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Description
A routine job. That’s what they said. Client had a package to be delivered from Bucharest, to Kyiv. She didn’t mind these kinds of jobs. The pay was good, and usually they were fairly dull. Roahm walked alongside the vehicle the cargo was in. Roads on their path had been washed out from recent weather so they had to go slow.

The soft squelch of mud under her boot and the rumble of the diesel engine of the transport were the only things heard as her group moved. Each person in her team had a vest and a rifle ready. What the cargo was, they had no idea. They’re mercenaries, Private Military Contractors. The Company she worked for didn’t get paid to ask questions.

Roahm herself was there as a field surgeon in case things went wrong. Though it had been a long time since she considered herself a doctor. She had killed too many in her time to consider herself worthy of that title anymore. Suddenly Pro, the field commander of her group, signaled for everyone to stop.

As the transport came to a halt in the mud, the redhead heard her friend’s voice, in a thick Georgian accent, “Roahm, come, we have body…” Her jade eyes scanned the area quickly before she moved to the front. Prometheus stood nearly seven feet tall, even kneeling over her looked massive. There was no hair on his body, a personal choice, and he was looking into the mud, waving her over. “What do you make of it?” he asked.

Roahm lowered herself down, clicking the safety on her rifle, and took a look, “Male, mid-thirties, multiple gun shots, an recently, blood is still warm” she said after giving a quick examination. Her thick Irish brogue flavoring her words as she lifted the rifle, “We should get moving, now, there’s no telling if whoever did this is still nearby Pro.”

The large Georgian stood and gestured for the group to move, picking up pace as everyone readied themselves. It was another fifteen minutes before the first shot rang out. Then the bullets flew. It looked like a gang of thugs, revolvers, shotguns, and baseball bats were the tools of the day it seemed. The convoy kept moving forward, their assault rifles sounding off. One, two, three thugs were down from their fire. By time the fifth fell, the gang learned the lesson and ran.

Roahm moved quickly through her comrades checking for wounds, the adrenaline pumping hard enough for her to hear her own heartbeat. Then another member of her group seemed to say something. She couldn’t make it out. It was as if the road swallowed the sound Taggart was making. The redhead leaned her head to the side then looked down. There was a hole…in her jacket….through her body armor…

When sound returned she slowly fell to her knees as her teammate returned fire at the sniper. Rachel, a stocky woman of dark complexion caught her and dragged her to the back of the transport, working to pull medical supplies out of Roahm’s bag…..

SO this amazing little piece is from the amazing michan _1907 on twitter and I felt the need to write a story for it. Went a bit of a different track then usual for my tales. I thought I’d show you some of what Roahm’s actual day job is! Hope you enjoy, and yes, I do plan to work on art and backstories for the various members of her PMC outfit

Description
A routine job. That’s what they said. Client had a package to be delivered from Bucharest, to Kyiv. She didn’t mind these kinds of jobs. The pay was good, and usually they were fairly dull. Roahm walked alongside the vehicle the cargo was in. Roads on their path had been washed out from recent weather so they had to go slow.

The soft squelch of mud under her boot and the rumble of the diesel engine of the transport were the only things heard as her group moved. Each person in her team had a vest and a rifle ready. What the cargo was, they had no idea. They’re mercenaries, Private Military Contractors. The Company she worked for didn’t get paid to ask questions.

Roahm herself was there as a field surgeon in case things went wrong. Though it had been a long time since she considered herself a doctor. She had killed too many in her time to consider herself worthy of that title anymore. Suddenly Pro, the field commander of her group, signaled for everyone to stop.

As the transport came to a halt in the mud, the redhead heard her friend’s voice, in a thick Georgian accent, “Roahm, come, we have body…” Her jade eyes scanned the area quickly before she moved to the front. Prometheus stood nearly seven feet tall, even kneeling over her looked massive. There was no hair on his body, a personal choice, and he was looking into the mud, waving her over. “What do you make of it?” he asked.

Roahm lowered herself down, clicking the safety on her rifle, and took a look, “Male, mid-thirties, multiple gun shots, an recently, blood is still warm” she said after giving a quick examination. Her thick Irish brogue flavoring her words as she lifted the rifle, “We should get moving, now, there’s no telling if whoever did this is still nearby Pro.”

The large Georgian stood and gestured for the group to move, picking up pace as everyone readied themselves. It was another fifteen minutes before the first shot rang out. Then the bullets flew. It looked like a gang of thugs, revolvers, shotguns, and baseball bats were the tools of the day it seemed. The convoy kept moving forward, their assault rifles sounding off. One, two, three thugs were down from their fire. By time the fifth fell, the gang learned the lesson and ran.

Roahm moved quickly through her comrades checking for wounds, the adrenaline pumping hard enough for her to hear her own heartbeat. Then another member of her group seemed to say something. She couldn’t make it out. It was as if the road swallowed the sound Taggart was making. The redhead leaned her head to the side then looked down. There was a hole…in her jacket….through her body armor…

When sound returned she slowly fell to her knees as her teammate returned fire at the sniper. Rachel, a stocky woman of dark complexion caught her and dragged her to the back of the transport, working to pull medical supplies out of Roahm’s bag…..

SO this amazing little piece is from the amazing michan _1907 on twitter and I felt the need to write a story for it. Went a bit of a different track then usual for my tales. I thought I’d show you some of what Roahm’s actual day job is! Hope you enjoy, and yes, I do plan to work on art and backstories for the various members of her PMC outfit