Re: Apocalypse Game
chapter-92

In a post-apocalyptic setting, the term "militia unit" took on new importance. While historically a militia referred to civilians, not a part of the regular armed forces, in this new world, their role became pivotal. They served as the gap-fillers, providing aid to the military in critical situations. These groups would rally to the military's side during dire straits, operating with strategies and tactics that kept them aligned with the broader objectives of the military.

Alan had always been a strategist. His interactions, his decisions, every step he took was intertwined with the military's operations. As the game progressed, he discerned the importance of maintaining proximity to the military command. But direct enlistment had its constraints, limitations he wasn't willing to accept. The militia, with its semi-independent status, offered a middle ground – allowing him a semblance of autonomy while keeping him connected to the primary source of power.

On a particular afternoon, the sun casting long shadows over the wasteland, Alan, with determination etched on his face, led his diverse group towards the military camp to enlist themselves as a formidable militia unit.

Entering the military base, the vastness and hustle became apparent. The camp's sounds – conversations, the clinking of weapons, distant laughter – buzzed in the air. Alan, looking around, remarked, "It's crowded in here."

Over the past six days, the military had achieved a significant feat. Not only had they bolstered their primary forces, but the camp's outskirts were now filled with tents, each housing members of the newly formed militia units. The sheer number was staggering – over a thousand players had chosen the path of the militia. And the enlistment was still ongoing. A snaking line of eager players waited for their turn to register. Alan estimated, given the pace,

"It's probably going to take them an hour to finish their registration."

Vicky, always the vivacious one, spotted an opportunity before the rest did. With a determined glint in her eyes, she approached a military officer who looked to be in charge. Her affable charm, paired with her distinct beauty, always made people pay heed.

She successfully pulled one of the officers and introduced him to the group,

"Sir, may I present our group to you?"

The military officer took a sweeping glance at Alan's party. His initial enthusiasm dampened upon seeing the eclectic assembly before him. With a sigh and a shade of annoyance, he muttered, "40 more mouths to feed. I truly hope you lot can prove yourselves valuable here." There was no missing the skepticism in his voice. To his eyes, save for the ruggedly built rednecks, many in the group looked out of place, if not downright fragile.

However, formality demanded he register them properly. Clearing his throat, he asked,

"For the sake of records, kindly mention your level."

As each member of the group disclosed their levels, the officer's eyebrows arched in surprise. They were certainly not the rookies he had taken them for most had passed level 10 and some even reached level 15. But the real shock came when Merle, the 'Crimson Gunner', stepped forward. The instant recognition was evident in the officer's eyes. His stern demeanor melted into an apologetic smile, "… level 38.. a veteran.. glad you are joining us, sir"

Then came Alan's turn. The officer's initial scan didn't give him pause, but upon learning of Alan's level, disbelief painted his features. A rank of 20 was a feat, especially for someone who wasnt a veteran, Alan's achievements seemed almost surreal.

Seizing this moment of heightened interest, Alan made his pitch. "We request to form our own independent militia unit," he began. It was a bold demand. The trend at the camp was to group militias into large units that typically housed 50 to 100 players. Yet, Alan was adamant about the independence and flexibility of his own unit. He had connections, like Sergeant Dylan, whom he was willing to leverage if it came down to it.

But the officer, perhaps swayed by Merle's reputation and Vicky's endearing charm, made a rare concession. The wheels of bureaucracy, typically slow to turn, spun faster this day.

The officer pulled out a registration form, quickly scribbled down their platoon number, and then looked up expectantly, "You are militia platoon 17. Now, for administrative purposes, I need the name of the leader and two others"

Alan, having already thought this through, didn't hesitate. He immediately nominated Merle for the role of his right-hand man, given Merle's vast experience and the respect he commanded. The third name, however, posed a conundrum for Alan. His gaze oscillated between Rose, with her unparalleled skills, and Milo, whose past as a professional boxer made him an intimidating force.

However, in an unexpected twist, Alan's choice settled on someone else. "Victoria Collins," he declared, penning down the actress's full name.

Vicky's blue eyes widened in shock. Her voice, tinged with disbelief, echoed the collective surprise of the group. "Me?! Seriously, Alan?"

Alan met her gaze, unfazed by the astonishment in her eyes. "Yes," he confirmed.

Understanding dawned upon Vicky, and a sly grin curled her lips. "Ah, I get it now. You need a face for the group, don't you? A poster girl, maybe?"

Alan's straightforward nod confirmed her suspicion. But it wasn't just about her looks. Vicky, with her undeniable charm and eloquence, would balance Merle's rugged exterior and provide the group with a refined touch. Her presence was bound to open doors that might otherwise remain closed for them.

She laughed, genuinely amused by Alan's candidness. But Alan, looking into her sparkling eyes, added earnestly, "I also think with your character and skill, you have the most potential among the group, I genuinely believe you have what it takes."

Vicky, often the confident actress, was caught off guard. A shade of pink brushed her cheeks, her voice softening, "Thank you, Alan. I won't let you down."

"What's our next move?" she added.

"We wait," Alan replied, eyes scanning the camp.

Before Vicky could delve deeper into his vague response, an announcement was made, calling all militia leaders for a briefing with Captain Carter. Alan, quick on the uptake, nudged Vicky, "That's our cue."