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7 mos ago
Current "Out of every hundred men, ten shouldn't even be there, eighty are targets, nine are the real fighters, for they make the battle. But one is a warrior, and he will bring the others back." -Heraclitus
2 yrs ago
"I have resolved never to start an unjust war, but never to end a legitimate one except by defeating my enemies." -King Charles XII 'Carolus Rex' of Sweden, 1700
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2 yrs ago
“Civilians are like beans; you buy 'em as needed for any job which merely requires skill and savvy. But you can't buy fighting spirit.” -Robert A. Heinlein
2 yrs ago
"Throughout the day, no time for memorandums now. Go ahead! Liberty and independence forever." -David Crockett
2 yrs ago
“It is the basic, metaphysical fact of man’s nature—the connection between his survival and his use of reason—that capitalism recognizes and protects.” -Ayn Rand


I'm Britton. I'm currently a high-school student that has an extreme interest in the historical field, especially that of culture, military, and politics. My other interests include national and international economics.

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tis i
Collaboration with @Flamelord

"All nonessential personnel clear the flight deck. Scheduled departure in five." The loudspeaker rang across the hangar, the nondescript voice of some yeoman.

The delegation had been assembled as quickly as they could, consisting of one Lieutenant Commander Klein, the esteemed German executive officer, a Lieutenant Romijnders, their Dutch chief engineer, and their navigator, Lieutenant Junior Grade Williams, a woman of Canadian birth. They walked along the flight deck clad in UNSC steel grey Navy fatigues marked with symbols of the UNSCDF, a contrast to the working jumpsuits worn by most others of the crew. They each wore a vest with ablative plates attached, a simple precaution, and had a reserve oxygen system affixed like satchels - really it was just a satchel bag made of an air mix tank, an independent oxygen concentrator, and a full face mask. LTJG Williams had another item about her waist, a duffel bag full of the ship's physical star charts, their backups for if sensors couldn't pick up locator beacons, and it was her job to know how to read the stars using those maps.

They were flanked on either side by a single Marine in what they called 'full battle rattle'. They wore similar fatigues, albeit marked with Marine Corps identifiers instead. They wore the same model of vest as well, albeit a heavier version which included pauldrons, a groin guard, and shin guards. They each had MA5Bs, the service rifle of the Corps, attached to single-point slings on their vests, and they also carried their own reserve oxygen kits. They all moved towards the waiting D77 'Pelican' dropship, which sat on catapult one disarmed as a show of good faith to those they were meeting. The bay of the Pelican could theoretically hold twenty-plus people, but the five of them would do. And with however many more the Andromeda was sending, they could be expected to fill all ten jump seats at the least.

Deck crew with colored jerseys continued to buzz about the craft as the delegation strapped in. Inspecting the craft and giving the go-ahead, a pilot and co-pilot both boarded the craft from the rear to take their own positions in the cockpit, making their final checklist with command. The Pelican got its clearance and was given its working callsign, 'Ranger'. The electromagnetic catapult began to hum with electricity as the strength of its magnetism built, locking in the forward landing gear of Ranger. And suddenly, with a salute from the pilot and a thumbs up from the yellow-jerseyed 'shooter', the catapult came to life, accelerating the Pelican with immense force and passing it into the void of space.

"Andromeda, this is the shuttle craft of the Kearsarge, callsign 'Ranger'. We're en route to your vessel for pickup, how copy?"

The ensemble had assembled for the meeting. They were in a roughed up state, and certainly had not been expecting to engage in foreign diplomacy so soon after battle. Yet all of the crew had done their best to prepare for the meeting, cleaning and dressing their best as if to make up for the damaged appearance of the ship.

For his part Captain Yamanami was in dress uniform. He wore a white hat, a dark blue overcoat with a lighter color, gold ends on his sleeves, a golden anchor decoration over his left lapel, and three stripes on his right arm. That joined with whiter gloves, a brown belt, and black dress pants. As for the marines with him, they were in military greens, with grey helmets and their own rifles. They weren’t quite sure what they were in for, but were determined to face it with bravery regardless.

From the Andromeda would come a swift response to the hail. ’We copy Ranger. Proceed to the port side docking back. Following instructions would reveal that the doors had pulled back on a previously concealed docking bay, conspicuously empty of ships despite its relative size. This was mainly used for supply shuttles, rather than launching military aircraft, which was why it was fairly brightly lit up, and not necessarily indicative of the rest of the ship.

Once the Pelican had entered, a red alarm would begin to sound as the door closed to allow for the bay to be repressurized. It was time for the meeting to begin, as Yamanami and his entourage filed out of one of the nearby interior entrances to, effectively, make the first interdimensional first contact in the history of the Federation.

The Pelican’s ramp dropped, providing a hard boarding surface. One of the Marines aboard made towards the door to assist the incoming entourage of the Andromeda. Klein was the first to rise from his seat, followed by the others of the UNSC delegation, hands extended for handshakes all around.

Klein particularly took note of Yamanami. It wasn’t hard to pick out the commander in the Navy. No, while in the Army or Marines the officers went so far as to dress almost the exact same as grunts on the battlefield, those sailor Captains wanted to make it known who and what they were.

“Willkommen, willkommen. I am Lieutenant-Commander Eckhart Klein, UNSC Navy.” The XO spoke in a thick German accent, but otherwise completely legible UEG English, or at least that’s what they referred to it as. He wore his steel grey fatigues with a perfectly tucked shirt and immaculately bloused boots, and although he wore a vest, he had no tension about him. Atop his head sat an eight-point cover marked with the symbol of the UNSCDF, and pinned on his collar was the rank insignia of a Lieutenant Commander, a golden oak leaf.

The ramp dropped, and the two groups moved to meet, after Yamanami had saluted the Lieutenant Commander. The marines were busy sizing up their opposites, silently gauging how well they would do in a fight. Which by the first indication might not be all that well, though of course they didn’t say that. It would ruin their reputation and their image.

“Welcome to the Andromeda, Lieutenant Commander. I’m Captain Yamanami, of the United Nations Cosmos Navy,” he said, taking the lead as he crossed the few steps necessary to shake the man’s hand. “I appreciate the pick up. We were involved in a battle right before winding up here, so this has been a bit inconvenient for us.”

"Vell, Captain, I can say zhat you are not ze only ones who were snatched from zhe battle." Klein rendered a sharp, rigid-postured salute in return. "Vell, no time to waste. Shall we be off?"

That was interesting to hear. What sort of enemy could these humans from a parallel Earth be fighting? Yamanami spent a moment reflecting on that question, before deciding to be content for now. He would doubtlessly learn sooner or later.

“Certainly,” he agreed, moving on to the drop ship before gesturing for the rest of his escort to follow. They would sit in any seats indicated, examining their surroundings as they prepared for departure and the trip that would follow.

The Kearsarge’s Pelican came in for a slow-burn landing course for the Renatus’ hangar bay. Its wheeled gear dropped first as its vectoring thrusters scrambled to account for its dropping altitude and speed. And finally, as it hovered barely a few feet from the hangar deck, its stability gears came down, the long, spider leg-like wheel booms that arched from the troop bay normally acting to prevent a significant change in the center of mass of the landed vehicle, considering the fact that without thruster power, it was immensely rear-heavy. The ramp dropped a moment later after a momentary confirmation of breathable atmosphere.

The two Marines of the Kearsarge detachment descended the ramp first, holding their MA5 rifles across their chests in a non-threatening, albeit not completely relaxed manner. They knew to expect anything. Following them was the trio of technical and diplomatic representatives the UNSC vessel sent along. Klein stood center, flanked by the navigator on one side, the chief engineer on the other.

The ride had been interesting, not too dissimilar from their own Seagull transports. Idle chatter was kept to a relative minimum, perhaps because of the importance of what was being done, or simple awkwardness and unfamiliarity with their hosts.

But they soon arrived at their destination. Yamanami departed at the head of his party as they exited the dropship along with the UNSC delegation into the hangar bay. Looking around, there were some similarities to Aquarius architecture and design, aside from the colors. “I suppose we wait for our host now,” he observed, glancing over to his counterpart.

“I believe so.” Klein affirmed, interlacing his hands behind his back.
Fear not, @Flamelord and I are working on a collab which should be up in the coming days.
SSGT. Justin Clark
Fort Benning
Chattahoochee County, Georgia, USA
0400 hrs

Twelve minutes, twenty-two seconds. Still got it. Justin thought as he glanced down at his digital watch, recording the time. It was a good two-mile time, all things considered, although Justin wasn't completely satisfied as he did his cool-down exercises, using his PT t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. God, it was miserable here. Benning had been his station since 2010, and it never changed. All year it hovered near 100 percent humidity and never went below eighty degrees during the day. Even during the night, you felt like you were being waterboarded. All in all, he preferred Campbell.

It was just barely getting light out, and he was the only one doing his PT at that hour, on dimly light-lit roads which connected all the barracks dorms for station personnel. The regulars started their routine at 0600, but he had places to be. When his indefinite paid leave slip was signed and mailed by his command, he thought he was dreaming. Whoever these people were, they had to have their hands on a lot of people's strings. But after a shower, a light breakfast at the DFAC, and a change into his civvies, he was gone before the rest had even left formation.

And waiting for him was what he could only assume was a charter car, but with its almost-illegally tinted windows and black exterior, it looked more like secret service. But he knew it was the right one, it matched the model from his burner, his pre-paid LG that served as his only link to whoever it was he was working for. He got into the back seat, the door locking firmly behind him. As he tossed his travel bag in the seat beside, he tried to get a fix on who his driver was. It was a balding male, about early forties and wearing a dark grey suit, black tie, and a set of reflective oakleys. A bluetooth earpiece was fixed in his ear.

"You my driver?" Justin asked in his gravelly, sing-song drawl.

"Yes." The driver replied bluntly, in an indiscernible accent. Not one for conversation. Justin took note.

How he'd gotten in the gate was beyond Justin, but the driver did ask for his leave slip as they passed back out. The MPs quizzically ran their eyes over the slip, but handed it back without question, waving them through.

He wanted nothing more than to ask the driver how he knew their employers, but perhaps it was best to hold his tongue. Instead, he dug in the front pocket of his jeans, producing his phone. What better way to pass the time as they pulled out on the highway. Evidently they were heading towards the seventy-five by the route they were taking.

"No phones." The driver commanded, his glasses reflecting Justin in the rear view mirror. Justin opened his mouth to reply, but quietly put away his Pixel.

"You got any idea how long the drive's gonna take? All they gave me was this address, some backwood in West Virginia's all I get from it." Justin inquired, leaning back in his seat and relaxing.

"Ten hours."

"You're shittin' me-"

He resorted to sleeping most of that ten hours in the leather seats of that totally-not-suspicious car as it rolled northwards. The few times he did wake up, it was met by the view of the Blue Ridge, or more properly the Smokies as he knew them. Chattanooga, Knoxville, Bristol all passed in a blur. It was all too familiar, the run-down towns pockmarked across the valley, sandwiched between the Smokies and the Cumberlands. It was perfect daylight as they passed through Abingdon.

"I have to piss. Don't run off." The driver spoke, jostling Justin out of his 'sleep'. They were parked outside some nondescript gas station in buttfuck nowhere, along the Virginia-West Virginia border as best he could discern by the signs. The car's clock marked the time at 11:30 AM. They were making remarkably good time, maybe the driver had been speeding. Who knew. At least it wasn't completely ten hours. He was thankful enough for that, and all things considered was thankful for the stop. He needed a good piss and smoke break after six hours in that car.

Justin pried open the door cautiously, planting his boots on the ground for the first time in what felt like forever, heading into the gas station. A quick piss and a stretching of the legs later, he bought some Pall Mall Reds and a bottle of water with cash, before linking back up with his driver and getting back on the road. It wasn't far now. No sleeping required. And, evidently, he didn't have to even tell the driver where he was going, as they cut into some torn up backroads somewhere off I-79. He'd expected they were going to some facility somewhere, and it added up with the fact they were going somewhere that wasn't even on most of the road maps. White Tree? He found one old article about it years ago, but nothing of substance. This place really was off the grid.

They pulled off to some hill that overlooked the main hollers of White Tree. Some dilapidated cabin sat on the balded peak of the hill, some rocky cliffs giving a nice overlook. Could theoretically see miles in any direction, if the mountain air wasn't so damn hazy. That's part of it, though. The car's engine struggled against the gravel driveway and its sheer incline, but nonetheless he was dropped off out front, the car hauling ass to leave. And with his nicest Wranglers, his ATACs, a button-up plaid with sleeves rolled, and an unmarked tan ball cap, he approached the door, perhaps one of the last to properly arrive.

"Staff Sarn't Justin Clark, US Army." That, plus an outstretched hand was the greeting whoever was at the door got.


Rolls at

Captain Jefferson continued to sit in his chair, pondering as all the incoming transmissions were logged. He glanced up to the screen showing the secondary CIC, and his executive officer sitting in his own combat station chair. It was a necessary arrangement, so if the primary CIC or secondary CIC were destroyed, both commanders would not be taken out in a single hit. "Klein, get the air boss down there to get both Pelicans on the catapults. I want one disarmed and with a clear troop bay. Put a gunship package on the other. Tell Captain Reims to pull all her Marines off damage control, get a squad of them on the gunship, they're our alert five."

He paused, sighing. "Klein, you aren't gonna like it, but I'm sending you out. You're my representative. Take our navigator and our CE. They probably know the most on this stuff. Grab a couple of Marines, too. I don't want you down there unguarded." He picked up his radio receiver, ordering to his comms officer. "Prepare to transmit."

"This is the UNSC Kearsarge to the Andromeda. We have space on our shuttle craft for your delegation. However, I must stipulate that you disarm all but two armed guards as a show of good faith. I assure you we'll be doing the same."

"That being said, I'll have my craft out within the hour, I'll need a time and a place."
He transmitted the addendum to nobody in particular, hoping to get a suggestion of a meeting place. As he placed his radio receiver back on its dock, he commanded quietly.

"Thaw the troopers. I want them in their pods and waiting."
"Careful, it's in his fuckin' ass." Beckett said as he helped load Park on to the litter. Beckett followed the litter as far as he could as Park was carried off. His intent was to keep the medical crew covered, giving them as much 360 security as one man could give in such a scenario, but he wasn't much considering he was more concerned with the wellbeing of his SL. But as Park disappeared behind an armored ambulance ramp, Beckett relaxed, clearing his lungs of air slowly.

Beckett shed his blue nitrile gloves quickly as Park was taken away, no longer necessitating his aid. He placed the balled up gloves into a waste compartment on his aid bag, before slinging it again. He hugged the wall again, bringing his rifle which had been hanging at its sling back to his hands. He gripped the pistol grip ever more tight as rounds ate entire chunks out of the wall nearby. His helmet sat slightly couched on his head as another round swallowed a chunk of wall and then the ground. His reaction was simply to cower with even more urgency than before.

As Vogel gave their orders, Beckett let a deep exhale and did a quick brass-check of his rifle. Not a single shot fired yet. It likely wouldn't stay that way. Vogel eventually appeared in front of the corpsman, with his inquiry. “how is Sergeant Park? How was his injury? Will he be back anytime soon?” Beckett adjusted the rifle in his arms, cradling it as he formulated his thoughts, rolling his tongue in his dry mouth.

"He'll be fine, wound looked okay, I cleaned it up best I could, now it's up to the docs. He won't be back today, that's for sure." Beckett clarified.

July 17th, 2552
???? hrs
Area unknown...

"What the hell happened?" His words fell flat against the silence. The planet in front of them was not the lush green anymore. It was not Sigma Octanus IV. This planet was deep blue. Commander Jefferson looked down and forward, to where the helmsman and navigator/sensors operator sat. The two crewmen sat stunned, the navigator slowly dragged a thumb across her touch console. The location had no match, no nearby location beacons.

"Captain, we aren't anywhere the sensors recognize." She communicated, motioning to the helmsman to break out the physical star charts. And poring over them, there was nothing. "These constellations don't even make sense, there's nothing like this on any of our charts-" She was cut off.

The communications specialist to Jefferson's left urgently made his information known, above all else. "Multiple transmissions incoming, recognized as UEG English." Jefferson responded. "Play them."

"Atlantis, this is Sheppard, you miss us?" soon cut to static, making way for, "This is Valtrix Ornus, captain of the Renatus speaking. I ask that you state your identities, intentions, and worlds of origin."

Jefferson began to speak up to his bridge crew, but was cut off, "I also ask that you refrain from firing upon each other or myself. While I'd like to settle this peacefully, I will not hesitate to unleash the full might of this vessel upon you should things get out of hand."

Another dark silence cloaked the CIC. Jefferson made a telephone motion to the communications specialist, who nodded. Jefferson picked up the communications receiver wired into his chair, pressing it to the side of his face, couching his peaked cap slightly. "This is the United Nations Space Command destroyer Kearsarge, hailing from Earth on behalf of the Unified Earth Government. Am I to take the addendum as a threat to a military vessel in the service of Earth and her people?" Jefferson let the question hang in the air as he slowly placed the receiver back on its dock.
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