This is the Department of Motor Vehicles! Tonight we dine in hell!
An approaching birthday. An expiring license. The fate of an empire. For that was the attitude I had adopted and built up when dreading my trip to the Chicago DMV. I had been putting it off for weeks, furthering the legions of doom that I knew would await me in that state office. My fate could not be put off any longer.
I awoke knowing how the day would end. I prepared myself to fight my way through the crowds of document-less novices, hard of hearing elderly, and government employees on the edge of going postal. This was a fight for my life; the only outcome sealed. I would conquer the lines and become an official Illinois resident or I would come back on the hood of my car, peppered with red taped arrows...
I was in for a surprise. A shock I never saw coming. There were no lines. One foot inside the door they had greeters ready to answer questions and direct you to the correct lines. The supposedly grotesque and deformed government workers were kind and helpful.
I quickly moved about the different departments in neat and useful passage ways directed by more signs than a highway work zone. Around every corner I readied myself. Ready to fight and die against any number of masked immortals armed with those heavy duty government stampers. But none were to be found.
I left feeling empty and disappointed. Apart from joining in the people watching spectacle of the century; seriously it is like the worst 20 year high school reunion ever imaginable, where no one remembers peoples names but just looks completely out of place. I wanted a fight, I wanted to brave hours of gruesome lines where you need to bring a weeks worth of rations to just to make it to the next step. But they robbed me. They robbed me of my battle. A cheap whore they just kicked to the curb. I guess this state has gotten soft.
With all the free time I know had from NOT being at war in the DMV. I got to painting some more IJA sqauds. Today was the combined arms of an Imperial Grenadier squad. These Type B squads were bigger with 16 men and, per the Bolt Action rules, 3 can be armed with the "knee" mortar. 3 peers become the loader man.
Up next, a veteran jungle fighter squad, sniper, flame thrower, and an anti tank gun team.
I found this awesome gem as well. Enjoy!