The Guards

Name: 1st Battalion, The 69th New York National Guard, 'The Guards'

Type of Faction: Military Remnants

Faction Leader: Lieutenant Colonel Patrick McClellan

Active Characters:

Other Notable Figures:
Lieutenant James Lincoln (Deceased, Considered a Legend)
Lieutenant Colonel Dylan O'Malley (Founder of Guards, led during the war, deceased)
Sergeant Matthew Garcia (Sniper Instructor, Present)

Goals: To bring the Irradiated Forks of Long Island under the old world banner of America.

Beliefs: The Guards share similar beliefs to those of the Enclave, including the extermination of -hostile- mutants. Ghouls are a shoot on first thing among the Guards, including sentient's. Ghouls that before ghoulification were serving with the Guards are granted a choice, remain alive in their damned state, or be put out of their misery. Should they choose to live, they are allowed to continue serving. They also have a peculiar obsession with a place called 'Ireland', only knowing of it from what remains of their regimental records, and the tattered flag in the Lieutenant Colonels office.

Allegiances: The US of A. The National Guard

Enemies: The Project, The Tribal Confederacy of Riverhead, The Port, and basically all non-peaceful factions in the Forks.



Headquarters: New Shelter Military Base, in the Town of New Shelter (Population: 3000)



Locations: Shelter Island, the Northern part of the South Fork, the southern part of the North Fork, and expanding west.

Armaments: Service Rifles, Assault Carbines, Fragmentation Grenades, Missile Launchers, Sniper Rifles, various small arms (10mm Pistol and a .45 Auto Pistol most common), Trench Knives, Spades, Flame Throwers, Springfield M1903's, Four .50 Cal HMG's that are either mounted on a vehicle, or on the walls of Shelter, and finally
2 75mm Howitzers (
The Howitzers left on Shelter Island.

Armor and Uniform:
Unit Insignia found on the Shoulder Pauldrons, or Helmets.


Conscripts: Conscripts are the Children of Guards who wish to join, and also the conscripted villagers from the farming settlements (NOT TRIBALS). They wear little armor, instead being issued with a Green uniform and no helmet. ((Picture the NCR armor, except a faded green color and no armor))They also are equipped with Springfield M1903's instead of Service rifles. Conscripts tend to be decent shots when given an opportunity.



Regulars: Any soldier from rank Private->Lieutenant would wear this basic combat armor, Privates->Sergeants wearing the helmet if at all, officers wearing a Enclave styled hat, except it's brown instead of black. The insignia shown above is on the right shoulder, and for officers of the rank of Lieutenant, pinned on their hat.





The Color Guards: A group of highly trained, elite Guards. They wear Green T45 and T51 Power Armor with the American Army white Star on it. There is only ten-thirteen of these killing machines at any time. They also have access to the best weapons, having Laser Rifles and Mini-Guns as their equipment.




Captains will wear an Enclave styled Officer Armor, except the trousers are olive drab, the shirt is a brownish color, as are the boots. Captains are usually the best and brightest of the Guards, and the Lieutenant Colonels right hand men...and sometimes the source of his greatest headaches.

The Lieutenant Colonel wears this, except the four stars are replaced by a Lieutenant Colonels pin.



Tribal Auxiliaries:
Any armor their tribe would use, with a green cloth tied around their headgear, head, or arm.






Vehicles:

Three National Guard Trucks that are used sparingly.

Four large ferries that have been repaired and are used to go from Shelter Island to the Forks. There has been talks recently of the Guards using them to go to the land known as 'Connecticut' but this is just rumor. The .50 Cal Machine guns are occasionally mounted on these ferries for defense.

Technology: Ballistic weapons only, no energy weapons. The ability to repair their weapons and armor. The ability to read and write in the English language.

Other:

Numbers: 1378, 115 of which are Tribal Auxilaries,800 conscripts, and 500+regulars.

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The Guards were originally a light infantry battalion of the Pre-War regiment known as the 69th New York National Guard. The battalion had been stationed on Long Island, to add a military buffer to The Montauk Projects operations, with none of them knowing the full details, only to keep people away. The 'Fighting Irish' certainly grumbled a bit about not being sent to fight the dirty reds, but in the words of their Lieutenant Colonel:

"Boys, if I had my way, we'd be charging through Beijing right now! But, the generals told us to sit here, we're going to sit here until ordered otherwise."

These words soon took on a completely different meaning on the day the bombs dropped. A good portion of the Battalion did -not- survive the fires of nuclear wrath, over 350 men perishing from the battalion without even getting a chance to fight. The Lieutenant Colonel pulled his men from Montauk, fleeing for Shelter Island. On the way, they helped what Civilians they could, and soon arrived. The motley band of National Guardsmen, Police Officers, and civilians were soon in for a bad surprise. Upon arrival at the southern tunnel, they found it completely destroyed, much to their dismay!

The Lieutenant Colonel maintained his cool, ordering a Platoon out to secure the ferries that were nearby. On the way, the National Guardsmen fought off desperate survivors who were -not- interested in cooperating. However, after losing ten men to sickness, looters, and trauma, the Lieutenant incharge of the Platoon managed to secure the ferries. The four Ferries were in relatively good condition, and so began the great escape.

The Civilians went first, with one platoon of the battalion to keep them safe. After the Civilians were clear, the surviving members of the Battalion were ferried across. They had finally arrived.

They were in for another shock however. On Shelter Island, the people there had gone crazy. Murdering, looting, burning, all the while basking in radiation from the bombs. Many of them became ghouls. Naturally, this freaked the -shit- out of the 69th and the Civilians, and so began the Shelter Island Reclamation. The 69th jogged into the town that had once had a population of 2000, and reduced it to nill. Bodies were left where they lay, and as quickly as they came, the 69th left, allowing the civilians to settle down in the ruins of Shelter.

By the end of the week, the 1st Battalion of the 69th New York National Guard, numbering at a 1000 strong, was down to 600.

And worse was still to come. After finding a place where they could fortify, and no longer in the threat of immediate death, people began to finally absorb what had happened. There was chaos, both with the Civilians and the National Guardsmen, as desperate officers worked to regain control of their men. Debates raged between the 'Fighting Irish' over what they should do. Should they stay here? Should they try to link up with command?

Finally, the Lieutenant Colonel's voice boomed, his words alone enough to silence the debates: "Our orders are to sit here, we're going to sit here until Command comes around and scoops us back up!" "But sir, what if command isn't aro-"

"I don't care. These people are depending on us. We have more immediate concerns than a discussion of the future. We need supplies, medicine, and some people to treat this damned radiation!" The Lieutenant Colonel cut off the young Lieutenant.

Another officer spoke, a Captain. "Sir, if you'd beg my pardon sir, we could attempt to make contact with those Montauk Squints we were guarding."

The Lieutenant Colonel stared at the man, then nodded. "Yes...it'd seem like that's our only option, isn't it? We can't all become too sick from this radiation, or else we're dead." He took in a deep breath. "Lieutenant Lincoln!" A dark haired, sharp nosed Lieutenant snapped to attention, "Sir!"

"You will take your platoon back to Montauk to retrieve the Scientists. As many as you can. Our survival depends on them knowing how to help. Secondary objective is to secure our old armory there, and grab as many weapons as you can. They'll probably be a few trucks there you can use. Do you understand lad?"

Lieutenant Lincoln nodded, "Yes sir!"

The Lieutenant Colonel returned the salute, "Dismissed. All of you. Lieutenant Lincoln, see to your duties."

-End of Part 1-

This day is utter shit.

That was the only thing that could come to Lieutenant Lincolns mind at the moment as he sat, propped up against the wall in his green combat armor. It was muddy, and he was ass down in a bit of it, staying down low along with a few of the lads who had went with him. Bullets flew above them and one of the men called over-

"Lieutenant Sir! I thought fucking New York had strict gunlaws! Where the hell did these people get all their god damn weapons?!"

Lincoln shrugged at the man, pulling a grenade from his belt and pulling out the pin. One. Two. Three- He threw the fragmentation grenade over their small, makeshift concrete cover. The gunfire paused, and a man started to shout; "Grenad-"

And then the explosion and screams. Lincoln waved his hand in the direction of the explosion, and the screams, "FORWARD! GARRY OWEN IN GLORY!" He shouted, climbing out of the mud and over the wall at a sprint. The men took up the shout, charging forward into their ambushers direction, receiving no fire from the looters. They reached the position quickly, and soon what remained of the looters had M16's aimed directly at their heads.

Lincoln glanced at the dirty people in the mud, and one of his men walked over to him. "Orders sir? How do you want us to secure the damned looters?"

Lincoln gave the man an odd look, " 'Secure'? Private, these people attacked us on a mission of the utmost urgency. We don't 'secure' them. Leave another grenade, it'll be quicker and waste less ammo. Then get moving."

The Privates face paled, and a sergeant came to his rescue, waving the men of his squad out of the ditch. Lincoln stared at the Private for a moment longer, then climbed up as well. The private gulped again, scrambling after the Lieutenant.

Once the soldiers were clear, the Sergeant pulled a grenade from his belt and stared at the wounded looters. He shook his head with a sigh, the older man hardening himself and then pulling the pin, quickly dropping the grenade next to the looters that were still alive and then sprinting away, diving into the dirt with a curse. The seconds seem to go by as if they were minutes, and then the screams were finally cut off for good in a cloud of shrapnel and dirt.

Lieutenant Lincoln stood up, waving the men of his platoon up as well, the other squads having rallied with them. "That was a mercy kill men. This world is the same as the old one, people shoot at us, we are to consider them hostile. Now let's get a move on, we already wasted enough time here dealing with those idiots." The men in green stood up after the Lieutenant, shuffling back into a loose formation as they continued their march to Montauk, weary but determined.

That night...

A few of the men sat huddled around a campfire, the entire platoon having settled down for the night after a long days march, coupled with the occasional skirmish. Lincoln himself was sitting down not too far away, writing in a small book with a pencil. An odd thing to most of the men, the Lieutenant had always carried that book and at least four pencils in his pocket, whenever he had off time he'd write in it.

Lincoln stopped writing for a moment, reading over what he had already committed down to paper.



Lincoln put his pencils away, tucking the book in after them. He then laid down on the ground, curling up next to the tree trunk he had been sitting on. He tried to block out the memories, and the noise. The bright, blinding light that had been seen by all somewhere by New York City.

Damn. I hope the city wasn't nuked. I really do. But...what if it wa-

Lincoln swiftly clamped down on that thought, shaking his head with a growl. He shifted a bit, trying to get as comfortable as one could sleeping on irradiated soil during the end of the world.

And that was when the screaming began, energizing the Lieutenant as he bolted to his feet and searched for his rifle. The men around the fire were screaming, some trying to fire their weapons. They had camped next to the water, and now some...-thing- had crawled out of it. Lincoln squinted through the dark, mentally cursing himself for allowing the men to make a fire. Not only had it drawn anything that could see it close, it had ruined his night sight.

He jogged over to get a better look, and his face paled in horror. One of his men was already dead, a giant claw clamped through the mans combat armor. The creature seemed to be some sort of man sized crab that stood on two legs, and it was obvious the solider had not stood a chance, his eyes wide and sightless, blood dripping down from his mouth and from around the wound. Lincoln stared for a bit, as did the other men. He felt something warm dripping down his legs, and that seemed to be the final straw that pushed him into action. "FIRE! KILL THE FUCKER!" Lincoln roared at the other five men.

The sound of automatic weapons broke the momentary silence, and the creature made some sort of sound as the bullets slammed into it. It tried to face the soldiers with its shell, succeeding only partially- a few of the bullets impacted the shell, not doing the creature any obvious harm, but it was too late. Too many had already hit the soft parts, and the creature collapsed to the ground, dead.

By this point, there was shouting all over camp, men and women running over to see what the hell had happened, some guided by their sergeants, most coming over just in random groups. Some only had their side arms handy. Whatever they were doing, whatever they had on, whoever was leading them, they all saw the creature on the ground, and they all stared in horrified silence.

Lieutenant Lincoln stepped over to the corpse, pushing it off of the dead National Guardsman with a grunt. At the sight of their former friend, two of the soldiers walked over to help their Lieutenant with the corpse, pulling it away from the creature. The awed silence was finally broken by a single sentence.

"What the fuck was that thing?"

-End of Part 2-