Terrans

Lancer [Mechs, Magic, and Intrigue]

Commander Stader Volger
89th LSC CO

Volger was still counting down internally when he heard it. His helmet’s audio system was some of the finest Imperial credits could buy. Capable of enhancing sounds to a certain threshold while dampening those above it. Namely, gunshots and explosions.

Muted gunshots being a bridge door and muffled screaming met the audience enhancement threshold.

Images of the pirate factions on the Venture came to mind.

“Blow it!!!” He ducked behind the corridor. It might make for a poor prize ship now; but he consoled himself with the fact that he probably wasn’t getting some of the payout anyways.

Volger could admit he hadn’t yet experienced hull charges in atmosphere. Much less eight daisy chained.

But he was thankful for the aforementioned hearing protection and the enclosed nature of his armor.

The deck shuddered and some of the Onyx troopers and Reavers staggered despite their mag boots.

“Move. Move.” He didn’t bother with internal comms. He was using the loudspeaker function. Voice booming through the corridor for all to hear.

A trio of Onyx troopers made it through the previously intact bridge door first; following in handfuls of stun grenades that elicited pained screamed from already dazed pirates.

Reavers and more troopers followed in their wake. Gunshots and automatic fire flare briefly but died down by the time he strolled onto the bridge. PDW half raised.

The bridge was a wreck. Half of the door had been propelled into the room; where it had crushed a pair of unfortunate pirates still strapped into their consoles. Corpses slumped in chairs or sprawled on decks. The crew dead for the most part except one.

A tattooed young man still strapped into a comms station in the bridge’s corner. Eardrums burst and bleeding. Lip quivering as he raised his hands; two blue aiming lasers hovering over his heart. The troopers kept their aim on him and their armored bodies between the private and the Reavers.

The latter currently taking their “loot” from the various bodies sprawled in the room.

Volger paused at a body. The corpse on his stomach head to the door; yet he bore entrance wounds on his back. Implying he had been shot from inside the bridge. But the bodies within all looked like form the same faction.

‘Curiouser’

Volger allowed himself. He took in the room and their status updates Diaz was feeding him.

”Onyx-9 Actual to Indomitus. Shrike has been seized. Venture is locked down and secondary sweeps under way. Request rendezvous for casualty and prisoner transfer.”

A particular crunch had Volger look over. A Reaver was busy plucking gaudy golden teeth from what looked like a former heavy worlder’s mouth.

He frowned under his helmet.

‘Savages. I’ll have to talk to the Captain. Or perhaps the prince.’

Lancer [Mechs, Magic, and Intrigue]

I think we're good to move on to the next phase.

@Wernher

Do you wish to finish out the the frigate or do you want me too?

Smoke and Steel

Kreznik Broeke
Spymaster of the White Wyvern

Andronika might have been surprised, or perhaps she expected, th greeting she received as she returned to her quarters.

“So now we are joined to another faction; on the march to fight another. Or at least we will be after tomorrow. ” Kreznik chimed from the corner of her quarters; peeling an apple. The slightest of dust on his boots hinting at the ledge he must have perched on to overhear her conversation with Arel.

A slice of apple disappearing as he took in her ensemble. A look crossing his face with an upraised eyebrow.

“Did he offer a marriage as well to seal this deal in advance?” His tone dry but a slight tightness in his shoulders.

A breath released it and he set the apple not a paternalist it’s peeled skin.

“Anyways, I took the liberty of sending a runner back to the main body. I assumed you would approve.”

@Dyelli beybi

******

Ebengrenzstadt

It was with little fanfare that the Hound made his way into the White’s headquarters. His horse exhausted and the the rider little better off. Liam Calvary uniform bore the hard miles of his sprint as he made his way past the gauntlet of guards, aides and officers that had seemingly increased in his absence. No doubt a consequence of the three thousand extra men that had arrived.

The Hound clutched the dispatch as he surmounted the final pair of guards for the war room.

Loan, Alberic and Vassos discussing something of the army that had sprung in Andronika’s absence.

“Sirs.” He started. To the uninformed; his calvary uniform and markings were that of the regular army. To those of the inner circle; he was clearly a Hound. Which meant his word could only have come from a few people as the majority of the inner circle was within walking distance. “Spymaster Broeke sends word. We have an alliance with the imperials in the west. The army is to march for Elvesland. We will meet the Lady and the western imperials on the road.

He passed over the dispatch. The simple seal of a dogs head on the parchment. The words within a more detailed instruction of Liam’s news. Though the dispatch, penned in Kreznik’s hand and bearing his signature, seemed to indicate this was Andronika’s wishes.

@Badarby @InfamousGuy101 @Dyelli Beybi

Paradise Lost

John

John actually gave a look around the bridge to make sure there wasn’t a camera crew.

‘Looking for Sol?’

He let out a scoff. What were they the latest Galaxy Force flick? He could see the title now; Galaxy Force: The Search for the Lost Homeworld.

“Much as I would love to go on a galaxy spanning adventure in the hope Earth hasn’t been mulched by the machines; I think our first jump should be more short term.”

He gestured at the star chart and its various projections and data.

“Mainly, a place to stock up for the short term. Perhaps a place to dump some people who don’t want to stay on a colony ship. Cut some of the chaff out now.”

A few star systems had the symbology he was looking for.

“Some suspected wildcat colonies might be what we need.” He glanced around the room. Meeting the major personalities that were steering this planning. “No need to rush from adrenaline and survival to jumping a search that has lasted generations. Let’s get situated for the immediate future and vote on our course later.”

He glanced around the room again. Mentally tallying whether they would hop onto his plan or not.

If not he would need to repair the shuttle. Get an escape plan ready. Maybe invite a few of the more upstanding crew as he exited stage left.

Not the toad though.

Definitely not him.

Empire of the Clouds

Aden

Aden stood his post at the machine gun. Watching the Favian Officer talk to the leader of the Mitteland contingent.

Apparently they reached some kind of consensus because the post captain came back aboard.

Reaching one of the PA systems, he wired it into the all hands mode. “All Hands, Mitterland Army has come with legal orders to take over the air ship, I have handed it over on terms you can leave with all personal arms and effects belonging to you, the captain shall be respected and all will be searched upon leaving, however all shall be treated with respect due regarding to rank and rights. Please exit via the main ramp. We shall inform the others and they can arrange time to collect what belongs to them. Post Captain Le Mariner. Out. “.

@PrinceAlexus

Aden was taken a back. Legal orders. From who? Foreign land or not the ship and its cargo were Inburian. Aden might not have been born of Inbur; he and the post captain were both of Favis. But the insignia of his uniform belonged to Inbur. The training that saved his life was provided by Inbur. The ship beneath his boots was Inburian.

He racked the machine gun to ensure a round was chambered. The already chambered round ejecting in a glittering arc of brass.

Then he reached for the PA. The line leading up to the gondola’s gun position.

“I don’t care who’s land we’re in. Get me someone from my army here for my ‘legal orders’. Unless it comes from them I shoot anyone who comes near this godforsaken ship.”

He let the mouthpiece clatter without fanfare. He owed his mates some kind of progress for their sacrifice. A net good for a cause they had died for. He would be damned if the ship was “transferred” and squandered under the banner of mutual enemies and vague assurances.

Who would think gold would cause such a divide? Aden didn’t much care for it but it was all he could grasp right now. The only tangible thing he had done in the last month.

It was all he had to show for the load he carried.

Lancer [Mechs, Magic, and Intrigue]

Commander Stader Volger
89th LSC CO

The guns were spiked. The system dragged for all intents and purposes. The door locked down to increase the repair time. Onyx-9 had sabotaged the frigate to the point the Baron was able to slink up and slam an Uppercut missile into an engine.

Volger took that as a sign to depart.

"Onyx-9, don't pull out. I repeat, do not pull. No reason to blow up a perfect prize ship! You're running low on ammo so wait on reinforcement before finishing clearing up the bridge. XO, add Reaver-1 to battlefield coms."

@Wernher

Volger gave a sigh. This chain of command was… eccentric to say the least. He might have a word with the pirate/ privateer/ lance captain after this action.

The bulkhead door began to glow as the crew gave up on the normal overrides. The tracing heat followed the seams; the troopers within the fire control center taking up their position. Aiming lasers flicking on as they tucked behind strut consoles and structural points.

”Onyx-9 copies. Holding.”

Perhaps a bit of bite in his voice. A hasty sabotage attempt turning into a full on boarding action.

‘What reinforcements anyways?”

He didn’t remember a Reaver-1 on the ship’s compliments or manifest.

Then the first part of slagged door fell inwards and his thoughts were packed away. Then it was back to the familiar strobe of gunfire in vacuum.

*****

Volger could say that he had nearly blasted the reinforcements nearly four times as he followed in their wake. The more numerous members of Reaver-1 crashing through the ship like a red and black clad wrecking ball of shotgun fire and hand grenades.

Volger, and his troopers, resupplied on the basic essentials; had taken the role of flank protection. Following in parallel corridors and passageways. Stopping flanks and counter attacks in their infancy as the Reavers took the main sections in attention grabbing affairs.

"Rats are doing a last stand on the bridge. That'd be the part where I bring up any survivor and slowly kill them in front of the camera to convince them resisting is a bad idea but the boss told me we don't do that anymore. So. How do you guys want to do this?" He casually asked.

@Wernher

Volger stepped over a half erected barricade; the pair of former defenders manning it missing anatomy that was too clean for the likes of gunfire. He held his tongue as he gazed at the bridge door.

Options arrayed before him.

Buzz bots… Too expensive and the operators are all on the Venture anyways.

Stompers… none had made the boarding. Too long to wait for more form the Venture.

Explosives… Too much for now. Need the bridge intact if it’s for a prize.

But they don’t have to know that.

Volger grinned beneath his helmet as he looked over the assembled firepower of Reaver and his two squads of Onyx.

“Pile up your hull charges on the door.” Volger counted eight between the two units. One was sufficient for blowing entrances into destroyer hull armor. Eight for an interior door, bridge or not, was overkill.

He found the intercom next to the door. The commander toggling the comms as the pair of groups assembled the massive amounts of demolitions.

“Attention pirate bridge crew. This is Commander Volger of the 89th Lancer Support Company. If you turn your cameras; you can see the eight hull charges I am putting on your doorstep. You can also see I have some more spirited irregulars with my troopers.”

He cut the line briefly to give a pause. The mirrored, gazes and neatly camouflaged gray armor of Onyx standing out from the pirate like armor of the Reavers.

“Your choices are simple. Open up and you will be retained under my care and treated as rival privateers by Imperial law. Or don’t open up and I detonate the charges. Then I let my compatriots in and do what they please with whoever survives. You have ten seconds.”

He stepped back. PDW cradled as he signaled them to start creeping back. The timer in his head counting down as the demolition trooper slowly flipped the cover of the detonator.

Lancer [Mechs, Magic, and Intrigue]

Commander Stader Volger
89th LSC CO

Volger could admit that despite his many years of working alongside AC’s; he had worked with a lot of mid-tier Lances. So the display of the Lance at the moment was rather impressive. Fending off enemy AC’s, supporting the LSC, harrying capital ships and strike craft.

All while outnumbered and on the back foot.

Volger made a mental note to update his plans as he turned the last corner to his destination. The Venture’s starboard shuttle bay held a few civilian cargo haulers but none of the Onyx-9 troopers scurrying through the bay paid the craft any attention. They were too busy assembling a set of frameworks towards the closed bay doors.

The thruster frames were in essence; giant thrusters attached to a a ceramic carbide skeleton. The skeleton having anchor points and straps for personnel ( alive or dead) and equipment. They were mainly used for post battle casualty collection and prisoner transport.

However, Volger and Onyx-9 were using them for a different purpose today. He eyed his display. The frigate passing closet. The dancing AC’s. The fire of the Indomitus.

“Stand by…” Volger took his place in the stack. He shouldn’t have been there. He knew a commander had no place being this close. But he couldn’t resist. Old habits-

Lt. Dvalin’s AC scored a kill. Following the kill with a flurry of missiles and beam rifle fire that had the nice effect of cluttering sensors.

Onyx-9 Execute!!!

The boosters the platoon in the debris field had assembled kicked off as the ones on the Venture followed a split second after. The troopers clinging to them for a scant, precious two seconds. Kicking off almost immediately after getting the initial kickstart of the frames boost.

Hurriedly getting free as the frigate’s point defense guns hurriedly engaged what it took for missiles. A fire team was too slow to kick off and disappeared in the flurry of explosive shells that perforated the space.

The gambit however worked for the most part. The cluttered battle space and the sudden speed of the frames allowed the troopers to close. Now free of the frames; the troopers used their own boosters to close the distance.

Volger felt a thrill as he passed a turret slashing away at a distant target. His armor invisible to the anti ship based sensors. He felt the impact of his boots hitting the hull; magnetic activating as vibrations of the frigate at work ran through the contact points.

Around him, his visor highlighted the troopers making it though the point defenses. Obviously, the pirates hadn’t sprung for the external anti boarding measures. Or removed the limiters for the turrets to allow them to depress to the hull.

’A shame’

Volger thought as his HUD helpfully marked his target on the hull. It was an awkward one hundred meter magnetic assisted walk to the crosshairs but it gave his troopers on the “X” to gather. Two squads had made it before the frigate had started evasive maneuvers; aware of their presence but not wanting to send crew out into the hull in the middle of a fight.

The AC’s of both sides danced overhead as Volger’s troopers worked. Affixing the hull charge to the indicated spot.

Volger toggled his comms but waited until the demo trooper triggered the charge. The shaped charge’s vibration matching the intensity of light and flame; but the vacuum took the roar. The rush of escaping atmosphere was accompanied by the flailing bodies of the compartment’s inhabitants; the same bluish-gray pattern uniform of the professional pirates from the Venture. They wore shipboard survival armor. So they would probably survive space if they could get somewhere with atmosphere before life support ran out.

Muzzle flashes from a trooper beside Volger polarized his visor. The frigate crew stilled amidst globules of red. From the breach more muzzle flashes flared as troopers piled in. Volger flowed in as he keyed his comms.

Onyx-9 Actual to Lance. We have taken Shrike-class frigate’s aft fire control. Stand by while we shut down rear offensive and defensive fires.

Volger could never understand why the Shrike class had two fire control centers nor why the aft center was so close to the hull. Sure it made overhaul and upgrades easier; but also more vulnerable.

Case in point as a the two squads of Onyx troopers, now in the ship’s artificial gravity, cleared the compartment. The previous crew, those that had been strapped in, were now slack in their seating. The occasional sidearm halfway pulled. The compartment’s weapons locker untouched in a corner by the blast door.

One trooper, the hacker, pulled a corpse off a console to affix an override device. The device gave a cheerful green light and soon the thumb of weapons fire subsided substantially. Throughout the room; weapon displays and targeting vectors turned an angry red of flashed warnings and indicators.

Onyx-9 Actual. Guns are spiked. We’re ready to pull.

Lancer [Mechs, Magic, and Intrigue]

Anyone planning on posting for this soon. If not I’ll just kick to the next portion.

Paradise Lost

John

John might have been new to the command structure of big ships; but he was pretty sure an all hands briefing should have been more briefing then an open forum debate.

Sure, he was learning helmsmanship on the fly, but he had a basis at least in aerospace navigation. He was sure at least half of the crew crowding into the bridge got their ideas on space travel from Network shows and those articles that always popped up on news feeds.

“Hey? Course? We have a plan besides running from place to place, destroying our own space station and manually detaching an access tunnel with explosive bolts.”

@PrinceAlexus

The short kiellar that spoke up looked even shorter from the depths of the standard sized crash seat. John might have given a laugh at the dissonant if he didn’t feel the slight burn of shame.

“The station was an accident.” He jabbed back. Slightest bloom of color on his cheeks. On a screen behind him the station silently rocked from a secondary explosion. A flurry of metal and flame briefly flaring from the wound he had torn in the station. “As for the course. We have one out of system. Random jump. After that however…”

He trailed his voice off and met the short kiellar’s eyes. A hopeless shrug of his as he tried to puzzle what her function on the ship was. Her cobbled together outfit left him no clue other then she probably was like him; finding a function amidst the scramble to evacuate.

Then the pair of medical officers started talking on pirates. John resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Sure pirates were definitely on the threat list. They were just not anywhere near the top of his list of worries. More like a middle ground. All one had to do was make the chase not worth the reward.

"Don't get me wrong. I have the upmost faith in the ability of the soldiers and security personnel who made it onboard to repel pirate boarding parties. It's just that, as Chief Medical Officer, concern over potentially life-threatening risks to those onboard this vessel."

@Flarbinia

“Well as the one piloting this hunk of metal. You can be assured that I have concern for the well being of this ship well in hand.”

Perhaps a bit more hostile than he intended. But it had been a day.

Speaking of hard day.

A search of his survival pouch in his vest fielded a prize. The whiskey bottle from the bar. Half filled and still intact despite the tribulations of the day.

A swig tamped down his emotions and he passed the bottle to the nearest station. The short kiellar with the ridiculously large boots.

“Besides it’s not like the pirates send out a newsletter for their latest hotspots. “

Paradise Lost

John

Velia hadn’t bothered to answer John’s auestion; the comm officer being swept up in a conversation his adrenaline addled mind struggled to make sense of. So he left; wandering the corridors for something resembling a ready room or barracks.

On the eleventh door he tried he found what looked like a security room. A desk with a hardened monitor in one corner; a table next to an array of cabinets with what looked like a small fridge and a hot drink machine shoved on its counter. A row of lockers as tall as him dominated one wall and a small holding cell occupied a distant corner as an afterthought. But beside that small plexiglass cube was a door with a universal symbol. John gave a prayer to whatever deity was listening as he discovered a small washroom complete with a ridiculously small shower stall.

John took a moment to secure the room behind him and check the lockers for his second goal. Two of the lockers appeared to be equipment lockers; useful later but locked down for the moment and of no interest to John’s singular focus. The third lockers yielded what he wanted; pre-sealed stacks of security jumpsuits. Not the most fashionable maybe; but clean and one was in his size.

With that John crowded into the small space and took the most lukewarm shower he ever remembered. It felt glorious for all of three minutes before the timer kicked on and cut off the water. Leaving the pilot half-covered in suds but at least cleansed of grime, debris and gore for the moment.

He was in the process of scraping off the suds on his scalp when the intercom helpfully blared from its mount five feet from his head.

Taking a seat in the bridge as she waited for Ginny to catch-up, Vitiafa put on a headset, and dialed into the ship's intercom. "Could all available hands report to the bridge for an all-crew meeting? We shall decided our course here."

@Bingelly

“What the f-“ He bit back the curse as he caught sight of the PA and groaned. “So much for a breather.”

The last part muttered under his breath as he dumped his dirty and combat torn flight gear on the room’s break table. Taking time to strip his survival gear and TacPad and put it on the security gear’s respective mounts. Not that it fit perfectly but it would do till he washed the previous set or pulled a spare set from the Kestrel’s gear lockers.

With a reluctant sight he began to make his way to the bridge. Dark blue uniform and its vest feeling too stiff and unnatural. Obviously not broken in.

A price to pay for clean clothes.

He arrived back on to the bridge with little fanfare; keying it open with what was already becoming a familiar process. Plopping into “his” seat and pulling open the shakedown manual and the current readings. All looked steady and the random heading from before was still being cheerfully followed by the autopilot.

“Well the ship’s not about the hit an asteroid. What’s the hurry?” He twisted in his seat look back at the bridge.