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@Lmpkio@CHammer Do we want to collab our stuff before I post, so we can get it all out at once?

I wouldn't mind, either, however I'm probably going to be extremely busy today.
*shrugs* Whatever works. Just bear in mind that you'll have a squad of power-armoured fellows, a scond Ghost and a Sspectre also coming in in due course as well.
Post done. Also added introduction of the Battlestar 'Lysander' and outlined their general situation at the moment.
With extraction now inbound, Nova could settle down for the moment until the evac aircraft got close. Well, comparatively speaking - in the middle of this sand storm, however, she had to keep herself alert for trouble. Picking up her rife once again, she got up into a crouch and began to wait out the storm, trying to ignore the sand that was being driven against her face and cheekbones.

She couldn't tell how long she had been there, but as she cast her psionic senses wide to try and supplement her reduced visibility, she thought she detected a pinprick of a presence in the back of her mind. Where, though, she was not certain. Calming herself, she tightened her grip on her rifle, carefully listening to this unknown's surface thoughts as she waited.

You've got me dead to rights, she thought to herself as her finger hovered above her C-20A's trigger guard. And yet you're not firing at me. Why?

One wrong move on either of their parts and this tense situation would diverge into a firefight that Nova was neither keen on getting into, or would not want to fight in the middle of this storm ...


Battlestar 'Lysander'
In geo-synchronous orbit of the Array
31 days since 'arrival' from Scorpio

Ship's Time - 1037hrs

On the far orbit of the Array, a ship - far more clunkier in appearance compared to the dagger-like form of the Empire's Star Destroyers - hovered above the eastern orbit of the Array. Here and there, once can make out the blue-white sparks of arc welders as crewmen in EVA suits continued to make repairs to clearly-damaged sections of the ship, while arrow-like fighters buzzed around the ship on their assigned C.A.P.s.

Onboard and in the comparatively crammed bulkheads that made up Captain Stephanie Cunningham's office, she was in the middle of a meeting with her XO (MAJ Silas Paulson). The latter - a wiry man within his 40s - was rattling off a list from a clipboard containing more and more bad news for the morning.

"We've hove to for damage inspection for Decks 6, 18 and 19 ..." he droned. "But we estimate that complete repairs to external armour would not be ready for another three days. We're also in the middle of scrubbing our systems for any signs of a possible Cylon virus-"

"Just-" Cunningham held up a hand to stop Paulson. "Just leave the information on my desk, Major. I'll go over it myself. What's the status of Base Alpha?"

Paulson placed the clipboard onto his CO's desk. "The one in the rainforest? Well, we've established communications from groundside and Colonel Verran assure me his men have established a safe perimeter around the structure we had recon'd earlier. However, beyond that, exploration of the surrounding area is slow; vegetation is thick in some areas to the point where ground and aerial recon is nearly impossible. Verran is requesting reinforcements to bolster security in the area, but with our limited Marine compliment on-board, I just don't see how he's going to be able to get what he needs."

Cunningham nodded, glancing down as she began to flick through her XO's report. "And our fighters?"

"Red and Green Squadrons are on CAP rotation as we speak. LT Grant and his boys and girls are on station until 1200 hrs. LT Ash and her squadron are on Alert 4 standby status in case 'Lysander' gets jumped."

Stephanie looked up at Paulson, a slight smile on her face, as she nodded to the Major. "Thank you, Major. That'll be all for now."

Paulson nodded to Cunningham and, with a brisk "Ma'am." about-turned and exited Cunningham's office. The captain waited until he was outside and the vault-like door clanged shut, before she dropped her demeanor and put her forehead into a hand.

"What a frakking mess." she muttered, returning her attention to the report.
"We're in route, Terra. Pop flares in two mikes so we know where to land."

"Negative! Negative!" the reply crackled back to Rave.

Back at her position, Nova tried to make herself heard as she took a knee, struggling to keep herself upright within the swirling clouds of dust as she cradled her rifle in her gauntlets. "I'm caught in the middle of a storm system and can't ID my position with flares! Not as if I even have any on hand right now."

A breath passed through gritted teeth as she lowered her visor. With no orbital satellites or data uplinks that it could consult, her visor was practically useless as a map reference tool, but it could still allow her to see through the grit. She radioed, "My visor's positioning system is down as well! I'll try and indicate my location once you're in range, but you're probably going to have to fly by instruments to get here!"

A bitter laugh passed through before she signed off with: "No chance of me going anywhere, anyway. Terra out."

Setting her equipment pack down and bundling her cloak around her (while keeping her rifle on hand), Nova sat herself down in place, trying to keep the sand out as she began what would likely be a long wait for her exfiltration ...

Approved. May want to expand your OoB a bit.

For your character, TR 1 with 3 PP

That'll be a bit difficult to get blood out of a stone - there's only 248 craft total on-board.

If you mean phrasing and wording, I'll see what I can do
(Reposting for Examination)

Posted once again with Nova and finished off m application for Battlestar 'Lysander'. Took me long enough.
Northern Border of Warm Steppes
D+31 After Loss of the 'Griffin'

How long has she spent traversing this desolate steppe, Nova wondered to herself as she struggled through the stinging sandstorm. Each step forward was a struggle, between the semi-hard terain beneath her soles, the equipment she had stowed and was now lugging on her back, and the grit which stung at her semi-covered face (concealed behind an improvised shemagh and cloak).

Well over a day searching for her crashed ship and, once more, nothing. No distres beacon, no torn armour plate, no bodies. o sign of life by any means she could detect.

You can therefore imagine her utter shock, then, when she heard a squall of comms trafic on her comms bead. She stopped and knelt, adjusting her visor's ear-pieces and activated the internally-built mike.

"This is Lieutenant Rave Mallard of the Spectre Ops with Raynor's Raiders.

If there are any Dominion personnel hearing this, we are in the southern desert on a mountain. In one hour, I will be heading to the northern border where the desert meets with mesas and badlands, waiting six hours for you to arrive. I will be doing this for the next two days, this message looping every hour on the hour for the time I am waiting. Please let me know you hear me on one of these channels.

I repeat, this is Lieutenant Rave Mallard of the Spectre Ops with Raynor's Raiders. It's time to come home."

Nova frowned, biting her lower lip. On the one hand, she was relieved that - friend or foe - there was at least someone familiar enough that was as equally stuck as she was, and that they were actively looking for her. On the other hand, she had been practically a waned woman for the past quarter of the year - who knows whether this was all a set-up and she'll be back in an interrogation chair, if not shot, for her crime?

Everything within her was crying out to block this transmission, or to track it down and destroy it; how was this not a trap? Pragmatism and her own survival, however, ultimately won out. Swallowing, she lowered her face covering and keyed her earpiece once more, opening a line of communications to the Raider base.

"This is .... This is Operative X41822N to Raider transmitter." she stammered over the howling wind. "Requesting extraction."
@Red Alice

No please, Necrons are going to kill everyone. I've actually been hoping for some IG to get in here, DKOK would be nice, artillery regiment, grim outlook. Perfect for a setting that's bound to end up in total war at some point.

Huh, if I haven't apped a faction already and shot my wad, I'd have switched out a Battlestar for the UEF of 'Supreme Commander'.

A relatively self-sustaining, rapidly built automated army with a giant mecha as its comand unit? Huh, what's not to like? Ah well, another time and RP.
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