitable.
The final officer held his cover behind that large concrete form under the passage. Completely unaware that his skull was still exposed. With poor vision and unsteady hands, I carefully trained my scope at this Hail Mary target and squeezed. Helmet or no, he went down hard. Armor piercing bullets don’t care about your fucking helmet.
I was still contemplating a reload while scavenging the bodies for loot. After all, a reputation is worth more than all this broken gear. But you know what? Fuck Bob. Seriously. He got what he deserved.
I now find myself by that same bridge trying to keep it under Loner control. Futile I know, but this does kinda make up for that loss in some strange way.
How’s your day in the Zone?