Gulliver Foyle
Old Man
The dropship Foyle's Folly hung over the small green moon, a mechanical blemish over an otherwise pristine landscape. The 2nd Legion's flagship was not, according to more traditional notions of such things, a proper man of war. It was basically a glorified troop transport, with minimal armament, designed solely for the task of delivering fighting men to the fight. It was escorted by three heavy cruisers: Fearless, Fury, and Fortitude. They, in turn, were accompanied by a host of smaller light cruisers, destroyers, and patrol vessels, as well as a smattering of fighters and gunships.
The 2nd Legion was not geared towards naval combat, but if necessary, they could get themselves out of trouble.
In this instance, there was no trouble to be found. The little green moon, an uncharted forest world around a massive gas giant that, some billion years ago, was just a little too small to become a proper star, had no indigenous sentients and precious little to recommend itself to settlers or prospectors. It would have made for an excellent pirate's haven, if not for the apex predators that roamed the forests. There were several species of large felines, the largest weighing in excess of a ton, the prowled the trees.
They were clever, patient hunters. Rudimentary surveys had shown that they might even be pre-sapient. They were certainly capable of solving puzzles and even of rudimentary tool use, though their large paws and razor sharp claws were more suited to latching onto prey than constructing shelters or what have you. With the right scans, one could clearly see that several ships had landed here over the centuries, and the surveys had concluded that the crews had been quite tasty.
The idea of a pristine forest world with no safety net and lethal wildlife had set Gulliver into a tizzy. This was the stuff that gave training planners wet dreams and trainees PTSD.
The mission was simple: 1st Infantry Brigade, along with elements of the 5th Artillery Regiment and the 8th Engineer Corps would drop in after a brief, surgical bombardment by the Fearless cleared exactly 3 square kilometers of the forest. 1 IBE would provide security while the 8th Engineers constructed a firebase. The 5th was mainly there so they could practice setting up on a hostile world.
They would survive on the planet for a month with no support, no relief, and no chance of rescue. The ships in orbit were there strictly to protect them from potential hostile incursions, in case enemy ships entered the system. That was a low probability event, but Gulliver would rather have them and not need them than need them and not have them.
After a month, the location of the world would be revealed to the rest of the Imperium. Any and all comers would be welcome to wrest control of the firebase from the inhabitants, who would almost certainly resent the intrusion. They would be welcome to express their feelings in a manner becoming of the 2nd Legion. That, the old General suspected, would involve lots and lots of shelling. 5th Regiment really had a chip on their shoulders, and as long as they could make good on it, he saw no reason to knock it off.
After a month of fighting off hostile kitties and burning their own crap, Gulliver suspected that every swinging dick on that wretched little moon would have a chip on their shoulders.
That was exactly what he was hoping for.
At the moment, he was standing in the command center of Foyle's Folly, an aptly named ship if there ever was one. It flew in the face of conventional Imperial ship design, and that was exactly what he had wanted. He had no problem working with the Imperium. By and large they were as professional a group of warfighters as one could ask for, but there were more than a few hidebound old relics who viewed Imperial doctrine as sacrosanct. The Supreme Commander tolerated the 2nd Legions heresy (their words, not his) just so long as Foyle and his men could bring results.
The command center was, in essence, a large drop pod with artificial gravity, inertial dampers, and everything else needed to keep the command team functioning on the way down to and on the surface. There were many senior officers who balked at the idea of dropping into the fire with the rank and file, and Gulliver was more than happy to show them the door. But he had to give them a chance to adapt first.
"T-two minutes, General," Chief Warrant Officer 4 Calhoun, who "piloted" the drop pod helpfully announced. She was a tiny little thing, barely 50 kilograms, but she knew her job and could ruck as well as any man in the Legion, and better than some.
"Thanks, Chief," Gulliver replied. He turned to his XO. "Ready to fire up the music?"
Some bright spark in the Supreme Commander's office had decided that music should be played before a drop, in order to motivate the troops. The list of recommended tracks had mostly been stuffy old marches, and while the General was fond of a certain Imperial March that dated back to the original Empire, he knew his boys and girls would prefer something a little more...modern.
The XO, or Executive Officer, a Colonel by the name of Eibenhouser, grinned. He was a tall, lanky man with skin the color of paper and a heart as black as coal. He also had a rather eclectic music collection.
"I'm ready sir. What track do you want?"
Gulliver thought for a moment.
"Suprise me," he said, grinning maliciously. "Just make it as un-Imperial as possible. I wanna shock the hell out of the folks watching the live feed."
Though there were no cameras in the command center, the other pods were all wired up for picture and sound. There were enough people waiting for Gulliver to kark this up that he suspected they'd have quite the audience for the drop.
"On it, sir," Col. Eibenhouser said, returning the grin. "I've got just the thing."
https://youtu.be/YlBnJ0egT_4
The 2nd Legion was not geared towards naval combat, but if necessary, they could get themselves out of trouble.
In this instance, there was no trouble to be found. The little green moon, an uncharted forest world around a massive gas giant that, some billion years ago, was just a little too small to become a proper star, had no indigenous sentients and precious little to recommend itself to settlers or prospectors. It would have made for an excellent pirate's haven, if not for the apex predators that roamed the forests. There were several species of large felines, the largest weighing in excess of a ton, the prowled the trees.
They were clever, patient hunters. Rudimentary surveys had shown that they might even be pre-sapient. They were certainly capable of solving puzzles and even of rudimentary tool use, though their large paws and razor sharp claws were more suited to latching onto prey than constructing shelters or what have you. With the right scans, one could clearly see that several ships had landed here over the centuries, and the surveys had concluded that the crews had been quite tasty.
The idea of a pristine forest world with no safety net and lethal wildlife had set Gulliver into a tizzy. This was the stuff that gave training planners wet dreams and trainees PTSD.
The mission was simple: 1st Infantry Brigade, along with elements of the 5th Artillery Regiment and the 8th Engineer Corps would drop in after a brief, surgical bombardment by the Fearless cleared exactly 3 square kilometers of the forest. 1 IBE would provide security while the 8th Engineers constructed a firebase. The 5th was mainly there so they could practice setting up on a hostile world.
They would survive on the planet for a month with no support, no relief, and no chance of rescue. The ships in orbit were there strictly to protect them from potential hostile incursions, in case enemy ships entered the system. That was a low probability event, but Gulliver would rather have them and not need them than need them and not have them.
After a month, the location of the world would be revealed to the rest of the Imperium. Any and all comers would be welcome to wrest control of the firebase from the inhabitants, who would almost certainly resent the intrusion. They would be welcome to express their feelings in a manner becoming of the 2nd Legion. That, the old General suspected, would involve lots and lots of shelling. 5th Regiment really had a chip on their shoulders, and as long as they could make good on it, he saw no reason to knock it off.
After a month of fighting off hostile kitties and burning their own crap, Gulliver suspected that every swinging dick on that wretched little moon would have a chip on their shoulders.
That was exactly what he was hoping for.
At the moment, he was standing in the command center of Foyle's Folly, an aptly named ship if there ever was one. It flew in the face of conventional Imperial ship design, and that was exactly what he had wanted. He had no problem working with the Imperium. By and large they were as professional a group of warfighters as one could ask for, but there were more than a few hidebound old relics who viewed Imperial doctrine as sacrosanct. The Supreme Commander tolerated the 2nd Legions heresy (their words, not his) just so long as Foyle and his men could bring results.
The command center was, in essence, a large drop pod with artificial gravity, inertial dampers, and everything else needed to keep the command team functioning on the way down to and on the surface. There were many senior officers who balked at the idea of dropping into the fire with the rank and file, and Gulliver was more than happy to show them the door. But he had to give them a chance to adapt first.
"T-two minutes, General," Chief Warrant Officer 4 Calhoun, who "piloted" the drop pod helpfully announced. She was a tiny little thing, barely 50 kilograms, but she knew her job and could ruck as well as any man in the Legion, and better than some.
"Thanks, Chief," Gulliver replied. He turned to his XO. "Ready to fire up the music?"
Some bright spark in the Supreme Commander's office had decided that music should be played before a drop, in order to motivate the troops. The list of recommended tracks had mostly been stuffy old marches, and while the General was fond of a certain Imperial March that dated back to the original Empire, he knew his boys and girls would prefer something a little more...modern.
The XO, or Executive Officer, a Colonel by the name of Eibenhouser, grinned. He was a tall, lanky man with skin the color of paper and a heart as black as coal. He also had a rather eclectic music collection.
"I'm ready sir. What track do you want?"
Gulliver thought for a moment.
"Suprise me," he said, grinning maliciously. "Just make it as un-Imperial as possible. I wanna shock the hell out of the folks watching the live feed."
Though there were no cameras in the command center, the other pods were all wired up for picture and sound. There were enough people waiting for Gulliver to kark this up that he suspected they'd have quite the audience for the drop.
"On it, sir," Col. Eibenhouser said, returning the grin. "I've got just the thing."
https://youtu.be/YlBnJ0egT_4