Terrans

Smoke and Steel

Kreznik Broekke

The muted footfalls preceded the Hound; the scout slipping into the copse of pines that Kreznik had claimed for his little excursion. The man passed over a handful of paper's; smudged with charcoal and departed just as quickly.

Kreznik and a handful of his men and woman had slipped towards the enemy vanguard in the hours of darkness. Armed, but their purposes were not of the offensive nature, their satchel's stuffed with rough sketches and notes of the approaching army made from observations. Though there were a few dispatches amongst the pile; courtesy of waylaid couriers that had taken wrong roads.

Their routes and the way which their formation's tended towards. A mosaic of partial information that Kreznik hastily assembled in his impromptu command post. Matching pre-conceived notions with the reports from his Hounds. Some of it was bound to be wrong; bias, darkness or misunderstanding bound to twist the reports in some way.

But the picture that Kreznik arrived to fit what he had been given already. The numbers roughly matched up and their path of travel would put them where the battle was expected. Perhaps some harassing actions could be arranged but that would come later.

For now it was time to bring this information back.

*****

It was with a young moon that Kreznik slipped into Andronika's tent. Albeit, without the knowledge of the guards; some habits still hard to break.

The young spymaster's cloak still coated in pines and dew as he searched the tent for Andronika. Hand's dipping into his satchel to show his hastily transcribed report.

@dyelli beybi

Paradise Lost

Captain John Lockman

The rest of the preflight process went off uneventfully. John taking down weight, calculating mass and trying to balance the load within the shuttle’s bay.

Once he had something approaching acceptable; it was a simple matter for him to give his passengers a succinct “touch nothing” and retreat to his cockpit.

The take off was slightly trickier on account of the shuttle being a larger dimension then the bay’s designed model. But the craft soon slipped the ship’s confines and fell to the planet below. A slow controlled descent as John followed the coordinates he had been passed.

The readouts all normal even as they began to break into the thicker part of the atmospheres.

Re-entry had him rely on instruments as they jolted and tumbled through clouds and burning atmosphere. A teeth rattling few minutes as he fought the stick slightly and the flight computer filled in where he failed.

Then they were through.

“Atmos insert complete. Fifteen out from coordinates.” Those within the bay that had donned any of the headsets or had borrowed a flight helmet from a crew station would have heard the announcement. Any who had not would only have noted the ship’s sudden cessation of shaking.

****

The passengers would feel the slightest sense of vertigo as John feathered the Kestrel in for a landing. Heady duty tires extending from recessed inner bays as he flipped the switch for the main ramp.

“Shamrock 1 on the deck. Ramp down and asses out.”

In The Black (A Clean-Up Crew RP)

Whoever's wants to can jump onto the basement action.

I'll let you guys sort out what your group did with your targets. Left them, killed them, drugged them (Maybe even brought them down with you for some reason.)

In The Black (A Clean-Up Crew RP)

Obsidian Dynamics Research Facility
Utah
Sector Null Zero

Those that had chosen to descend to the basement found their path descending corpse and blood strewn stairs. The after-effects of DA's clearing having left multiple tech-zombies, a pair of Goliath's and five of their own number in varying levels of death and dismemberment over the four flights.

The bottom yielded no prettier a sight. Two more shooters having been hastily bodybagged off to the side a stark comparison to the macabre scene of what had been four dozen tech zombies. Their augmented limbs shiny and visible amongst the puddled gore their physical bodies had been reduced to by the machine gun team. The pile of .338 cartridges massive compared to the dull sheen of carbine and pistol casings that interspersed the space.

Graves was taking a knee, talking to one of the helo pilots on the surface.

"... Get Mike and November spun up. We're going to need a second wave at this rate....No Norr didn't authorize it. I did. Graves out!" His attention turning to the odd assemblage of personnel that had come down from the fourth deck.

"I don't care how you do it. Someone get this door open." He jabbed his thumb behind him. Beyond the gruesome killing ground and a sad, unmanned security deck, sat a door. More befitting a bank vault then a research facility. Its card read gave a furtive angry beep as a shooter frustratedly ran a confiscated key card through.

The continuous denials added to the din of the surviving shooters reloading and collecting themselves. Graves' annoyance visible even through his gas mask. A feeling apparently shared by another DA shooter.

"Zavala, if it didn't work the first fifty times why would work the next eighty?"

"What's wrong about it?" The reply accompanied another angry beep.

@Tesserach, @PatientBean, @JFK

@Dyelli Beybi, @Theyra, @PrinceAlexus

Paradise Lost

Captain John Lockman

A series of clanging resounded from within the assault shuttle. Muttered swears intermingled amongst grunts of exertions. A brief period of silence before John's boots clomped down the ramp; his flight suit peeled open to the waist and his undershirt damp from sweat.

"Alright... fancy carts are strapped down and loaded now." He began tugging the flight suit's arms back on. The pilot stopping next to workbench that held a semi-organized pile of flight gear he had shed to necessitate the loading. His gaze sweeping over Ren and the doctor while he began strapping on his flight armor and survival rig.

"When ya'll get a second I need weight for you and ya kits." He nodded at a scale tucked into an alcove; a massive thing that was designed for supply packets but would still function for personnel. "Pilot stuff and all that."

He didn't see the need to explain why he needed their weights.

In The Black (A Clean-Up Crew RP)

Will advance this weekend.

Graveyard Orbit

"Captain" James Castleton

The mood around the town had the kind of simmer that set James' nerves alight. Furtive gazes and too-long stares had him crowd slightly to his group as he entered into the shade and shelter of the local watering hole.

His focus turning to the selection of slightly familiar liquors when he became aware of the shifting mood of the patrons. Their ire seeming squarely focused on the trio of humans that had now entered the bar.

The flying bottle was his first clue things were taking a turn for the worst.

The marine deciding to retaliate by kicking a man charging at them was the next clue that the situation might prove more hostile.

Then the scene devolved into flurry of limbs and splintering furniture that Castleton recognized as a bar fight. He wasn't going to lie; there was a part of him that reveled in the familiar sensation of flying liquor and ill intentions that bespoke of liberty bar crawls and nights of libations.

The more sensible part of him recognized that fighting a hostile crowd of aliens that outnumbered him was not the move. Not that the dhasath that harried him with a chair gave him that option.

"Hold on now fella-" He was cut off by springing back from the chair. A clumsy arc that James saw telegraphed through the man's intoxicated movements. James' counterattack left a familiar ache of pain on his elbow and the dhasath staggering away with a glassier gaze and an even unsteadier gait.

The whoosh of a bottle flying past had him rapidly sidestep; nearly bowling over Neri. A quick second as he corrected himself and pulled up dhasath woman as he took his bearings.

"Beg ya pardon miss." His focus finding on the ad-hoc pitcher. A ruddy faced kiellar that had mounted the bar and drunkenly distributed bottles at random into the brawl. Common sense would say to leave the bar before this degraded further.

"Hell with it!!" Common sense was definitely not on his tongue as he pushed to the bar. Shouldering past Dusk and hip checking the marine inadvertently along with a slim farmer type trying to scurry for the exit.

His battle cry was enough to rise above some of the chaos as he tackled the kiellar pitcher the at the knees. The pair, James and the kiellar, both flipping over the bar top and crashing into the racks and shelves of spirits behind. The furniture wobbling dangerously before one shelf fell over with splintering glass and sloshing liquids.

A resounding pair of pain filled yelps followed the toppling liquor shelves. James levering himself into view a few seconds later. A bleeding gash on his forehead and cheek; duster soaked with a variety of alcohol and some minor blood stains.

Paradise Lost

Captain John Lockman

“If the shuttle gets clipped, you’ll want someone aboard who can slap a quick fix on it before we’re stranded planetside. And if they blow us out of the sky…” he shrugged, flat and jaded, “then at least I can say I died helping instead of sitting up here watching the food stores drop.”

@InfamousGuy101

"You ain't touching my bird." The pilot was rather vehement in his statement. His tone broking no argument.

“Do we have a drone… or something? Not filled with us?” Ren asked, hoping for the yes and expecting a no. Due to everything automated and other systems got looked at pretty carefully if they became too smart or quiet, she thought. Useful.

@PrinceAlexus

"I didn't see any drones in the aviation section... and I tore that place apart." John's foray into fixing his bird had involved him shifting over the aviation section in detail before he had eventually deduced his parts weren't among them. But he didn't recall seeing any drones.

Which meant that his ship was the sole way up and down from the mysteriously comm silent world in front of him.

Which meant he was responsible for their safety to and from the ship.

Joy...

He couldn't see a way out of this short of straight up desertion. He would have to figure out something on the fly then.

"Guess I'll go pre-flight the bird then." He locked the console to his biometrics and made to stand. Stretching as he extracted himself from the crash webbing.

Graveyard Orbit

"Captain" James Castleton

As they distributed their semi ill-gotten garments and supplies; James took a moment to gander. Enjoying the unspoiled landscape and the (to him) alien sky above.

Of course such sightseeing came at the knowledge that undeveloped land this beautiful was lacking in the necessities of survival. And possibly also possessed wildlife in forms that made the creatures of Australia of Earth look tame.

That is if the Ragon in their midst didn't kill them all.

He was going to need some weapons at some point. He would need a map but he was sure that he had a few stash points hidden around this planet somewhere. Planet side affairs he had left for oversized goods and bulk orders to save on cargo space.

Decent kit all in all. He just needed to get an opportunity to get away...

He panned a look around his companions. Keeping on eye on the Jarhead and the ROK-head; they would be the ones to catch him out if any.

His erstwhile companions from the supply run would be his best bet. He ambled nonchalantly beside Neri and Larce.

"Now that our assemblage is properly attired. What's say we begun our journey to the town. I don't know about you but I feel a drink is in order to celebrate our unofficial pardons."

He shot what he hoped was a sly grin at Neri.

"You miss can buy me a drink even."

And maybe while he was there and his group was drunk he could slip off to pilfer a cache.

@Awesomoman64 @Dyelli Beybi

Empire of the Clouds

Pvt. Aden Robertson

"Mister Robinson," she turned, finally to Aden, "Would you please check if we have all the ordinance aboard?"

While the gold had been removed from the ship, it had been replaced with belts of machinegun ammunition and rank on rank of artillery shells modified to be dropped out of an airship. The modification included stabilising fins and sensitive impact fuses. It would not be a good idea to drop one in the gondola...

@Dyelli Beybi

Aden could tell the answer out of the dismissal. They were going forward with this.

He came to attention. A hasty salute. "As you command your highness."

He left without much fanfare. Leaving Zoe to the crew as he made his way down the familiar passageways. The ship's conversion had been finished during tis stay within port. The finishing touches that the ship had been partially through before Inbur had fallen.

Though for all of its familiarity; the cargo bay didn't resemble anything like his memories of the place. The wealth was long gone; a nation's fortune hidden in non-descript crates had been replaced with more familiar devices.

Familiar crates of ammunition lay on pallets but the main sprawl of the bay had bigger munitions. Artillery shells, flat green and yellow shells with hasty implements added on in hasty welds and patches. Turning the former artillery shells into something resembling oversized darts. Their fuzes lay separated for now; waiting for the time to be implemented.

Aden checked them all over. Everything securely latched in place; pallets and rollers locked in case of turbulence and maneuvers. Or until the bombardiers had them prepped.

Satisfied; Aden made to leave lingering only slightly to look over the bay. Communalists, Gold, Carter, Zoe... the events of the last day seeming to drive him forward into this next course of action. Perhaps even more dangerous then the last. Back to the war.

Aden killed the light as he dogged the hatch behind him. Boots thundering as he retrieved a cigarette.

Gods helped him a part of him looked forward to it.