Terminus Mortis
07-18-08, 12:26 AM
Name: Sean Patrick “Duke” McClintock
Age: 26
Race: Human
Hair Color: Brown (takes on a silver hue under certain lighting conditions)
Eye Color: Brown
Height: 6’ 1”
Weight: 200 lbs. approx.
*Occupation: United States Marine Corps. Force Recon
1st Force Recon Co.
MOS 0302- Infantry Officer
Captain
Personality: Sean is, for lack of a better common word, complicated. He is a kind man with strong moral beliefs and a strong sense of self-worth that doesn’t merit an ego. He has a sharp wit and is cleverly sarcastic. Career to the contrary, he prefers to settle matters through negotiation rather than fighting. On the other hand, he can become very unapproachable and even violent when enraged. At times he can go from perfectly calm to holding his opponent against a tree by the throat, which led him to wonder for some time if perhaps he was bipolar. It does, though, take quite a bit of pressing to truly anger him like this. Sean actually does enjoy writing and poetry, and has, through practice, become an above-average artist, but only with pen or pencil. He is intelligent, physically and mentally strong, and possesses an iron will, as well as being very charismatic and friendly.
Appearance: Physically, Sean practically sets the bar for health. He has had an infallible immune system all his life. His bone and muscle tissue is abnormally dense and his cells reproduce somewhat more quickly than is normal for homo sapiens. He keeps his hair cut in a typical buzz rather than the stereotypical “jarhead” trim, and he prefers not to boast facial hair. He is somewhat handsome, but not overly special. He has a strong jaw. An almost invisible scar passes through his brow over his left eye. He has a very elaborate tattoo on his right upper arm, a picture of which will follow soon He has 20/30 corrected vision, and wears prescription glasses instead of contact lenses. He also has a small, perfectly circular scar on his right forearm. He prefers to wear his Marine Corps. Combat Uniform (MCCU) and combat boots, and carries both his woodland and desert uniforms in his pack. His dog tags are always on him, one around his neck and one tucked into the laces of his left boot.
History: Sean was born in the early 1990s in Connecticut in the United States of America to Irish/Italian parents. His name stems from his Irish heritage, and actually derives from John Wayne (Sean is Gaelic for John). He was born nearly blind, which colored all his experiences over the course of his young life. He is the youngest of three, with two female siblings (Colleen, the oldest, and MaryKate, the middle child). His mother was a medical professional and his father a mechanic. At the age of two he was sent in for ocular surgery to save his vision. He made a miraculous recovery, and over the years his vision changed from 20/350 post-surgery to 20/30 corrected fifteen years later. It was clear from a young age that he had a high IQ and displayed advanced problem solving skills.
Sean attended St. Joseph’s School from Kindergarten to 8th grade and displayed high marks all nine years. He made some very close friends there, obviously influenced by the fact that it was a school of no more than 400 students. Throughout this early stage in his life he was set aside by his proficiency with and knowledge of combat techniques and firearms. He began working with his father at the garage on weekends around the age of thirteen, and displayed distinctive mechanical skill and intuition. He also began pulling shifts at a local gun store around the age of fifteen.
Sean attended high school at Fairfield College Preparatory School, which he enjoyed. He played Junior Varsity Rugby in his sophomore year and Varsity Football his junior and senior years. He took Latin as a language all four years and can both speak and write it. He graduated Cum Laude and went on to attend college at Richmond American International University in London, England, where he majored in English Literature, while becoming very proficient in a multitude of languages including Russian, German, Japanese, Persian Farsi, and Spanish. He enrolled in several Foreign Study programs, and spent semesters in Dublin, Rome, Moscow, Sydney, and Tokyo. He holds a Bachelors Degree.
As soon as he returned to the United States he enlisted in the United States Marine Corps. He was shipped to the Marine Corps. Recruit Depot Parris Island, Beaufort, South Carolina. This had been his life’s work. He had known since he was young enough to dream that he wanted to be a Marine like his Grandfather. He was at the top of his unit in Basic Combat Training (BCT), and took all the optional equipment training regiments he could. He holds Expert Marksman medals for rifles, pistols, machine guns, shotguns, submachineguns, and is qualified as a designated marksman (squad sniper).
Sean enrolled in Officers Candidate School (OCS) upon completion of BCT. Here, too, he excelled, leading his assigned unit to victory in combat simulations using simunitions or MILES gear. He received a commission as a 1st Lieutenant immediately upon course completion, a rare opportunity indeed. He was assigned to a combat infantry platoon and shipped to Iran at the age of twenty-three as part of Operation: Forsworn Honor. His unit spearheaded the push to Tehran, supporting an armored battalion. He received several Silver and Bronze Stars with Valor for his actions during this time, as well as two Purple Hearts.
Upon completion of his first Tour of Duty, he was made aware of his eligibility for special operations training. He opted in, and again excelled. Upon completion he was assigned to 1st Force Recon Company, just in time for the outbreak of the Columbian conflict. The Conflict began a covert war on terror known as Operation: Coffee Grinder. This became a Joint Operation solely undertaken by Force Recon and SEAL teams, with the support of the Columbian Marine Riverine Brigade and the Administrative Department of Security.
The operation began following the introduction of a new mind-altering illegal substance called Thermadophal. Federal agencies determined the source of the drug to be a factory hidden in the Columbian jungle. US Special Operations Command (SOCOM) was ordered to mobilize teams to work together with Columbian officials in “cleaning house”, totally annihilating the drug cartels operating out of the Columbian jungles. Nicknamed Operation: Empty Starbucks by the participating US Forces, this is where it began and ended for Captain “Duke” McClintock.
Skills: Above average knowledge and proficiency with of firearms and explosives.
Average hand to hand and knife combat skills (Green Belt according to
the Marine Corps. Martial Arts Program MCMAP)
Below Average Knowledge of Field Medical Techniques
Average ability in Personal Camouflage
Lengthy Academic Knowledge
Language Skills
Equipment: MCCU Uniforms- Desert and Woodland
Coyote Brown Combat Boots
ILBE (Improved Load Bearing Equipment) Backpack
Boonie hats- Woodland and Desert
KA-BAR fighting knife with a 7” black steel blade, partially serrated.
Non-functioning Springfield Armory M1A SOCOM II (http://www.vltor.com/images/SocomGreen_on_ground615x432.jpg)
Tactical knee and elbow pads
Three MRE ration kits
Black/Olive Drab Full-finger tactical gloves
Field Medical Kit- Gauze wrap, antibiotic
Olive Drab Bandana
The Story:
The soft buzzing of insects filled the humid air of the hazy, pre-dawn jungle, mixing with the low-pitched grumble of the motors aboard the two Zodiac inflatable boats. Sean rested his elbow on the smooth black rubber ringing the river craft, allowing it to absorb the weight of his rifle and take the weight off of his arms. He crouched low in the boat along with three other bodies dressed just like him. Their sister ship was barely visible behind them in the dim light, but it, too, contained four Force Recon Marines fully outfitted for a Black Op. He repeated those words in his mind. Black Op, In FORECON it meant a Direct-Action Operation. Open war, kill or be killed. Except if I die here no one will ever know about it, He thought. just a letter saying I died in a training accident. Probably fell out of an airplane or drowned on a diving exercise. A grim smile crossed his lips. What's the one thing Dan told me? Never jump out of a perfectly good aeroplane!
He felt a rap on his shoulder and turned to acknowledge it. "The hell you laughing about?" His squadmate questioned him in a hushed voice, accompanied by a sarcastic grin. "Murphy's Laws of Combat," Sean replied, chuckling. "Never jump out of a perfectly good airplane." His buddy gave him a puzzled smile, then an upwards nod. Duke turned to see his Fireteam leader assuming the disembarking position as they neared the landing zone, a flat stretch of dirt and ferns between two trees. He leaned forward and pressed his stomach against the hard rubber, then rolled off as the boat nestled its bow onto the mud. He hit the ground with a soft squelch and immediately began scanning the trees as the boat pulled away. The four Marines established a small perimeter as Fireteam Two disembarked from the second Zodiac.
The unfamiliar scent of the jungle filled his nostrils as his eyes began to adapt to the strange Amazonian darkness. They moved slowly into the jungle a few meters, then stopped to get their bearings. Eight highly trained killers in combat fatigues, boonie hats, and face paint; altogether out of place in such a seemingly serene habitat, yet entirely akin to it, almost a part of it merely by understanding. Each man understood the true nature of his environment, and felt it a part of themselves. It was inherently peaceful, but mysterious and deadly. None could be certain what secrets it kept, but with their sense attune and their path decided, they crept on.
Pinpricks of light dotted the forest floor like Zeus' own lightning bolts, few and far between. Sean held his gloved hand beneath one as they passed by, watching the golden beam slice over the black and green nylon. The jungle had finally begun to awaken, shaking off the blue morning haze. He listened intently to the sounds enveloping his team. The buzz of insects and the growls of unseen fauna set the Marines on edge. Their hands never lingered far from their weapons as they moved silently through the thich foliage. Beautiful, he thought. Absolutely beautiful, and we get to burn it to the ground. Chaos to restore order. He lingered on that thought. That's what I've dedicated myself to. Chaos that restores order. It had always struck him after a firefight, how peaceul it would suddenly seem without the explosions and muzzle flashes and screaming. War is hell, pfft. War is just loud as all hell.
Not this war, not the one he trained for. They wouldn't make a sound until it suited them. After almost twenty hours of marching through dense, humid jungle they had arrived. He removed his Kimber ICQB .45 calibre pistol from it's holster and screwed the suppressor to the tip of the barrel. All eight Marines sat around a map laid on the ground absorbing the operational plan devised by their squad leader. Fireteam One, his own, was to approach the compound from the northeastern flank. Fireteam Two would make entry from the southwestern riverbank. The sun had set, and now was the time.
Duke crept down from the thickly forested hillside, watching his approach route for booby traps and wayward guards. He stopped a meter from the treeline and held up a closed fist, signaling for the team to halt. His eyes locked on a lone sentinel patrolling the edge of the clearing, eyes sweeping the jungle for movement. Sean removed his knife from the sheath on his left shoulder and lay down at the edge of the forest, waiting for the man to pass.
As soon as the target passed his position, Sean silently lept to his feet and threw an arm around the man's neck, then dug the KA-BAR deep into his chest, piercing both ventricles. The guard's tongue lolled from his mouth as he tried futilely to scream. Sean dragged him back into the brush and dumped the corpse behind a small dirt berm covered with foliage. He waved the rest of his men forward and rushed across the clearing, crouching down behind the thin wooden fence surounding the compound. Beneath the fence was roughly ten inches of clearence, enough for the men to slip through. One by one they removed their packs and passed them under the fence, then crawled through.
Sean peered out from behind one of the many small wood and reed huts dotting the perimeter of the compound, just inside the fence. He withdrew his pistol from its holster and checked his watch. Fireteam two in four, three, two... A series of explosions lit the night as the patrol boats moored by the riverbanks burst into flame. Guards armed with AK-74s ran to the source of the disturbance, shouting curses and barking orders in Spanish. He could hear the dinstinctive chatter of AKs mixed with the bark of a light machinegun and the pop of M4 Carbines. His team moved silently towards the small center building they understood to be the entrance to the drug factory.
The charges beeped loudly as the time releases were activated. Enough C4 had been set to level the entire factory floor, burying the drugs and leaving not a trace but the smell of magnesium. Sean fired off two more rounds, dropping another guard before reloading. The four Marines began pressing back towards the winding staircase up to the surface, dispatching enemy personnel left and right. Back on the surface, they reunited with Fireteam Two.
All hell had broken loose. The cartel had been better armed than intelligence had suggested. They were surrounded by paramilitary soldiers armed with AK-74Ms and RPK-74 machineguns. One man from team two was bleeding heavily from a grievous leg wound, and two others had shrapnel wounds in their arms. Sean raised his SOCOM II and took aim, releasing eight cartridges from its thirty-round magazine. He ducked down behind a crate alongside three other Marines and hefted a grenade out onto the field. The sound of a .50 calibre heavy machinegun tore through the night as bullets shredded the ground around him. He could practically hear the ticking of the C4 down below them as it counted down. He glanced at his watch. "Oh, sh-" The explosion tore the ground out from under him and hurled his body into the air. He blacked out.
Such is the story to be picked up in real time. I discussed the rifle with a moderator, and it won't function.
Age: 26
Race: Human
Hair Color: Brown (takes on a silver hue under certain lighting conditions)
Eye Color: Brown
Height: 6’ 1”
Weight: 200 lbs. approx.
*Occupation: United States Marine Corps. Force Recon
1st Force Recon Co.
MOS 0302- Infantry Officer
Captain
Personality: Sean is, for lack of a better common word, complicated. He is a kind man with strong moral beliefs and a strong sense of self-worth that doesn’t merit an ego. He has a sharp wit and is cleverly sarcastic. Career to the contrary, he prefers to settle matters through negotiation rather than fighting. On the other hand, he can become very unapproachable and even violent when enraged. At times he can go from perfectly calm to holding his opponent against a tree by the throat, which led him to wonder for some time if perhaps he was bipolar. It does, though, take quite a bit of pressing to truly anger him like this. Sean actually does enjoy writing and poetry, and has, through practice, become an above-average artist, but only with pen or pencil. He is intelligent, physically and mentally strong, and possesses an iron will, as well as being very charismatic and friendly.
Appearance: Physically, Sean practically sets the bar for health. He has had an infallible immune system all his life. His bone and muscle tissue is abnormally dense and his cells reproduce somewhat more quickly than is normal for homo sapiens. He keeps his hair cut in a typical buzz rather than the stereotypical “jarhead” trim, and he prefers not to boast facial hair. He is somewhat handsome, but not overly special. He has a strong jaw. An almost invisible scar passes through his brow over his left eye. He has a very elaborate tattoo on his right upper arm, a picture of which will follow soon He has 20/30 corrected vision, and wears prescription glasses instead of contact lenses. He also has a small, perfectly circular scar on his right forearm. He prefers to wear his Marine Corps. Combat Uniform (MCCU) and combat boots, and carries both his woodland and desert uniforms in his pack. His dog tags are always on him, one around his neck and one tucked into the laces of his left boot.
History: Sean was born in the early 1990s in Connecticut in the United States of America to Irish/Italian parents. His name stems from his Irish heritage, and actually derives from John Wayne (Sean is Gaelic for John). He was born nearly blind, which colored all his experiences over the course of his young life. He is the youngest of three, with two female siblings (Colleen, the oldest, and MaryKate, the middle child). His mother was a medical professional and his father a mechanic. At the age of two he was sent in for ocular surgery to save his vision. He made a miraculous recovery, and over the years his vision changed from 20/350 post-surgery to 20/30 corrected fifteen years later. It was clear from a young age that he had a high IQ and displayed advanced problem solving skills.
Sean attended St. Joseph’s School from Kindergarten to 8th grade and displayed high marks all nine years. He made some very close friends there, obviously influenced by the fact that it was a school of no more than 400 students. Throughout this early stage in his life he was set aside by his proficiency with and knowledge of combat techniques and firearms. He began working with his father at the garage on weekends around the age of thirteen, and displayed distinctive mechanical skill and intuition. He also began pulling shifts at a local gun store around the age of fifteen.
Sean attended high school at Fairfield College Preparatory School, which he enjoyed. He played Junior Varsity Rugby in his sophomore year and Varsity Football his junior and senior years. He took Latin as a language all four years and can both speak and write it. He graduated Cum Laude and went on to attend college at Richmond American International University in London, England, where he majored in English Literature, while becoming very proficient in a multitude of languages including Russian, German, Japanese, Persian Farsi, and Spanish. He enrolled in several Foreign Study programs, and spent semesters in Dublin, Rome, Moscow, Sydney, and Tokyo. He holds a Bachelors Degree.
As soon as he returned to the United States he enlisted in the United States Marine Corps. He was shipped to the Marine Corps. Recruit Depot Parris Island, Beaufort, South Carolina. This had been his life’s work. He had known since he was young enough to dream that he wanted to be a Marine like his Grandfather. He was at the top of his unit in Basic Combat Training (BCT), and took all the optional equipment training regiments he could. He holds Expert Marksman medals for rifles, pistols, machine guns, shotguns, submachineguns, and is qualified as a designated marksman (squad sniper).
Sean enrolled in Officers Candidate School (OCS) upon completion of BCT. Here, too, he excelled, leading his assigned unit to victory in combat simulations using simunitions or MILES gear. He received a commission as a 1st Lieutenant immediately upon course completion, a rare opportunity indeed. He was assigned to a combat infantry platoon and shipped to Iran at the age of twenty-three as part of Operation: Forsworn Honor. His unit spearheaded the push to Tehran, supporting an armored battalion. He received several Silver and Bronze Stars with Valor for his actions during this time, as well as two Purple Hearts.
Upon completion of his first Tour of Duty, he was made aware of his eligibility for special operations training. He opted in, and again excelled. Upon completion he was assigned to 1st Force Recon Company, just in time for the outbreak of the Columbian conflict. The Conflict began a covert war on terror known as Operation: Coffee Grinder. This became a Joint Operation solely undertaken by Force Recon and SEAL teams, with the support of the Columbian Marine Riverine Brigade and the Administrative Department of Security.
The operation began following the introduction of a new mind-altering illegal substance called Thermadophal. Federal agencies determined the source of the drug to be a factory hidden in the Columbian jungle. US Special Operations Command (SOCOM) was ordered to mobilize teams to work together with Columbian officials in “cleaning house”, totally annihilating the drug cartels operating out of the Columbian jungles. Nicknamed Operation: Empty Starbucks by the participating US Forces, this is where it began and ended for Captain “Duke” McClintock.
Skills: Above average knowledge and proficiency with of firearms and explosives.
Average hand to hand and knife combat skills (Green Belt according to
the Marine Corps. Martial Arts Program MCMAP)
Below Average Knowledge of Field Medical Techniques
Average ability in Personal Camouflage
Lengthy Academic Knowledge
Language Skills
Equipment: MCCU Uniforms- Desert and Woodland
Coyote Brown Combat Boots
ILBE (Improved Load Bearing Equipment) Backpack
Boonie hats- Woodland and Desert
KA-BAR fighting knife with a 7” black steel blade, partially serrated.
Non-functioning Springfield Armory M1A SOCOM II (http://www.vltor.com/images/SocomGreen_on_ground615x432.jpg)
Tactical knee and elbow pads
Three MRE ration kits
Black/Olive Drab Full-finger tactical gloves
Field Medical Kit- Gauze wrap, antibiotic
Olive Drab Bandana
The Story:
The soft buzzing of insects filled the humid air of the hazy, pre-dawn jungle, mixing with the low-pitched grumble of the motors aboard the two Zodiac inflatable boats. Sean rested his elbow on the smooth black rubber ringing the river craft, allowing it to absorb the weight of his rifle and take the weight off of his arms. He crouched low in the boat along with three other bodies dressed just like him. Their sister ship was barely visible behind them in the dim light, but it, too, contained four Force Recon Marines fully outfitted for a Black Op. He repeated those words in his mind. Black Op, In FORECON it meant a Direct-Action Operation. Open war, kill or be killed. Except if I die here no one will ever know about it, He thought. just a letter saying I died in a training accident. Probably fell out of an airplane or drowned on a diving exercise. A grim smile crossed his lips. What's the one thing Dan told me? Never jump out of a perfectly good aeroplane!
He felt a rap on his shoulder and turned to acknowledge it. "The hell you laughing about?" His squadmate questioned him in a hushed voice, accompanied by a sarcastic grin. "Murphy's Laws of Combat," Sean replied, chuckling. "Never jump out of a perfectly good airplane." His buddy gave him a puzzled smile, then an upwards nod. Duke turned to see his Fireteam leader assuming the disembarking position as they neared the landing zone, a flat stretch of dirt and ferns between two trees. He leaned forward and pressed his stomach against the hard rubber, then rolled off as the boat nestled its bow onto the mud. He hit the ground with a soft squelch and immediately began scanning the trees as the boat pulled away. The four Marines established a small perimeter as Fireteam Two disembarked from the second Zodiac.
The unfamiliar scent of the jungle filled his nostrils as his eyes began to adapt to the strange Amazonian darkness. They moved slowly into the jungle a few meters, then stopped to get their bearings. Eight highly trained killers in combat fatigues, boonie hats, and face paint; altogether out of place in such a seemingly serene habitat, yet entirely akin to it, almost a part of it merely by understanding. Each man understood the true nature of his environment, and felt it a part of themselves. It was inherently peaceful, but mysterious and deadly. None could be certain what secrets it kept, but with their sense attune and their path decided, they crept on.
Pinpricks of light dotted the forest floor like Zeus' own lightning bolts, few and far between. Sean held his gloved hand beneath one as they passed by, watching the golden beam slice over the black and green nylon. The jungle had finally begun to awaken, shaking off the blue morning haze. He listened intently to the sounds enveloping his team. The buzz of insects and the growls of unseen fauna set the Marines on edge. Their hands never lingered far from their weapons as they moved silently through the thich foliage. Beautiful, he thought. Absolutely beautiful, and we get to burn it to the ground. Chaos to restore order. He lingered on that thought. That's what I've dedicated myself to. Chaos that restores order. It had always struck him after a firefight, how peaceul it would suddenly seem without the explosions and muzzle flashes and screaming. War is hell, pfft. War is just loud as all hell.
Not this war, not the one he trained for. They wouldn't make a sound until it suited them. After almost twenty hours of marching through dense, humid jungle they had arrived. He removed his Kimber ICQB .45 calibre pistol from it's holster and screwed the suppressor to the tip of the barrel. All eight Marines sat around a map laid on the ground absorbing the operational plan devised by their squad leader. Fireteam One, his own, was to approach the compound from the northeastern flank. Fireteam Two would make entry from the southwestern riverbank. The sun had set, and now was the time.
Duke crept down from the thickly forested hillside, watching his approach route for booby traps and wayward guards. He stopped a meter from the treeline and held up a closed fist, signaling for the team to halt. His eyes locked on a lone sentinel patrolling the edge of the clearing, eyes sweeping the jungle for movement. Sean removed his knife from the sheath on his left shoulder and lay down at the edge of the forest, waiting for the man to pass.
As soon as the target passed his position, Sean silently lept to his feet and threw an arm around the man's neck, then dug the KA-BAR deep into his chest, piercing both ventricles. The guard's tongue lolled from his mouth as he tried futilely to scream. Sean dragged him back into the brush and dumped the corpse behind a small dirt berm covered with foliage. He waved the rest of his men forward and rushed across the clearing, crouching down behind the thin wooden fence surounding the compound. Beneath the fence was roughly ten inches of clearence, enough for the men to slip through. One by one they removed their packs and passed them under the fence, then crawled through.
Sean peered out from behind one of the many small wood and reed huts dotting the perimeter of the compound, just inside the fence. He withdrew his pistol from its holster and checked his watch. Fireteam two in four, three, two... A series of explosions lit the night as the patrol boats moored by the riverbanks burst into flame. Guards armed with AK-74s ran to the source of the disturbance, shouting curses and barking orders in Spanish. He could hear the dinstinctive chatter of AKs mixed with the bark of a light machinegun and the pop of M4 Carbines. His team moved silently towards the small center building they understood to be the entrance to the drug factory.
The charges beeped loudly as the time releases were activated. Enough C4 had been set to level the entire factory floor, burying the drugs and leaving not a trace but the smell of magnesium. Sean fired off two more rounds, dropping another guard before reloading. The four Marines began pressing back towards the winding staircase up to the surface, dispatching enemy personnel left and right. Back on the surface, they reunited with Fireteam Two.
All hell had broken loose. The cartel had been better armed than intelligence had suggested. They were surrounded by paramilitary soldiers armed with AK-74Ms and RPK-74 machineguns. One man from team two was bleeding heavily from a grievous leg wound, and two others had shrapnel wounds in their arms. Sean raised his SOCOM II and took aim, releasing eight cartridges from its thirty-round magazine. He ducked down behind a crate alongside three other Marines and hefted a grenade out onto the field. The sound of a .50 calibre heavy machinegun tore through the night as bullets shredded the ground around him. He could practically hear the ticking of the C4 down below them as it counted down. He glanced at his watch. "Oh, sh-" The explosion tore the ground out from under him and hurled his body into the air. He blacked out.
Such is the story to be picked up in real time. I discussed the rifle with a moderator, and it won't function.