Gatac
"Your men are not dying alone," Hug'sh huffs back at him, but seeing as there's no changing Keating's mind, he backs up and takes his position next to Onas.
Jade Imperium - Afghanistan, Pt. 2
Gatac
e of pi
The Gate flashes, the Manta rises up, turns, and then in a burst there's a flare of something, and Dietrich is right in front of it... Luis is miles away for a moment, but he swings into action next to Arketta. "You heard the gneral and the woman. Let's move, but watch for more tricks!"
threadbare
skullandscythe wrote:Zaef's actually gotten further ahead than Hale, when he too stops suddenly, just a couple steps ahead. He opens a channel to the Samal.
"Samal Akor, I want two quads staying here to guard the servers and supplies. Everyone else is going in to find any survivors they can and keep them that way. Rav-Turai Hale will be joining you," he adds, as Hale seems to have finished his outburst.
Zaef turns around and walks back towards Hunter. "Angel said that was the second trap. Do you think those sunmines were like the rockets - or like the truck?"
Hunter, one of a handful of soldiers with experience in Afghan fighting and off-world tech, is stuck in a grimace. "This tips their hand. You don't reveal you've got off-world tech unless you're playing for bigger stakes than this. We have to get as many people out and into medical care as possible, but I am fully expecting an impending assault on command, control, or logistic centers of gravity. And if they've got sunmines, they could have other things. That changes the threat profile."
Thinking about that quickly, he flips on his vox and messages air support and Sheen observation drones to be on the watch for movement, unusual energy signatures, and potentially spearbombs.
edited by punkey on 2015-07-30 18:07:06
punkey
“Copy that,” Orphan Grinder messages from up above. “There ain’t no foam tips on these spearbombs.”
Rav-Turai Akor and Houl charge ahead with their quads, Hale leading the way.
----
Gray’s body folds out like a knot coming undone as it contorts its shell around the bulk of Hulor; while the Wherren is busy trying to get a good grip on Boyd Kravitz, Gray’s going for their rearmost casualty, and it’s already 94% confident Ten Tons is dead; the garbled telemetry of the shell trying in vain to transmit something is almost enough to be sure, but Gray believes in the 6%. Ten Tons’s shell seems superficially okay aside from some scorching, but the intense helping of radiation coming off the metal tells the story of just how close it was to the explosion - and how much it shielded the rest of the group. At least the low-level autonomic functions in the shell are still operational; Gray remote-ejects the backup memory core and squirrels it away in an internal armored compartment of its own body as the transmission from Ten Tons’s shell shifts into service mode and initiates a countdown. 300 milliseconds later, the shell starts sparking and hissing as internal thermite charges melt its sensitive parts to slag, while the destabilized power cells blow a few seconds later to finish the job.
Gray has no time to grieve. Its squad is under fire.
----
Angel and an impromptu quad of Sheen, Wherren, Bashakra’i and Marines are covering the retreat back from the cave when Angel’s tactical glasses highlight a sudden movement. His rifle (and the rifles of the Bashakra’i with their helms and the Sheen with their digital eyes) instantly tracks towards the contact.
“If you’re not gonna shoot us, you just made a big -” one of the Sheen shouts over an amplified speaker, but doesn’t get to finish before the bright splash of a beamer round superheats part of its shell. “Fuck you!” it hollers back, and fires off a two-round burst from an accelerator on its shoulder.
In response, a few dozen more contacts appear in Angel’s vision, pouring over the top of the ridge above.
“Oh, fuck,” one of the Bashakra’i says.
”It is bad, right?” one of the Wherren grunts in response.
“That doesn’t sound good,” a Narsai’i echoes.
----
Arketta and Luis are at the head of the wedge barreling its way down the slope towards the bottom of the valley when they see the first survivors of the sunmines start to stream back out of the cave. Some of them don’t look so hot - bent over and stumbling, more than a few vomiting as soon as they come to a stop, probably from radiation sickness - but most of them look like they’re on their feet.
“’Stanhill, Quis, get your asses over here!’” Correa shouts over the Narsai’i channel.
“’Already on our way!’” Arketta calls back. “’Just get to cover and we will get you out!’”
“’Negative, we’re going back in as ordered -’” Correa starts to say, but is cut off a moment later.
The interrupting incident is a sudden fusillade of beamer fire from the ridge above the cave - mostly off-target, but most of it more than accurate enough. Through their helms and digitized vision, the Bashakra’i and Sheen can plainly see the horrific results of beam rifles on inadequate Narsai’i armor. Kevlar bursts into flame, ceramic shatters - or even worse, explodes - and both rifle and grenade rounds cook off as the numbers of insurgents on the hill grows ever larger, pouring fire down onto the Narsai’i below. They scramble for cover, but already so many lie screaming in agony or dead on the ground, steam rising from craters blasted in their torsos or what remains of their extremities. For those not used to seeing the impact of Imperial weaponry on inferior Narsai’i armor (or in Luis and Arketta’s case, who have forgotten what it looks like), it’s a devastating sight.
“’Taking heavy enemy fire!’” Correa radios back. “’They’ve got laser rifles!’” Panic starts to take over his voice. “’How they fuck do they have lasers? We’re getting back into the cave! We’re fucked!’”
“Vidas Lam,” Arketta grunts as she charges up the hill. “Motherfuckers.” She swaps her mic into the Narsai’i channel. “’Hold on, Captain. We are coming for you.’”
----
Hunter and Zaef can see Hale tuck and roll for cover the instant his helm registers movement, a reflex that saves his life as the next moment sees a beam scorch the air where he was just standing. They’re already halfway up the slope by this point, and you can both see Hale, the two Rav-Turai and their quads take cover and return fire. A few Narsai’i stagger out of the cave, but they either are cut down by beam rifles or retreat back into the cave.
----
“Hit the deck!” Danielsson shouts as he pops off shots into the darkness, trying to get a rough count of the enemies shooting at them. Now, normally this would be somewhat difficult - say what you will about AKs, but the flash hiders aren’t half-bad -, but instead of distant little pinpricks of orange and red, they’re being welcomed by a full-on light show of charged particle beams that look and sound a damn lot like what Leaj and Shen are shooting back - at, Danielsson notes, positions higher up the mountain. Textbook, really, except for the fact that this particular bunch of weekend jihadis is peppering them with Imperial tech. Frankly, it’d be scarier if they were able to shoot straight, but then again, it’s not like the narrow path leaves them a lot of room to spread out and make themselves harder targets. The best Danielsson can do is crawl forward to a particularly friendly-looking rock and hope that it’ll do.
“’Blue 2 on open channel, we’re taking fire!’ Danielsson shouts into the mic of his radio; he’s not entirely sure it’s on, but he’s also not entirely sure that matters right now. He’s just managed to pop open his Grip Pod foregrip into its bipod configuration when Hulor takes a knee next to him to lower Boyd’s body to the ground. Danielsson’s eyes meet with Hulor, and even in the dark, an understanding passes between them as Hulor readies his own XM-10. “PUT SOME FIRE ON THAT FUCKING RIDGE!” Danielsson hollers as he yanks Boyd closer to him and -
Danielsson’s seen some fucked-up shit; once, he watched - fucking watched - as one of their Iraqi augments went to poke an IED and had it blow up right in his face, nigh-instantly splattering him across a street in the Baghdad hinterlands. Took them ten minutes to wade through that to find and retrieve the man’s weapon, because fuck your feelings, soldier, we don’t leave materiel for the enemy to find! And that was nothing compared to that idiot from the 45th who got a Dear John letter and decided that the best way to deal with his break up was to suck-start his M4 - and in the process proved he was too stupid to even do that right. All of which is to say that looking at Boyd has Danielsson dry-heaving and belching up acid as he tries not to fucking freak right at the spot. That’s how bad it is. Boyd’s face is about half red skin and half flakes that used to be skin; it shouldn’t be possible to blister up from a burn this fast, but obviously it is. The place where Boyd’s right eye used to be is one bloody crater, and Danielsson realizes that what he took for pus is actually the insides of Boyd’s eye, splattered open like an egg in a microwave. Worst of all, Boyd isn’t breathing - he’s gurgling, and the only good news is that if he’s even still conscious, he’s definitely far too deep in shock to realize any part of what has happened to him.
“The disk,” Danielsson mutters, then looks around, trying to make out Shenloma between the twin difficulties of darkness filtered through his goggles fighting against the glittering beams of weapons fire coming and going. “Shen! Shen!” One figure seems to stop firing briefly, and so Danielsson knows - just knows - that he’s found his man; staying as close to the ground as possible, Danielsson climbs over Hulor, flinches away from a near-miss that sends a spray of warm little rocks at his face, then crawls on, his left hand finally grasping on to the back of Shenloma’s carapace as his right hand starts digging in Shen’s gear for the kauka.
“No!” Shen cries as he tries to free a hand to push Danielsson off him. “Don’t -”
“Boyd is hit!” Danielsson shouts, redoubling his efforts. The two men briefly wrestle, but Danielsson’s desperation quickly wins out over Shen’s distracted defense, using his grip on Shen’s back to haul himself forward and smack Shen’s helmet with his elbow guard. That dazes the Bashakra’i warrior just long enough for him to stop struggling for the kauka, and so Danielsson rips it free, rolls off Shen and gets on his hands and knees, skedaddling back to Boyd.
Rav-Turai Akor and Houl charge ahead with their quads, Hale leading the way.
----
Gray’s body folds out like a knot coming undone as it contorts its shell around the bulk of Hulor; while the Wherren is busy trying to get a good grip on Boyd Kravitz, Gray’s going for their rearmost casualty, and it’s already 94% confident Ten Tons is dead; the garbled telemetry of the shell trying in vain to transmit something is almost enough to be sure, but Gray believes in the 6%. Ten Tons’s shell seems superficially okay aside from some scorching, but the intense helping of radiation coming off the metal tells the story of just how close it was to the explosion - and how much it shielded the rest of the group. At least the low-level autonomic functions in the shell are still operational; Gray remote-ejects the backup memory core and squirrels it away in an internal armored compartment of its own body as the transmission from Ten Tons’s shell shifts into service mode and initiates a countdown. 300 milliseconds later, the shell starts sparking and hissing as internal thermite charges melt its sensitive parts to slag, while the destabilized power cells blow a few seconds later to finish the job.
Gray has no time to grieve. Its squad is under fire.
----
Angel and an impromptu quad of Sheen, Wherren, Bashakra’i and Marines are covering the retreat back from the cave when Angel’s tactical glasses highlight a sudden movement. His rifle (and the rifles of the Bashakra’i with their helms and the Sheen with their digital eyes) instantly tracks towards the contact.
“If you’re not gonna shoot us, you just made a big -” one of the Sheen shouts over an amplified speaker, but doesn’t get to finish before the bright splash of a beamer round superheats part of its shell. “Fuck you!” it hollers back, and fires off a two-round burst from an accelerator on its shoulder.
In response, a few dozen more contacts appear in Angel’s vision, pouring over the top of the ridge above.
“Oh, fuck,” one of the Bashakra’i says.
”It is bad, right?” one of the Wherren grunts in response.
“That doesn’t sound good,” a Narsai’i echoes.
----
Arketta and Luis are at the head of the wedge barreling its way down the slope towards the bottom of the valley when they see the first survivors of the sunmines start to stream back out of the cave. Some of them don’t look so hot - bent over and stumbling, more than a few vomiting as soon as they come to a stop, probably from radiation sickness - but most of them look like they’re on their feet.
“’Stanhill, Quis, get your asses over here!’” Correa shouts over the Narsai’i channel.
“’Already on our way!’” Arketta calls back. “’Just get to cover and we will get you out!’”
“’Negative, we’re going back in as ordered -’” Correa starts to say, but is cut off a moment later.
The interrupting incident is a sudden fusillade of beamer fire from the ridge above the cave - mostly off-target, but most of it more than accurate enough. Through their helms and digitized vision, the Bashakra’i and Sheen can plainly see the horrific results of beam rifles on inadequate Narsai’i armor. Kevlar bursts into flame, ceramic shatters - or even worse, explodes - and both rifle and grenade rounds cook off as the numbers of insurgents on the hill grows ever larger, pouring fire down onto the Narsai’i below. They scramble for cover, but already so many lie screaming in agony or dead on the ground, steam rising from craters blasted in their torsos or what remains of their extremities. For those not used to seeing the impact of Imperial weaponry on inferior Narsai’i armor (or in Luis and Arketta’s case, who have forgotten what it looks like), it’s a devastating sight.
“’Taking heavy enemy fire!’” Correa radios back. “’They’ve got laser rifles!’” Panic starts to take over his voice. “’How they fuck do they have lasers? We’re getting back into the cave! We’re fucked!’”
“Vidas Lam,” Arketta grunts as she charges up the hill. “Motherfuckers.” She swaps her mic into the Narsai’i channel. “’Hold on, Captain. We are coming for you.’”
----
Hunter and Zaef can see Hale tuck and roll for cover the instant his helm registers movement, a reflex that saves his life as the next moment sees a beam scorch the air where he was just standing. They’re already halfway up the slope by this point, and you can both see Hale, the two Rav-Turai and their quads take cover and return fire. A few Narsai’i stagger out of the cave, but they either are cut down by beam rifles or retreat back into the cave.
----
“Hit the deck!” Danielsson shouts as he pops off shots into the darkness, trying to get a rough count of the enemies shooting at them. Now, normally this would be somewhat difficult - say what you will about AKs, but the flash hiders aren’t half-bad -, but instead of distant little pinpricks of orange and red, they’re being welcomed by a full-on light show of charged particle beams that look and sound a damn lot like what Leaj and Shen are shooting back - at, Danielsson notes, positions higher up the mountain. Textbook, really, except for the fact that this particular bunch of weekend jihadis is peppering them with Imperial tech. Frankly, it’d be scarier if they were able to shoot straight, but then again, it’s not like the narrow path leaves them a lot of room to spread out and make themselves harder targets. The best Danielsson can do is crawl forward to a particularly friendly-looking rock and hope that it’ll do.
“’Blue 2 on open channel, we’re taking fire!’ Danielsson shouts into the mic of his radio; he’s not entirely sure it’s on, but he’s also not entirely sure that matters right now. He’s just managed to pop open his Grip Pod foregrip into its bipod configuration when Hulor takes a knee next to him to lower Boyd’s body to the ground. Danielsson’s eyes meet with Hulor, and even in the dark, an understanding passes between them as Hulor readies his own XM-10. “PUT SOME FIRE ON THAT FUCKING RIDGE!” Danielsson hollers as he yanks Boyd closer to him and -
Danielsson’s seen some fucked-up shit; once, he watched - fucking watched - as one of their Iraqi augments went to poke an IED and had it blow up right in his face, nigh-instantly splattering him across a street in the Baghdad hinterlands. Took them ten minutes to wade through that to find and retrieve the man’s weapon, because fuck your feelings, soldier, we don’t leave materiel for the enemy to find! And that was nothing compared to that idiot from the 45th who got a Dear John letter and decided that the best way to deal with his break up was to suck-start his M4 - and in the process proved he was too stupid to even do that right. All of which is to say that looking at Boyd has Danielsson dry-heaving and belching up acid as he tries not to fucking freak right at the spot. That’s how bad it is. Boyd’s face is about half red skin and half flakes that used to be skin; it shouldn’t be possible to blister up from a burn this fast, but obviously it is. The place where Boyd’s right eye used to be is one bloody crater, and Danielsson realizes that what he took for pus is actually the insides of Boyd’s eye, splattered open like an egg in a microwave. Worst of all, Boyd isn’t breathing - he’s gurgling, and the only good news is that if he’s even still conscious, he’s definitely far too deep in shock to realize any part of what has happened to him.
“The disk,” Danielsson mutters, then looks around, trying to make out Shenloma between the twin difficulties of darkness filtered through his goggles fighting against the glittering beams of weapons fire coming and going. “Shen! Shen!” One figure seems to stop firing briefly, and so Danielsson knows - just knows - that he’s found his man; staying as close to the ground as possible, Danielsson climbs over Hulor, flinches away from a near-miss that sends a spray of warm little rocks at his face, then crawls on, his left hand finally grasping on to the back of Shenloma’s carapace as his right hand starts digging in Shen’s gear for the kauka.
“No!” Shen cries as he tries to free a hand to push Danielsson off him. “Don’t -”
“Boyd is hit!” Danielsson shouts, redoubling his efforts. The two men briefly wrestle, but Danielsson’s desperation quickly wins out over Shen’s distracted defense, using his grip on Shen’s back to haul himself forward and smack Shen’s helmet with his elbow guard. That dazes the Bashakra’i warrior just long enough for him to stop struggling for the kauka, and so Danielsson rips it free, rolls off Shen and gets on his hands and knees, skedaddling back to Boyd.
Gatac
Back at the JTOC, Hug'sh isn't feeling so great about handing the headset to Keating; for one, it means the General is now tethered to his workstation, and so Hug'sh is getting an earful of the General's orders, which - for two - seem to be stunted by his rather limited tactical vocabulary. To hear Keating bark orders, every conceivable obstacle can be overcome by ordering his men to charge forward and die on top of it. It really makes Hug'sh want to smack some sense into Keating's thick head - what with him being in such convenient thwacking range, too - but he's not quite ready to mutine yet.
Instead, Hug'sh turns back to his display, calls up the cancelled order to Blood and Thunder and starts fiddling with it before finally punching it in - drop to FL 50 and recce three waypoints at speed. Hunter's got the right of it: they need to get their air support into better orbits so they can actually support the boots on the ground instead of twiddling their metaphorical thumbs, and Hug'sh aims to do just that.
Instead, Hug'sh turns back to his display, calls up the cancelled order to Blood and Thunder and starts fiddling with it before finally punching it in - drop to FL 50 and recce three waypoints at speed. Hunter's got the right of it: they need to get their air support into better orbits so they can actually support the boots on the ground instead of twiddling their metaphorical thumbs, and Hug'sh aims to do just that.
skullandscythe
Zaef's eyes narrow behind the visor. Far as Zaef can tell, it's divide and conquer - the shooters on the ridge could pick off soldiers as they climb, but the real threat was likely inside, cleaning up hapless soldiers and reinforcing the chokepoints before the quads finally make it inside.
"They need covering fire," Zaef says as he tightens his grip on his Tenner, "but we can't draw their fire here, in case of spearbombs. Hunter, we'll each take a trin from the forces here and move up. Fire once or twice, then move again. Any objections?"
"They need covering fire," Zaef says as he tightens his grip on his Tenner, "but we can't draw their fire here, in case of spearbombs. Hunter, we'll each take a trin from the forces here and move up. Fire once or twice, then move again. Any objections?"
CrazyIvan
Angel growls softly.
"It's definitely bad."
He looks around the eclectic collection of troops covering the back of the cave, his expression serious, before pointing to one of the Marines.
"Go find out how many pieces Nichols is in. If it's one, get to reestablishing something resembling a coherent unit." He turns to the rest of the unit. "The rest of you, find cover and shoot anything that isn't friendly. They've got Imperial gear, so assume they've got all the Imperial gear. Keep your eyes open, look for things out of place - that's Turai armor. Then fill it full of lead."
"It's definitely bad."
He looks around the eclectic collection of troops covering the back of the cave, his expression serious, before pointing to one of the Marines.
"Go find out how many pieces Nichols is in. If it's one, get to reestablishing something resembling a coherent unit." He turns to the rest of the unit. "The rest of you, find cover and shoot anything that isn't friendly. They've got Imperial gear, so assume they've got all the Imperial gear. Keep your eyes open, look for things out of place - that's Turai armor. Then fill it full of lead."
e of pi
Pulse pounding in his ears, Luis pushes forward with Arketta, the Bashakra'i, and the Sheen.
threadbare
Hunter is halfway into calling in a fire mission, only realize his authority is tenuous, not to.mention the fact that Hale's charging up the hill like he's John damn Wayne. For fuck's sake, I thought I explained air support...
"This is Gator 4, to all fire support. We are Danger Close, repeat DANGER CLOSE. We have units engaging the enemy force on the ridge at under 300 meters, and troops still in the tunnels. Standby before any go-ahead, we are deploying spearbombs until units are clear."
Switching channels, Hunter broadcasts to Hale and the three quads advancing: "This is Gator 4, we are working on air support. That will mean we need safe distance. If you are advancing up the hill, stay in cover and return fire; we're going to be hitting the ridge with spearbombs. Do not get out ahead of your quadmates, and radio in positions. A lot of trigger-pullers never seen beamers before, and we don't want to add friendly fire on top of everything else. Be ready to advance to clear enemy positions on the ridge and in the caves following bombardment."
Hunter then turns to his team, shouting and sending local transmission to mirror, "Get your heavy weapons ready. On my order, we are going to hit that ridge with every damn spearbomb we have, airburst only. Copy?"
"This is Gator 4, to all fire support. We are Danger Close, repeat DANGER CLOSE. We have units engaging the enemy force on the ridge at under 300 meters, and troops still in the tunnels. Standby before any go-ahead, we are deploying spearbombs until units are clear."
Switching channels, Hunter broadcasts to Hale and the three quads advancing: "This is Gator 4, we are working on air support. That will mean we need safe distance. If you are advancing up the hill, stay in cover and return fire; we're going to be hitting the ridge with spearbombs. Do not get out ahead of your quadmates, and radio in positions. A lot of trigger-pullers never seen beamers before, and we don't want to add friendly fire on top of everything else. Be ready to advance to clear enemy positions on the ridge and in the caves following bombardment."
Hunter then turns to his team, shouting and sending local transmission to mirror, "Get your heavy weapons ready. On my order, we are going to hit that ridge with every damn spearbomb we have, airburst only. Copy?"
punkey
(Hunter Shoot: 2d8.hi = 6 vs. 1d8 = 3)
(Damage: 3d8.hi = 6 vs. 1d6 = 1)
(Turai Shoot: 1d8 = 4 vs. 1d8 = 3)
(Damage: 3d8.hi = 7 vs. 1d6 = 6
Zaef and his trin advance forward up the hill, while Hunter with the three remaining trins stand up. “Copy, Rav-Samal!” the quad’s Samal replies. “Spearbombs ready!”
Hunter hefts a spearbomb in his right hand, pushes the trigger to pop the fins and tail open, and points it towards the ridge. A careful moment of aiming later through the pop-out backup sights (which look identical to those on an AT-4, Hunter notes with amusement), and he releases the trigger. “Throw!”
Hunter and the three trins heave their spearbombs into the air, and a moment later the rocket engines catch and ignite. The munitions speed off into the air, arcing upwards and then diving back down before bursting like lethal fireworks above the positions. Instantly, the volume of fire decreases dramatically, and only a few beams lance out from the ridge. Zaef and his trin advance up the hill, while Hale waves in thanks from further up.
“Thanks for the support!” Hale voxes back, and waves for his quad to follow him towards the caves.
----
(Angel Shoot: 1d12 = 4; 1d10 = 10 vs. 1d8 = 1 / 1d12 = 10; 1d10 = 2 vs. 1d8 = 5)
Two Marines nod and hustle off between the rocks to find their captain, while the rest of the quad around Angel turn and return fire. Sheen, Wherren, and Bashakra’i all open up, firing towards the bright lights lancing down from the hilltop above them. Angel raises his Imperial-made rifle, the scope sending a sight picture through his glasses, letting him just place the crosshair on the light-enhanced target, and squeeze the trigger. One target flops backward as the bullet slams into his chest, and a quick pivot and shot later, and another target is down.
----
Luis and Arketta hustle across the valley as fire continues to rain down on the soldiers up at the cave’s entrance. A few have managed to reach cover, no more than a dozen, while the rest are dead or something very close to it. Luis and Arketta can see it all through the light enhanced optics of their helms.
----
Hug’sh hears it all. Patched into the tactical channels that make up the task force’s lifeline, Hug’sh hears the screaming, the guns and beamers playing their deadly concerto, and the handful of Narsai’i radio staff desperately calling for units that are no longer responding. Violet fights red all over his fur, and Hug’sh fights both, trying to...trying to sit still and stay in his lane and help as best as he can without vaulting the table, grabbing a rifle and running off to join the fight.
(Keating Will: 2d10.hi = 9 vs. 2d8.hi = 4)
“’No!’” Keating shouted into the mic. “’Dammit, push through! We are not being put back on our heels by these fucking dirt-kickers! All regiments, put your reserve units on line and move forward!'”
(Hug’sh Will: 1d8 = 6 vs. 2d8.hi = 5)
This is it. This is the point Hug’sh didn’t want to get to. This is the point beyond him trying to make this work, trying to treat Keating as someone with a clue rather than another indistinct data point on the graph showing the competence of his Narsai’i superiors. Superiors. The very word makes Hug’sh sneer. The graph is a flat fucking line. And this idiot, this...this asshole idiot hasn’t learned a damn thing. This isn’t leading a fight. This is throwing a tantrum. Time for a time-out.
Hug’sh rises from his chair and stands up straight, a healthy dollop of orange entering the mix of colors in his fur. He doesn’t need to look back to Onas to know that nods and hand signals are going through the room between the Bashakra’i, that this is It, this is The Move coming right up, and they’re just waiting for Hug’sh to set if off. All things considering, he’s pretty quiet and composed when he does it, though the rapidly shifting melange of colors in his fur betrays the roiling emotions beneath.
”General Keating,” he sneers. ”I think it’s time you sit down and observe.”
----
Leaj is right in the middle of the clusterfuck when Gray finally makes his presence known, raining accelerator fire on the enemy position. He’s too late to claim the first insurgent kill, but easily makes up for that by claiming second, third and fourth in the space of one and a half seconds. To the extent that there is return fire, it clearly comes from the suicidal fraction of the attackers, as two more persistent potshot-takers get their hearts tunneled out from Gray’s primary effector array. That gives Leaj a second to breathe and look around for more threats, which is when she spots Shen holding his helm, which is shortly followed by her discovery that the left side of his gear pouch is ripped open, and then she rolls onto her back just in time to see Danielsson take a knee over Boyd, kauka in hand.
“No!” Leaj shouts, scrambling to her feet; this draws Hulor’s attention, and as the Wherren rises, he accidentally puts himself between Leaj and Danielsson; the lithe Bashakra’i warrior darts underneath his bulk and half-crawls, half-pedals across the ground in her quest to get her hands on the glowing kauka and rip it away from the rapidly-knitting flesh on Boyd’s face. She gets her hands on Danielsson’s wrist, but he brings in his other hand to counteract, and soon they’re in a farcical struggle over the alien device on top of Boyd.
“Leaj!” Danielsson shouts. “Let go!”
“No!” Leaj shouts back. “You can’t use it!”
“It’s working!”
“No, stop!”
“I’m saving him!”
“Stop!” Leaj hollers, hauls back one hand and slugs Danielsson, desperate to get him to stop - and stop he does as he loses his grip on the kauka and rolls off Boyd, while the device drops, clattering precariously close to the edge of the footpath. Leaj scrambles over Boyd in a bid to get her hands on it, but realizes too late that Danielsson’s no longer playing that game - in a flash, he has his sidearm out and racks the slide as he points the gun at her.
“What the fuck?” he screams. “He’s dying! Give me the fucking kauka!”
“No!” Leaj says. “You don’t understand -”
“Give me the fucking kauka or I will ventilate your ass!”
(Damage: 3d8.hi = 6 vs. 1d6 = 1)
(Turai Shoot: 1d8 = 4 vs. 1d8 = 3)
(Damage: 3d8.hi = 7 vs. 1d6 = 6
Zaef and his trin advance forward up the hill, while Hunter with the three remaining trins stand up. “Copy, Rav-Samal!” the quad’s Samal replies. “Spearbombs ready!”
Hunter hefts a spearbomb in his right hand, pushes the trigger to pop the fins and tail open, and points it towards the ridge. A careful moment of aiming later through the pop-out backup sights (which look identical to those on an AT-4, Hunter notes with amusement), and he releases the trigger. “Throw!”
Hunter and the three trins heave their spearbombs into the air, and a moment later the rocket engines catch and ignite. The munitions speed off into the air, arcing upwards and then diving back down before bursting like lethal fireworks above the positions. Instantly, the volume of fire decreases dramatically, and only a few beams lance out from the ridge. Zaef and his trin advance up the hill, while Hale waves in thanks from further up.
“Thanks for the support!” Hale voxes back, and waves for his quad to follow him towards the caves.
----
(Angel Shoot: 1d12 = 4; 1d10 = 10 vs. 1d8 = 1 / 1d12 = 10; 1d10 = 2 vs. 1d8 = 5)
Two Marines nod and hustle off between the rocks to find their captain, while the rest of the quad around Angel turn and return fire. Sheen, Wherren, and Bashakra’i all open up, firing towards the bright lights lancing down from the hilltop above them. Angel raises his Imperial-made rifle, the scope sending a sight picture through his glasses, letting him just place the crosshair on the light-enhanced target, and squeeze the trigger. One target flops backward as the bullet slams into his chest, and a quick pivot and shot later, and another target is down.
----
Luis and Arketta hustle across the valley as fire continues to rain down on the soldiers up at the cave’s entrance. A few have managed to reach cover, no more than a dozen, while the rest are dead or something very close to it. Luis and Arketta can see it all through the light enhanced optics of their helms.
----
Hug’sh hears it all. Patched into the tactical channels that make up the task force’s lifeline, Hug’sh hears the screaming, the guns and beamers playing their deadly concerto, and the handful of Narsai’i radio staff desperately calling for units that are no longer responding. Violet fights red all over his fur, and Hug’sh fights both, trying to...trying to sit still and stay in his lane and help as best as he can without vaulting the table, grabbing a rifle and running off to join the fight.
(Keating Will: 2d10.hi = 9 vs. 2d8.hi = 4)
“’No!’” Keating shouted into the mic. “’Dammit, push through! We are not being put back on our heels by these fucking dirt-kickers! All regiments, put your reserve units on line and move forward!'”
(Hug’sh Will: 1d8 = 6 vs. 2d8.hi = 5)
This is it. This is the point Hug’sh didn’t want to get to. This is the point beyond him trying to make this work, trying to treat Keating as someone with a clue rather than another indistinct data point on the graph showing the competence of his Narsai’i superiors. Superiors. The very word makes Hug’sh sneer. The graph is a flat fucking line. And this idiot, this...this asshole idiot hasn’t learned a damn thing. This isn’t leading a fight. This is throwing a tantrum. Time for a time-out.
Hug’sh rises from his chair and stands up straight, a healthy dollop of orange entering the mix of colors in his fur. He doesn’t need to look back to Onas to know that nods and hand signals are going through the room between the Bashakra’i, that this is It, this is The Move coming right up, and they’re just waiting for Hug’sh to set if off. All things considering, he’s pretty quiet and composed when he does it, though the rapidly shifting melange of colors in his fur betrays the roiling emotions beneath.
”General Keating,” he sneers. ”I think it’s time you sit down and observe.”
----
Leaj is right in the middle of the clusterfuck when Gray finally makes his presence known, raining accelerator fire on the enemy position. He’s too late to claim the first insurgent kill, but easily makes up for that by claiming second, third and fourth in the space of one and a half seconds. To the extent that there is return fire, it clearly comes from the suicidal fraction of the attackers, as two more persistent potshot-takers get their hearts tunneled out from Gray’s primary effector array. That gives Leaj a second to breathe and look around for more threats, which is when she spots Shen holding his helm, which is shortly followed by her discovery that the left side of his gear pouch is ripped open, and then she rolls onto her back just in time to see Danielsson take a knee over Boyd, kauka in hand.
“No!” Leaj shouts, scrambling to her feet; this draws Hulor’s attention, and as the Wherren rises, he accidentally puts himself between Leaj and Danielsson; the lithe Bashakra’i warrior darts underneath his bulk and half-crawls, half-pedals across the ground in her quest to get her hands on the glowing kauka and rip it away from the rapidly-knitting flesh on Boyd’s face. She gets her hands on Danielsson’s wrist, but he brings in his other hand to counteract, and soon they’re in a farcical struggle over the alien device on top of Boyd.
“Leaj!” Danielsson shouts. “Let go!”
“No!” Leaj shouts back. “You can’t use it!”
“It’s working!”
“No, stop!”
“I’m saving him!”
“Stop!” Leaj hollers, hauls back one hand and slugs Danielsson, desperate to get him to stop - and stop he does as he loses his grip on the kauka and rolls off Boyd, while the device drops, clattering precariously close to the edge of the footpath. Leaj scrambles over Boyd in a bid to get her hands on it, but realizes too late that Danielsson’s no longer playing that game - in a flash, he has his sidearm out and racks the slide as he points the gun at her.
“What the fuck?” he screams. “He’s dying! Give me the fucking kauka!”
“No!” Leaj says. “You don’t understand -”
“Give me the fucking kauka or I will ventilate your ass!”
e of pi
Luis pauses his advance just long enough to fire off a quick beamer shot at the source of the fire on the cave. He's not sure he'll hit anything, but he's hoping to start pulling attention off the guys at the cave while the rest of the force advances into closer range.
threadbare
Hunter leaves a few trins to guard the rear, and charges with his squad towards the caves and hills, feeling particularly glad he's got the beamer-proof plates in his armor. Won't do any good if they hit you in the head, he thinks, thinking about the limitation of Kaukas and what he's read about poor Dietrich and the...sunbombs. Shit. We didn't have time to reinforce that part during the training.
"Gator 4 on open channel. If you haven't used Kaukas before, they don't heal brain damage the same way. If you use one on a buddy that's gotten sunmine exposure, they might come back a different person. Repeat, Kaukas are NOT advised for sunmine exposure."
"Gator 4 on open channel. If you haven't used Kaukas before, they don't heal brain damage the same way. If you use one on a buddy that's gotten sunmine exposure, they might come back a different person. Repeat, Kaukas are NOT advised for sunmine exposure."
punkey
(Hugh Talk: 2d10.hi = 3 vs. 2d10.hi = 3
Wild Die: 1d6 = 4)
Keating looks at Hug’sh for a moment, and then furrows his brow. “’And why should I do that?’”
”Because you won’t bring your men back by throwing more corpses on the pyre,” Hug’sh replies. ”This is not the war you know. Now you can either watch and learn, or you can go down in history as the man who learned nothing from Botane.”
"'Or what?'" Keating sneers. "'This is my command, my TOC, my operation.'"
"'Not my people,'" Onas says.
"'Or mine,'" Gunny chimes in.
”You will relinquish this command,” Hug’sh says. ”How that happens, that is still up to you.”
----
Luis Suppress (2d10.hi = 7; 1d8 = 5 vs. 1d8 = 2)
Arketta Shoot (1d12 = 4; 1d8 = 8 vs. 2d8.hi = 6)
Now that their trins are within 200 meters of the ridgeline, the going is getting tougher - the occasional potshot from the ridgeline above the trapped Narsai’i splashes plasma off the rocks and leaves a glowing red spot behind, and the slope is definitely noticeable in the breakneck hustle to save the Narsai’i. Luis takes a moment to fire off a few shots across the ridgeline, with shouts and figures diving for cover the response to his raking shots.
Arketta, on the other hand, has no patience for “suppressing fire”. She simply stands tall, braces her beamer, and fires a single shot. Luis - and the rest of the trin - can see the result in their helms: one Taliban fighter silently tumbles down the hill, a very large scorch mark dead center in his chest. Whoops and shouts erupt between gasps for breath, and a few more shots ring out from the Bashakra’i and Wherren, while the Sheen don’t have to pause to hit back with their accelerators. A few more bodies drop, but there’s still at least fifty or sixty up on the hill, if the beamer fire is anything to go by. At the base of the face, what meager cover is there is starting to grow an angry red from the beamer fire being poured down into it.
----
Angel Shoot (1d12 = 12; 1d10 = 4 vs. 1d8 = 8 / 1d12 = 6; 1d10 = 2 vs. 1d8 = 1)
Two more quick shots from Angel’s rifle, and two more bodies roll down the mountainside above them. Whoever engineered the balance on this thing definitely isn’t getting paid enough (mostly because Angel wants to give them a significant bonus).
“’Kesh!’” one of the sergeants shouts as he barrels out of the cave. “’We haven’t found the command team! There’s a shitload of radiation back where they were, and the robots told us to head back! What are your orders?’”
----
“’Fuck! Would have been good to fucking know before!’” someone shouts over the radio back to Hunter.
“’Well, we fucking know now!’” another says.
Hunter and Zaef are now less than a stone’s throw from Hale, whose trin’s advance has been halted by the beamer fire from the roughly twenty or so Taliban shooters who survived Hunter’s spearbomb barrage. They’re no more than thirty meters from the surviving Narsai’i members of the company, but it might as well be a mile with the intensity of the beamer fire between them.
Hale hustles back towards Hunter and Zaef, bent over to stay under cover. “Good job with the spearbombs, but we’re stuck in it now! What next, Rav-Samal?”
----
At that moment, the only thing louder than Danielsson’s shouting is the whining charge of Gray’s accelerator swinging to take aim at the Army Ranger.
“Stand down!” Gray says, its voice dead even. “Whatever you think you’re doing, it’s over.”
Danielsson slowly looks to Gray, then at the gun in his hands, then at Leaj, who’s thrown herself on top of Boyd as if she needed to protect him from Danielsson, and...and Danielsson realizes that he’s on the wrong side of this, whatever this is. Holding up his free left hand, he clicks the decocker on his sidearm and pushes it back into the holster. “Okay,” Danielsson says, trying to keep his voice steady while Gray powers down its weapon. “Okay. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I just thought…”
“You thought you could help him,” Gray says, and Danielsson nods, but that stops as soon as he sees Leaj sitting up, shaking her head.
“It’s already done,” she says quietly. She waves down at Boyd’s still unconscious form - skin splotches of radiation-scorched flesh replaced with darker brown, and an eye reforming before their eyes. She looks up at Danielsson. “Alexander...you know that kaukas do not heal, they replace.”
“...yeah?” Danielsson says, like he’s trying to convince himself that he was thinking about that when he used it.
“Radiation damage goes everywhere, including the brain,” Leaj says. “The kauka replaced those parts of Boyd. We won’t know what’s left of him until he wakes up.”
There’s a tear welling up in Danielsson’s eye, and it’s not alone. “...fuck,” he whispers.
“Urrrrrgh,” is Boyd’s comment at the whole situation. Leaj turns back to help him up, while Danielsson lacks the power to rush to his side, taking a few experimental steps towards his battle buddy instead.
“...Boyd?” Danielsson says.
“Vidas Lam,” Boyd sputters, coughing up something that looks like it really needed to get out. “My head…”
“You’re okay!” Danielsson says, taking one more step before he kneels down next to Boyd. “Buddy, you’re okay. We made it out.”
“I don’t feel fucking okay,” Boyd says. His eyes flutter open, showing the light brown of his new iris in contrast to his remaining natural baby blue eye. “Are you crying?”
“Shut up, Boyd,” Danielsson whispers.
“Always knew you were a softie,” Boyd says with a smile. “I'm not dying unless we go together, banner brother.”
“Uh…” Danielsson mutters.
“You should take it easy,” Leaj cuts in.
“Bullshit, I feel like a hundred bucks,” Boyd says, then coughs. “Water, anybody?”
Somewhere in the back, Tarl lights up green as he comes running, finally feeling useful, but Hulor looks at the scene next to him with a distinct blue/orange shade in his fur. The hunter looks back to Gray, and though its shell betrays nothing, Hulor knows that Ten Tons is not coming. Hulor proves somewhat easier to read, though, when Gray stops his mourning wail before it can get started with a simple gesture - namely, charging up its accelerators again.
“Reload and get to cover,” Gray says. “We’ve got more coming down the path.”
Wild Die: 1d6 = 4)
Keating looks at Hug’sh for a moment, and then furrows his brow. “’And why should I do that?’”
”Because you won’t bring your men back by throwing more corpses on the pyre,” Hug’sh replies. ”This is not the war you know. Now you can either watch and learn, or you can go down in history as the man who learned nothing from Botane.”
"'Or what?'" Keating sneers. "'This is my command, my TOC, my operation.'"
"'Not my people,'" Onas says.
"'Or mine,'" Gunny chimes in.
”You will relinquish this command,” Hug’sh says. ”How that happens, that is still up to you.”
----
Luis Suppress (2d10.hi = 7; 1d8 = 5 vs. 1d8 = 2)
Arketta Shoot (1d12 = 4; 1d8 = 8 vs. 2d8.hi = 6)
Now that their trins are within 200 meters of the ridgeline, the going is getting tougher - the occasional potshot from the ridgeline above the trapped Narsai’i splashes plasma off the rocks and leaves a glowing red spot behind, and the slope is definitely noticeable in the breakneck hustle to save the Narsai’i. Luis takes a moment to fire off a few shots across the ridgeline, with shouts and figures diving for cover the response to his raking shots.
Arketta, on the other hand, has no patience for “suppressing fire”. She simply stands tall, braces her beamer, and fires a single shot. Luis - and the rest of the trin - can see the result in their helms: one Taliban fighter silently tumbles down the hill, a very large scorch mark dead center in his chest. Whoops and shouts erupt between gasps for breath, and a few more shots ring out from the Bashakra’i and Wherren, while the Sheen don’t have to pause to hit back with their accelerators. A few more bodies drop, but there’s still at least fifty or sixty up on the hill, if the beamer fire is anything to go by. At the base of the face, what meager cover is there is starting to grow an angry red from the beamer fire being poured down into it.
----
Angel Shoot (1d12 = 12; 1d10 = 4 vs. 1d8 = 8 / 1d12 = 6; 1d10 = 2 vs. 1d8 = 1)
Two more quick shots from Angel’s rifle, and two more bodies roll down the mountainside above them. Whoever engineered the balance on this thing definitely isn’t getting paid enough (mostly because Angel wants to give them a significant bonus).
“’Kesh!’” one of the sergeants shouts as he barrels out of the cave. “’We haven’t found the command team! There’s a shitload of radiation back where they were, and the robots told us to head back! What are your orders?’”
----
“’Fuck! Would have been good to fucking know before!’” someone shouts over the radio back to Hunter.
“’Well, we fucking know now!’” another says.
Hunter and Zaef are now less than a stone’s throw from Hale, whose trin’s advance has been halted by the beamer fire from the roughly twenty or so Taliban shooters who survived Hunter’s spearbomb barrage. They’re no more than thirty meters from the surviving Narsai’i members of the company, but it might as well be a mile with the intensity of the beamer fire between them.
Hale hustles back towards Hunter and Zaef, bent over to stay under cover. “Good job with the spearbombs, but we’re stuck in it now! What next, Rav-Samal?”
----
At that moment, the only thing louder than Danielsson’s shouting is the whining charge of Gray’s accelerator swinging to take aim at the Army Ranger.
“Stand down!” Gray says, its voice dead even. “Whatever you think you’re doing, it’s over.”
Danielsson slowly looks to Gray, then at the gun in his hands, then at Leaj, who’s thrown herself on top of Boyd as if she needed to protect him from Danielsson, and...and Danielsson realizes that he’s on the wrong side of this, whatever this is. Holding up his free left hand, he clicks the decocker on his sidearm and pushes it back into the holster. “Okay,” Danielsson says, trying to keep his voice steady while Gray powers down its weapon. “Okay. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I just thought…”
“You thought you could help him,” Gray says, and Danielsson nods, but that stops as soon as he sees Leaj sitting up, shaking her head.
“It’s already done,” she says quietly. She waves down at Boyd’s still unconscious form - skin splotches of radiation-scorched flesh replaced with darker brown, and an eye reforming before their eyes. She looks up at Danielsson. “Alexander...you know that kaukas do not heal, they replace.”
“...yeah?” Danielsson says, like he’s trying to convince himself that he was thinking about that when he used it.
“Radiation damage goes everywhere, including the brain,” Leaj says. “The kauka replaced those parts of Boyd. We won’t know what’s left of him until he wakes up.”
There’s a tear welling up in Danielsson’s eye, and it’s not alone. “...fuck,” he whispers.
“Urrrrrgh,” is Boyd’s comment at the whole situation. Leaj turns back to help him up, while Danielsson lacks the power to rush to his side, taking a few experimental steps towards his battle buddy instead.
“...Boyd?” Danielsson says.
“Vidas Lam,” Boyd sputters, coughing up something that looks like it really needed to get out. “My head…”
“You’re okay!” Danielsson says, taking one more step before he kneels down next to Boyd. “Buddy, you’re okay. We made it out.”
“I don’t feel fucking okay,” Boyd says. His eyes flutter open, showing the light brown of his new iris in contrast to his remaining natural baby blue eye. “Are you crying?”
“Shut up, Boyd,” Danielsson whispers.
“Always knew you were a softie,” Boyd says with a smile. “I'm not dying unless we go together, banner brother.”
“Uh…” Danielsson mutters.
“You should take it easy,” Leaj cuts in.
“Bullshit, I feel like a hundred bucks,” Boyd says, then coughs. “Water, anybody?”
Somewhere in the back, Tarl lights up green as he comes running, finally feeling useful, but Hulor looks at the scene next to him with a distinct blue/orange shade in his fur. The hunter looks back to Gray, and though its shell betrays nothing, Hulor knows that Ten Tons is not coming. Hulor proves somewhat easier to read, though, when Gray stops his mourning wail before it can get started with a simple gesture - namely, charging up its accelerators again.
“Reload and get to cover,” Gray says. “We’ve got more coming down the path.”
threadbare
Quote:Hale hustles back towards Hunter and Zaef, bent over to stay under cover. “Good job with the spearbombs, but we’re stuck in it now! What next, Rav-Samal?”
Hunter furrows his brow, thinks for a second, and asks, "What do we have in the way of smoke? Figure we've still got better optics, eyes in the sky, and close combat. Pop smoke, get in close, clear 'em out?"
skullandscythe
Zaef shakes his head. "I've got some Narsai'i smoke grenades, but they will obscure our vision just as well as theirs, and it will not be enough to close the distance with the shooters. But..."
Zaef unhooks two smoke grenades from his 'bandolier,' and holds one out for Hunter to take. "We can use them to close the distance to the survivors."
Zaef unhooks two smoke grenades from his 'bandolier,' and holds one out for Hunter to take. "We can use them to close the distance to the survivors."
threadbare
"If they're dealing with us, our people in the caves can get out faster. The Muj here came looking for a turkey shoot. Let's see if they have the stomach to stay close."
Hunter gets on the horn. "This is Gator 4 to any overhead sheen in our AO. We're preparing to pop smoke and advance on the enemy fighters. Are any flyers available to put eyes on the targets, let us know if they're trying to withdraw, and if possible upload targeting information to local Sheen and Bashakra'i elements?"
"Copy that, Gator 4," Orphan Grinder replies. "You've got twenty-two assholes in front of you and fifteen more on the way." And his vox pings in his ear. "You've got mail! And targeting data!"
"Out-STANDING," Hunter booms in classic Marine. "standby for smoke and advance. Gator 4 out." Switching channels, he coordinates the rest of his units. "Alright, we're going to lay down smoke and advance to close combat. Pop 'em if you've got 'em. Sheen and Bashakra'i units should have real-time targeting info to shoot through the smoke. Everyone else, advance to cover, move to flank, and listen for warnings. And watch for friendly fire! Be advised, they have about a dozen fighters coming to reinforce. If we do this right, they'll be running directly into their routing friends. Let's break these bastards."
Hunter gets on the horn. "This is Gator 4 to any overhead sheen in our AO. We're preparing to pop smoke and advance on the enemy fighters. Are any flyers available to put eyes on the targets, let us know if they're trying to withdraw, and if possible upload targeting information to local Sheen and Bashakra'i elements?"
"Copy that, Gator 4," Orphan Grinder replies. "You've got twenty-two assholes in front of you and fifteen more on the way." And his vox pings in his ear. "You've got mail! And targeting data!"
"Out-STANDING," Hunter booms in classic Marine. "standby for smoke and advance. Gator 4 out." Switching channels, he coordinates the rest of his units. "Alright, we're going to lay down smoke and advance to close combat. Pop 'em if you've got 'em. Sheen and Bashakra'i units should have real-time targeting info to shoot through the smoke. Everyone else, advance to cover, move to flank, and listen for warnings. And watch for friendly fire! Be advised, they have about a dozen fighters coming to reinforce. If we do this right, they'll be running directly into their routing friends. Let's break these bastards."
e of pi
Luis eyes the distance to the ridge. Still a bit long, he thinks, and looks over the forces moving alongside him. "We keep moving," he shouts to Arketta, "Give 'em something to think about as we do, and when we get closer we'll really hit 'em! And we let the heavy weapons see how many of them you can kill before we get there!"
Arketta nods, and gives the order on the vox. "Accelerators, strafing fire on the cliff above them!" Arketta shouts. "Spearbombs too! Bring the fucking mountain down on them!"
Arketta nods, and gives the order on the vox. "Accelerators, strafing fire on the cliff above them!" Arketta shouts. "Spearbombs too! Bring the fucking mountain down on them!"
CrazyIvan
Angel takes cover after downing another insurgent, a plan formulating in his mind.
There are reasons I've expressed absolutely no interest in command.
Dismissing the thought, he looks around, taking a quick head count. "Alright, these are just insurgents, not proper Turai. Which means they're feeling like gods right now but they aren't, they've already blown their load and they can't see for shit." Angel pokes his head out briefly.
"The Wherren and I are going to flank right, try to get in a better position to roll them up." He nods to the Bashakra'i. "You all and the Killbots stay in cover, try not to get shot, keep their heads down. Light, noise, rock shattering mass accelerator rounds...the works. Sergeant...stay out of the rad zone. And when we get to the top of the cave, I sure as hell wouldn't mind knowing some Marines were on their way to secure it."
There are reasons I've expressed absolutely no interest in command.
Dismissing the thought, he looks around, taking a quick head count. "Alright, these are just insurgents, not proper Turai. Which means they're feeling like gods right now but they aren't, they've already blown their load and they can't see for shit." Angel pokes his head out briefly.
"The Wherren and I are going to flank right, try to get in a better position to roll them up." He nods to the Bashakra'i. "You all and the Killbots stay in cover, try not to get shot, keep their heads down. Light, noise, rock shattering mass accelerator rounds...the works. Sergeant...stay out of the rad zone. And when we get to the top of the cave, I sure as hell wouldn't mind knowing some Marines were on their way to secure it."
punkey
Hug’sh Talk: Roll 1: 2d10.hi: 2d10.hi(7,2) = 7
Keating Will: 2d10.hi = 9,7
Keating narrows his eyes at Hug’sh. “’You are not in charge here, Walks-the-Fire. You and your species are our guests - and it’s time you remember that.’” He motions for two Narsai’i MPs to come forward.
But Onas steps between them and Hug’sh. “’General. You should remember who Walks-the-Fire is. He is a war hero and a leader of his people. You treat him like this, it is an insult for all of us.’” The Bashakra’i in the room stand up - they don’t need a translation to know what’s going on. “’And you do not want that.’”
Onas Talk: 2d8.hi = 5
Keating Will: 2d10.hi = 1
Keating looks around the room - the Wherren and Sheen are all on their feet as well. His eyes sweep over the bank of Bashakra’i equipment - equipment that his people don’t have the first clue how it works, equipment vital to the operation.
“’Fine,’” Keating says. “’But General Cooper will hear about this.’”
Onas stands up a little straighter. “I think your general will not be as receptive as you think.”
Hug’sh nods to both Onas and Keating as he steps up to the map display.
”Gunny, can you translate for me?” he asks, refreshing his internal view of the ongoing battle with the latest reports.
”No problem,” Gunny grunts in Whirr-sign.
Hug’sh turns to the Narsai’i in the TOC. ”We can sort out the politics and dick-sizes later. Right now our men need help. Our first priority is fire support; a concentrated barrage will more than likely scatter the enemy and blunt their firepower considerably. Ground troops and Sheen fliers can designate targets for air support. No sense in holding back now - I need the strike package rolled in and ready to bring the rain.” Hug’sh taps the map a few more times, noting the reported locations of where the most enemy fire is coming from, then turns to Gunny. ”We need artillery, too. Can the war shells reconfigure their accelerators for indirect fire?” Getting the nod from Gunny’s shell, Hug’sh turns back to the map. ”Then get the word out that we need everyone not directly engaged right now to stand by for an artillery strike. I hope Gray likes trick shots. And put out a message to all ground units - we need those coordinates on all enemy positions. We’ll prioritize fire from here once we have a better idea how the enemy is situated, but right now we need to spread the love around and create some breathing room.”
----
(Sheen Shoot: 2d8.hi = 8 vs. 1d8 = 8
Bashakra’i Shoot: 2d8.hi = 6 vs. 1d8 = 3)
Hunter and Zaef both pull the pins on their smoke grenades, and Hale mirrors the action a moment later. Three throws place three grenades about 40 meters ahead of the group - roughly half the distance to the bad guys, but close enough to the pinned down Narsai’i to start pulling back survivors. A few seconds go past as the smoke billows out, but then with a bellowing roar from all three species, the quads charge ahead, Bashakra’i beamers and Sheen accelerators blasting arcs of energy and mass through the smoke. Hunter can hear a few shouts of excitement from the Bashakra’i - it seems that they downed several Taliban while the Sheen raking fire just sent them diving for cover.
Just before the edge of the smoke, the quads take cover again. You can hear the moans and shouts for help from the survivors - not as many as you were hoping, but more than the feared zero.
----
(Bashakra’i Shoot: 2d8.hi = 7 vs. 1d6 = 6
Damage: 2d10.hi = 9 vs. 2d12.hi = 2
Sheen Shoot: 2d8.hi = 2 vs. 1d6 = 5)
The Bashakra’i and Sheen ready their respective munitions, and on the run, spearbombs are heaved and heavy accelerators blast towards the hill. The Sheen didn’t quite get the idea that Arketta was going for, and simply blast chunks out of the cover the Taliban are hiding behind - but the Bashakra’i got it loud and clear. A staccato drumroll of explosions knocks chunks of debris down on the Taliban insurgents, cutting the beamer fire by half.
Luis and Arketta are the first ones on top of the survivors of the Narsai’i company. At first, it looks like there are no survivors - charred flesh and boiled blood are all that they see, but then a voice shouts from inside the cave. “’Thunder!’”
“’Flash!’” Arketta replies.
“’Holy fuck,’” a Marine says, and a trin of Narsai’i step to the entrance.
“’Where is the captain?’” Arketta asks.
“’...I think you’re standing in him,’” the Marine replies. “’Ma’am - how are we getting out of here?’”
----
(Angel Sneak: 2d8.hi = 6; 1d10 = 3 vs. 1d6 = 2)
The Bashakra’i, Sheen and Narsai’i put down a withering barrage of weapons fire, nearly blinding Angel through his shades as the light amplification is just a hair too slow. Still, with cover fire like that, it’s easy for Angel and the Wherren warriors to sneak their way off to one side and start to climb.
(Angel Climb: 1d6 = 5 vs. 1d6 = 4)
Even with the light weight of his Imperial Gentleman’s Mercenary gear, it’s still a pain to climb up the cliff. Angel makes it up well enough, though, and three trins of Wherren follow after him. Just thirty meters away, you can hear the Taliban start to pull themselves back together and fire back down on your fellow soldiers.
----
Leaj looks to Danielsson, then hooks Boyd’s arm over her shoulder and helps him up. “I’ll take care of him,” she says.
“Right,” Danielsson says. “Right.” He looks down, bows over to pick up his rifle, does a quick function check and then turns to Gray. “You save your ammo, big guy,” he says. “These fuckers are mine.”
Next to him, Hulor’s XM-10 whines as it powers up. “They are ours,” the hunter says.
Boyd motions for Leaj to lower him behind a shrub and aims his own beamer up the path. “You can steal my kills when I’m dead, Army boy,” he says.
Shenloma doesn’t have a snappy line to say, but he adds his beam rifle and nod to the informal vendetta, while Gray just nods.
“We’ll cover the rear, then,” it says, then switches back to radio. “’Blue 2 to Blue 7, we’re taking a beating here, what’s your status? Over.’”
There’s no static on the line. But there’s no response, either.
Keating Will: 2d10.hi = 9,7
Keating narrows his eyes at Hug’sh. “’You are not in charge here, Walks-the-Fire. You and your species are our guests - and it’s time you remember that.’” He motions for two Narsai’i MPs to come forward.
But Onas steps between them and Hug’sh. “’General. You should remember who Walks-the-Fire is. He is a war hero and a leader of his people. You treat him like this, it is an insult for all of us.’” The Bashakra’i in the room stand up - they don’t need a translation to know what’s going on. “’And you do not want that.’”
Onas Talk: 2d8.hi = 5
Keating Will: 2d10.hi = 1
Keating looks around the room - the Wherren and Sheen are all on their feet as well. His eyes sweep over the bank of Bashakra’i equipment - equipment that his people don’t have the first clue how it works, equipment vital to the operation.
“’Fine,’” Keating says. “’But General Cooper will hear about this.’”
Onas stands up a little straighter. “I think your general will not be as receptive as you think.”
Hug’sh nods to both Onas and Keating as he steps up to the map display.
”Gunny, can you translate for me?” he asks, refreshing his internal view of the ongoing battle with the latest reports.
”No problem,” Gunny grunts in Whirr-sign.
Hug’sh turns to the Narsai’i in the TOC. ”We can sort out the politics and dick-sizes later. Right now our men need help. Our first priority is fire support; a concentrated barrage will more than likely scatter the enemy and blunt their firepower considerably. Ground troops and Sheen fliers can designate targets for air support. No sense in holding back now - I need the strike package rolled in and ready to bring the rain.” Hug’sh taps the map a few more times, noting the reported locations of where the most enemy fire is coming from, then turns to Gunny. ”We need artillery, too. Can the war shells reconfigure their accelerators for indirect fire?” Getting the nod from Gunny’s shell, Hug’sh turns back to the map. ”Then get the word out that we need everyone not directly engaged right now to stand by for an artillery strike. I hope Gray likes trick shots. And put out a message to all ground units - we need those coordinates on all enemy positions. We’ll prioritize fire from here once we have a better idea how the enemy is situated, but right now we need to spread the love around and create some breathing room.”
----
(Sheen Shoot: 2d8.hi = 8 vs. 1d8 = 8
Bashakra’i Shoot: 2d8.hi = 6 vs. 1d8 = 3)
Hunter and Zaef both pull the pins on their smoke grenades, and Hale mirrors the action a moment later. Three throws place three grenades about 40 meters ahead of the group - roughly half the distance to the bad guys, but close enough to the pinned down Narsai’i to start pulling back survivors. A few seconds go past as the smoke billows out, but then with a bellowing roar from all three species, the quads charge ahead, Bashakra’i beamers and Sheen accelerators blasting arcs of energy and mass through the smoke. Hunter can hear a few shouts of excitement from the Bashakra’i - it seems that they downed several Taliban while the Sheen raking fire just sent them diving for cover.
Just before the edge of the smoke, the quads take cover again. You can hear the moans and shouts for help from the survivors - not as many as you were hoping, but more than the feared zero.
----
(Bashakra’i Shoot: 2d8.hi = 7 vs. 1d6 = 6
Damage: 2d10.hi = 9 vs. 2d12.hi = 2
Sheen Shoot: 2d8.hi = 2 vs. 1d6 = 5)
The Bashakra’i and Sheen ready their respective munitions, and on the run, spearbombs are heaved and heavy accelerators blast towards the hill. The Sheen didn’t quite get the idea that Arketta was going for, and simply blast chunks out of the cover the Taliban are hiding behind - but the Bashakra’i got it loud and clear. A staccato drumroll of explosions knocks chunks of debris down on the Taliban insurgents, cutting the beamer fire by half.
Luis and Arketta are the first ones on top of the survivors of the Narsai’i company. At first, it looks like there are no survivors - charred flesh and boiled blood are all that they see, but then a voice shouts from inside the cave. “’Thunder!’”
“’Flash!’” Arketta replies.
“’Holy fuck,’” a Marine says, and a trin of Narsai’i step to the entrance.
“’Where is the captain?’” Arketta asks.
“’...I think you’re standing in him,’” the Marine replies. “’Ma’am - how are we getting out of here?’”
----
(Angel Sneak: 2d8.hi = 6; 1d10 = 3 vs. 1d6 = 2)
The Bashakra’i, Sheen and Narsai’i put down a withering barrage of weapons fire, nearly blinding Angel through his shades as the light amplification is just a hair too slow. Still, with cover fire like that, it’s easy for Angel and the Wherren warriors to sneak their way off to one side and start to climb.
(Angel Climb: 1d6 = 5 vs. 1d6 = 4)
Even with the light weight of his Imperial Gentleman’s Mercenary gear, it’s still a pain to climb up the cliff. Angel makes it up well enough, though, and three trins of Wherren follow after him. Just thirty meters away, you can hear the Taliban start to pull themselves back together and fire back down on your fellow soldiers.
----
Leaj looks to Danielsson, then hooks Boyd’s arm over her shoulder and helps him up. “I’ll take care of him,” she says.
“Right,” Danielsson says. “Right.” He looks down, bows over to pick up his rifle, does a quick function check and then turns to Gray. “You save your ammo, big guy,” he says. “These fuckers are mine.”
Next to him, Hulor’s XM-10 whines as it powers up. “They are ours,” the hunter says.
Boyd motions for Leaj to lower him behind a shrub and aims his own beamer up the path. “You can steal my kills when I’m dead, Army boy,” he says.
Shenloma doesn’t have a snappy line to say, but he adds his beam rifle and nod to the informal vendetta, while Gray just nods.
“We’ll cover the rear, then,” it says, then switches back to radio. “’Blue 2 to Blue 7, we’re taking a beating here, what’s your status? Over.’”
There’s no static on the line. But there’s no response, either.
skullandscythe
"Alright, trins 4, 6, and 8 are with me. We're closing for blade work. We need some covering fire to screen our approach - and fuck, while that's happening, we can get some troops with medicae training in the cave. The sooner those men get help, the better."