United Terran Military Force: 23rd Rogue Division. Reaper Squad.
Chapter 01: Don't mess with a Reaper.
*stick with it, this is apart of a longer story, so the first part is plot and character development, there is juicy sex at the end of this chapter.
"Nightmares are born from fear, and for someone who lives with the continuation of their life depending on; whether their next step will perhaps detonate a hidden mine, or if driving past that child's doll in the middle of the road will activate a block of improvised homemade explosives, or if just stepping out to investigate a possible suspect will result in a few hot rounds of enemy lead getting forced through your body armor into one of many vital organs. Fear is a constant, and nightmares are a common day occurrence around here.
For the soldiers of the 23rd Rogue Division, an elite infantry-born unit of the United Terran Military Force, fear is their breakfast, lunch and dinner. But, instead of feeling confined and trapped by its presence, they strive for it. Allowing it to well up inside, freeing them from the inability of action, the pause before a vital decision, and the wondering if moving will end their life. Instead, for them, the men and women who live on the edge and do the jobs that nobody in their right mind would accept, let alone volunteer for, standing still is death.
My name is Fran O'Day, reporter for The War Correspondent, that details the internal conflict's of multiple countries around the world. I'll be interviewing the men and women of the UTMF's, 23rd Rogue Divisions 'Reapers' at an undisclosed base of operations. A specialist squad of some of the best that this military has to offer."
The blonde haired, blue eyed, five foot five inch woman who was wearing rather dull civilian attire and a military patterned bullet-proof vest lowered the microphone as the camera went blank. She looked around the desert region that was known as Ill'hub, the location of the UTMF 23rd Division, and let out a rather disapproving sigh. Her cameraman, Jonas Gill, who stood at six foot four inches with brown eyes and pitch black hair clicked his tongue at the young reporter and smiled. Ever since arriving she had been nothing but unimpressed, and outwardly so. He had been in the business a long time, almost fifteen years, which made him the wise age of thirty five. Fran's youth of just twenty two often made him wonder why she accepted the less liked offers to work in the most remote regions of the world.
"Let's see if they will give us any interviews, it will be getting dark soon," Jonas coughed as a large gust of wind blew a handful of sand into his face. He picked up the shoulder mounted camera and a large bag of films, cleaners, tripod and filters before walking away. They had been put up inside one of the empty houses to the center of town with a few 23rd officers due to the lack of room.
"Fair enough," Fran retorted, taking just herself and the trusty TWC microphone with her to the house.
Inside at the kitchen table, sat a mix of ten male and female soldiers, each dressed in military garb, with dusty combat boots and either a bottle of beer or a cigarette in one hand. A topographical map lay on the tabletop, salt and pepper shakers holding down the corners, and one of the leading officers was giving a low key briefing. As soon as the two reporters walked in, which they were entitled to do, everyone went quiet and packed up the map. But not before Fran caught a glimpse of a small village no more than twenty kilometers away circled in red, she acted as if she had saw nothing though.
"The Colonel said you would be free for interviews, we promise to make it as painless as possible, and wont take up much of your time," Fran began before most of the soldiers just stood up and left the room. Paying her no attention. She didn't seem to mind, apart from a scowl, considering that two of the officers remained. Setting up the camera whilst Fran spoke, Jonas turned on a few more lights before placing a small microphone in the center of the table. Fran sat down and took out a note pad and pencil.
"You are Lieutenant Olsen correct?" Fran stated, double checking his name tag before writing down his codename. Officer O.
"As agreed you will not be named or visually displayed in any way that your identity could be given away, you are noted as Officer O, do you accept these terms?" she asked, waiting on a response. The male soldier sat down, straightened out his shirt and put the bottle of beer on the floor beside the leg of his chair. He held his hands in his lap and looked at Fran with a sort of smirk.
"Yes ma'am."
It seemed they were short on words, but that didn't seem to bother Fran, and Jonas knew better than to expect a poet or a long winded answer. They were there for business, not to be plastered over the news as government propaganda. The interview went on for about fifteen minutes before the first officer was dismissed, and the next was ordered in. Two hours went by before one of the female soldier was sent in. She sat down, her rather photogenic looking face showed distaste, but she didn't let on too much.
