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5/26/2025, 4:10:03 PM
>>6248582
[4/6]
While younger than you by several years, you nonetheless intuited that the kid may have been another veteran of the war you both left behind. Curiosity took hold in you. Going about figuring out who he fought for would be a delicate and possibly inflammatory proposition. Aside from the remnants of the old Federal Government and the United Nations occupation forces tasked with helping it regain control of the nation, there were literally hundreds of militias and paramilitaries involved in active combat, both large and small, and only a few of those could you count as neutral or friendly to the cause of the New Confederacy.
The kid could be even be former drone ops, heaven forbid.
Yep. You will have to proceed with caution and tact.
"Hey, uhh... Brinson?" you spoke. The kid bristled. "Who the fuck did you fight for?" The kid froze and avoided your gaze as you passed him on the trail.
"Wh-... uhh... the Redemption Army out of Evansville." he stuttered in surprise. "How in the hell di-?" His response was interrupted by your laughter, causing him to stir in insecure annoyance until you finished.
"Haaah. Oh man... Fuck. Did you guys ever find a new 'Grand General' after Knoxville, or did you go back to listening to vidtube girls? you ribbed. Brayson's eyes lit up in both recognition and anger.
"You're a fucking Johnny Reb! No wonder your ancient ass knows how to fight with a musket. Whose stinking time machine did you get pulled out of?" he quickly retorts.
"The same one your mighty CPAP-sucking dude Bagley came out of. Is it true the last thing he ate was a Twinkie?" you respond with a chuckle. The kid shook his head with a stifled smirk at this remark, likely no fan of his former commanding general. Few people had been.
The jousting between you would continue, though more lightheartedly, for the rest of the journey back towards the Abandoned Mine from which you had came. You had no apprehensions about Brayson now. In the end you were both footsoldiers, not officers, and much of the piss and vinegar that would normally accompany an exchange like this was tempered by mutual experiences, exhaustion, and the comforting familiarity of Earth politics on a world about which you both knew very little.
At least some carpetbagging R.A. goon was better than a UN drone operator.
[4/6]
While younger than you by several years, you nonetheless intuited that the kid may have been another veteran of the war you both left behind. Curiosity took hold in you. Going about figuring out who he fought for would be a delicate and possibly inflammatory proposition. Aside from the remnants of the old Federal Government and the United Nations occupation forces tasked with helping it regain control of the nation, there were literally hundreds of militias and paramilitaries involved in active combat, both large and small, and only a few of those could you count as neutral or friendly to the cause of the New Confederacy.
The kid could be even be former drone ops, heaven forbid.
Yep. You will have to proceed with caution and tact.
"Hey, uhh... Brinson?" you spoke. The kid bristled. "Who the fuck did you fight for?" The kid froze and avoided your gaze as you passed him on the trail.
"Wh-... uhh... the Redemption Army out of Evansville." he stuttered in surprise. "How in the hell di-?" His response was interrupted by your laughter, causing him to stir in insecure annoyance until you finished.
"Haaah. Oh man... Fuck. Did you guys ever find a new 'Grand General' after Knoxville, or did you go back to listening to vidtube girls? you ribbed. Brayson's eyes lit up in both recognition and anger.
"You're a fucking Johnny Reb! No wonder your ancient ass knows how to fight with a musket. Whose stinking time machine did you get pulled out of?" he quickly retorts.
"The same one your mighty CPAP-sucking dude Bagley came out of. Is it true the last thing he ate was a Twinkie?" you respond with a chuckle. The kid shook his head with a stifled smirk at this remark, likely no fan of his former commanding general. Few people had been.
The jousting between you would continue, though more lightheartedly, for the rest of the journey back towards the Abandoned Mine from which you had came. You had no apprehensions about Brayson now. In the end you were both footsoldiers, not officers, and much of the piss and vinegar that would normally accompany an exchange like this was tempered by mutual experiences, exhaustion, and the comforting familiarity of Earth politics on a world about which you both knew very little.
At least some carpetbagging R.A. goon was better than a UN drone operator.
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