Muv-Luv Alternative Quest: What a Mess

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You are Second Lieutenant Samuel Fischer of the USMC, and you are following one of the basic precepts of modern combat: hunger waits for nobody. The walk to the mess is relatively uneventful, aside from having to toss salutes in the direction of a couple of RAF pilots, and surprisingly enough that Danish pilot you saw running from Helga’s room. Both of you quickly break eye-contact and pointedly ignore each other as soon as possible. No need to dredge up anything about the utter clusterfuck that was this morning. The smell of eggs and steak greets your nostrils; a sign of just how busy Tea Drinking Station was going to be in the coming months.

Grabbing a tray and getting a healthy serving of breakfast, you maneuver through the packed mess hall towards the table you usually occupy with your fellow squadron pilots. Malinowski and Foss are already there, with your RIO chattering a mile a minute and making odd hand gestures that you assumed had something to do with the hot and blue falcon worthy sex he’d had last night. Some people had all the fucking luck. Barging into the seat next to Malinowski, you listen in as you grab the pepper to liberally smother your otherwise tasteless eggs in.

“Then she grabbed the bed post and -” Foss makes a motion with his hands that seems to indicate something that’s pretty much physically impossible if you have a spine. “Seriously, I thought I’d die and then she uh”

You kick his shins under the table to get him to shut the fuck up instead of prattling on about his sex life. As he winced, you turned over to Malinowski. “So, how was your morning?”

Other urls found in this thread:

youtube.com/watch?v=xrlVVELkSmw
twitter.com/AnonBabble

The middle aged Pole shrugged. “Normal, aside from the scuffle with the captain.”

You nodded, sipping your piping hot coffee. “I guess that was my fault. I didn’t really think she’d snap like that.”

“When she-hulk groping you, no time for calm.” Malinowski raised his eyebrow in your direction. “Why her?”

You shrug. “Anje thought that she was the best choice. Helga and Foss might just find common ground though, should introduce them.”

“Introduce me to who?” Foss interjects.

[ ] Nah, that’s too cruel even for Foss.
[ ] Time for him to meet the Lady Foss
[ ] Write In

>[ ] Time for him to meet the Lady Foss

[ ] Time for him to meet the Lady Foss

[x] Get naked and bang waifus

[ ] Time for him to meet the Lady Foss

>[ ] Time for him to meet the Lady Foss
There are people undeserving of mercy.

Writin' then.

As a note, I'll probably be running on saturdays from here on out; It's more convenient for me and probably for most of you.

It is.

>[ ] Time for him to meet the Lady Foss
You just grin at his words. Whoever said revenge was a dish best served cold was a fucking moron. Serving it piping hot and smothered in ghost pepper sauces was so much more satisfying.

“Well, I ran into someone last night you’d probably find pretty great,” you say, before digging into the rubbery pepper drenched goodness that was synthetic powdered eggs – just as wonderfully shitty as the real thing!

“Is it a chick?”

Malinowski just rolls his eyes, and you nearly do as well. Foss could be remarkably one track outside of the cockpit. A running theory you had was he was some sort of Fuckboy Seat Savant, the presence of nuclear power and electronics somehow channeling his inner talents and intelligence to the surface, while suppressing the grunt Marine part of his personality. He could still be good company though, when he wasn’t trying to stick his dick in anything with a skirt that moved.

“Yeah, it’s a chick, saw her with another chick actually, but I’m betting she’ll swing both ways.” You lie through your teeth. Foss is still buying it though, chomping on that bit of bait hook line and sinker. “Hell, you can meet her when you go visit that nurse in the medical ward. She and her date got pretty kinky last night with some lingerie.”

Foss whistled. “Nice.”

“I’ll take you to meet her after you eat, tell her to show you how that happened. Good luck buddy.”

Foss raised a hand. “No need to bring me there, you’ll just ruin the mood. I’ll just work my magic alone, with a little help from Nurse Sexy.” Your RIO winks, and you have to suppress the twin urges to punch him in the face or start bursting out laughing. Helga seemed like the type of girl who didn’t take kindly to people coming onto her. Foss was out of the mess a few seconds after you finished talking to him, allowing you to finally grin as you started on the fried steak that actually didn’t taste half bad.

Malinowski sighed, looking over at you. “That girl the one who Laura strangled?”

“Ja, Ja.” You reply, chewing on the meat. “I’m hoping she’ll beat the shit out of him so I don’t have to. Motherfucker sold me out to the Old Man.”

The other RIO frowned at that, but didn’t say anything for a while, letting you eat in peace and drink your coffee.

“Laura is not very… happy with things. I should have joined drinking party, kept her from drinking too much.”

You shrug. “Hindsight’s 20-20 after all. I didn’t think she’d bust into the booze before I got there. I’m just glad she’s not dead from alcohol poisoning, even if she wants to murder me over Helga now.”

“Maybe she does.” Malinowski drinks from his own Styrofoam cup of dark, black, good strong coffee. “But I think, you get pass with her. We’re the last.”

Your stomach churns a little, and a few images of that terrible night pass through your mind.

[ ] Thank Malinowski for not being part of the murder club
[ ] You’ve never really asked him what brought him into the Marines. Now might be a good time to ask
[ ] Spy on Foss getting shot down and then kick him in the balls.
[ ] Write In

>[ ] You’ve never really asked him what brought him into the Marines. Now might be a good time to ask

>[ ] You’ve never really asked him what brought him into the Marines. Now might be a good time to ask

[ ] Thank Malinowski for not being part of the murder club

Votes called, writin'

>[ ] You’ve never really asked him what brought him into the Marines. Now might be a good time to ask

“You know, I hate to ask this after knowing you for like, a year,” you say, tapping your fingers against the mess hall table. “But why the hell did you even join the military Malinowski?”

He smiles at that question, just drinking his coffee. Finally, he answers. “I was on ground in Poland, in ’80. They give me rifle, tell me to go fight. And I do. It makes no difference. Many people die, eaten, nothing changes. After Berlin Wall falls, my comrades flee, all is lost on the Oder-Neisse Line. I run, still young man, run to Hamburg, get out on last ship to England, then stow away on transport to United States. Customs catch me, man in a uniform asks me if I want to go to jail, or if I want to fight the BETA. So here I am now.”

Malinowski drinks a little more coffee, before he shrugs. “Not very interesting, yes? This is home now, until Poland is free.”
His story was about what you’d expected, but really, you had to ask eventually. You’d spent a lot of time with him, and you were pretty sure he had more than just that. Pressing him about it though, would probably just piss him off.

“And you, Fischer? Why are you here?”

You just shrug, watching some of the foreign pilots at the other tables. “Well, I could either get drafted into the army and shovel dirt around all day in bumfuck nowhere, or I could volunteer and hopefully qualify for TSF training. Uncle Sam said I should pilot, so here I fucking am now. That fucking recruiter didn’t tell me I’d be flying a nuclear powered coffin.”

There’s a short bark of laughter from the tall Pole. “At least you fly it!”

“Yeah.”

As you finish breakfast, you start to wonder just what the hell you’re going to do next, before Schultz finds you or you have to sortie out to find a needle in a wet haystack.

[ ] The Danes and Norwegians usually do this sort of patrolling above water. Time to ask for secrets.
[ ] Commissar bullying should help take your mind off of things
[ ] Foss hasn’t been punished enough yet, time to make the Vomit Comet happen
[ ] Write In

>[ ] Commissar bullying should help take your mind off of things

[ ] The Danes and Norwegians usually do this sort of patrolling above water. Time to ask for secrets.

>[ ] Commissar bullying should help take your mind off of things

>[ ] Commissar bullying should help take your mind off of things

[ ] The Danes and Norwegians usually do this sort of patrolling above water. Time to ask for secrets.

And of course:

[ ] Start spychecking at random

Votes called, gonna get writing in a bit

Fuuuuuuu~ I was busy with work on my fucking day off!

Well I hope our RIO enjoys his date! Can't wait to see his face.

Would rather have Irisdina cosplay.

Pic says it all

>Lise as Pringles
Then who's Graf Zepplin?

No one so far. But Pham certainly has the bust for the part.

What is this boatslut heresy?

...

There was only one good answer to that question – anything but sit around and just watch people eat. No, you have something far greater in mind, something far more enjoyable than waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s time to bring freedom to a particular East German. You just needed to find her first. Dropping your tray off, you started to make a search pattern of Tea Drinking Station in your mind, crossing out a few obvious places your favorite Commissar wouldn’t be. Hopefully, she wasn’t in the brig for getting drunk with you and the Captain last night. Poor girl didn’t deserve it, especially considering you dragged her into it.

The first and most likely place she’d be was in the mess hall, but she wasn’t in there when you were. You started your search in an area you weren’t too familiar yet, but often called the promised land by those pilots stuck under Pam’s tyrannical maintenance obsessions. The catapult hanger was specially designed for the variety of TSF’s and TSA’s that would have to take off with heavy loads from Helgioland for their missions, and while the A-12 and F-18 hanger the USMC squadrons had claimed had one as well, it wasn’t anywhere near as large or capable of much more than a good shove up into the air, compared to the mule kick the other catapults apparently possessed. This was where the RAF and Bundswehr Typhoons, Danish and Norwegian F-16s, Army A-10s, and Ossie Fulcrums ended up at the end of the day. The place was huge, covering a good chunk of the island, and busy as fuck. Crewmen and supply guys rushed across the wide open, reinforced floor of the hanger towards their designated machines.

It was hard to keep a sense of perspective in this place, what with the variety of TSF’s lining the hanger walls, and crewmen feeding 36mm shells into magazines taller than you. You felt a little like a Lilliputian.

“Lookin’ fer sommat?”

A gruff RAF crew chief tapped you on the shoulder, the man sporting the sort of beard that mountain men would be envious of.

“Seen a small girl at all, ‘round the MiGs?” you reply, not wanting to disturb this rare creature known as the actually helpful crewman with long or hard to understand words.

“Nah, nothin’ like that. Good luck though boyo, you’ll find ‘er.”

With the hanger a bust, you scrambled out towards the East German barracks, trying to remain as inconspicuous as a man wearing a black sweatshirt and some BDU pants could. You felt like you were practically screaming “HELLO I AM AN AMERICAN PLEASE BEAT ME UP COMMIES” as you walked down the halls. Each door had a name next to it with the service emblem and the occupant, as you had back in your wing of the barracks. A few were blank, waiting to be filled by replacement pilots. Finally, you found Anje’s door, slightly open. Someone was inside at least.

[ ] Enter
[ ] Knock
[ ] Wait

>[ ] Knock

>[ ] Knock

>Knock, then immediately enter

[ ] Knock

guys guys
what if she's in there with someone else!?!
She's cheating on us by getting headpats from another person!

Exactly! If we knock THEN enter, we've been polite and we can kick the other guys ass with his pants still half off!

youtube.com/watch?v=xrlVVELkSmw
?

>Headpats without pants on

What fucking kind of girl do you think Anje is, and what the fuck kind of headpats involve no pants!?

>and crewmen feeding 36mm shells into magazines taller than you

So we are less than 1.8 meters tall. Good to know, I guess.

And, ah...

[ ] Breach the room. Use a grenade to blow a hole in the wall, then go on overwatch.

>Taller than you

Wait, they're only 1.8 meters tall? I could have sworn they were 2 meters.

So says IW, at least. Clown car telescoping ammo or something like that, apparently.

Huh. Thanks. Yeah, then you'd be taller than the magazines. Easy mistake to make I guess, must have just rounded up the numbers in my head.

Votes called, writan

So in this case it would be translated as
>"Anje! I'm respecting your communist privacy by knocking, but asserting my authority and dominance as a capitalist American by coming in anyways~!

...

>Easy mistake to make I guess

Yeah. Either way, though, I always figured you could fit someone in one of those magazines, especially if you were willing to eat the +50% weight increase to make them compact.

Really wish that said "the taste of freedom, in every bite/bullet"

Your hand goes for the door at first, but you hesitate midway through that. No need to give the Commissar a heart attack before you start your bullying after all. You knock instead on the doorframe, the metal making a nice thud against your knuckles that she should easily be able to hear. You hear a little more than that, when something crashes to the ground, and Anje lets out a noise somewhere between a ‘Meep’ and a ‘Huh’.

“Umm, is this a bad time?” You ask, the German coming out naturally. “I can come by after playing grabass with some Russians under the sea if you want.”

“N-No!” is the hasty reply from Anje, and in the crack of the door you can see her grabbing for something on the ground, and shoving it in a nearby drawer. Bully material detected. “Come on in, I was um, just um, just finishing a report to the party.”

Riiiiiiight. You shove the door open, closing it behind you before you do a flop onto the Commissar’s bed without asking any kind of permission. Hell, it’s the first time you’ve been inside her room, and not much is there aside from a few propaganda posters and a picture of Secretary of the Party Jeckeln on the desk next to a picture of Anje with the rest of her unit. The layout was very similar to your own, but you really needed to apply some freedom to this place eventually. That’s why you were here after all, not because you actually found her fun to be around and banter with. No sir.

“Was it a report about how awesome being a capitalist drunkard is? Because I think you got a lot of material on that last night.”

“No, of course not.” Anje huffed. “It was on the unit and our… morale issues. I don’t think they’ll listen though.”

You shift yourself on the bed so you can look at her. “Well, being from a terrorist state doesn’t help that sort of shit out much you know? East Germany is not going to survive this war most likely.”

“You underestimate our will capitalist!” Anje says, but you can tell her heart’s not in the banter you’d usually exchange by radio while flying.

“Ah yes, the glorious will of the people’s republic of breadlines and no fast food. Great place, if you’re looking to die of boredom.” You snap back, just letting the conversation flow naturally. “The revolution has failed, Mini-Marx.”

“Mini-Marx?”

“What, you’d prefer I say you’re Little-Lenin? Small-Stalin? Kiddy-Khrushchev?”

“I’m not a kid! I’m just – “

“Just really fucking tiny. How the hell did you become a commissar?”

Anje looks down at her feet, mumbling something, a slight blush on her face.

“I didn’t hear that,” you say, sitting up on the bed you have annexed like the proletariat during a revolution.

“Nobody else wanted the job…”

“Nobody else wanted to be the damn commissar?”

“I-I mean, they wanted me to have it so…” Anje went quiet, spinning around a little on her chair. You change the subject fast.

“Did anyone get after you over the drinking thing?”

She shakes her head. “All the Captain did was make me do a few pushups and apologize. I think he understood why we, um, all kind of…”

[ ] Decided to get drunk?
[ ] Needed to relax?
[ ] Wanted to have fun?

[ ] Wanted to have fun?

>[ ] Needed to relax?
>[ ] Wanted to have fun?
..........
>[ ] Decided to get drunk?

This

yeah, this is good.

Votes called, going to take a bit of a break before writing to figure out just how the fuck to write in all those choices.

And now we wait...
All this for some god damn head Pat's and chill!

...

Explain?

It's a nuclear reactor meltdown, with the absurd addition of the magically escaped fuel causing a 'massive volcanic explosion'.

Which seems like what might happen next here. I mean, that last expression...

What? What the hell do you mean by that?

Ahhh now I understand fully. I guess I'm just so tired from only 3 hours of sleep that it didn't click

The pic

>[ ] Needed to relax?
>[ ] Wanted to have fun?
>[ ] Decided to get drunk?
“Needed to blow off steam and live a little, and drink to forget why the hell we’re here?”

“Y-yeah.” Anje says, getting out of her chair and sitting next to you on the bed. “Th-hanks for inviting me to um, that.”

You ruffle her hair in response, giving her a nice long set of headpats. So much for bullying though, as she didn’t even protest the headpats. Ah well. You keep it up for a while, the Commissar leaning into you a little bit.

“I… I had to write the letters today. For them, you know, the pilots that we lost. Captain Von Stettin said I should do it, for m-m-morale purposes.” Anje says quietly.

“That sucks.” What the fuck else can you really say. All you had to do was get yelled at for a few hours for being a fuck up.

“It did. Th-then I w-went through their things. F-for things to send home.”

You stay quiet, just letting the commissar talk away whatever was bothering her.

“I-I didn’t know ab-about…” she starts to cry a bit, hot tears streaking down her face. “Ab-about them personally, m-much. Th-they didn’t trust me. Wh-why would they? I’m the p-party’s dog.”

She stops for air for a second, before burying her face in your chest. Muffled as she is, she keeps talking as you just pat her head. Man, the shit you do for people you really shouldn’t is kind of insane.

“H-hans w-was engaged, t-to a g-girl in London. They-th-they had a b-bunch of letters, to each other.” Anje continued. “Th-that was the h-hardest letter to write. L-lise didn’t have a f-family, but she had a thing of pictures of us, and the base, and a j-journal. Jakob had some things from his parents and l-little sister. You know, scribbles from school…”

A pang of guilt for not actually doing the damn letters while the Captain was drunk was running through you while the Commissar clung to your body. This shit wasn’t healthy to deal with alone. Anje was shaking like a leaf as you wrapped her in a bear hug.

“Hey,” you whisper, running your hand through her hair in an attempt to calm her down, like you’d done with your younger sisters back home. “Can you listen to me for a second about this?”

Anje nods, which only really smears more tears and probably by this point snot across your shirt.

[ ] “Suck it up. You’re a Commissar, act like it in front of them.”
[ ] “It’s alright to cry, if you keep moving forward.”
[ ] “Don’t forget them. Never forget them.”

>[ ] “It’s alright to cry, if you keep moving forward.”
BUT
>[ ] “Suck it up. You’re a Commissar, act like it in front of them.”

[ ] “Suck it up. You’re a Commissar, act like it in front of them.”

Serve the Emperor today, for tomorrow you may be dead!

>[ ] “It’s alright to cry, if you keep moving forward.”
>[ ] “Don’t forget them. Never forget them.”
Never forget, fight for the world that they helped fight for

...

[ ] “It’s alright to cry, if you keep moving forward.”

Since none one else is going to do it, I guess the roll falls to me.

[ ] pic related.

>Embrace her and just whisper
>"It's alright to cry, if you keep moving forward"
And
>"Just dont forget them... Never forget them.

You're god damn right!

Jesus man! Where's your humanity!

Looks like moving forward is what you've picked. Will write.

ye, move forward, but don't forget those we've left along the way

That's true, that was the second highest

>Jesus man! Where's your humanity!

In existential danger. There is no time for the weaknesses of the flesh.

>[ ] “It’s alright to cry, if you keep moving forward.”

“Do you know what I was told when I was little once?” You said, still holding the crying girl in your arms tight against your chest. “That it’s alright to cry if you keep moving forward. Holding it in just ain’t good for you. So yeah, cry for them. Cry your heart out. Just get the hell up after that.” It felt a little hypocritical for you to be saying this, especially considering your own hang ups, but you were at least genuine here.

There was a little list you kept in a bible your grandfather had carried in the second world war – a list of names of pilots you’d seen go down. You could never stop yourself from learning their names, no matter how hard you tried, or how much you avoided interacting with them. When this shit was over, you were going to write a letter to all of them, and their families. Whatever the hell you’d say in them was still up in the air, but you needed to remember them to keep yourself from losing something, something intrinsically human.

That list would have four more names added to it the next time you got to it.

“Just don’t let them be forgotten, alright? Write the letters, send what you can home,” you say, rocking a little back and forth as the sobbing continues in your arms, and you can’t bring yourself to stop her just yet. Someday, you’d be able to cry again, but that wasn’t now. “Keep yourself alive, so they never get forgotten.”

Time passed slowly with Anje in your arms, the commissar’s sobs eventually petering out to the occasional hiccup. Reluctantly, you relaxed your grip on her and allowed yourself to pull away. Your shirt was soaked through from the tears, but luckily she hadn’t gotten snot all over it. Small mercies, you supposed.

“T-thanks Fischer,” Anje said, sniffling a little.

“Call me Sam,” you said nearly reflexively. “I already call you Anje.”

“Then thanks Sam.”

You ruffle her hair again. “No problem. At least you didn’t get really fucked over for last night. I lost a shot at a promotion.”
“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I fucked up, not you.” You say, stretching out a little bit and enjoying the time you had right now. Hell, in the next few hours, you would end up in a suit and deep underwater for a day or two. Fun shit, especially if they didn’t have a mother sub in the area. You had to enjoy your free time.

[ ] Bully protocols still are unfulfilled comrade, sieze the communist propaganda to replace later with Foss’s boyband posters
[ ] Chill here a bit longer
[ ] Hey, Anje, want to make a Blue Falcon suffer?

>[ ] Bully protocols still are unfulfilled comrade, sieze the communist propaganda to replace later with Foss’s boyband posters

[ ] Hey, Anje, want to make a Blue Falcon suffer?

>[ ] Bully protocols still are unfulfilled comrade, sieze the communist propaganda to replace later with Foss’s boyband posters
>[ ] Chill here a bit longer

Replace her propaganda posters with pictures of us.

>Chill here a bit longer
Mixed with
>Bully protocols still are unfulfilled comrade, seize communist propaganda to replace later with Foss boyband posters

Oh god... EVEN BETTER! To bad Photoshop doesn't exist in this universe (same with videogames ),though I bet DnD 3e has a giant following by now

Ooh!
Take the posters, cut out all the faces and replace them with ours. Both male and female.

>She wakes up the next day
>You've plastered your face over the picture of the secretary of the party
>The propaganda posters have your face pasted over the subject
>Confused, she looks at the picture of her squad, only to see it replaced by you smiling, leaning against the Avenger
>A giant life sized cardboard cut out of you is in the corner of the room

Don't tempt me user

>Calling a tripfag 'user'
nigga pls.
I'm the worst kind of tripfag, even, I use a secure trip!

.... THIS! A thousand times THIS!!!

Do it! Pet the sexy capitalism flow through you and Anje!

You are the worst kind of tripfag and I'm the worst kind of QM because I call threads off earlier than I should.

Next week:
>YOU CANNOT ESCAPE
>CRAZY IVAN GETS CRAZIER
>FUN THINGS TO DO WITH BORING PEOPLE

Same time, same place.

Also we're nearly in the double digits of IP's which is honestly something I'm pretty happy with, all things considered. As an exercise in writing, this is proving very informative and fun.

Mother fucker!

so, breaching the kawaiisar's berlin wall when?

I see what you did there. And I approve

Are we driving an armored thrust right into her motherland?

>always working when Raptor runs quest

BOO

HISS

Why do you do it when you do it? I know it's selfish to consider my time, it's just Friday and Saturday nights are bretty busy at Wal-Mart, y'know?

You faggots have a whole board dedicated to this wankfest. This shit should be a permaban

>Being this mad

Hey man, I'll try running sundays if I can sometime. Sorry you can't participate, I'll try and address that in the future. Glad you're following though, and hope you continue to do so!