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Post by Dean Archer on Mar 5, 2012 14:15:50 GMT -5
Dallas, Texas was never all that clean of a city. As with most large cities in the United States, it was almost constantly under construction, roads and buildings covered with yellow signs and sheets of roofing plastic. It made navigating the streets a large hassle to anyone and everyone looking to do business in the city limits, but that was life in the big city. Everyone was always in a big hurry, and the majority of people wouldn't stop to spit on you if you where on fire, but that also was life in the city. He remembered how much of a pain it was trying to weave through Dallas traffic in a vehicle with a twenty-six foot keister. It wasn't one of his fondest memories, but it certainly wasn't his worst.
The current state of the "Big D" saw to that.
The majority of the occupation of Dallas consisted of military, which made since, considering that was where the bulk of the Texas Resistance was located. Most buildings where still standing, and the damage that they did have was from battle, not from invasion. Many roads had checkpoints with Hork Bajir guards, and most of those where filled with cracks and potholes. All in all, Dallas looked about the same.
Dallas could have been worse off, plenty of other places did. DFW Airport, the heart of north Texas and an artery for American transportation, was now a heavily guarded Yeerk pool base and shipyard. Anything within a five-mile radius of it was practically lost. Dean had hear that Galveston had been all but demolished, and Huston had been taken completely over by infected people and non-people. As far as the rest of the world, news was scarce. Some of it could have been true, most of it was more likely not. Dean didn't want to speculate, instead he focused on what was in front of him: Dallas. His town.
That day he was overseeing the movement of the 3rd and 42nd company. The titles where like Dean's rank, old names for new militia, but people enjoyed naming things. It gave them the feeling of control, like they had a handle on things, and although Dean didn't agree with it, he couldn't condemn it. After all, they where only human.
He had assigned himself reconnaissance duty for the sheer purpose of getting out of the stuffy, ramshackle convention center that had become temporary housing for the militia. Dean was never one for leadership. The constant pressure of decisions that could spell disaster, the worry of making the wrong call, the times where there wasn't a right call. He was tired of people asking him for orders, tactical intel, and countless other things that Dean had no business talking about. He had come close a number of times to telling them just how inexperienced he actually was. Hell, he thought as he climbed a fire escape, Most of the men I command are old enough to be my father!.
Dean reached the top of the fire escape, crouching low on what he guessed was a trendy loft condominium. They where all the rage in large cities like Dallas. New York City had actual lofts that had been converted, Dallas had building built too look worn. It was the type of crazy consumerism that America prided itself on. Dean shook his head, so much had changed so fast.
He pulled a set of binoculars and a map out of his tactical vest, the type that actual armed forces wore. The entire number was covered with the pixelated tan camo for desert warfare. Tan Camo! Dean had marveled at the lunacy of the military when the second invasion had started. Things like "sense" and "Tactics" went out the window as old men relied on old protocols. He did a sweep of the area, marking combat hot-zones and possible green zones on the map. The occasional Bug fighter- or as the brass called them; "Dragonflies"- seared across the cloudy sky, but they weren't a threat. At least, not all that pressing of one. There was enough Alpha on the ground. Yeah "Alpha". A for alien. Brass had a name and acronym for everything.
Dean held up his radio, a short range RF piece, one that was so lo-tech that would be difficult to monitor by the Alpha in the area."Archer checking in, things look calm enough. Get everyone ready. We head out when I get back." He tried to ignore the little voice in his head that said, as it often did, If I get back.
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Post by Kyle Bennett on Mar 9, 2012 13:52:01 GMT -5
Kyle was in Dallas. Why was he in Dallas? It was a good question to be asking. One he’d asked himself a few times. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know the answer, or the answers. See, if he changed the infliction of the question it changed the question a little. There were two different ways of looking at the question, and there were decent answers for both of them. As much as he felt like this was kind of crazy, there was a good reason for his being here.
Why was he in DALLAS? Because they’d caught word that the yeerks were having issues with a very active resistance force there, and that they were possibly planning to take drastic measures. The Animorphs had wanted to warn the resistance and possibly to offer their support or form an alliance of some sort. So that was why he was in the particular city he was rather than being on The Sanctuary or in Seattle.
Why was HE in Dallas? That was because it had been decided that it should be one of the leaders who went to make the offer of alliance. That had made the most sense. So it had been Kyle who took one of the bug fighters and jetted off for Dallas. He could have, probably should have, taken someone with him. Considering the last time he’d gone off on his own – only for a matter of moments – he’d been captured; it wasn’t the smartest move for him to be on his own. Majority of the people they could have spared, however, were still fairly new and he wasn’t really keen on dumping them into a possibly serious situation right away. Just because he, Jack, and Ashley had been thrust into the midst of the war and forced to learn to sink or swim didn’t mean that was the best way of training someone for combat situations.
He’d parked the bug fighter a little outside of the city and had done his best to hide it from view. Then he’d morphed into his northern goshawk, a newer morph. It was still out of place for this particular bird to be in Dallas, but at least it wouldn’t draw as much attention as the macaw morph would have. Now he was soaring over the city, hoping he’d be able to pick up something. So far he wasn’t having any luck, but if the yeerks were as frustrated with this resistance band as it sounded like they … well, they definitely weren’t making rookie mistakes. Chances were he’d have to take his chances on the ground if he were going to find them. Fortunately, he had options for traveling on foot. He could either morph jackal or could probably pass as a civilian. The fact that he had figured out how to morph normal clothing was helpful. It meant he could dress in a way that wouldn’t draw immediate attention to him. He’d worn somewhat worn-out clothes that were a little on the small side for him when he demorphed, and a little big on him if he morphed his human morph. It would be a decent balance and would prevent any chances of recognition. He’d try to find a decent spot to demorph, and probably go from there on continuing his search.
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