Objectives:
- Defend FOB: Belisarius & the outposts (DOOT)
- Raid enemy positions (DOOT)
- Rescue beleaguered Imperials/Chiss (DOOT)
- Guard escape-path to Spaceport (DOOT)
- Heal wounded soldiers & refugees (DOOT)
Primus City, Noris (874 ABY)
'Ember Six.'
An Elite, and already more helpful than he'll ever know.
With a quick, curt greeting, blessedly keeping the timely aspect of introductory formalities as short and snappy as possible, Jack kept with his momentum and left little and less of his greeting hanging as he said,
'Seeing that One-Four-One has already been secured, I suppose that makes me your reinforcement.', a remark that further-added to the relief that had been washing over everyone at the time. Taking in the nods of appreciation in his first proper pause, Esk 1-3-8 concluded,
'Tell me what you need from me, Sergeant.', reloading in anticipation of the impending mayhem.
'I think here, as complicated as the situation is, just being at the top of your game is gonna help either way. We'll be in for a tough time, but all the best shooters available are here with us fortunately.... You're in good company, One-Three-Eight. We're here to test our minds as much as our mettle.'
And we're slap-bang in the middle of our biggest puzzle yet.
It wasn't expected to be an easy return-journey, and even though Scope Platoon had numerous options to choose from, every last one of them was deduced to be (at best) extremely difficult to endeavour from the offset of each hypothetical decision. As he looked back to the Elite, Ramon muttered,
'Alright, my young friend. Follow me and keep close.', as he beckoned Jack in a particular direction on their way to the center of the loose-formed, outward-facing defensive perimeter. Turning back and head-gesturing for the young Elite to stand next to him, the Master-Sergeant exclaimed,
'Scope Platoon, listen up!', as he leaned against the wall behind him.
'Alright, folks. Cruz is good to stabilize Esk One-Four-One as we go, but it's up to us to make sure the medevac, and everyone inside, makes it back to FOB: Belisarius in one piece. And you know what that means, ladies and gentlemen!'
Most raised their right fists in appreciation, though some had been willing to go even farther by rolling onto their backs from sniping-prone to offer fist-over-heart salutes for a man who would've been happy with just a mass of the former, an Imperial saluting preference for the contrastingly personal occasions, as opposed to the usual Imperial-standard military salute given on parade-grounds or in officiating-ceremonies and such. This was a very special moment for the sharpshooters of Scope Platoon, as they knew exactly what the Master-Sergeant was about to suggest, and every last one of them were receptive to this; even before hearing it for themselves, the Scopes were ready to slip back into their natural roles once more, almost as if an age had passed since they were last able to operate at their absolute best individually.
'That's right! We're gonna need you better than your best this time, so I'm calling the,"Autonomous Marksman", play for this one! Nothing else for it but to bleed 'em as we go, especially if it keeps their sentries from raising the alarm on us.... Alright, folks. Good luck out there! SCATTER!!!!'
With an aggressive push off the wall he was leaning on, Cantrell then turned to the young Elite-Trooper and muttered,
'You're sticking with me, and we'll be sticking with the medevac all the way.', reloading his high-powered rifle as he walked towards the tailgate of the medical speeder. Turning back to Jack finally, Ramon chuckled a little before continuing,
'It's either gonna be easy or hard for us, no in-between for this escort but fuck it! Either-or works well enough for me this time.... Lets go.', beckoning the young elite to follow as he walked to the front of the medical speeder. Then, with a simple slap on the hood to signal readiness to Cruz and his subordinates, Cantrell finally turned northwards and got his scouting endeavours underway
<"You can take the left side of the street, One-Three-Eight. And remember, cruelty is less than they deserve.... We're the demons today, kid. If you can hit their heads, aim shots at their throats instead.">
-Shots at their throats instead-
-At their throats instead-
-Their throats instead-
-Throats instead-
A LIFETIME OF SERVICE: ACT 1 (DUTY) - PART 11
FOB: Cenin Plains, Lothar Plaza Outskirts,
Marascela, Empress Teta (867 ABY)
'Heads or throats instead, Mauro? *Necesitamos que sufran, esto es obvio - pero cuánto, compadre?'
**"We need them to suffer, this much is obvious - but how much, bud?"
Pinned down by gangsters' boots, bound, gagged and beaten black-and-blue, young Ramon was yearning for something better than life on his homeworld - still every part the glory that Empress Teta was by then.
'Throats, definitely throat shots.... *El Resetan Plaza se alegrará mucho al escuchar que hicimos que los Lothar se ahogaran por falta de aire en sus momentos finales.'
**"The Resetan Plaza will take great joy from hearing that we made the Lothar choke for air in their final moments."
But the Galaxy's hidden masses were already turning to crime to make ends meet, or to meet their ever-mutating preferences for all things degenerate by the time the NIO's war on the Sith Empire had drawn to it's natural declared conclusion, so when Imperator Irveric was assassinated soon after, it seemed as if the syndicates of the Galaxy were treating it as their blank cheque to test the waters. Some had been dipping their feet in deeper than most, though it was still very much contained to their own star-system for the local Tetan cartels, and contained even more closely for the smaller Plaza-gangs of Marascela; but the Resetan Plaza's sicarios had grander plans, all with ambitions much grander than the city they grew up in, much grander than the very province that protected them from the larger cartels and syndicates alike.
*'Buena suerte con eso, cabrones. Ellos están esperando.'
**"Good luck with that, scumbags. They are waiting."
The street-kid laughed through rib-broken wheezes, at least until his captors turned around and knocked him out with a pistol-whip to his temple, sending young Ramon to the land of nod as his enemies left him to take on their task of wiping out all their rivals. Disbelieving their capabilities right up until the moment he snapped out of his bloodied stupor, Cantrell would enter the city that night to find the sounds of blaster-fire, wailing and explosions, and the sight of all his dead colleagues - all lying bound and blindfolded at the base of their compound's outer wall with disruptor burns and stab-wounds alike found on all their throats. The Lothar were all dead, right down to the last sicario, and even though it seemed like the rest of Marescela's underwold were fighting back viciously, Ramon's patience and will to stay had finally met their limits.
Ramon, as soon as his older brother was located, would leave and take Danilo with him, leaving the Deep Core behind them until they could run no longer. However, the end of their trip, much to both brothers' great surprise, would involve escaping Mawite armadas, Galactic-Alliance fleeter patrols and much more before the Imperials finally brought the brothers to heel - fewer than three parsecs away from Adumar, home to the famed Fort Rex. Destined to be forgotten for the rest of his days, destined to be forgotten for as long as Danilo remained at the Adumar garrison for his own safety, and the assurance of Cantrell line in the event the more-aggressive of the two brothers died first. Whether things would go according to their pact or not was entirely another hill to climb, another of the many questions that hung in the air after they parted ways, another of the many reasons to worry but often put to rest in the trust they held towards their comrades.
Such a harsh, heavily-repressed memory, brought back to the fore in the middle of the 117th's defence of the Norisian capital, bursting forth from the deepest recesses of the Master-Sergeant's mind in the middle of their desperate defence of the Chiss in the latter parts of the evacuation-phase.
In the moments after he snapped out of his flashback again, Cantrell would silently rage at himself for allowing such a memory to reoccur in such a fashion, but even then, the skyrises of Primus seemed to behold wonders anew for the Tetan Master-Sergeant, giving light to a particular darkness he never gave himself credit for escaping, not even whilst enjoying the safeties and securities of legionary life. Not only did Ramon owe his level-headed trust to his older brother after all, but also towards old Remmel, Denzo, Quinton and all the rest of the Embers who assured his safety and personal growth alike, and for as long as his armour held the burning wings on the cuirass, the Master-Sergeant would put his blood, sweat and tears into every last minute of toil he was ordered to endeavour.
For their sake as much as Danilo's, for the sake of an Empire that took in Tetans who had no right being there in the beginning, for the sake of a life that Cantrell knew he should've lived from the start.
