Outpost 6 May-day

[RC 212]

​

<<<"this is Garrison Commander Ralston of Outpost 5, we are under heavy attack! Repeat heavy attack, they're these large bug eyed looking things, and oh my god!.....Static.....Seal the.......AAAAAAAAHHHHHH.">​

​

MUSIC​

​

Spoiler

https://youtu.be/4F7sdy2rZws

They came in the night. There was static across the feeds from the local Outpost on Duros, staffed with Planetary Guard. The last communication was six hours past, and the last thing seen on the holotank was the screeching maws of a ravenous alien devouring the garrison commander. Since then several other outposts had come under attack and fallen.​

​

There was only one that was left untouched by the blitzkrieg, and had picked up the enemy force on radar.​

​

Outpost 6, the last bastion between the assaulting horde and the Capitol City.​

​

Fleets had scrambled to mobilize, and now the Pride fleets of the Commonwealth are en route, weapons primed to confront this new threat. Dropships stand by to evacuate whats left of the city en masse. Time must be bought to study and confront the new threat. If Outpost 6 falls, so does the city...​

​

Outpost 6 Visual:​

​

​

​

​

​

• OBJ 1: Defend the outpost until evacuations are complete
• OBJ 2: Evacuate the City
• OBJ: BYOO

Commonwealth: [member="Bug'ares'vemmosk"] | [member="Zenva Vrotoa"] | [member="Kell Lane"] | [member="Marx Zinder"] | [member="Jackson Mills"]

 

[RC 212]

OBJ: 1 Defend the Outpost

1st Battlegroup
Orbit of Duros

CSS Arbiter: Briefing: 0 Hour

The Briefing room was already crowded when she stepped in. Senior Intel Analysts, Marine Master Chiefs, and Special Fleet Services were already there, arrayed in amultitude of chairs.

"Whats the word?"

The analyst paused from his brief and glanced over.

"Total Annihilation of Outpsosts One through Five Ma'am. We are estimating sixty percent casualties. Remaining forces fell back to Outpost Six but have no ground or air assets."

"We'll support them as best we can. Special considerations?"

"None yet. Master Chief Vara's will take command of the Garrison. We recommend a drop of half of 1st BN and accompanying Armor. After that Close Air support."

"I'll provide all that. I need to return to the bridge, keep me apprised. All actions authorized."

"Roger that Ma'am." The intel anaylst snapped a quick salute, which she rendered back before exiting.

On the way to the bridge she checked the data pad strapped to her arm. Constant scans revealed a large blob of bio material moving towards the Outpost at alarming speed. Within the hour they'd be surrounded, which meant her drop window was small. She keyed the comms, stepping through another bulkhead.

"XO."

"Aye MA'am."

"Prep 1st BN for immediate drop. Lock onto the signal from the Outpost, send in three squadrons of Jast Heavies behind them."

"Roger Ma'am. Are sending armor as well?"

"What do we have that's FMC on board?"

"The Armadillo:."

"Then they'll have to go fast attack. I'll be up shortly, give the orders, start the drop ASAP. All actions authorized."

 

[RC 212]

CSS Arbiter
Launch Deck

"Ready up!"

There was commotion and screaming aboard the Arbiter as the klaxons sounded. A call Adrik knew too well. Call to Arms, drop time. He grabbed his rifle from the Armory, and had his suit on in mere minutes. They passed out special cloaks to them, designating the lead troopers a Praetorians. The best the Royal Marines had to offer. Clad in red, carrying a repeater battle rifle, and a huge rucksack he stepped through the door into launch-bay alpha, where Drop Masters hurriedly moved down the ranks, inspecting men, women and their gear.

"Next."

He stepped up, and let the senior run her checks.

"No deficiencies, helmet seal sound. Present arms."

He cocked his weapon, locking the bolt to the rear. She grabbed it, ran her eyes along it and checked the function..

"Weapon serviceable, pod 312 A. Go!"

It was a hurried affair. He snatched the battle rifle back, shoved his rucksack behind the seat of his pod and vaulted in, firing up the controls.

​

"Attention all units, this is priority one deployment. LZ coordinates are locked in. Launch T-minus Five. Objective: Secure Outpost Six. Conditions: It will be held until the all clear signal is given, at any cost. Armor and Close Air support will be available immediately."​

Well that's good. But the at all costs part.​

"Marines report status."

He clicked his comms, signaling all green to the Drop Chief.

"1st BN Green, " He heard the Drop Chief call.

His gut clenched, this was it, the final sequence.

"Stand-bye."

 

[Andrew Grayson]

[SIZE=12pt]“Combat Stations, Combat Stations! All hands, Combat Stations! This is not a drill! All department heads and combat troops report to action stations immediately and prepare for ground deployment.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The announcement blares over the 1MC onboard the CSS Arbiter, filling the mess hall where I am currently sitting with a tense atmosphere that could be cut with a bayonet. I’ve just sat down and scooped up a forkful of food when everyone in the NCO Mess leaps into action leaving meal trays and drinks sitting unfinished on the cheap and worn polymer tables. The fork is close enough to my mouth that I can taste the steam, so I take the bite and toss the utensil onto the tray to join in the commotion. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]I make my way down to my own action station, the Special Operations Command briefing room in the belly of the ship. The room is filling quickly as members of the Praetorian Guard teams, Spaceborne Rescue, and Marine Force Recon arrive, so I take a seat near one of the Spaceborne Rescue guys and get ready for our briefing. I haven’t spent much time on the Arbiter yet and as such haven’t made many friends. As one of the fleets few combat controllers I often get shuffled around between duty stations frequently as needed, so I don’t often have time to get to know the various soldiers around me. When the room is filled to capacity an officer steps up to the lectern at the front of the room. He is wearing worn in fleet camo fatigues and his rank insignia is that of a Lieutenant Commander. His name tape identifies him as ‘Carrigan’. Commander Carrigan clears his throat and the ambient noise in the room dies to nothing.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Sorry to disturb your evening plans but we’ve staggered into a grade-A chit storm, and we’re improvising a major operation on the fly.” He pulls up a hologram of the planet below and manipulates the image so that an outpost and the nearby city are in view. “A few hours ago an alien force of unidentified species, affiliation, and force composition made planetfall on peacefull little Duros. We’ve searched the database and are unable to find a comparable organism, but based on the data and satellite imagery we’ve collected we know that they are tough to kill and they move in numbers. As in a helluva lot of numbers. Within the first few hours we’d lost contact with outposts 1 through 5, all over run. Outpost six is next in their path, then the city.” At this revelation murmurs swell inside the room. Lieutenant Commander Carrigan clears his throat pointedly and the chatter dissipates once more. “Given the highly hostile nature of this threat, our overall lack of intel, and the inability to get a division of troops to the surface in time, command has opted to evacuate the city. We can rebuild a city, but we can’t rebuild colonists, so it makes some sense I suppose.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Carrigan further zooms in on outpost six and highlights three areas around the outpost. “These are our dropzones. The Praetorians’s will be dropping to the west and providing recon and overwatch from the nearby hills. Force Recon is dropping to the North and East to secure landing zones for our dropships bringing down the main force, as the landing pad in the outpost is insufficient for the volume of landings we need to perform. Our Combat Controller, Petty Officer Grayson, will be dropping with the northern team and will be calling in orbital and aerial support for the defense. Spaceborne Rescue, you guys are QRF on this one in addition to your normal job. That’s all we have folks, get geared up and get to your pods!”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Fifteen minutes later I’m in full ‘battle rattle’, with armor, assault rifle, my radio set, and a pistol from the old defunct Commonwealth Marine Corps. I’m standing in the drop bay in front of the egg shaped pod that I am about to be sealed into and launched like a bullet at the ground in. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Clear! You can get in, Petty Officer.” The technician operating the station says to me. I step into the lower half of the pod and strap myself and my equipment into their designated slots. When I give the thumbs up, the top half of the pod closes around me, and I can hear the sound of bolts being sealed into place. Our pods have no windows, and need to be completely sealed until the explosive releases pop the tops off when we reach the ground. Otherwise the superheated plasma from re-entry would enter the pod and cook me alive. The pod is pitch black, and for a few minutes I sit, waiting for the time to drop. Abruptly the pod jolts, and I feel lateral movement as my pod moves into position into the launch tube like a bullet in a rifle chamber. Only a few seconds pass before my stomach drops, and I feel my drop pod plummeting to the planetary surface. [/SIZE]

 

[RC 212]

[member="Andrew Grayson"]

The Ground, Near Outpost 6
1st BN Royal Marines, 1st Battlegroup
Praetorian Guard

"Launching in 5.....4.....3....2....1. Green Light!"​

And just like that, he felt his guts jolt, before magnetic rails applied reverse polarity to his pod and sent him roaring from the Jast Elite Destroyer. How many of them burned up in orbit by estimate? Something like ten percent of drop pods never made it to the ground. Command called it "Acceptable Losses." Those that made a hundred drops typically got an extra star on their Drop Badge.

"Systems look good Chief." He replied into the mike.

Once you were hot there was really nothing to it. Not much steering could be done from the pod, just emergency thrusters for the occupant to fix whatever SNAFU the bridge had made in the solutions. He felt another rattle, that rattled his teeth.

Atmosphere.

And then intense G forces pulled him down deeper into the saddle. He ground his molars, remembering his training and breathed rapidly to keep his heart beating under the strain. The outside skin heated up red, then white hot, cooking the internals. The fans whirred to life, cooling the pod to an acceptable level, though the thermostat still read 115 Degrees.

God this awful.​

​

"Proximity Alert. Impact in 10.....9.....8.....7....6.....5.....4....3....2.....1. Brace."​

He arched his back, pressing himself firmly into the seat, and gave the straps a final tug on his harness. Then the thrusters fired, giving him a floating sensation, right before he struck the dirt.

WHAM!

Dust clouds loomed across the fields of Duros, like mini mushroom clouds as five hundred pods impacted. Thirty of which contained the redcloaked Elite Guard of the Commonwealth.

Him.

A Praetorian.

​

"Landfall."​

"No chit!" He barked back at the Robot Voice.

Explosive bolts fired, blasting the hatch open. He grunted and kicked it twice, sending it flying off the main body. The he scooped his rifle and ruck, and rolled out. Instant chaos engulfed them. The Marines shambled, disorganized to reach their regroup points. His compass showed north of outpost 6. Predictions from CSS Arbiters Scopes pinged them one klick out, with the alien force closing in less than thirty standard.

"Praetorian One, all units, report."

They went down the roster, until it was his turn.

"49 present."

Once fifty sounded off their Master Chief growled.

"Alright war dogs. Time to get this chit in motion. Regroup on my nav marker. Dropping the location now. Heavy drop incoming."

"What we getting?"

"Armadillos."

"That crap?"

"That crap has 120mm cannons and good fething wheels to move us. Love your bucket's of bolts boys, your feet will thank you."

"He ain't lying. 49 En-Route."

He racked his rifle, chambering a fresh round from the mag, and threw his rucksack up over his head, and down his back.

Then took off in a sprint towards rally point Aurek.

 

[Andrew Grayson]

[SIZE=12pt]The descent to the surface in a drop pod always seems to take far longer than it actually does. There are very few things to do in a pod other than think about the mission at hand since you’re firmly strapped into a coffin sized chamber with no light. The drop trooper does have the option to monitor their pods decent to the surface through their Heads Up Display, but I always opt to keep that feature shut off. There are so many ways that a drop trooper can get their ticket punched that I really don’t want to know how or when it may fail. I’d much rather just blink out of existence without knowing what happened or why. It’s not as though I could do anything about it if something went wrong anyways. The heat shields on a pod could fail, as could the seal between the halves. The landing jets could fail to fire, as could the reserve chute. Plus anti aircraft fire could shoot down your pod at any time. Generally the odds of surviving a pod drop are pretty good at ten to one, but this is my 73rd drop, which means rolling that particular set of dice 73 times. Finally after a few minutes of extremely uncomfortable free fall I feel my landing thrusters ignite and the pod set down on the planetary surface. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The top half of my pod blasts off of the lower half exposing my eyes to the planet surface. I look around and see the other pods landing all around me. The gunnery guys in orbit did a good job, and shot us all in a fairly tight group on the surface a little less than a mile from the outpost. I grab my carbine and radio kit and sling them over my shoulder, then step out onto the dusty surface of Duros. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]As the Marines emerge from their pods I spot the leader of the Marine Recon platoon who is tagged in my HUD as Lieutenant Barker, L. “Whoo Wee!” He declares over the platoon radio frequency as he gathers his kit and exits the pod. “Nothing like a good combat drop to get the blood flowing!”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“What are ya? Some kind of adrenaline junkie, Lieutenant?” I reply.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Something like that, Grayson. Everybody check in and form up!” He says, and fifty separate acknowledgement lights blink on in my HUD. “Frelling fabulous! Good to see everybody made it in one piece. Let’s get to the outpost double time and give these garrison troops some backup.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]It takes us only a few minutes to jog from our LZ to the nearby outpost. As we make our approach the guards to the facility open the blast doors to let us in. “Thank God you’re here,” One of them says to us, his voice cracking with stress. “We thought we were going to go out like the other garrisons.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Don’t get to far ahead of yourself, soldier.” I say to him as I pass by. “We may all die yet. If we do though, let’s try and make it into one of those ‘Epic Last Stands of History’ books, eh?” The look he gives me in response tells me that he wasn’t exactly cheered up by my comments, but that’s not really my job either. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]When we get into the outpost an older man is there to greet us. He’s wearing battle armor and carrying a rifle, and the insignia on his breast plate identifies him as a Lieutenant Colonel in the Marines. “I’m Colonel Beaseman, CO of this garrison.” He says by way of greeting to Lieutenant Barker. “I haven’t gotten much word from the fleet, are you all we’re getting?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“No Sir, we’re just the advance team. Praetorians have made planetfall to do their thing to the West, and more Recon Marines are to the East. We’re here to set up extra LZ’s so we can shunt the better part of a Battalion down here from orbit.” The Lieutenant gestures to me and says “This is our imbedded Combat Controller, Mr. Grayson. Have a fancy place to put him up for our stay?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Absa-frelling-lutely we do. You can set up shop on top of the command building, there’s rooftop access through the top floor.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Aye Sir, I’m on it.” I reply, and immediately turn to the command building. A couple of minutes later I’m on the roof of the command center setting up my air traffic control equipment. I unfold the computer which is encased inside of a thick, shock resistant polymer shell, and it immediately powers up and connects to the military network. I call up a list of available air assets and their locations and overlay it on top of our live satellite imagery. When I’m set up I open a channel to all aircraft and unit commanders. “Attention all units, this is Tailpipe-1, I’ll be your Combat Controller today. Ground attack birds, you’re now part of Hammer Flight and your designations updated accordingly. Dropships, you’re all now Chariot Flight and I’m sending you landing vectors now. Let’s see if we can mess up these things party today.” I glance up and see a growing cloud of dust in the distance growing larger, the indicator of a lot of creatures closing quickly, and wonder to myself just who’s party is going to be wrecked by the end of the night.[/SIZE]

 

[RC 212]

[member="Andrew Grayson"]

The Ground, Near Outpost 6
1st BN Royal Marines, 1st Battlegroup
Praetorian Guard

[member="Andrew Grayson"]

Less than ten minutes. That was how long it took the Praetorian Guard to load the rucksacks on the racks outside the vehicles and hop on. They hung off every handhold and foot hold, some ducking to avoid the 120mm cannons as the main housing was tested. Gears that hadn't been used in years ground side to side, whirring as the heavy guns rotated. Armadillos were great for fast attack, but he grumbled, wondering if they were exactly what they needed right now.

Tail Pipe one chimed in over the radio. They had the Close Air Support they needed.

"Alright boys, now it's on!"

"Don't get cocky Gent's, we have no fething idea what these things are. They leveled five different outposts."

"Then let's get some samples....in flesh."

"Aye I agree 49. Alright Convoy forwards."

The Armadillos were like little dune buggies with big whopping guns. The suspension was terrible, and they kicked up dust so thick the sky grew almost impercetible. Adrik held a free hand five feet from his face and shook his head. It was a brownout.

"Switch to thermal scopes on your HUD."

Minutes later their course converged with the beasts. Initial contact was made in a dust cloud so thick, they weren't sure what hit them until the Armadillo ran smack into the side of a bug, shattering it's carpace, sending Praetorians falling in all directions. The thing skittered and flailed, slicing two clean in half with their bone sword things. Adrik bailed, and rolled several feet, impact of his face on his helm dazing him.

There was screams, blood, guts and dust.

One of them came down right on top of him, screeching like harpies from legends of old times past, jaws slavering. He felt his rear end pucker, got a foot on it to hold it off, and transitioned his rifle into the gap between the beasts belly and him.

A gloved finger white knuckled the trigger, sending a fusillade of rounds out of the muzzle, rifle chattering madly in his hands. The shots were clean, and ripped through the belly area, exploding from the back of the armor. Gore splashed across his face plate, blinding him to what was left.

"I'm down!"

"Vehicle Six Down, we're trapped!"

"Ran right into their flanks!"

Adrik crawled backwards, back to the dirt, rifle still up. Then blinked twice to key his comms.

"Regroup on me, circular Phalanx around the Vehicle. Praetor One status?"

"Coming around for a second pass. Gonna light em up with the 120's this time. Keep your heads down. We see your beacon, we'll pull you out."

"Copy."

They circled up, one team holding the circular formation whilst the other began to set directional charges and dig hasty ditches and berms. Weapons fired, folks screamed. Morgan dropped his clip and rammed home a fresh one.

"Hold the line men! We're right in the Kark Fethin middle of em!"

Meanwhile on the Comms Praetor One called back to the Outpost.

"Tail Pipe One, Praetor One, standbye for CAS Request."​

 

[RC 212]

The Ground, Near Outpost 6
1st BN Royal Marines, 1st Battlegroup
Praetorian Guard

[member="Andrew Grayson"]

"49 Danger Close!"​

"Kark, hit the Deck men!"

They fell as one in the carnage and the chaos. Guardian Angels roared in, twin 120mm cannon rounds, exploding with the force of stars colliding. Bug guts, shattered carpaces, screams, gore and blackened earth cascaded in fountains as the Incoming Armadillo pounded the bugs position. Adrik rolled over on top of one of the wounded, shielding his body with his his own.

Soon the fire ceased, and he glanced up, seeing an opening Like a parted sea, the bugs were trying to swoop back in and fill it. Now was their chance.

He pushed up and grabbed a corner of the litter with one hand, letting his rifle fall, and drawing his Revolver with the other.

"Push forward! Let's get the Feth out of here!"

"Copy, all teams fire forwards!"

"One Get your Buggies close! We're coming out!"

They abandoned their position, two columns running at break neck speed with the wounded carried by fire-teams in the middle. What had initially been an assault had turned to a rout. The bugs were too many and too strong. Many of the Armadillo crews had met the same fate, pasted by ramming into the things, all hands lost.

"Hurry up!"

His Revolver boomed over and over, sending a crisscross of rounds into the faces, bellies and legs of bugs. Some glanced right off, and then it fell silent, barrel smoking. He shoved it back into his holster, another Praetorian came up and grabbed his corner of the litter. He pivoted, re shouldering his rifle and opened fire, the bolt clacking in furipus cacophony.

"Ten meters! Run!"

The Armadillos were in sight now, their fire-teams dismounting, forming a static firing line.

"Praetor One be advised, bugs are weak in the stomach area!"

"Copy 49, get your fething shabs on the Armadillos, double-time!"

"Copy, moving!"

Meanwhile over the comms Master Chief Varas still tried to call in air support.

​

"Tail Pipe One, Praetor One! Whats the the status of CAS!!!"​

 

[Jorga the Hutt]

[member="Andrew Grayson"] [member="Adrik Morgan"]

First Battalion looked to be in the thick of it. Connory crouched at a slanted viewport and assessed the mess from half a klick straight up. Outpost Six might still fall, but if it did, it'd be over a whole lot of dead bodies: the First seemed committed. Comms chatter indicated the same.

"Thanks for the ride, Lieutenant," Connory said, and stepped out the hatch.

He dropped like a stone for the first four hundred and fifty metres. Then low-grade inertial dampeners kicked in, a pair of repulsorpacks flared to life, and his cybernetic legs flexed on impact. He'd touched down right behind the line of Armadillos, where the First's infantry were redeploying after a rout. He couldn't blame them: those bugs brought back all kinds of memories.

On the plus side, now the First had a little respite. As the first rounds of the airstrike began to chew into the bugs' main force, Connory got up on an Armadillo and switched his Boneshatter carbine to AOE. He'd designed its subsonic hum to ward off large predators, and though the bugs had plenty of momentum, their front ranks faltered a little. The Commonwealth troops' headgear would protect them just fine.

 

[RC 212]

[member="Connory"] [member="Andrew Grayson"]

The Ground, Near Outpost 6
1st BN Royal Marines, 1st Battlegroup
Praetorian Guard

Finally they were getting some cover. Air assaults ripped through the bugs, as Jast Heavy Fighters screamed through the sky, splitting them with shrieks. Mass driver cannons fired, heavy and light, plasma beams arced, and missiles flew into the mix. Fountains of more earth and bugs rose up into the horizon, making pillars of ash, blood and bone.

"Load up!"

Adrik managed to catch a handhold on an Armadillo, pulling himself up beside Connory, red cloak trailing. He'd never met the fella before, but he was sure glad he'd arrived with back up. Over the Comms Chief was shouting to hurry up as 120mm shells blasted bugs into smithereens. But it was not enough. Like an endless ocean they were rolling in, faster than munitions could take them out.

He glanced as his HUD and then his arm pad as they roared off, calculating their position.

​

"Jast Heavies will take exactly two mikes to come around racetrack, and do another pass. I'm Dropping heat all the way behind us Chief."​

​

"Roger that 49, just keep em off our six! Drivers, punch it! Get that gorram peddle floored!"​

He gave a nod to Connory and extended a quick, handshake.

"Thanks for that."

Then turned, uncapped his laser binocs and began painting a long trail of nav points for an airstrike on his map......

 

[Andrew Grayson]

[SIZE=12pt]“Tailpipe-1, standby for CAS request”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The call came from one of the units of Praetors deployed out in the open ahead of the Outpost. They’d been intended to recon the area and then provide a buffer while the Marine Battalion deployed to the surface, but if they were already engaged then the bug things must be moving faster than intel had suggested. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Praetor One, this is Tailpipe-1. They hit you earlier than we predicted, Hammer flights are still on descent from orbit. Upload Target Reference Point data (TRP) and I’ll put you at the top of the list.” I reply, keeping my tone even and professional. I’ve been in frontline combat before and I know that receiving the equivalent of a ‘hold please’ is completely useless, but it’s all I can do at the moment. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]I see the display of my console populating target data, and I change my comm channel to talk to Hammer flight. “Hammer-2 and 3, I’m sending you TRP data now. As soon as you’re at a safe altitude I want gun runs and air to ground ordnance. Empty your racks if you have to, but give our guys some breathing room.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Copy that Tailpipe-1, cleared hot on the Praetors marks. ETA 2 mikes.” The pilot replies with the lazy wildspace drawl they seem to teach at combat flight school.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Tailpipe-1, Praetor-1! What’s the status on CAS?” I hear on the radio. I hear the noisy and tumultuous sounds of gunfire in the background, along with the not insubstantial sound of bugs squealing. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Praetor-1, CAS inbound in two mikes. Keep your heads down!” The time passes painfully slowly, but I hear the exact moment when the Hammer flights come into range. The engines of the heavy attack craft scream from overhead, and the sonic booms from the mass drivers and Air-to-Ground cluster munitions rattle my head even from this distance. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Tailpipe-1 this is Hammer-2, the racks are empty but we’ve still got rounds for the mass drivers and juice for the plasma cannons. Call it two minutes before we can circle for another pass.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Negative Hammer-2, you and Hammer-3 circle around back to Outpost 6 and fly a holding pattern until I give further instruction.” I say, then change comms channels again. “Hammer-1, my display says you’re loaded with Napalm canisters?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Affirmative Tailpipe-1, I have four AOE Napalm canisters ready to fly.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Alright, use the previous TRP data. I want you to drop a wall of fire behind our Praetors to cover their rear advance. Copy?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Copy that, Tailpipe one, starting my approach.” The reply comes, and I could swear I hear a grin in his voice. I yet again change comms frequencies, this time to the ship overhead.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Arbiter Control this is Tailpipe-1 requesting a strike package. Request four kinetic shots from the mass drivers in a creeping barrage back from the line I’m sending you now.” I send, then upload the data for where I want the shots to land. It takes almost ten seconds before I receive a reply back from the ship overhead.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Tailpipe-1, strike package approved. Shots out in 1 mike, impact in 3 mikes. Tell those guys to keep their heads down.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Affirmative Arbiter, bring down the hammer of the gods.” I reply. A kinetic warhead isn’t much more than a super dense slug, but by the time the round hits the surface it is traveling at a solid mach 20 and releases massive amounts of kinetic energy. The impact is equivalent to a major high explosive warhead but at about a thirtieth of the cost, with no lingering chemical cleanup. “Praetor-1 this is Tailpipe-1, I’m dropping a wall of fire to cover your movements. You may want to cover your ears as well, because I have four kinetic strikes on their way to the surface behind that wall. Should help make a dent. If you need backup I can divert a marine dropship to your position, just say the word.”[/SIZE]

 

[RC 212]

[member="Connory"] [member="Andrew Grayson"] [member="Katarine Falcon"] | [member="Bug'ares'vemmosk"] | [member="Zenva Vrotoa"] | [member="Kell Lane"] | [member="Marx Zinder"] | [member="Jackson Mills"] | [member="Richard Campbell"] | [member="Tirtus Vex"] | [member="Jocelyn M'koor"] |

The Ground, NOW AT Outpost 6
1st BN Royal Marines, 1st Battlegroup
Praetorian Guard



They made all haste for the outpost, cannons pointed rearwards and blasting. Along the way Angels shrieked down, dropping their napalm canister, lighting up the sea of bugs with glorious swaths of flame that burned from the heavens. He felt his gut roll over at the stench, so strong and pungent it thrust through the filter of his helmet, up his nose.

"Barbecue bug!"

"Keep your fethin eyes on your sector, " He snapped back.

They made it to the gate, which swung open just long enough the let the Armadillo squadron swarm in and come to s kidding halt. Deck cannons along the walls fired, pouring heavy shells into the horde of monsters outside those oh so thin walls. He jumped off the vehicle, and ripped his helmet, off, exposing a short hair cut and beaming brown eyes.

"Chief!"

The chief came out, tearing off his own helm.

"What!"

"What's the status on the air evac for the city?"

"The hell if I know. C'mon."

While Praetorian squadrons moved their wounded brothers into the hard structures, they made their way to what was affectionately known as "The Box."

The Operations Center sported double banks of monitors, and real time tac map on a holo tank in the center.

"Who's the Commanding Officer here?"

Leiutent Barker stepped forward. Scrawny, but conditioned, plated in the standard of the Commonwealth Marine. Adrik immediately noticed no Combat Patch.

"Where the hell is Tailpipe One? And what's the sitrep from orbit?"

"We haven't had any word."

Adrik scoffed, and set his helmet on the table, raising an eyebrow at the Lt.

​

Damn Junior Grades.​

"Well have you gorram asked? We got a legion of bugs out there ready to overrun this damn place. We need transports or more marines!"