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Nightfall in Greenspoint
Topic Started: Aug 19 2009, 08:53 PM (262 Views)
Greenspoint
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Big Tex called me a "Goofball" :)
Texan
Spring Creek is a major waterway through southeast Texas. The amount of water carried by the watercourse through the steep-sided valley would lead anyone to expect a name more evocative of the river it clearly is. At its narrowest point along the northern frontier of Greenspoint, the water is easily fifty meters across. The lush evergreen forest that thrives on the life-giving liquid is home to numerous species of animals, most of which are active only after the sun dips below the western horizon.

The Creek is crossed by only two bridges between the town of Kingwood, Greenspoint, and the Boomba border: northwest of the city of Tomball, the Tomball bridge marks the eastern end of Spring Creek National Park; north of the city of Spring, the Jesse H. Taggert Memorial Bridge crosses into the turmoil of political chaos that has traditionally been the lands to the north. Both bridges are barricaded and guarded by a brigade of mechanized infantry.

Spring Creek Valley is full of life, yes, but it is not a place of peace. Tensions between Greenspoint and the current national authority on the far side of the Creek are high. Remote sensor stations are craftily hidden in the trees, and manned observation posts are dug into the hills south of the Creek, where soldiers of Greenspoint Army’s Northern Command keep a constant vigil.

On occasion, armed groups of men have crossed the Creek and entered Greenspoint in spots other than the official border crossings at one of the two bridges. Bandits, either hoping to find a suitable target to raid, or fleeing from the infrequent, almost token, law enforcement pushes by the northern authority, are all too common. Logging camps in the woods northeast of Tomball have been raided, loggers killed or taken captive in hopes of a ransom. Armored Fighting Vehicles from Forts Hardy and Telge are a common site in the woods north of Highway 2920 these days. Where once hunters would eagerly seek out white-tail bucks, soldiers now keep alert for foreigners.

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First Lieutenant Rhea Plante sat in the command bunker of Observation Post Tango-Three. The room was lit by the monitor screens of the various cameras she was monitoring. She sipped lightly from her coffee mug as she ran her eyes over the monitors and displays, then looked back down at the book in her hand. The alarms would alert her if any of the sensors detected movement, but it never hurt to periodically glance across the screens yourself. She sipped from her mug again, then set it down and reached for half of a sandwich on a nearby plate, not taking her eyes off the book’s pages. She didn’t see the figures that briefly appeared on one monitor to her left, as they passed an opening in the scrub along the hillside. The computers tasked with image analysis on the input from the sensors had been loaded with a tracking program that had a misplaced semi-colon, so they weren’t able to see the figures either. As quickly as they appeared on the screen, they were gone. Lt. Plante took another bite of her sandwich.
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