Note : Some net-friends and I have taken a fascination to war. Although we seem to talk about war and fighting and having been in every war, we have not. The stories concocted are pure fiction LOOSELY based on fact. If you wish to find out more about the three of us war veterans (Zagreb, LordBean and myself) then get yourself on irc on the server:- chariot.adelaide.oz.org (as a starter) login to #aryanchat (it’s just a name and we’re not nazi’s), and ask away. Please note Zagreb doesn’t like to talk about the day he got off the plane from nam so please keep your questions towards him generalised.

Please note also that any slang racist terms are taken from the war being discussed so please don’t take offense as I have nothing against other races. (boy did that sound awkward)

Bean and Zagreb, my good war buddies, always loved to talk about nam. They’d talk about all the fun they had shooting "nips" and going on the log ride ‘til their eyeballs fell out of their heads; but me, I loved the gulf war. No war could top it. We had more guns, more grenades and in general more stuff to play with.

Unfortunately, Bean and Zagreb were rarely around me in this war for the reason that they were pissed off with me. They did wander in occasionally, but only when they were drunk and looking for a fight. Bean was still ticked at the time because of a stunt I pulled when we got dropped in the desert.

The chopper we were in descended to the ground, nothing save the sound of the rotors made noise and we assumed that we were in a clean zone. Dust and sand flicked up under the power of the helicopter’s blades making it very hard to see two meters out of the plane.

Our jump was routine, we did it all the time back home but we had never done it in a real war situation. Our confidence grew as we prepared quickly. There was no fighting and therefore no need to worry.

Zagreb was out first. He leapt to the ground stopping himself with the rope every now and then and making the helicopter swing slightly because of it. I followed him shortly after as did Bean.

Zagreb hit the ground and scattered himself to the nearest cover as a precaution. Bean and myself were about to hit the sands when a flash of light caught my eye. The sound was faint under the roar of the chopper, but I recognized it none the less. The bark belonged to a submachine gun. The kind the Iraqi troops used.

Hitting the ground, we also scattered to tactically sound positions and watched as the helicopter speed off in a blaze of bullets.

The helicopter had made it away, the Iraqi’s focused on us again. Bullets made strange noises as they hit the sand around us. Bean took a chance for a moment to pop his head up to view the situation. He swiveled his head at the two of us, using his eyes to get attention. He poked out four fingers at us to signal there were four gunmen over the hill.

I hoped Bean was right. Four we could easily handle, 20 might be a little more difficult. Beans eye darted over his gear as he attached bits and pieces to his gun. I placed a silencer and a scope on my little rifle and we began to peer over the rise of our little desert trench.

The flashing lights still occurred, but the noise was louder now. I sat up a little further now and placed my gun in line with my eye. I aimed and fired two bolt simultaneously into one man while Bean took out two others with the same amount of bullets.

The firing had stopped on their part and I looked over at Bean only to notice Zagreb had left. "Where’d he go?" I screamed at Bean.

"How the fuck should I know, I was too busy scoring those two A grade jerks over there!" Bean Barked back.

"He was sitting next to you, didn’t even hear him fire?"

"No!"

I stared coldly at Bean for a moment and then I spotted a figure wandering out the side. He walked with a limp and held his gun like an inbred cop. It had to be Zagreb.

"You wait here and cover me!" Bean ordered.

"Cover you? I covered you last war, it’s time for you to cover me!!"

Bean took no notice of my comments and bolted out of our little hole. He ran up along the sides of the bottom of a hill and tackled Zagreb. From where I was sitting I could only see the jaws of the two wagging and barking at each other from the bottom of a hill out in the open.

Nervously I glanced around, fearing more Iraqi’s. Lucky for me I was paranoid because I noticed a few shadows not quite falling the right way over the hill that Zagreb and Bean were up against. I strode like a panther out into the desert, the sun beating on me with a fiery fury, to get a better shot. When I had picked my place on he other side of Bean and Zagreb, they both got up and walked towards me. Zagreb was all right, he was clean out of my sight, but Bean... he was right in the way.

I knew that if I didn’t do something, the dude behind them would snipe their asses, and I couldn’t yell out to them because he would fire straight away instead of lining up. So I took action, I shot Bean in the left leg all the way to the left so as to barely break skin. He tumbled over like a trolley down hill and I took my shot, piercing the Iraqi soldier’s head a little to the left of the nose.

I flew towards Bean with a pace that matched my concern. Upon arriving Zagreb had already begun a lecture, but he wasn’t lecturing me, he was lecturing Bean.

"I fucking told you!!! THERE WERE MORE OF THEM!!! You idiot, I could have taken that prick out and you’d be fine right now."

Bean screwed up his face at me as I leant down to look at his leg.

"Why’d you have to shoot me?" He groaned," You could’ve at least warned me!"

"You were in the way dude." I replied." If I had waited any longer for you, you would’ve been alot worse off!"

"Whatever, next time don’t help me!"

After that, Zagreb and Bean went through most of the war alone. I can’t say that Bean forgave me, I don’t think he ever will. But I can say that he forgets from time to time.

We did fight together towards the end, but we got sent home for waste of ammunition. It seems that we came in possession of some really nasty rocket type shit and thought that locking them onto birds was the right thing to do with it.

This is one of the few stories that I can say," Did not end well!"