Age Shall Not Weary Them

==================================
Pencil note, dated 11/11/2008
==================================
Lest We Forget

"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends"

===================================
Painfully correct pencil writing, dated 11/11/2008
===================================

Ode - Melbourne Shrine Of Remembrance

So long as memory, valour, and faith endure,
Let these stones witness, through the years to come,
How once there was a people fenced secure
Behind great waters girdling a far home.

Their own and their land's youth ran side by side
Heedless and headlong as their unyoked seas,
Lavish o'er all, and set in stubborn pride
Of judgment, nurtured by accepted peace.

Thus, suddenly, war took them, seas and skies
Joined with the earth for slaughter. In a breath
They, scoffing at all talk of sacrifice,
Gave themselves without idle words to death.

Thronging as cities throng to watch a game
Or their own herds move southward with the year,
Secretly, swiftly, from their ports they came,
So that before half earth had heard their name
Half earth had learned to speak of them with fear;

Because of certain men who strove to reach,
Through the red surf, the crest no man might hold,
And gave their name for ever to a beach
Which shall outlive Troy's tale when Time is old;

Because of horsemen, gathered apart and hid,
Merciless riders whom Megiddo sent forth
When the outflanking hour struck, and bid
Them close and bar the drove-roads to the north;

And those who, when men feared the last March flood
Of Western war had risen beyond recall,
Stormed through the night from Amiens and made good,
At their glad cost, the breach that perilled all.

Then they returned to their desired land,
The kindly cities and plains where they were bred,
Having revealed their nation in earth's sight
So long as sacrifice and honour stand,
And their own sun at the hushed hour shall light
The shrine of these their dead!

-Rudyard Kipling

New Moon

==================================
a pencil entry, in a much neater hand, dated 29/10/2008
==================================
New moon, old faces

Three or four days a moon, when Luna hides her face, I get stuck in Fleshie. Every moon. It amazes me how few people notice, and get surprised when they see me, or, don’t see me, as tha case may be. They see tha monkey part of me, tha part I got from my sire. My dam was wild-born four legged, she was with-pup when they brought her to tha Melbourne zoo from tha deserts in America-land. Luna’s joke is how tha men in tha white coats with tha nets and tranq gun and army boots knew which one of my litter was tha Shifter. One night when tha moon rose, and hid her face, and ta-da I wake up cold and sore, on tha hard lumpy ground, and my littermates backing away growlin and whinin. There was me, all Fleshie and stumbling like a new-foaled-deer.

Then came tha bright lights, tha men with tha darts, tha nets. Then came wakin up in another pen, with tha biggest, meanest wolf I’d ever seen. Then came tha trainin. Talkin. Army indoctrination. Military trainin. Hand ta Hand, Claw ta Hand, knives, swords, all kinds of small guns ta big guns. Grenades, and launchers. Drivin. Artillery. Chemical weapons. Torture. Infiltration, sabotage and trackin. All tha great things that Humans have brought inta tha world ta take other Humans outta it. Humans and tha rest of us. Detailed files on tha habits, weaknesses and traits of tha other things that go bump in tha night. How ta kill, capture or evade. All because tha moon shunted me inta Fleshie one night in tha zoo.

And people wonder why I don’t like it. As if that wasn’t bad enough, after that fuckin goddess forsaken siege in Timor when I got blown ta shit but that 90mm, and tha vets put me back tagether, tha shrapnel they left behind would tear me up inside whenever I Changed. Whether I did tha Change myself or Luna did it fer me, that left over metal would shred meat as I Changed. For three years, every moon, every Change. Takes a lot ta scar a Shifter, and I got a lot of scarrin from that shell. Not all of it was to meat, neither, some of it was ta grey matter.

So between tha fear of that remembered monthly agony, and tha fact that Tox aint a safe place, I stick in my War-Form as much as I can. Things are better in my War-Form. I’m warm, got fur, claws, fangs, my ears swivel good, I can SMELL stuff. Tha up sides of bein Fleshie are pretty few. I can see in colour. That’s cool. I get a lot more female attention, and I can’t say that’s not good, neither, and if I was on tha mainland, maybe I’d be happier in it more often. Tha biggest upside? Her Ladyship prefers tha way I look like this. I like ta make her happy. Feels good. Even brings a smile ta Spirit Gals face, too, even though she kinda likes my War Form better, I think.

Its Luna's gag, ta force me ta learn ta accept my Fleshie side, i guess, ta better fit in with tha Fleshie world, seein as i walk half and half. Great. Thanks a lot, Luna. Three or four days, and im Fleshie, three or four days I really gotta watch my tail.

Or . . .not, as tha case may be.

Song fer tha past

=========================
album cover torn out and pasted into the the journal
=========================

I felt the power
Of death over life
I orphaned his children
I widowed his wife
I begged their forgiveness
I wish I was dead
I hung my head
I hung my head

I hung my head
I hung my head

Early one morning
With time to kill
I see the gallows
Up on a hill
And out in the distance
A trick of the brain
I see a lone rider
Crossing the plain

And he'd come to fetch me
To see what they'd done
And we'd ride together
To kingdom come
I prayed for god's mercy
For soon I'd be dead
I hung my head
I hung my head

Busy Times

====================================
Pencil notes dated 7/8/08
====================================
big news, and lots of it.
I got poisoned. food poisonin ya could call it. seems i came across some leftovers that didn't agree with me one bit. its been hard fer me ta talk about it, cause of what it brought back. gave me one nasty trip. i got flashbacks. three days of them. the worst three days of my fuckin life. again. Tha assault on Firebase 6. Timor. 15th June 2004 they came at is. Tha Indo's. Heavy assault. Sent their Feline commando's in. Artillery day and night. They had learned ta lace their shells with silver. Chopped my mated ta shit. We were cut off. They came at us from two sides, and breached our perimeter. So damn fast. They were just so fast. Fast and bloody. Three days of bombin and suicide runs and we got no support. Couldn't bring our guns ta bear fast enough ta defend. Eventually, we ran outta ammo. Then is was close quarters combat. Claw and fang . Our Fleshie support didn't make it much past tha second day. Third day. knee deep in tha mud, and blood and tears, i heard tha round that got me.

90mm shell. Landed pretty much at my feet as i was scroungin ammo off a dead Snarl. Blew me ta shit. Nearly blew me in two. Cost me tha freedom of Shiftin at tha expense of constant pain. I relived those three days. Knowin all along what was comin. Knowin i was still in Tox, but trapped in my own head. Waitin fer that sound. Seein Indo Felines in every shadow. Seein uniforms on my friends, knowin what was waitin fer them , or, at least, what was waitin fer tha uniforms. This is what i spent three days relivin. At least my marksmanship hasn't faltered. I was seein ghosts, and thats all i shot. by all accounts, not a single Tox resident caught any of my lead. and i melted out tha barrel of my P-90. Her Ladyship collected my M-4. Clever, but, i awready knew that.

They finally worked out what had happened, and by good bloody luck, someone knew a cure. Zion of tha Coven, in fact.

Other news.

Abby got outta Zion, and tha other way too. Seems Rago and Abby are actually pairin up, not just scrumpin. thats sweet, shes a good kid, fer what she is, a crazy mix of Fallen and Fleshie, with a now-Feather mum and a dead-possessed-void-lost-step-mum. i been tryin real hard ta keep her safe. Least i could do. Least i SHOULD do. I couldn't bring tha Huntress back, she was outta my reach, i guess.

She's back too, i hear. gonna make her a bot-bod. Metal-Huntress. Great, now she's gunna be rusty and cranky as all fuck.

Kishi tried ta make a pass. More tryin ta get me off kilter ta mess with my head. Shoulda seen Her Ladyship and Joah jump too. It does a critter plenty good ta be looked after. I swear, they think i'm a breakable poodle or somethin. Its embarassin, but at tha same time, i'd not give up that feelin of care fer tha world and all its steak. I been gettin close with Joah too. She's afraid of what she is. I need ta make her feel safe in that. Ta live afraid of yerself aint livin at all. Spirit-gal needs that, i think. Maybe i can show her. Maybe. I'd like that. i like her a lot.

note to self

====================================
in pencil, letters three lines high, dated 31/7/08
====================================
dont ever do that again, it sucked


just in case - angel blood

Timor Snaps

=================================
Photo's taken during a new moon, in Timor, Operation: Red Moon c. 2003
=================================
Kickin it at forward firebase, pre-shrapnel, new moon

River crossin with tha 60 . . . still durin tha new moon, bloody inconvenient


((these two are of my dad, OOC, in and around Vietnam, 1969))

Grr's Backstory - OOC (not in the book)

========================================
Files from the stolen 7RAR-L disk of Grr's personnel file: not in the Journal.
========================================
ADF Master Index ƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒ
Repat No.: 7RAR-L-0571 Issue Point: ADF-A-PUCK Rec Type: DSTOMetaResDiv
Surname: Lykin Address1: UNKNOWN - AWOL - Operation: Red Moon
Given1: GrrBrool 2:
Given2: (Gabriel) Suburb:
Rank: Sergeant Post Code: Phone (H): N-A
Sex Code: M Unit: 7RAR-L Special Ops. Phone (M):
DoB: 19/06/1989 UR No.: Lycan 0571 Phone (B): N-A
Status: CAPTURE-TERMINATE
ƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒ
Mar.Status: S Medicare: N-A Fund Code: 7 (DSTO MetResDiv)
Birthplace: Royal Melbourne Zoo, Specimen 071239 Ins.Level: Freeze for analysis
Religion: Pagan Compensable: x Member No.:
Ambulance: MAS Repat No.: 7RAR-L-0571 Sch/Table:
Subscr.No: 133333 Blood Type: Dog Erythrocyte Antigen (DEA)4
Transport: RESTRAINT LVL4 Pens. Type:
BH " " : Pens. No.: 'Z': AWOL/Rogue
Staff Ind.: N Status(P/S/M): S
Changed Date: 25/01/2005
MetaHuman Details ƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒ
Clinic Origin: RMZ Current Ref Doctor:
Latest: VLD Vet Lycanthropy Refer Valid Date: 21/12/1991 Type: 3L
Consultant: HMZ MAMEGHAN, H Referred To: 7RAR-Lycanthropy
Breed: Canine - Lycanthrope Sub-Speicies : Canis rufus
Condition: Hereditory: Non-Infectious Refer Urgency: CRITICAL
Followup Type: Train/Intergrate Original Ref Doctor: SMITH N No:3
Referral Src: H
First Attendance: 04/05/1991 Local Doctor: BROWN J
In Aust at Regis: 17 Years
Race: Caucasian/Mixed MSW Code:
Language: Palliative Care: Sedate & Euthanise
Theumaturgy: Higher than average Diet Class: 3 Omniverous carnivore
Allergies:
Sunlight : N Wolfsbane: N Silver: N Iron: N
Mistletoe: N Holy Water: N Holy Sign: N Garlic: N
Gold: Y Kosher Salt: N Running water: N
Reverse traditional Lunar cycle:
transformation restriction to human form during "New Moon" phase
normal Lycanthropic regenerative effect reduced
Next of Kin ƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒ
Subject has no human next of kin. Canine kin are deceased. Records expunged.
Father suspected to be human Lycan of American decent,
likely mated whilst in Canine form. No further data.
ƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒ
≥No≥ ≥ Name ≥ Address ≥ Home Phone ≥ Business ≥ Relation ≥
ƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒ
≥ ≥ ≥ 070890 Goldie ≥ Deceased ≥ ≥ ≥ Mother ≥
≥ ≥ ≥ 071236 Charile ≥ Deceased ≥ ≥ ≥ Sibling ≥
≥ ≥ ≥ 071237 Socks ≥ Deceased ≥ ≥ ≥ Sibling ≥
≥ ≥ ≥ 071238 Ammie ≥ Deceased ≥ ≥ ≥ Sibling ≥
≥ ≥ ≥ 071241 Tuft ≥ Deceased ≥ ≥ ≥ Sibling ≥
≥ ≥ ≥ 071242 -unnamed-≥ Deceased ≥ ≥ ≥ Sibling ≥
ƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒƒ

Why I talk like I do.

===================================================
Pencil note, scribbled in a passably legible hand. Dated 3/6/08
===================================================

I got ta thinkin, after some laughin yesterday. I don’t talk pretty, I don’t get some of tha tricky double meanins of words sometimes. I think I do awright but. Thing is, I learnt ta talk after getting yanked from Melbourne Zoo by tha DSTO goons who dropped me off to tha 7RAR-L. What’s tha big deal ya ask? How long did it take ya ta learn ta talk? When did ya start? How many kids were in ya class? Did ya family all come around ta see ya? Let me tell ya, that’s not how it went fer me.

They got a special program fer us ferrals, tha Four-Leggers, ta educate and train. It'd start with another , older Shifter cominin and establishin dominance, and communicatin like that, buildin a bond. Same one came in when I was Fleshie and did tha same till I got it. Then there was object ID: ball, box, chair. Kids stuff. Just like any Fleshie family would, I guess, except I was full grown. A man ta look at. Retarded, some mighta thought, some stupid enough ta say after I learnt what it meant. Eventually they got tha picture. As soon as I was good enough ta get taught other stuff say, sam Trainin. Took about a year ta get there. I got lots of exercise durrin that year too, mind, and Shiftin practice, so I could take all my forms as I pleased, Moon phase allowin. I'm a fast learner. I read slow, but I never had much ta read or time ta do it in.

When I 'graduated' from talkin school I had been house-trained and given tha basics of Fleshie social skills. Only as much as was needed fer a Drill Sergeant ta work with. All that "Sir, yes Sir" stuff, military indoctrantion, weapons and tactics and tha like. That’s when I got tha specialized anti-non-human trainin too. With that came folklore, myth and both sciency and arcane learnin. How did all thif affect how I talk? Well, I learnt ta talk proper in tha baracks, with tha other Snarls. I been told I swear a lot, well, what did ya fuckin think, I was gunna do? Stuck way out in tha bush 2 days run from a town, on a secret Army base inland north Queensland.

Tha other thing I got was movies. Unlike my Two-Leg cousins, I never grew up in Fleshie society, fer better or worse. That meant I didn't "get" a lot of thins about how Feshies did stuff, and they couldn't afford ta let me lose in public, we got kept on-base any time we weren't in-country. So I got ta watch a lot of movies. Some of them were even required learnin. Platoon, Full Metal Jacket, Rambo: First Blood, Sniper, Heartbreak Ridge, Hamburger Hill, Gladiator, Navy SEALS, Predator, Henry V, Black Hawk Down, We Were Soldiers, 300, Dog Soldiers, Galipolli, Tha Light Horsemen, Aliens, Soldier, Patton, Tha Battle of Tha Bulge. All kinds of good stuff in there. Taught me all kinds of thins about Fleshie society and how ta be a good soldier. How ta talk socialy. How ta interact with civilians.

So if ya wonder some time why I talk like I do, think who taught me ta, and how.

Medical Report. Field Veterinary Hospital 3. 7RAR-L . East Timor. Operation: Red Moon

GrrBrool Lykin OOC backstory, some details and likely the whole thing will come out IC, but in dribs and drabs, ask, and he will probably talk . . .
=======================================

Medical Report. Field Veterinary Hospital 3. 7RAR-L . East Timor. Operation: Red Moon
==========================
Combat Surgeons Report 19/06/2004
Case 0178
==========================
Lycan 0571. Platoon Sgt GrrBrool.
Gender: Male.
Breed: Canine.

Initial Assessment: massive thoracic and abdominal trauma resulting from near direct hit from 90mm artillery. Left thigh partially de-fleshed. Left arm multiple compound fractures. Massive blood loss and extensive shrapnel wounding. The fact it is still alive at all is a testament to how hardy these things are. This one was recovered by chance following after-action clean up at dawn after heavy counter-offensive. Subject was caught in the open during a barrage and was found in a crater under bodies and debris.

Triage:
Subject delivered by MediVac in "hybrid" state having been given field transfusion of 6 units plasma + 8 units autologous RBC.
Some innate regenerative healing had already occurred, stabilizing the Subject to some extent. Despite massive trauma, organ damage and/or loss and blood-loss,
Subject was still responding reflexively whilst unconscious, and as unlikely success appeared, according to protocol, due to its value, emergency surgery was attempted.

Procedures:
Emergency transfusion continued.
Thoracic cavity was irrigated and debrided following venus and arterial closures and/or clamping was effected.
Silver nitrate euthanasia system in place as standard precaution if Subject regained consciousness. (Records later showed Subject is not affected by typical Lycan silver anaphylactic reaction, gold has similar effect in this case. WE NEED TO HAVE THIS KIND OF DATA PEOPLE !!)
Surgical removal of shrapnel + debris from thoracic cavity complicated by deep lodgment in spinal column and proximity to heart. Thigh and arm wounds comparatively simple to attend.
Subjects innate regenerative ability dramatically reduced but still observable.

Prognosis:
Subject may eventually return to active duty status following recovery. Recommend follow-up surgery NOT be attempted to remove remaining thoracic + spinal shrapnel. It should re able to function without risking killing it with further invasive surgery.
Recommend Level 3 containment throughout recovery period due to recovery pain and its Canine breed.
Again, the fact it made it back here to the table is nothing short of miraculous. If we had more of these things I could retire.

Kin, pack, Blood

=============================
Pencil entry, in the original bad scribble, dated 13/5/08
=============================
Kin, pack, Blood.

Three little words. So much meanin. When I was in tha 7RAR-L tha words were carved by claw inta tha roof beam of tha mess-hall. Some got it tattoo'd along with tha Regiment'i insignia. Fer me it was three words that first struck me as what I was, and what I was fer. Really fer. They told us we were all tagether. A Unit. We lived tagether, faught tagether, from time ta time died tagether. All tagether in tha mud, tha blood and tha tears. That we were Kin ta each other, that we didn't' have no other family but tha Unit. That tagether we were a Pack. A big Pack. A Pack of Packs. They told us that it was in our Blood. That it was all that we were. That it was what made us mighty. That it was our right ta do what they had us do.

By right of Kinship we were mighty.
By right of Pack we were all we were.
By right of Blood we were savage.

And those words stuck. They stuck deep. They stuck so deep they got me ta thinking. They wouldn't have wanted that, but see, most of their thinkin was in order ta train fresh Two-Legs ta be better Lycans, not ta tell a Four-Legs like me that there was a bigger world out there. I guess I was kinda naïve in those early days. What they didn't count on was me wantin ta know more, about all my Kin. About how few we really were. About how tha different Types came ta be. About our furred cousins Tha Felines, and our wild Kin. I learnt about my own past, as best I could. I knew, already I was from a Zoo, when I got taught ta talk. I learnt about where I came from and that they'd taken me from my dam and littermates.

They didn't think i'd want ta learn about tha Unit, tha Pack they'd given me. Learn tha secrets I wasn't supposed ta know. They made me a better scout than they knew. Belongin ta a pack is in my bones. Followin tha heirarchy is in my nature. What they didn't figure was that i'd take it personal when they started usin my Pack as expendable ordenance. We ain't expendable. We are Pack. We live, hunt, breed and thrive. They were usin us like an M203. Just a bigger weapon. Most of my Packmates just took it on faith. They had superpowers. They were revelin in bein bulletproof killin machines. Pack means ya keep each other alive, ya live and die ta protect yer Pack. Without Pack ya are nothin, without ya, yer Pack is nothin. There are many Packs, but this one was mine. Is mine. Goddess be praised Her Ladyship took me in, I was walkin towards Tha Wide River again, lookin ta take tha long swim. Tha Boatman doesn't carry my kind. We swim wild.

They didn't think i'd care about tha blood. Tha blood we spilled fer their greed, fer tha sake of blood, fer terror and just ta clear tha path fer them. They didn't count on me carin about tha blood my Kin shed fer them. They didn't think i'd see that those we shed blood alongside, that i'd count as close as Kin or Pack. Like that king said "he who sheds his blood with me today, he shall be my brother" it didn't matta. Fight by me and i'll hold yer six, guard as ya sleep and tend ya if ya fall.

Kin, pack, Blood

I consider all tha furred peoples my kin. I don't care if ya howl, yowl, or yip. Ya got ears on tha top of yer head and a tail? Yer one of mine. Reason is, were too few, too divided and too bloody minded. Somewhere along tha line we crossed a limit, where there ain't enough Wildings, and too much Fleshie blood has mucked up tha Balance. My Kin has started ta slide towards oblivion. I won't sit on my tail and watch it. Not when I can help my cousins, my brothers and sisters.

Tha Institute are my pack. They may not think of it back, but they are. Took me in when I was walkabout, welcomed me by their fire and inta their home. Its more than shelter, they talked ta me. Her Ladyship thought i'd bring somethin ta Her Institute. Took me in fer what I am, fer who I am, in spite of what I am, or who I am. They are my pack. In every way, and i'd swim Tha Wide River fer each of them, or for it as a whole

Blood I got plenty of, blood i'll spill and blood i'll shed. Its in my Nature. Ya can only fight Nature so much, and then ya have ta let it take Its course. Ta know a bein deep enough ta not re supprised at tha way they are is ta know em by blood. Blood is our tie ta Tha Goddess. Its life. Ta spill it or shed it should be with tha respect its due. Ta be true ta ya nature is ta follow tha song of yer Blood, ta Dance Tha Goddess' Dance.

It's why I can call Choi my sister. She's Feline. So what? She's kin, she was in Tha Pack when it was MY pack, we've shed blood tagether fer good causes. Tha down side is even tossers and crazies can be Kin. Ya can't choose yer Kin. Jadienne is a perfect example. She seems ta have got herself "bit" and Changed. This is tha same gal who been bounced from Faction ta Faction, who I pulled outa Tha Wide River and came back as a Angel, with her brains all through my fur, then got knocked up, got inta a vendetta with tha fuckin Slaver, and then shaked up with him. So now she's Kin. What’s a Shifter ta do? Lorne's kit, Tandy, I call her Kin too, fer all her "tee-hee, fuckin meow, purr, scritch". She and My-She couldn't be further apart than say, Wulf and me, but gigglin aside, she's Kin, and's worth my care. She makes Lorne happy and he's pack.

Rob, now and once Beta of Tha Pack tried ta recruit me back. Gave me tha same old speeches "come ta us and get tha fear ya deserve, Hunt, kill and eat who ya like, we won’t be evil like tha others was, this time, when tha strong are in charge, it'll be better." What a load of bollocks. Tha gall of tha bastard ta in tha one breath say I should re-up so I can be part of that which that eats own. They got six Felines on their books he says, Feline meat is tha best he said. Humans are cattle ta be ett he said, and he was proud ta say he'd eaten a wolf er two in his time too. Said it'd be good if I took a Betaship. Hinted he'd be happy ta have me as Alpha. What tha fuck would did he think I was doin now? What tha hell did he think, that I wanted ta leave my Family who lived by respect, pride and love of Her Ladyship ta run with, and lead a cannibalistic "bunch of half insane fugatives, bandits, and rogues." His words. Kin they are. Pack they once were. Blood they ain't. I know where I belong.

Kin, pack, Blood. To each be true.

ta be free

==========================================
Pencil entry, dated 6/5/08 written in a significantly neater hand, but still obviously the same.
==========================================
I got ta thinkin, about how ta talk about what i am, and why, and how its so important ta me ta be where i am, and with my Family.

I remebered this song from one of tha motivational movies we got ta watch on-base in Timor, and i looked it up in Tha Library. Apart from Dim's paintin bein a smartass, again, tha book i was lookin fer sorta just made itself known. Just kinda fell open fer me. Guess it pays ta have left my firearm burried in tha flowerpot . . .

THE MINSTREL BOY
by Thomas Moore

The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone
In the ranks of death you will find him;
His father's sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;"
Land of Song!" said the warrior bard,
"Tho' all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder;
And said "No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and brav'ry!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They shall never sound in slavery!"

Grr: soldier, healer, cocktail-maker. Pt2 OOC (not in the book)

His nose for magic manifested in several ways, he could draw on the spirits of a place to help him track or guide, to hide or obfuscate him or his fellows, and to heal casualties, slowing blood flow, binding wounds, reducing pain. It also kept him and his Snarl-mates out of magical ambushes, which in later actions became alarmingly more frequent.

Grr flowed easily to Goddess worship, a manifest belief that life, nature and its cycles were Her, that the Moon was a visual reminder of that. He took what aspects from established religions he felt matched what he knew was true and filled in the rest with the direct logic of the Wild. That may have been the time Grr first started questioning the rightness of the 7RAR-L, its mission and his part in it. Hunting and killing were natural and right. Defending and taking new territory is the same. What they had been doing was far beyond that. Humans were not normal prey. Rabbit, deer, goat, sheep these were normal. It suddenly seemed amazing that his Snarl-mates were only too happy to feed on that which they were part of. More so because so many of them were Fleshie-born themselves.

One way Grr looked to deal with this was to learn to cook. Field rations being what they where he often didn't have much to work with, but fast hands and deep pockets kept him supplied him with the little extras that made combined rations, and any prey or local flora handy into not only decent, but fairly tasty meals. There were always those who made a show of not caring and eating raw carrion, freshly killed prisoner or whatever, but it seemed to Grr that this was taking for granted the subtle heritage that being on the edge of Humanity gave them all, and overcompensating trying to be “more bestial” than nature needed. Fruits, root vegetables, shoots, insects, rodents, livestock and crops all made it into the bellies of the Snarls who either went into the field or stayed in camp with Grr. Their pelts were healthier, and their eyes clearer than those how took the other path. Grr was taking the first steps as Shaman, tending his Kin, offering wholesomeness in the midst of carnage and decay.

This took a more practical sense after the incident with the 90mm shell. Spending a lot of time traumatised, strapped and caged as he recovered his higher functions, then bed-ridden thinking of healing, his purpose and his nature. Calling on the deep instinctive feelings of connection to the flow of life, he was first able to sense deep within himself to "see" the damage that was holding him back from healing fully. He looked to the other casualties, some in better shape than him, some worse. He reached out to them and found he could heal some of their hurts. When he told the medics, they ran some tests and confirmed he did indeed have "The Touch". Field medics were rare in the 7RAR-L, few Lycans had the feel for healing, more interested in dealing out the damage than mending it. Perhaps for this or maybe because of it, the regenerative nature of most Lycans made first aid generally unnecessary. Yet modern warfare brought many dangers even famed Lycanthropic healing couldn't quickly cope with. Shrapnel, phosphorous, napalm, DPU spall and explosive dismemberment would all took their toll. So when Grr requested Combat Medic training over Advanced Firearms, the brass allowed it, always mindful of keeping the 7RAR-L as self sufficient as possible: a self supporting, self feeding, self healing killing machine, just like the individuals that made it up.

When Grr was returned to the field, a new leader had been brought in, from the rifle company that formed part of the Al Muthanna Task Group in southern Iraq. The feel of the unit had been changed. More "training" was carried out, on prisoner or to discipline Snarls themselves. This was exactly the behaviour that Wulf brought to The Pack during the "Alpha Struggles" when Pack Leadership was as changeable as the moon in Toxia. Grr waited, endured, and watched. He tended the fallen, as best he could, healing them, easing their passage or helping them recover. He never shirked his duties, but on more than one occasion, was reprimanded for un-warranted displays of mercy to non-combative targets. It was only his feral savagery to opposing forces, and field-craft that stopped his Officers demoting him, in favour of younger, more unilaterally brutal Snarls. When it was obvious that the corruption of the Unit had degraded it so far that they began to turn on each other, he acted. Only officers were ever issued the generally Lycan-toxic silver ammunition, but his time in the field and in the recovery hospital taught Grr how to kill his own kind convincingly without it.

White Phosphorous incendiary grenades. Several of them. After that it was only the hardly trivial matter of eluding capture by motivated and dedicated, military trained Lycans, and finding lasting freedom. His keen senses, stealth, insurance and counter-insurance training and natural way with those he encountered along the way made that possible. Not a complex plan, just a deep set drive to be free, wild and part of something that felt right. Sneaking in to a regular Fleshie RAR base at a port town was only too easy, as was re-stocking on kit. It was just a matter of putting a word on his buddy in logistics to know which crates held gear ear-marked for the 7RAR-L, skimming off one set of what he needed, being a creature of habit, the only gear he had ever known was either standard issue kit, whatever they could get from the PX, or looting. When “off duty” Grr had taken to wearing shirts with slogans that meshed with his particular brand of humour. About as dry as a paper towel in a monsoon. Fleshie morals, and qualms amused Grr, taking delight in flaunting his feral nature at times, in the face of tradition, whilst at the same time, being quite shy about his own, and rigorously following them; Pack Hierarchy, Territory Protection, Matriarchal Mating Rites, Protection of the Young. Often Grr felt the need to educate his Snarl-mates on the ways of their Four-Legged Kin. In this, Grr was also acting as Shaman to what he considered his Pack.

It was also in these “off duty” times he took after that other grand old Australian tradition. Drinking. Beer never really appealed to Grr, to biter and bloating, but he revelled in the fruity combinations of fresh fruit and strong spirits. With whatever contraband or looted booze they could supply him with, Grr made drinks for his Snarl-mates, a battered Cocktail Guide made its way into his personal effects and Grr realised another aspect of his nature, He could combine scout and healer, cook and soldier, combine them and make them more than their parts. When he stood or crouched beside the makeshift bar in their Den, his fellows would sip at his creations, and start to talk to him, voicing their grievances, giving opinions they might not ever dare give otherwise. It was as if the Rank vanished, the Unit vanished, and all that was left were two beings, one with woes and trials, the other with open ears, and given the trust to judge and advise. Grr learnt his potions well, mixed his drinks, and tended the needs of his fellows. His bartop confessions never passed up the chain of command, save as general recommendations to his Alpha, when he thought the situation needed to be known, for the good of his Kin. In this way too, Grr took on the aspect of Shaman, as Bartender.

ANZAC day

================= a pencil note, left pinned to the fireplace in the Library, eventually re-pasted into notebook, dated 25-04-08 ================= The Final Inspection The Soldier stood and faced his God, Which must always come to pass. He hoped his shoes were shining, Just as brightly as his brass. "Step forward now, you Soldier, How shall I deal with you? Have you always turned the other cheek? To My Church have you been true?" The Soldier squared his shoulders and said, "No, my Lord, I ain't. Because those of us who carry guns, Can't always be a saint. I've had to work most Sundays, And at times my talk was tough. And sometimes I've been violent, Because the world is awfully rough. But, I never took a dollar, That wasn't mine to keep... Though I worked a lot of overtime, When the bills got just too steep. And I never passed a cry for help, Though at times I shook with fear. And sometimes, God, forgive me, I've wept unmanly tears. I know I don't deserve a place, Among the people here. They never wanted me around, Except to calm their fears. If you've a place for me here, Lord, It needn't be so grand. I never expected or had too much, But if you don't, I'll understand. There was a silence all around the throne, Where the Saints had often trod. As the Soldier waited quietly, For the judgment of his God. "Step forward now, you Soldier, You've borne your burdens well. Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets, You've done your time in Hell." ~Author Unknown~ (edit 9/6/2022 Author - Sgt Joshua Helterbran, US Army)

Sgt Joshua Helterbran, US Army

Read more at:
http://www.indiandefencereview.com/news/soldiers-final-inspection-in-heaven-by-the-lord/

Sgt Joshua Helterbran, US Army

Read more at:
http://www.indiandefencereview.com/news/soldiers-final-inspection-in-heaven-by-the-lord/

Sgt Joshua Helterbran, US Army

Read more at:
http://www.indiandefencereview.com/news/soldiers-final-inspection-in-heaven-by-the-lord/

Folks, i have ta go make a Pilgrimage, ta honour tha Fallen. I'll be back in a coupla days Lest We Ferget =====================

7RAR-L: history, training and mission

==============================================
Torn pages from a watermarked TOP SECRET report, muddied and bloodied, pasted into the notebook
==============================================

During the Viet Nam war the Australian military began investigation into the use of non-standard forces in its order of battle. Faced with the difficulties of jungle and bush warfare in this conflict it was felt the newly identified sub-classes of humanity, the lycanthrope, vampire and theumeturgic, could be utilized.

Initially, previously identified active servicemen were asked to volunteer to form a new commando unit for trialing these new soldiers. Non-compliant identified servicemen were "selected for advanced training". It is unreported how many of these servicemen survived. Once formed and quickly trained up to fulfill their new roles these fresh mixed-race units were sent into the field in a variety of hazardous and challenging operations to asses their effectiveness.

Some of these operations were abject failures, others significant successes. What it proved to the US and Australian military was that there was a resource to be tapped. Screening, selection and training programs were improved and the different divisions of the armed forces used their own strategies. The Army created the 7RAR-Lycanthropy Corps under the guise of its Mechanised Infantry. Later on when a sufficient feline presence had been established the 5RAR-Feline Corps, to keep relations between the sometimes antagonistic races better under control. For logistical purposes the 5/7RAR was formed, but generally the "Snarls" and the "Furfs" acted separately.

Similarly the newly formed 2RAR-Thaumaturge - Light Inf "Tarts" and 3RAR-V (vampiric) - Para "Reavers" were assigned their own roles and operations. It is rumored that Strategic Command hosts a number of Angelic and Nephilic entities but at the time of reporting, this can not be confirmed at this security clearance. . . .

==========================
Glossy pages from an encyclopedia style book, torn out, and also pasted into the notebook, with a red marker scrawled under it "Pretty lies for tha press"
==========================

In 1999 5/7 RAR relocated from Holsworthy to Darwin. Later that year the battalion made its first operational deployment when it deployed to East Timor as part of INTERFET and transitioning in February 2000 as the 1st AUSBATT of the UNTAET mission. This deployment proved highly successful, with 5/7 RAR providing the force with a powerful and highly mobile battalion. After a seven-month tour, the Battalion returned to Australia shortly after ANZAC Day 2000. 5/7 RAR served a second tour in East Timor between October 2002 and May 2003, though it operated largely as a light infantry battalion on this deployment. The deployment also included a company of General Reserve soldiers.

5/7 RAR's final deployments were to Iraq. In 2004 5/7 RAR provided a rifle company for security duties in Baghdad. During 2005 and 2006 a rifle company from the battalion formed part of the Al Muthanna Task Group in southern Iraq. 5/7 RAR provided the headquarters and support elements of the second rotation of the Task Group from November 2005 - April 2006. The rifle company in Iraq was mounted in ASLAVs from the 2nd Cavalry Regiment as it was judged that these fast and well armed vehicles were better suited to conditions in Iraq than 5/7 RAR's elderly M113A1s.

On 3 December 2006, the 5th/7th Battalion was formally de-linked into its antecendent units.

Grr: soldier, healer, cocktail-maker. OOC (not in the book)

When going through Induction and Training, Grr was pegged as a scout: low aggression, attentive, stealth and concealment skills, as well as natural ambush tactics. Something of a disappointment to the 7RAR-L brass, who were more interested in shock-troops, but there was a role that needed filling regardless. Never one of the heavy hitters, Grr became proficient in defensive claw to claw fighting, close quarters firearms, booby-traps and sniping. In his advanced training he was instructed in ambush and counter-ambush tactics, psych-ops and infiltration. 7RAR-L (transliteratevly nicknamed the Snarl) training was always performed on live targets. With the high number of illegal immigrants arriving in Australia it was always easy for the Army to find training targets. It was an incentive to the highly predatory "Snarls" to have live prey.

Scouting allowed Grr the freedom to roam in the wild, ranging further and more frequently than the Ravagers, as the regular Snarls called themselves. Mostly being human-born, changed either by surviving an attack by the infective strain of lycanthropy, inheriting the traits or in rare instances, magically lycanthropic, the majority of the Snarls retained many human mannerisms and habits, yet unmoderated by normal human restraint. Expressing their Lycan nature in patterns typical to folklore, by brutal and savage struggles for dominance, blood lust, hyper-aggression and superiority complexes.

Grr reacted to this in typically canine fashion and submitted to those of higher stations whilst honing his natural talents at stealth, integration, infiltration, defensive and evasive combat. This didn't mean he avoided combat, just that he tended to be on the edges of the battlefield, taking out sentries, those fleeing or survivors, rather than the main thrust of most assaults. It was this drive to shine against his pure-combat unit-mates along with a flare for small-unit leadership that earned him his corporal's stripe, and later, field promotion to sergeant.

Capture, subjugation and field expedient interrogation were the norm for any prisoners they took, yet any captivity was only temporary, as a "no-extra-baggage" policy was strictly enforced. It was common for these prisoners to end the short remainder of their lives screaming. They also often supplemented the "Pal + MightyBites" rations. Whilst not officially sanctioned, the taking of trophies was common, as was the posing of the dead and leaving of gruesome markers for anyone returning to a "swept" area. Grr learned a great deal about the application of pain, how the body works, and what it can cope with.

The Snarl's were constantly monitored and given regular training when not active in the field, because they bored easily, and a bored Lycan is dangerous. Instruction in a variety of topics was available and Grr took what he could. Never having been to school, nor having grown up in human society Grr was disadvantaged both in the field and academically, but he knew it. Whilst many of his Snarl-mates would drink, scrump and brawl during their whole down-time, Grr always took time to watch the movies supplied (or bootlegged in) and slowly learnt to read and write. He also looked into his own history, and that of the 7RAR-L, and learnt as much as he could of his kind, and whatever files he was able to access on the other races that populated the world.

As he was less often a front line fighter, and as such less laden with gear, fitting his role as a scout, Grr was often first on hand to treat casualties as the metal hit the meat. He quickly built up first hand knowledge of trauma, massive flesh loss and all manner of burns. He also became familiar with the spread of psychological conditions afflicting Lycans, Fleshies and their other allies. This built on the basic first aid and psych-ops training all Snarls received. Grr's native empathy and understanding of his place in the natural order, as an apex predator put him in a key position to intercede if his Two-Leg Snarl-mates would break down when faced with the bestial nature of their natures. It also put him in a place where he could bring a raging War-Form Lycan back to a semblance of self control. This was essential for unit cohesion in the field.

His nose for magic manifested in several ways, he could draw on the spirits of a place to help him track or guide, to hide or obfuscate him or his fellows, and to heal casualties, slowing blood flow, binding wounds, reducing pain. It also kept him and his Snarl-mates out of magical ambushes


TBC

Grr's Backstory - OOC (not in the book)

GrrBrool Lykin OOC backstory, some details and likely the whole thing will come out IC, but in dribs and drabs, ask, and he will probably talk . . .
=======================================
-Toxian
Arriving on the docks in Toxian in his two legged, Fleshie form GrrBrool was lucky. He quickly came across a couple of other were's, one he came to know as FireStalker. Introducing himself as Grr, he was given a rundown of the city, its groups and history. The Pack's structure and status in the city, its membership and importantly the Den. Not long after, Grr, feeling welcome in his Were form was offered membership to the Pack. There has been a lot of change in the leadership of the Pack but its very wildness makes this natural to GrrBrool. The strong lead, the loyal second the leaders, and the Pack follows. Grr, with his military background was designated as a Pack Hunter. He took to patrolling the streets. Quickly learning that some forces were never going to be understood, he escorted his then-Alpha Maverick to the Pit, lair of the Shadows. They were on a mission to rescue a fallen Packmate, but little did Grr realise how fallen Krazy was. The House of Shadows was not simply claiming the bodies of the Pack, but also their minds and souls. During the confrontation Grr learnt a harsh fact. The Pack for all its strength was not in a position of power in Toxian. He made it his duty to see to the hurts and hearts of not only his Packmates, but to all his Furred kin, Canine, Vulpine or Feline. Not always a popular cause, but a heart felt one. Fleshies, Fallen, Fangers, Freaks or Furred, his neighbors were here to stay and so was he.

-this is the Army Mr. Lykin.
Taken from his zoo home, awakening in the Facility, faced with a strange dominant male wolf GrrBrool was introduced into a strange new world. A world of mystery and amazement. A world of pain and blood. A world of inky darkness and blinding light, and all that lays between. Grr was a shapeshifter, a lycanthrope, a WereCritter. The zoo had been the testbed, knowing of his heritage but not how it might manifest, nor in which of his litter. When it did, he was taken by the Institute, a division of the Australian military.

He was trained, taught, enlightened, awoken to thc world outside the zoo and for this he was grateful, but not the rest. He became a weapon. Literally a Dog-Soldier, a controlled, conditioned member of the 7RAR - Lycanthropy Corps. Sure, he was instilled with plenty of true-blue Aussie values: mateship, ANZAC Digger spirit, a bloody minded stubborn streak, the traditional laconic humor. Yet, underneath it all was the training, the duty, and the work.

Jobs to sensitive to leave to "normal" troops. Jobs too messy for the delicate minds of his Fleshy Digger brothers and sisters. Insurrections to start or quash. Dissidents to vanish, villagers too close to valuable mining resources. Send in the 7RAR-L. 'snarls' the Brass would call them.
Indonesians massacring the East Timourese? Send in the 'snarls'. No prisoners or bodies. Illegal Chinese fishing disrupting supply? A burnt out blood-filled wreck last seen drifting. Normal troops pinned down by snipers or artillery? Send in the 'snarls', they regenerate, and if you do manage to kill one, all you get is a bloody broken wolf corpse, or puma, or fox or coyote. Its not like they are PEOPLE or anything.

Mission after mission saw Grr doing his killing wholesale. Mostly it was indigenous Fleshy militia and supernatural political Black Ops. He took some serious heavy metal in Timor, a 90mm artillery shell that hit a bodies length away, which knocked him into a ditch an almost to the next life. It also almost cost him a leg, both arms and his maleness. Only after the action was resolved and his mates came to scoop up his remains did they realise he was still alive. Regeneration is only so fast and Grr was out of commission for a while.

Always inquisitive he took great notice of his medics, the recovery staff and physios. Learning all the time, he noticed that for all their training most of them knew very little about what it meant to be a Were. Still they tried, and he did have some fun with them, especially the females, Fleshie or otherwise. Whilst he was out of action however, his Unit underwent some drastic changes.

New leaders filled empty slots, new Brass with new ideas and agendas. The structure was changed and there were cullings. 'Redeployment' they called it but you can't lie to a Were who can smell the blood and death of a fellow on you. The missions became darker too. Fewer stand-up fights, more wet-work, 'cleansing' and anti-supernatural actions. The guerrilla fighting appealed to Grr, the massacring of whole villages for a pipeline did not.

In his last assignment with 7RAR-L, that was exactly what he was ordered to do. He tried to reason with the CO. He tried to call off the strike to save the civilians. In the end he couldn't take any more, and before the end, he walked up to his CO to give his report, ' accidentally ' spilt his mug of hot tea in their lap, and when leaning over to quickly mop it up, Grr took the grenade rings on their harness in both sets of 'up-yours' fingers, yanked them and brandished the rings for a moment. "fuck you, sir" he stated to his open-mouthed CO and ducked behind a mostly ruined wall.

Two frag and two incendiary grenades going off on ones hips at once will put a dampener on anyone's day, and the chaos gave Grr a chance to leg-it into the bush. Well trained, well equipped and well motivated there was no way his unit could catch him, even if they had tried. They hadn't. That much firepower makes a big mess, and doesn't leave much in the way of remains, which is why 7RAR-L were issued them.

Making his way to the coast, then on to one of the free-ports, Grr stowed away on a transport junker, laying low until his first port of call, where he jumped ship. He arrived on the docks of Toxian early February 2007. Homeless, alone, renegade.


-beginnings.
GrrBrool was born in Melbourne Zoo's red-wolf enclosure in 1992. His litter also contained his two brothers and two sisters. His mother had been installed there pregnant, as part of a breeding program and good will program between Melbourne and Denver. He grew up happily enough, safe from hunger, predation or sickness, but not free, and under the constant eye of the public, his keepers, the vets and the mysterious "Institute".

Growing larger than normal established him as the leader of the cubs, and his cunning saw many headaches for the keepers, and delight to children and adult patrons alike. The Institute people and the vets were a constant nusciance to him. He would wake groggy and sore, and learned to mistrust tasty treats left out just for him, and hide at the sound of a "safety" being flicked off.

Learning the sounds humans made to one another, GrrBrool began to have an understanding of what was happening. He and his litter-mates were being tested to see if they would show "the Change". Late one night something happened which changed everything. The moon was hidden and Grr was asleep in a hollow of his enclosure, vividly dreaming of walking through the zoo, looking in on the other enclosures and seeing the other inmates he had only heard or smelt. A loud yip startled him, and he woke cold and sore.

The ground was chilled, the rocks sharp and rough, the tussock grass spiky and uncomfortable. Looking across the enclosure as he struggled up to sitting, the view was wrong, and he couldn't smell his family. A weak sounding yip of 'alarm' from one side and looking he saw his youngest sister, backing up in an aspect of fear. Grr looked at her, sat up straight and postured warm curiosity. He tried to walk over to her but his paws wouldn't work. Looking down at them Grr could hardly believe his eyes. His paws were gone, and in their place were the long pink fingers of a human hand. His belly, pink and barely haired. Lanky human legs sprawled onto the dirt beneath him. A startled yelp tried to form, but came out as a yell.

That’s when the alarms went off, the floodlights came on and the men came with the dart guns and the nets. When he woke, there were men in uniforms with clipboards looking at him, as he drifted in and out of dreams. In waking moments he could not move, his limbs were heavy, but he saw his paws, and wagged his tail.

After more sleeping he woke refreshed and able to move. He was in a large, open but high walled pen. He was not alone. A large timber wolf was sitting in the far corner and instead of posturing for dominance or attacking, the wolf spoke to GrrBrool. . .

Bug-out Note

===================================================
A hastily scrawled note, on a Haven drink coaster in red marker pen, left on the wall by the punching bag in the Den. Penciled beside it in the notebook is "2/1/08"
===================================================
"they found me, somehow they tracked me here, and I gotta scram fer a bit. I bet it was that poor bastard in Logistics, i knew gettin him ta air-drop me extra booze might get him in trouble, but i expected him ta have a bit more backbone. i think i caught tha scent of tha 7-RAR-L tracker MP's, by tha docks, so i gotta go walkabout fer a while, lay low till they buzz through.

if ya hear any Aussies with bad haircuts, sunglasses and big canines askin fer me, ya never knew me. I'll be back as soon as i think tha coast is clear.

one of yer Scout Leaders . . ."

Postcard

===================================================
A bent and folded postcard, showing farmland, cows and fields of plants with the title "
Koo Wee Rup: Australia's largest asparagus growing district" On the back in a cramped, messy hand is written . . . Postmarked 17 January 2008. It looks like it has been rescued from the rubbish.
===================================================
Pack-Mates,

I hope this bloody message gets to ya, its had ta come through a few paws ta get here. still hidin out, trying ta shake tha bloodhounds from tha 7RAR-L. Bloody SNARL's, they trained us not ta get caught, now they're payin fer it. Might be another week er so till its safe ta show my muzzle in tha old haunts. Same as before, if any 'yessir, nosir" Aussie types show up lookin fer me, ya ain't seen me, they'll get theirs . . .

Hope ya all takin care, lookin out fer each others tails, we're tha only Family we got. Stay Safe, Happy Huntin, and Good Scoutin to ya all.

"East Timor. At what cost freedom?"

=====================================================
Pencil scribblings in a notebook dated 31/3/08 with a series of paper scraps pasted in.
=====================================================

Now, I was browsin in tha Library fer some way ta pass tha time, ya know, in between naps and time in Tha Haven in fronta bar or behind it. I came across this page, right? Well it was in a magazine, that just sorta fell off tha shelf when i asked out loud "i wonder if they got anythin on me in here . . . . and all of a sudden, this mag drops to tha floor, open to a page. Its an article on what's happened in Timor.
"East Timor. At what cost freedom?" So I got to thinkin, wonderin if my part got a mention. Well, tha answer was, 'kinda'. Not that I expected much, mind, it's not like we were on tha radar or nothin, well under it, subterranian even. Yet it got me ta thinkin, how different was tha published history from my bit was. So here goes.


TORN OUT PASSAGES PASTED INTO A NOTEBOOK, WITH CHILDLIKE PENCIL HANDWRITING UNDER IT

*****A detailed statistical report prepared for the Commission for Reception, Truth and Reconciliation in East Timor cited a lower range of 102,800 conflict-related deaths in the period 1974-1999, namely, approximately 18,600 killings and 84,200 'excess' deaths from hunger and illness.*****

Ah, so, some background in case ya missed it or if ya government decided ya didn't need ta know about what was goin on in a far away island just north of Australia. 'course hardly anyone did till it finally hit tha news what had been goin on up there. That’s a lot of bodies, but even then, it only counts tha ones it counts, i'll get ta that later. Our briefins gave us tha numbers up till when we went in, military estimates that is. It was still a big assed number, even before we went in. I'll try not puke next time someone tells me how hard their people had it. Think of tha poor Timo's. That number was only half that when they sent us in.

*****Indonesian rule in East Timor was often marked by extreme violence and brutality; estimates of the number of East Timorese who died during the occupation vary from 60,000 to 200,000,*****

The Indo's had been doin a number on tha Timo's fer 20 odd years before we got sent in, and givin it hard. Now, ya gotta hand it ta tha Timo's, they been fightin off folks since tha Dutchies landed there in wooden sailboats, tha Spanish and Portugese hard hats took it off them and they kept it till tha Japo's gave them tha flick in Dubbeya-Dubbeya Aye-Aye. Tha Timo's faught with our mob then ta give tha Japo's tha boot. Then tha world kinda fergot about Timor till tha Indo's looked at all tha nice land and stuff they had down there. Took a leaf outa history's book and kinda just took tha place over whilst tha rest of tha world was busy doin other stuff. 1974 just like in tha book. I wouldn't know, I was littered in '92.

*****One promising long-term project is the joint development with Australia of petroleum and natural gas resources in the waters southeast of Timor.
Woodside Petroleum and ConocoPhillips began development of some resources in the Timor Gap on behalf of the two governments in 1992.*****

That’s tha Aussie and Indo governments, by tha way. Good fer them, got all chummy when they founœ there was oil down there. How nice fer them. Indo's needed ta buy oil fer their poppin-at-tha-seams population, and we needed new things ta exploit. What a pitty all those tough little Timo's were livin there and clutterin up tha place, and tha advancin 600 million Indo plebs kept spreadin. Got in tha way of progress apparently. What they needed was some way ta go in and get modernised on their asses.

*****At least 250 East Timorese were killed in the massacre. John Pilger cites a total of 400 killed and missing as a result of the protest killings and an alleged second massacre the next day.*****

Well, how bloody convenient is that? Now, tha only thing new about this is that there musta been some talkin between tha Aussie government and tha Indo government, cause we were all set ta go before this all went down, all kitted up fer tropical jungle and mountin bush combat. See, this particular massacre happened ta get caught on film, and some Western journo's got in tha thick of it, one didn't make it but that just makes it all a better sell, right? Tha two-leggers amongst us that still kept in touch with tha Fleshie World caught it on tha News, so when tha word came down ta line ta ship out, we just needed ta know what we were doin there. Turns out that our mission was a "screech an' sweep", we were gonna go in ta destabilize and terrify tha Timo's inta fleein permantly. Inflict maximum psychological damage and leave no trace. Just killin 'em all woulda brought down tha UN, or worse, tha US. That didn't work out too good in Somalia, but our lot only got trialed there, that was a US show, fer tha most part. Now it was all over tha news, and tha Aussie government was all in arms about protectin tha poor Timo's from tha big mean Indo's, no one would bat an eye when a bunch of RAR Hercules took off from Darwin with heavy loads of ground-pounders and "gear". Except that was us, my unit, tha 7RAR-L, and it weren't no mission of mercy.

*****The Commander-in-Chief for the Indonesian forces, said two days after the massacre: "The army cannot be underestimated. Finally we had to shoot them. Delinquents like these agitators must be shot, and they will be...."*****

Now, see, this guy, fer all intents and purposes ya'd just think, "bastard of a guy, blood thirsty war criminal" well, you'd be right, more right than ya might know, cause we weren't tha only supernatural forces in tha field there, turns out that tha Indo's had their own brand of non-human troopers about. I never met that guy, but by all accounts, his nickname of "La Diablo" wasn't just fer show. Kinda set tha scene fer all our time in Timor. Always somethin else no one told us, always another twist ta tha story. We flew in, got dumped in tha jungle, and got given our orders, tha Regular Army, was gonna be doin tha publicity thing, and keepin tha streets safe fer tha cameras, they didn't know wee were there too, and it was supposed ta stay that way. Last thing we wanted was a bunch of Aussie Troopers coming inta contact with us lot, would be bad fer moral. They probably woulda shot at us, and then we'd have likely ett some of them. Bad for moral.

*****a UN-supervised popular referendum was held on August 30, 1999 to choose between Special Autonomy within Indonesia and independence. 78.5% of voters chose independence, but violent clashes, instigated primarily by elements within the Indonesian military and aided by Timorese pro-Indonesia militias broke out soon afterwards.*****

Bugger that, we had specific orders about that kind of thing. Disrupt and terrify. It helped that tha Indo troopers were startin ta dislike havin Aussie soldiers on their turf, and had some well armed "militia" ta work through, our Fleshie Troopers got some action, whilst we did our thing in tha boonies. When they say violent clashes, what they mean was runnin street battles like ya see in tha movies, all very exciting, lots of lead flyin about, meat catching it, all that good stuff. It also kept tha cameras on tha
leshies, so we could get down ta tha dirty work. And dirty work, we did.

*****In late 1999, about 70% of the economic infrastructure of East Timor was destroyed by Indonesian troops and anti-independence militias, and 260,000 people fled westward.*****

Yer welcome, we did that. They may say it was the Indo's, but they were just sorta randomly smashin stuff. We took that place apart. Trashed buildin's, torched crops, broke dams, and systematically obliterated whole villages. We'd move into an area, cutting off the routes in and out, at night, circle, prowl, and then hunt down and kill every living thing in the perimeter. Man, woman, child, goat, chicken, pets. Everything. We'd hit two villages, then leave the next one, wait for them to work out what happened to their neighbors , and bugger off. Then we'd harry them, pickin off stragglers on tha trail. We;d let them get ta tha next village, then take tha village ta one side or tha other. We did this fer a good couple of years, up and down tha countryside. Sometimes we'd get some actual resistance, either Freedom Fighters, er Indo patrols. Maybe we'd have a bit of a skirmish, maybe we'd fade and hit them at night and kill every second guy as they slept.

*****A peacekeeping force (INTERFET, led by Australia) intervened to restore order.
The militias fled across the border into Indonesian West Timor, from which sporadic armed raids were attempted.*****

Yeah, so, eventually, it looked like relations between tha Indo's and us got ta be a bit strained, maybe they worked out just who and what had been dropped inta there laps, and we started facin stronger and stronger resistance. Regular Indo patrols started turnin inta Platoon sized movements. When they started goin missin, they got air and artillery support. They weren't ready fer tha kinda war we brought with us, lead and shrapnel will drop a Fleshie were it'll just piss off a Shifter, unless its a LOT of metal . . . They also started sendin in their own Supernaturals, and it was then i got my first non-human kills. I ain't tha best fighter, its not really who i am. But i work well with my Family, and a well coordinated attack will take out most buggers. Then again, a well placed artillery shell will blow a Shifter ta shit. Thats what happened ta me. One night-fight, we were advancin on a ridge, and givin a fair account of ourselves, well, not that it was too rough, us bein who and what we were. Still, like i said, tha Indo's were gettin wise, and knew their best bet was ta shell us, so, they did. Shelled us ta shit. We were in tha thick of it, takin out a raidin party of militia, our usual, close quarters, brutal and bloody. It was a trap, and we were in a spot of trouble. I was in tha process of making some extra holes in a couple of militiamen, when a 90mm shell landed at my feet, and thats all she wrote. I got blasted almost in two, my webbing was holdin me tagether as much as my spine was, and tha next thing i remember was wakin up in a Field Hospital, in a cage, recoverin.


*****INTERFET was replaced by a UN force of International Police, the mission became known as UNTAET, and the UNTAET Crime Scene Detachment was formed to investigate alleged atrocities.*****

Ok, so, while i was out, it looks like we had reprisals, big bad reprisals. Our lot really stuck it to the Indo's, ad the Timo's. The Timo's fought back as hard as their Fleshy bodies could, but what got nasty was that tha Indo's brought in their own Supernatural troopers. Shifters, both Canines and Felines, Demons, Fallen Angels, Muties, tha lot. Guess they had finally gotten their own equivalent to tha 7RAR-L. It looked pretty bad. In tha end, tha UN stepped in awright, and tha atrocities were real, just that they had ta give it a good spin, ta keep it from spillin ta full-on war. Thats when i got my first taste of where we were headin. Before I got blown ta shit i had done some pretty heinous stuff. Done it and called it a job. After, when it got really dark, and all tha faces came back ta wake me in tha night, and all tha cries. Guess bein on tha brink of death made me remember my place in tha world. I had ta go though a bunch of physio and rehab, even after natural Shifter regeneration, and they kept me in tha cage till i was fit ta get back into my Unit, fer my own protection and tha Medics.

*****In April 2006, riots broke out in Dili following rivalry within the military and police; 40 people were killed and over 20,000 fled their homes.*****

I got better, got back inta tha field, and started lookin out fer my Kin better, part of my physio was gettin my mind off tha trauma, so i took up Medic's skills, got myself trained up, and by tha time i was ready ta hit mud again, i had my cert's and tha "Pole and Snakes" badge on my chest. Each time we went out it seemed that we were just either feedin meat inta tha machine, or bein fed into it ourselves. It wasn't just huntin and houndin anymore, like they always told us it was. It was beyond nature, it was wrong. My CO didn't see it that way, big Timber-wolf stock he was, got tha Gift when he got bit when he was backpackin in Canada whilst on leave from tha Reserves. He figured I had gone soft, and that it was our Goddess given right to stick it to anyone we could. Well, all tha killin was beyond huntin, beyond predation. Beyond natural. We were doin tha biddin of others, who just wanted us ta clear out land ta let them dig fer oil. We were just tha extention of their greed, their teeth and claws. So i wanted out, i got out.


*****Fighting between pro-government troops and disaffected Falintil troops broke out in May 2006. Upon the invitation of the Prime Minister, Australia, Malaysia, New Zealand, and Portugal sent troops to Timor, attempting to quell the violence.*****

Now, tha way i got out was a bit messy, thats fer sure, and they DID kinda tear tha place apart lookin fer me, but i can't take all tha credit, it was just at tha right time, when everythin else was fallin apart. I ditched them bu goin in tha river, slogged and swam most of tha way ta tha coast, and hitched a ride on a bulk freighter. Ok, so, maybe hitched ain't tha right term, i hid fer dear life, but i was free. Free and alone. In tha wide wild world. I saw a few places on my way, tha Fleshies on board never got wise ta me bein there, infiltration and stealth bein part of tha package, and eventually, they stopped near Tox, and i jumped ship.

So here i am, and here i've stayed. With some notable excursions when tha 7RAR-L came lookin fer me . . .

=============================
OOC The excerpts included here are all from Wikipedea, i've put a very nasty spin on them for RP purposes. I have friends who served in the ADF peacekeeping deployments and am very proud of them and their dedication and devoion to making the world a better place.