Post by Joseph MacMillan on Apr 23, 2018 12:32:01 GMT -5
OOC: This thread starts off the morning after the attack on Coleman Young Airport....
Under the best of circumstances, the drive out from Belle Isle over to Coleman Young Airport would've been - for the Motor City pre-apocalypse - an arduous exercise, but as the convoy of three Humvees', each loaded with medical supplies and engineers from the Island, Joseph looked out the front passenger window of the lead Humvee and wondered, as had most everyone else, just what the hell had happened at the airport last night.
They'd heard the radio calls, the frantic (at-first) back-and-forth messages, then the calming influences of the Russians at the airport and his own medics at the airport...by contrast, it was all the Island's Chief Medical Officer could do not to blister Governor Sharpe over what had happened last night; for several hours, he'd had a QRF - a Quick Reaction Force - ready and waiting to reinforce the airport but under the military's advice - advice I concurred with then and do now, he thought glumly - they'd held off on sending it out, a rational thought but one that almost sent two of his other medics who'd been with the QRF overnight into orbit just on ballistic anger alone.
At least Medical's prepped and ready for whatever comes next, he thought equally glumly, as the smoke pyres from the airport slowly grew in the distance. What in the hell....? he whispered, as the Humvees began to slow and weave around a set of vehicular barriers; thick columns of dark gray smoke, some almost black in appearance, rose above the airport int eh distance as the three-vehicle column passed the barriers and entered the airport complex itself. "Jesus," someone whispered inside the Humvee, "look at that!" pointing over towards where one of the airport hangars had stood; it was now a grotesquely large twisted pile of metal and debris.
Looking in the direction the driver was pointing, Joseph muttered a few choice obscenities, then said, "Pull up to the aid station and let me out, then begin unloading the medical supplies; tell the engineers that came with us to begin surveying the damage...our military colleagues will be here shortly, but I want to know what happened here," pausing as the Humvee came to a stop. Climbing out, Joseph grabbed his .44 lever-action and slung it over his shoulder, then began walking over to the aid station, which had - miracle of miracles - managed to survive; over in the distance, black tarps covered what he could only surmise were the dead from last night's fighting. Before he turned to go inside the aid station, he said a short prayer for the dead and thought to himself, They're the lucky ones...
Under the best of circumstances, the drive out from Belle Isle over to Coleman Young Airport would've been - for the Motor City pre-apocalypse - an arduous exercise, but as the convoy of three Humvees', each loaded with medical supplies and engineers from the Island, Joseph looked out the front passenger window of the lead Humvee and wondered, as had most everyone else, just what the hell had happened at the airport last night.
They'd heard the radio calls, the frantic (at-first) back-and-forth messages, then the calming influences of the Russians at the airport and his own medics at the airport...by contrast, it was all the Island's Chief Medical Officer could do not to blister Governor Sharpe over what had happened last night; for several hours, he'd had a QRF - a Quick Reaction Force - ready and waiting to reinforce the airport but under the military's advice - advice I concurred with then and do now, he thought glumly - they'd held off on sending it out, a rational thought but one that almost sent two of his other medics who'd been with the QRF overnight into orbit just on ballistic anger alone.
At least Medical's prepped and ready for whatever comes next, he thought equally glumly, as the smoke pyres from the airport slowly grew in the distance. What in the hell....? he whispered, as the Humvees began to slow and weave around a set of vehicular barriers; thick columns of dark gray smoke, some almost black in appearance, rose above the airport int eh distance as the three-vehicle column passed the barriers and entered the airport complex itself. "Jesus," someone whispered inside the Humvee, "look at that!" pointing over towards where one of the airport hangars had stood; it was now a grotesquely large twisted pile of metal and debris.
Looking in the direction the driver was pointing, Joseph muttered a few choice obscenities, then said, "Pull up to the aid station and let me out, then begin unloading the medical supplies; tell the engineers that came with us to begin surveying the damage...our military colleagues will be here shortly, but I want to know what happened here," pausing as the Humvee came to a stop. Climbing out, Joseph grabbed his .44 lever-action and slung it over his shoulder, then began walking over to the aid station, which had - miracle of miracles - managed to survive; over in the distance, black tarps covered what he could only surmise were the dead from last night's fighting. Before he turned to go inside the aid station, he said a short prayer for the dead and thought to himself, They're the lucky ones...