The Ambush

[Mr. Zealot]

Here's my first story. Let it be known now that I had been playing with the name Entropy for my Ops Group long before I ever saw Rooben's story.
Anyways, I crave constructive critcism, so please respond.


The Wasteland heat bit down through my leather armor as I awaited the NCR convoy that would soon join the others that had been hit. Brotherhood of Steel manufactured Rocket Propelled Grenades made sure of that.
Yes, I and the other eleven members of Entropy were very good at what we did. We were labeled as terrorists by some, freedom fighters by others. The only thing we knew though, was combat. It was really the only effective way of bringing justice for what the New California Republic had done to our country. Our vengeance came from our rifles and rockets, and we would all rather die than give up.
My name is Joshua, and to my left is Michael, or just Mike, the guy in our two-man team with the launcher. Five other guys had RPGs, while the rest of us had our firearm of choice. For me it was an old pre-war M-14, a gun that could take a man down before you could say, “Die.”
Entropy was laid out in a crossfire position on two sides of a street in the middle of some forgotten city. The twelve in the group were split into six teams of two men each, three teams on each side of the street. According to intelligence gathered from recon and inside sources, there was a hummer and four APCs filled with men and equipment. It was our biggest hit yet, and one that was hoped would give us some sizable publicity.
“Here they come,” crackled the radio lying next to the pair, “ETA five minutes.”
There was a Brotherhood Intel operative up the road a ways with a direct radio link to Gabriel, Entropy’s leader. The Steelboys helped the various Arroyo resistance groups only in secret, as the Council of Elders had deemed the time not ripe to start a full war with the NCR. I didn’t think much of them, but I’d never seen them in combat before, either.
The distinct sound of wheels and tracks could be heard in the distance, creeping ever closer. My hand adjusted its grip on the rifle, readying for the combat to come. It seemed to take ages for the first vehicle to come, edging closer, ever closer. And then, the order came, like a command from God.
“Fire ‘em up!”
Time seemed to stand still for a moment, and then all hell broke loose. Six individual trails of smoke streaked towards their targets, two for the hummer, one for each APC’s tracks. The first and second rockets hit with satisfying thuds, sending the hummer rolling into a pile of rubble. For a second I could see the twisted bodies inside squirm, and then they were engulfed in flame as the vehicle exploded up and out, lifting it off the ground a few feet before sending it crashing down.
The third, fourth and fifth rockets had the desired effect, and a little more, as their respective targets collided with one another and formed a barricade across the street that blocked the fourth personnel carrier, which had come out damaged but still mobile, from progressing further. The two men in the cockpit, desperate for their lives, bailed out, running to opposite sides of the street. Both were cut down in a hail of gunfire.
My gun was trained on the back end of one of the APCs, just waiting for it to open so I could pick off some Blues. Sure enough, it did, and three of the fools came coughing and sputtering out before being capped by my 7.62 rounds and those of Warren’s M-60 machine gun. One was still alive, clutching his leg, and with pleasure I took aim and fired, sending supersonic lead through his manhood. The man screamed the most beautiful sound I had ever heard, clutching the empty space of his genitalia before finally succumbing to the white light at the end of the tunnel.
The survivors of the convoy were being rounded up, six conscripts who looked more like schoolboys than men. They were lined up in front of a wall, told to remove their clothing, and shot. We have no time nor space for prisoners, and besides, everybody who serves the NCR deserves to die.
Looting was very good that day. Many rounds of ammo, and I scored a PipBoy off of a dead Lieutenant. Oh, and it turns out that that guy I maimed was a father. The letter was dated today. Little Timmy would never know his father.

[bloodbathmaster2]

Is this its own story or one of many in a series?

[Mr. Zealot]

I dunno. Maybe if there's some popular demand, I'll write more, but mostly I just felt like writing that night.

[Archchancellor]

Write more and if you get bored let someone else write it for a while kind of like a round robin

[Mr. Zealot]

Alright then. If anybody wants to write/edit/butcher my little story thing, then everything's just gravy.

[Ruben Rooben Reuben]

You malicious jerk bastard dumbass bastard! "Entropy" was my idea! I'll get vengence for this infringement, I swear. I'll see to it that you all get put away in a federal institution for the mentally deranged cornholers of America! 8O Unless...you'll let me in on the round robin.

It's a cool little action segue so far. There's a disorienting shift in the tense of the narrative early on. To go from "My name is Joshua" to "crackled the radio" may be confusing for some readers.

The Good: Big explosive scene described well
The Bad: Narrative confusion
The Ugly: Crotch-shot