gagonthis
I'm old school like that.
- Joined
- Aug 20, 2006
- Posts
- 4,034
I've tried this one a couple of times, with lukewarm results, so I figured I'd try recasting it as a 1 on 1 scenario. Looking for a single female role, can be anything you'd like that would fit well in the scenario. Women would normally not be allowed at a firebase or so close to the Cambodian border, but I'm willing to let history take a backseat to entertainment in this case 
I'll give this one bump for the afternoon crowd tomorrow and then probably just let it die out again
Firebase Valley Forge, Seven miles from the Cambodian border
Late October 1971
Early Morning 0500 hours
A group of battle weary American soldiers stand around a crude dug out pillbox, enjoying their cigarettes, one of the few pleasures to be found in this hostile environment. A large cargo plan approaches from the south, bringing the rest of the days supplies. The soldiers watch, their faces free of surprise as three bright yellow streaks come flying out of the jungle foliage towards the large C-130 Hercules. With a bright flash of light, the rocket powered grenades slam into the lumbering aircraft, the explosion eerily silent in the quiet jungle air. The right wing of the aircraft sheers off, falling harmlessly into the jungle outside the base. The pilot realizes the danger and swears loudly inside the cockpit as he turns the nose of the plane towards the dusty airstrip on the edge of the base. Soldiers scramble as the large plane falls, running back towards the safety offered by the trenches and pillboxes of the base. The pilot attempts to regain control but it’s too late and the large giant has taken too much damage. The plane falls with a large explosion that thunders through the jungle landscape. The group of soldiers watch the whole scene with disinterest. One looks to another and gestures to him. “Pay up man.” He says as he takes five dollars from the other. “It was a sucka bet. No way he was going to make it with that wing all fucked up.” The man says, stuffing the money into his fatigue pockets. “Thinking we’ll go after them?” Another of the soldiers asked, his eyes fixated on the flaming mass that was all that was left of the plane. “Nah, Charlie’ll be gone long before we got down there, Cap’n knows that.” The other soldier just shrugged and went back to his cigarette, watching the rescue crew rush towards the burning wreckage.
We cannot lose in Vietnam. Try as he might.
Though our generals are so stupid, our strategy so poor, as to all but guarantee defeat…
Though our morale is trampled in the deepest ditch, shot through with heroin and bitter failure…
Though we face the toughest, bravest fighters in the world, strange little men with hearts like those of tigers…
Though we make the world despise us…
Though we do things that will stain our souls forever…
Though America eats its own intestines over this, cities riven with unrest, leaders inspiring loathing and distrust…
We cannot lose…
Because when we are gone, when the brave little fighters kick us out, and we finally lose all stomach for the wretched knotted puzzle of a war… No one, NO ONE, in south east Asia or anywhere on Earth will look at what is left of Vietnam
And think it smart to fuck with the United States.
Name: Stephen Miller known as Grits to his squadron
Age: 18
Height: 6'0
Weight: 190
Blue eyes and brown hair
The son of a poor Arkansas farmer, Stephen was drafted late into the war. His father had done everything in his power to keep his only son out of the draft, but finally the need for men had caught up with Stephen and he was enlisted and shipped out to Fire Base Valley Forge, an understaffed, under supplied outpost on the Cambodian border. Every morning Grits rises from his bunk in the makeshift barracks, straps on his helmet and grabs his rifle and goes on patrol, and each day he prays he'll come back alive. He sees the futility of the war, and the writing on the wall, the end is nearing, soon the Americans will be leaving this country, leaving an angry hornet's nest behind. Yet despite the obvious upcoming withdrawal Stephen still must rise every morning and pray to anyone listening that he can survive another patrol in the humid jungle.
I'll give this one bump for the afternoon crowd tomorrow and then probably just let it die out again
Firebase Valley Forge, Seven miles from the Cambodian border
Late October 1971
Early Morning 0500 hours
A group of battle weary American soldiers stand around a crude dug out pillbox, enjoying their cigarettes, one of the few pleasures to be found in this hostile environment. A large cargo plan approaches from the south, bringing the rest of the days supplies. The soldiers watch, their faces free of surprise as three bright yellow streaks come flying out of the jungle foliage towards the large C-130 Hercules. With a bright flash of light, the rocket powered grenades slam into the lumbering aircraft, the explosion eerily silent in the quiet jungle air. The right wing of the aircraft sheers off, falling harmlessly into the jungle outside the base. The pilot realizes the danger and swears loudly inside the cockpit as he turns the nose of the plane towards the dusty airstrip on the edge of the base. Soldiers scramble as the large plane falls, running back towards the safety offered by the trenches and pillboxes of the base. The pilot attempts to regain control but it’s too late and the large giant has taken too much damage. The plane falls with a large explosion that thunders through the jungle landscape. The group of soldiers watch the whole scene with disinterest. One looks to another and gestures to him. “Pay up man.” He says as he takes five dollars from the other. “It was a sucka bet. No way he was going to make it with that wing all fucked up.” The man says, stuffing the money into his fatigue pockets. “Thinking we’ll go after them?” Another of the soldiers asked, his eyes fixated on the flaming mass that was all that was left of the plane. “Nah, Charlie’ll be gone long before we got down there, Cap’n knows that.” The other soldier just shrugged and went back to his cigarette, watching the rescue crew rush towards the burning wreckage.
We cannot lose in Vietnam. Try as he might.
Though our generals are so stupid, our strategy so poor, as to all but guarantee defeat…
Though our morale is trampled in the deepest ditch, shot through with heroin and bitter failure…
Though we face the toughest, bravest fighters in the world, strange little men with hearts like those of tigers…
Though we make the world despise us…
Though we do things that will stain our souls forever…
Though America eats its own intestines over this, cities riven with unrest, leaders inspiring loathing and distrust…
We cannot lose…
Because when we are gone, when the brave little fighters kick us out, and we finally lose all stomach for the wretched knotted puzzle of a war… No one, NO ONE, in south east Asia or anywhere on Earth will look at what is left of Vietnam
And think it smart to fuck with the United States.
Name: Stephen Miller known as Grits to his squadron
Age: 18
Height: 6'0
Weight: 190
Blue eyes and brown hair
The son of a poor Arkansas farmer, Stephen was drafted late into the war. His father had done everything in his power to keep his only son out of the draft, but finally the need for men had caught up with Stephen and he was enlisted and shipped out to Fire Base Valley Forge, an understaffed, under supplied outpost on the Cambodian border. Every morning Grits rises from his bunk in the makeshift barracks, straps on his helmet and grabs his rifle and goes on patrol, and each day he prays he'll come back alive. He sees the futility of the war, and the writing on the wall, the end is nearing, soon the Americans will be leaving this country, leaving an angry hornet's nest behind. Yet despite the obvious upcoming withdrawal Stephen still must rise every morning and pray to anyone listening that he can survive another patrol in the humid jungle.
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