A catch and retrieve.
This is a typical information extraction mission for me. Because I am a woman and I don’t look all that threatening, I have to figure out what the subjects’ mental weaknesses are and take them to a much darker place than any sane person would think necessary.
If you really want to defeat someone - like to the point where they’re practically destroying themselves for you, it’s all about the mind fuck.
I had only been interrogating these BLU faires for a few minutes before they started to break down and ‘resolve’ some very odd emotional tension that had grown between them. It’s funny the kind of things that come out of their mouths when they think they’re going to die.
I had to keep this dominatrix schtick up for almost the entire night in order to get them to give up any useful information.
I have recieved a few angry letters from a group (possibly more than one, I can’t tell the difference anymore) of POW and LGBT advocates demanding an apology for my treatment of these men.
That’s not going to happen. I don’t know what kind of combat experience you barefoot pansies have, but being called a fairy was the least of their concerns in this situation.
That would be like choosing between my children! They all have their faults, sure, and I’m aware that with the way that I interact with them it would appear that I don’t particularly care, but I have to really think about this - and by ‘think highest’ do you mean personally or professionally?
Personally, I’d have to say it’s between the heavy artillery, demolition man, engineer, scout, soldier and the pyrotechnitian. Engineer, I’m sure many would agree is a real joy to work with - he’s polite, thoughtful, always shows up on time, etc. Same goes for the pyro. Demolition has his ‘episodes’, and he’s not exactly reliable %100 of the time, but he’s a good guy and we get along pretty well. The soldier is actually very similar in that way, but he’s stone sober all the time and he’s the guy you want to have around when you’re in a fight. Scout’s an annoying little snot, but he’s so young I can’t get too mad at him; try flanking the enemy when your top speed is barely average sometime and you’ll understand. Heavy just has a special place in my heart since we have a lot in common - we both had rough childhoods, and I really admire his lust for life. Plus he’s so cute when he’s passed out look!
Professionally, I can’t deny my respect for the spy, medic, and sniper. They get the job done and half the time you don’t know how! Seriously - there was more than one occasion when I thought I was done for but then enemies started dropping like flies and I’m feeling like a million bucks!
I just can’t choose, sorry.
I was going to spend the evening with some beers and a late night Sanford and Son marathon, but APPARENTLY someone has told the administration that I’ve been ‘bullying’ my teammates.
Demo man, we agreed that you FELL down those stairs. Plus, you still owe me one porcelain unicorn.
Since my last entry things have fallen back into a routine of mind-numbing normalcy. I moved my personal effects to a secure location which, unfortunately for you dear readers, will remain undisclosed. Daily battles for territory and other strategic advantages have been starting promptly at 6am and lasting until 6pm when the final alarm sounds from whatever sort of loudspeaker is nearby. Then one side or the other is slaughtered like sheep and the ones left standing return home to families, hot dinners, sit-coms, etc. Sometimes I must admit my jealousy, but never face to face. I can’t even let these men know that I am human if I want to keep this job. So far it would appear that I am the most expendable.
Every day this same handful of men travels to wherever they’re told to go and kill an identical handful of men or are killed by them. When they are killed, they appear wherever they left off to fight and win or die again. They are truly professional warriors in a perfect, unending war. It’s by far the most proficient and self sustaining operation I have ever been a part of. It brings back memories of the old factory back in Gary – only instead of making blue denim uniforms, I am filling them with lead. Even down to the tedium of waking up before dawn and preparing my kit, making a quick breakfast of stolen oatmeal, shuffling through the front gate, nodding to the co-workers and taking my place. Only now the machine to which I have become a slave is no longer an electric sewing machine, but an automatic rifle.
Is this kind of personal reminiscing appropriate for a professional log? I don’t care. If the boss had an issue, she would have it resolved. In being given the task of reporting incident, I have been asked to articulate my experience. Logically, any anecdotal information may be encouraged or discouraged, depending on what the boss is meaning to accomplish by making this information public. I would like to think that I have been entrusted with her ultimate goals, but sadly a few decades of this work under more than one boss of her type has taught me that everyone has secrets. I, myself, technically do not even exist. In a way, I feel more free to speak than I have at any other time in my life.
Why waste my time waiting for a better hand when everyone just pays in and folds because I told them I’ll gouge their eyes out if they don’t.
Returned to base around 0547. The scene in the company locker room defied any possible explanation.
I am going to move my personal effects to a more secure location.
Enemy personnel made an appearance early this morning around 0500. Killed Pyrotechnics specialist via bayonet puncturing his diaphram.