Chapter 1: Spitnas Simian soldiers


Simian said, "crass! crass! crass!"

His words were witness of the most amalgamated war that will and would ever take place in the central line ancestral mounds.

The central lines ancestral mounds were of course the place for which the cones and shields would sit and commence in talk and place their fistic symbolism.

Simian never felt the placements of candor, could not over estimate his battalion. His battalion of course had a satisfied and candid way about them. They all wore read badges under their real badges that read Simian.Simian.

They were not die hard for Simian, they were "bufftard". For the biggest part of their childhoods they had worn shackles and now those scaly mistresses were vanquished! Bufftard was the only way to feel in this new world. Simian sold his symbolism for cynical and satisfied undercarriage loyalty. He was a parent and he was also a further friend.

Simian stood on the front line dirt formal, the line at which all front line Captains would stand and address on. While the spit literally flew from his mouth yelling crass crass crass, Simian knew that he was facing a court marshall. He did not care as he raised his club above his head and began chuckling. His call of defiance was met by his solitary friendly brother soldiers. They all raised they 41 caliber Sedric 1974 Full Auto Streaming " Slack Sacks" in unison.

There were troubled looks on no one's faces as Simian rotated towards the advancing lines and yelled, "tracer bullets!"

At that order all his brothers in arms pulled a single Slack Sack shell from their ammo pelts. They slammed the tracers neat and snug into the trap door mechanisms of their repeater arms.

Simian placed his old little club on the Portro line and pulled up his own drinking can to his lips and took a big swig of limbs juice. They had passed through a town six weeks before that had blasted out that wondrous sauce by the lake full. A single drop would spurt growths of energy in any man that had the privilege of drinking. Simian had saved the liquid salve for this very occasion when he knew that the courage of his convictions would be tested. He did not think it bravery a drink; Simian thought it privilege juice. The privilege of every friend he stood by now and felt akin to.

Every man and woman in his arsenal of ravaged warriors took severe drinks of their own limbs juice and returned to checking their weapons for readiness to fire.

As they readied the energy from the bubbling spice belted through their bodies and ravaged their brains with a pride known only to the Accepted Tactical Survey Commission (also known as the ATSC Royal Dismount Service).

A pauper in the town of Sidelamp had given the soldiers nothing to eat as they marched their dusty boots through that sleepy town. However, he did give them something much more useful. He gave them a dusty nights watch over their tired and battle wary bodies.

Pauper's name was Delgano and he was covered from head to toe in Swaddling furs and rags. The night's dust had covered all his furs with a fierce and peaceful blackness that reminded Simian of an instructor he had battled years back.

In those earlier times Simian had fought to hold his little club from time to time, without the fear of his upper officer's waxed fists. The Delgano like instructor slammed both fists deep into the wax cans and pulled forth two readied punishment hands. Simian and the instructor battled for 70 minutes in the Rye fields before time was called. For his bravery Simian was aloud to carry the little club no more. This was customary of the C&S division of any ascending officer candidate.

As he lay in the squared pen of Delgano's, Large Night restlessly watched for the pauper's form in the night air. Over the wooden slats he finally caught an eye of the darkened pauper and smiled large and full. Delgano returned the look with a shake of embarrassment. Who was HE to take such a kind gesture from a Royal Forward C&S Captain?

The next morning Simian looked over the fence and only found a pile of moldering rags. His Menders focused on the fine pile and did not understand what had happened. It was then that Large Night Captain of the Forward C&S awoke and told the tale of the night. They all forgave the pauper Delgano and continued on their way knowing that the nights air and care that that Darkened pauper had bestowed had restored their fighting hearts.

Rain water began to settle on the tired guns of the battalions front line. Not a drop was spared in giving a refreshing and much needed break from the desert dust on the front line.

The tracer bullets were readied and waiting and Simian had piled on a steaming ammunition tray for the other Bombers. "Crass!"

Simian reminiscenced in his mind about how many times now it had been that he had Stood facing the Portro line and had felt the rain blast back his locks. He remembered basic training how his drill instructor wanted to tie his hair back for him but he refused. He was considered "Wash Out Ready" for that judgement.

He laughed back thinking about all the times he had dropped that little club perfectly parallel on the Portro line. Post fax had lead to this point. Although he (Simian) carried two cans of wax as was basic operating issue for a Captain of his rank, he had Never opened either in punishment.

All his brother soldiers steeped down metaphorically at his boot length and looked straight up at their Captain. They had been Waxed by him but never in punishment only in gratitude.

"ALL AND GO FORWARD 1 STEP", Cried Large Night as he advanced forward on Simian's left flank. The enemy was still rushing forward without clanking of metal, which was never a tried sign.

Lieutenant Anna Jeremy looked at Large Night knowingly and he smiled back that big smile. This was it and they knew but nobody was around to know?

He remembered back on the big mortar in basic training. It was so big that a standard soldier couldn't look around it. It was from the chronicled Cone Stape Standoff and was outlawed for all but ceremony. That's the day he first saw Simian simmering in a fine clad of punishment.

Whips and Rails were all about Simians body that day. He was a bloody ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ mess and Poncey knew it. He wanted to be a Back Track Albrighter but after seeing Simians defiance he reenlisted that very day.

Large Night yelled. " Not a cough young ones, don't show any disdignity on this battlefield."

Simian singled and Large Nite understood. The soldiers gasped as they looked down from there Slack Sacks and saw Large Nite erased the Portro line and re-address it in a Perpendicular Calvin Full on Split line.

At that second the soldiers split and became to squads and the rain fell and they laughed.

Simian and his fighting Forward Spitnas Soldiers were doing this for them to hell with railing rules and forward lines.

"Attack,with fists!" Cried Simian.

From eight military paces to lateral north were the Forward Crimson Calvary service watching Simian touching off and keeping his men and women ready for zeal.

Admiral Ronolst Dradon was on sanctioned caravan with the Forward CC and pulled out his "block". He put it to his eye and could see Simian's rustic and animated face up close through the shiner lens and saw Large Night/s fists horizontally aligned with the ground.

" Captain Gom, will you give this weary pack of hand picked dogs a treaded horse gallop of support?" Questioned the Admiral.

"My orders are to watch and wait for a reasoned soldier insubordination, to mark it and leave. Every one of those brave soldiers will die today sir. It was decided by the Pland Council about a week ago."

" May the sacred winds guide their sentry rifles" soothed Admiral.