Beachhead on - Beachhead
"I wanna be an Airborne Ranger! I wanna live a life of danger!"

36 years old
Auburn, Alabama
United States

Last Login:
November 17 2019

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   Contacting Beachhead

     Beachhead's Details
Orientation: Straight
Hometown:Auburn, Alabama
Religion:I will let you know . . .
Education:College graduate
Characters: Beachhead, Command Sergeant Major Wayne R. Sneeden II
Verses: G.I. Joe, Comic, Marvel, Military, Crossover Selective
Playbys: Frederic Doss or William Calloway
Length: Multi Para, Novella
Genre: Action, Comic, Crime, Crossover, Heroes/Villains, Spar/Fighting,
Status: Divorced
Member Since:October 28, 2019

Sorry, y'all. Been a bit busy, but don't be afraid to leave me a message 'r a comment. I promise I'll git to it a.s.a.p.

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Starter Example Seven: Retirment  (view more)

Starter Example Six: Pre-Joe Time  (view more)

Starter Example Five: Clock Race  (view more)

Starter Example Four: Twelve Strong  (view more)

Starter Example Three: Initiate Rescue  (view more)

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   Beachhead's Blurbs
About me:
Name: Wayne R. Sneeden II; Codename: Beachhead; Rank: Command Sergeant Major (E-9); Serial Number: RA011-60-9231; Affiliation, Division: United States Army, Rangers; Primary Specialty: Infantry; Secondary Specialty: Small-Arms Armorer; (Personal theory based upon cannon information, though spaces filled with plausible situations and dates.) -Born February 17th, 1974 at the family farm in Auburn, Alabama. -Named after Grandfather. -Parents: Roy and Kathy Sneeden -Single Child -Grew up in poverty, and was bullied constantly for lower status. *Participated in sports and excelled in academics to prove that money meant nothing, and to get even with the bullies. *Participated in county 4-H and FFA, using animals as an escape from the real world. Also rode in multiple disciplines for local rodeos and AQHA (American Quarter Horse Association) shows. -Graduated Valedictorian and MVP in 1992. *Full ride scholarship to Alabama Crimson Tide, as well as enlisted in the ROTC program. -Quickly recruited to the Rangers in Fort Benning, Georgia. ~Deployed to Somalia, Africa during Operation Gothic Serpent while still in his studies. *Injured by a bullet to the chest while carrying a fellow Ranger back to the personnel carriers during the events of Black Hawk Down. *Healed well and resumed his studies as well as became a Lane Instructor at Fort Benning. ~Graduated Valedictorian with a Bachelor of Agriculture and Life Science degree in Animal Husbandry in 1996. -Married Melissa Holster in 1999. -A son was born to them in 2000, Wayne R. Sneeden III (Later known as the C.O.P.S. advisor 'Checkpoint'.). -Colonel Clayton Abernathy sought a Covert Ops Instructor for the Ops School in Central America, recruiting the then Master Sergeant in 2001. -Returned to Fort Benning to continue Lane Instruction career, though became qualified for Physical Training Instruction and Survival Instruction, as well as Basic Training Instruction. -Melissa files divorce in 2002 and sends son to Sneeden Farms in Alabama, having turned to drugs, alcohol and gambling to cope with raising a young child and being a serviceman's wife. -Recruited to G.I. Joe in 2008. -Ex-wife overdoses and dies in 2009. -Current Age; Status: 45; Active/Reserve ~~**~~ File Card: Beachhead was a Lane Instructor at the Ranger School in Fort Benning and an Observer/Advisor at the Covert Ops School in Central America. He's meticulous, patient, and strong-willed. He likes getting up at 0500 hours to take a ten-mile run and run a PT (Physical Training) session before breakfast. He enjoys squatting motionless beside a jungle trail for three days straight waiting to ambush bad guys that might never show up. What he hates are people who aren't interested in doing their best. Qualified expert in all NATO and Warsaw Pact small arms. "Most folks get mad on occasion or at least get irritable - not Beachhead. He thinks anger is a waste of time and energy. Rage clouds the vision and pollutes logic. Fury impairs judgement and makes you careless. The results of anger are totally unacceptable to Beachhead. He doesn't get angry...he gets even."
Who I'd like to meet:

    More Roleplayers



masque of anarchy.



( 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬, )

★★Lady Jaye★★


Little Beast


The hothead


✪Cнιѕтel Chest�

Kendyl Varitek

ρяєтту ℓιттℓє яσѕє

—of archaeology.



𝔗𝔬𝔵𝔦𝔠 𝔗𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥.

Jase *

вℓσσ∂ вαth.

𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒊𝒕.


𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥.

ѕtαr rєmnαnt

Gყρʂყ Gσԃԃҽʂʂ


𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒊

saving graceless.



Rєɗ Ʋιxєη

True Seduction

✝ ℓσяяαιиє ωαяяєи ✝

r e i ☼





Beachhead's Friends Comments
Displaying 1 of 1 Comments (View All | Add Comment)
Call Sign "Holt"

Nov 14th 2019 04:55

„Holt! … Holt, how are you man?!”- the familiar and unusually worried sounding voice managed to get through to him only slowly. It was almost as if someone on the other side of a wall of fog was trying to reach out.
Sluggishly his eyes fluttered open, at least halfway – thumping pain keeping his head in a tight clutch prevented more and even made turning his gaze towards the source of the voice a painful undertaking.
“There you are – good to see you awake, brother”, worry gave way to relieve and blurred vision revealed the bulky familiar and rather battered and patched up looking figure of Nomad, their Squad leader, fellow Ghost and brother in arms.
“Nomad…” Holt almost didn´t recognize his own voice, slurred, breathless and lined with pain as it was, “You made it…. Who else…?”
“Just relax, pal – I got this”, came the reassuring but also evasive answer causing a fleeting slightly ironic grin dart across the strained features of the wounded Ghost.
“Who made it?” – he needed to know, he refused to believe that they were the only two… yet…
“I can´t find Midas… Weaver, though…” Nomad seemed to choke on his last words and Holt suddenly felt a wave of sickness wash over him, his stomach cramped and a huge fist was hitting him right into the chest…
Weaver… their brother… - “How?...” he needed to know, had it been during the crash? -  “They executed him… like a rabid dog”… this was even worse, no one deserved this, least Weaver… - “Sh*t!… - Weaver was a good dude… man, he didn´t take leak without checkn´ his gear… - those bastards…” – Holt growled from between greeted teeth when he had his breathing back under control.
“I know…” Nomad´s tone of voice showed that he apparently was moved by the same turmoil of feeling underneath that brute-squad, poker-face façade.
“What´s happenin´ here anyway… - y´know what took out our choppers?... I mean…what is this sh*t.. who are those assholes?!”-
The wounded Ghost operator, having regained his composure for the most part carefully sat up a little bit. –
It was the first time since the crash that he really was properly awake and not only drifting in an out of a state of semi-unconsciousness.
A brief assessment of himself gave him a vague idea, that he´d been more than lucky this time – a slightly soaky bandage round his head brought back memories of almost been shot when he tried to crawl away from where he had hit the dirt… - his chest was tightly wrapped in bandages, too and still every movement revealed the reason for this when he felt his cracked rips most unpleasantly. What worried him the most was the brace keeping his right leg in a tight clutch…
“I don´t know man… yet… but I will find out.. – do you remember anything at all?” Nomad´s question brought back his attention to their conversation and Holt slightly shrugged.
“It´s all kinda blurry….. I feel very much like at the tail-end of this week-long bender in Bangkok, y´now…” a faint hint of his usual trademark smirk found its way back, tugging he corner of his lips, a grin returned briefly by Ghost´s leader.
“Y´and I remember Bangkok rather differently, my friend – so, what do you remember,… - how did you get out?”
For a few moments Holt tried to gather what little memory he had of before waking in what looked like a  of huge cave and which  seemed to be some kind of hidden base of whoever was hiding from whatever was out there.
“I… I was thrown from the bird before it hit… - I remember that… - fell like a bag of sh*t, snapped my leg on some rocks I think…. Then someone took a shot at me… grazed my head… guess they believed me dead… - when I woke again I was alone…. I must have crawled for hours, was in an out,… y´know…  - next thing I remember was waking here… What is this place?”

It turned out that the recon mission they had been sent on after a Naval ship vanished in the waters round the islands followed by the whole Archipelago going dark obviously had been supposed more than what they had been told in the beginning.
The couple of huge islands located way out there in the Pacific owned by Jace Skell, a private billionaire and owner of Skell Tech, one of the leading companies developing drones and other tech based on the most advanced KI-software, had become subject of a military takeover.
The whole coup was initiated by some private Security company called Sentinel and backed by a group calling themselves Wolves. Soldiers with the highest spec ops training lead by one rogue Ghost Operator called Walker. 
Skell Tech had become their target as their goal was it to utilize the drones originally developed for civilian purposes in order to make hard and dangerous labor like farming, mining and other such easier for people for military purposes for their own purposes and basically turn them into deadly weapons of all sizes.
Also the fact that the company was researching and experimenting with alternative mostly eco-based and de-centralized power generation in order to provide constant and cheep access to electricity and water for everyone was something the hostile militant occupants happily used for their own not so very peaceful purposes.
The group which had found the two surviving and not MIA Ghosts, Nomad and Holt were those people originally living on the island and former Skell Tech employees opposing the intruders, and thus being hunted. Therefore the hidden hideout inside a huge cave-like structure underneath one of the mountains of the main Island.
Nomad, determined to protect those who saved him and his brother in arms and also to go through with his mission had started to scout out the enemies infrastructure almost immediately – while Holt, still recovering from his injuries and grounded due to his broken leg much to his own discontent, only could offer strategical advice like making sure the hideout was locked down, show the Homesteaders, as they called themselves, some effective guard-rotation routines and security protocols.
What made their task even harder was that is was impossible to reach anyone outside the Archipelago due to an island-wide security lockdown initiated by the enemy. This way all islands remained shut off from the rest of the world and every chopper ship, boat or plane was instantly destroyed by swarms of killer drones, same happened to any unauthorized attempt to leave the place.
So basically they were trapped and unable to report the situation to anyone and neither able to retrieve any intel from the outside – their only hope was that after a certain period of time passed without word from them someone might feel inclined to start further investigation.
Yet their things become even more dire for Holt when Nomad failed to come back from one of his solo-scouting-runs. Being grounded like this the struck operator already had a hard time not to feel totally useless, yet once his only remaining brother in arms failed to return, and even after almost one week there was no word of him, the craving to get out and really do something, most importantly look for Nomad became almost overwhelming.
However there were still the aftermath of a broken leg he had to deal with – and while his headwound had healed pretty well and the broken ribs also mostly were bearable at least under the influence of enough painkillers, he recovery of his leg needed far too long for his taste – and his very own rehab-training program as he called an extensive set of exercises brought him more than one frown from Maria who held the status of the local doctor.

“Holt!… there´s someone you should talk to …some kind of … foreign Soldiers or Agents I think – the boys just brought them in… maybe y´know what´s their play here?”… Holt looked up from a small pile of electronical and mechanical components with propellers – a do-it-yourself-recon-drone the Spec Ops Engineer had been working on, making the best use of whatever his guests had been able to scavenge from the enemy´s basis and labs.
His otherwise energetic stride still lined with a marked limp when he followed the huge, white haired guy named Matt Schulze who was the unannounced head or as he called it speaker of the Homesteaders.
Outside the cave and far enough to not give away the secret entrance inside a little shed-like building two young men holding guns were flanking two other figures, by their rather professional looking attire most certainly some Black Ops special Agents.
“Over there – some of our guys just picked them up from the beach… they claim to be the good guys… Y´know them?”
Holt paused in the doorframe, ready to reach for his gun, giving them a proper once-over before entering entirely, slightly shaking his head towards Schulz, “Never seen them”, then turning his attention back towards the newcomers. “Hey there… lost y´r way, guys? - How´d you enter that island anyway without getting´yr´arses shot off, if what they tell is true…. Y´came from the sea, that right?”

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