Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Episode 01 - Boobytrap

As the battle fortress' arms roll back into position, the general area surrounding the Mjolnir is unusually quiet. The civilians attending the commencement ceremony are curious about the weapon firing but seem to assume that it was some sort of demonstration for the ceremony.

The military, on the other hand, is all but panicking.

"*shhk* Mjolnir Control, this is FENRIS Three Actual, what the hell just happened, over?" You recognize the voice of FENRIS 3's CO, a UNSN Commander by the name of Sergei Kostyavich.

"*shhk* Foxtrot 3 Alpha, hold one ... we're not entirely sure yet. Standby." The voice of Mjolnir control sounds young, female, and panicky.

"*shhk* Break, break. This is Oscar Delta Pappa Nine Alpha. We have lost contact with Luna base, repeat, we have lost contact with Luna base. Mjolnir Control, please advise."

"*shhk" Break, break, all FENRIS 3 Delta personnel switch to comm frequency 3 Alpha. This is Lt. Commander MacCallen", the voice of Delta's XO breaks into the relative chaos on the comm channel. "UNSN ONI has predicted with an 85% certainty that the loss of Luna base is due to alien activity. They also believe the firing of the Mjolnir's primary weapon was a direct reaction to an alien presence, although they are unsure of the mechanics behind it."

MacCallen pauses for a moment to allow the information to sink in before continuing. "All Delta personnel are to report to battle stations. If Luna is indeed the work of an attacking alien force, their next port of call will be us."

He then moves into the assignments for the company, "First platoon! The Mjolnir will likely be taking off shortly. Your job is to secure the northern quadrant and prevent any aliens from reaching the Mjolnir that way. Double time, Orwell!"

He continues giving instructions; 2nd through 4th platoon are assigned to the eastern, western, and southern quadrants respectively. 5th platoon is designated over watch in VF-1s.


Currently, Lt. Orwell is on base about a quarter mile from the Mjolnir. Sergeant Mason and Petty Officer Gregorovich are stationed about 200 meters from the stage providing crowd control duties. Dr. Sasche is, presumably, in the garage on base.

The team has 1 VF-1A, two VF-1Js and one VF-1S in hangar.
There are also MBR-04 Thors (main battle destroid) and MBR-07 Beowulfs (AA destroid) available.

The team on duty are assumed to be in Light Composite armor (AV 25, 0 Enc) and carrying side arms.

So, what do you do?

22 comments:

  1. Orwell holds his hand to his headset nodding unconsciously until hearing his own units orders. He waits until all other platoons acknowledge before keying his own mic and responding. "Fenris Three-One Solid copy... Sir, there are still several civilians in the area please advise." He informs signalling all personnel to form up around him before setting off at a brisk yet calm walk towards the hangar. without waiting for a response knowing his superiors will cut through his Comm chatter he switches to platoon frequency. "Fenris Three-One acknowledge in ascending order that orders are understood; Rendezvous at platoon hangar before deploying to defend the northern quadrant over." He orders, struggling to keep a tinge of excitement from his voice... *Slow your roll Brody, don't get ahead of yourself* he repeats in his own mind like a mantra in an attempt to keep himself from falling into old habits. His trigger finger begins twitching as he licks his suddenly dry lips while slowly turning his head to the sky to the north.

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    1. "Fenris Three-One, Fenris Delta Actual. The civilians will be handled by the MPs in the area - your priority is getting your team mobile."

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  2. Aliens? You gotta be kidding me.

    Of course, everyone knew that the Mjolnir was not of human manufacture. Naturally, someone had to have manufactured it, so naturally, that must mean that alien life forms were out there. But Aliens?

    Shaking his head, he began to signal to nearby MP or any personnel that didn't look like they were immediately occupied to continue with the crowd control.

    "Fenris Command, advise disposition of civilians around the stage?"

    Gregorov looked toward the base, not relishing the jog that awaited him. A strange apprehension was filling somewhere in the bottom of his gut. He'd been in combat plenty of times, but for some reason, he felt as scared as he had before his first official flight sortie back in Kazakhstan. He hadn't known a thing about the enemy back then either.

    Aliens?

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    1. (OOC: Apologies, in the delay while waiting for people to post, I had forgotten the requests about the civilians).

      "Fenris Three-Delta-One-Tango, this is Fenris Three Delta. Your platoon leader has the data on the civilians, follow his lead."

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  3. Mason checks his 9mm to be sure he has a round chambered, and ordered any nearby MPs to continue to keep the civilians calm. Responding on the platoon frequency, "This is Macabee, proceeding to hanger as ordered. Request bird assignment and clearance to saddle up on arrival." He checks his surroundings, looking for any possible hostil contact. Command may suspect encounters of the third kind, but the more likely suspect would be Anti-UN terrorists. The Mjolnir launch is a big deal, and the bastards would love to screw it up. While moving to the hanger, Mason sees if there is a ground vehicle that he can grab.

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    1. There are no military vehicles at the moment that aren't in use, ostensibly to ferry civilians away from is likely to become ground zero of the coming attack.

      There are, however, plenty of taxis around.

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    2. Damnmit, there are never any HUMVEEs around when you bloody need them! Mason thinks to himself. He hails a nearby cab and flashs his UN Spacy ID at the cabie just to reinforce what he is about to say. "This is a military matter, citzen. Here is the location of a hanger on base roughly a quarter of a mile from here. I need you to get me there, yesterday!"

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  4. “Dr. Sasche… Dr. Sasche?” Orwell calls out over the radio. “Fuck it.” He growls before returning his attention to the task at hand. “Mac I want you in the VF-1S, Trout you’re on his wing in one of the VF-1J’s… I want you guys to taxi out to the northern quadrant in fighter mode, no need to panic the civilians just yet. Once we get a clear idea on how far out the enemy is you can do as you please. I’ll go try to find Dr. Sasche and we’ll follow you out in a Thor and Beowulf.” Orwell explains while pulling a camo-stick from his shoulder pocket and adjusting his beret.

    “Mjolnir control this is Fenris Three-One Alpha on route to the northern quadrant… Recommend all non-combat personnel begin encouraging civilians to begin moving towards the shelters or boarding the Mjolnir itself. Also if you could spare a combat coordinator we would be much obliged.” He requests. Without breaking his stride he pulls his tablet out its case and begins pinging for any frequency that isn’t in common use with U.N. forces (Information Warfare)

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    1. There aren't any non-UN IFF or radio in the immediate area, but Icarus manages to hack into a satellite feed. There's definitely non-UN IFF in orbit right now.

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    2. "Macabee, aknowledging orders. Saddle up on VF-1S and proceed to northern quad in primary with the Trout on wing. Do we have ID on possible hositles yet, and if so, what are the rules of engagement?", masons responds to Orwell, still using the platoon frequency.

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  5. Gregorov blew his breath out in exasperation. "Trout. Acknowledged." Signalling to MPs to continue ushering people toward shelter, he began to jog toward the airbase.

    At the thirty-second mark, the burning in his lungs had already set in, but he grit his teeth and imagined getting there and learning that surprise it was just a drill and here's a shot and a beer and take the rest of the week off.

    Four minutes later, he arrived at the base, ravaged lungs straining to provide oxygen to his blood. There was a time when I could have done that in two minutes flat

    Well, at least he would get to go up in one of those new VFs. The transition to... what was it, battroid? Humandroid? Whatever. The transformation would take some getting use to, but in jet mode they still handled like a dream.

    Changing into a flight suit in record time, he jogged out to the flight deck, breathing back under control and looked around at the UN Spacy mecha arrayed for the Fenris team.

    Damned impressive. Let's see what the enemy's got

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  6. Orwell nods to his team in turn as they arrive while patting his gear down as if he were about to engage in familiar combat as opposed to piloting a mecha. With his Laser Rifle ((OOC) I'm assuming that's what he was issued if not oh well)) across his chest he begins painting his face with the camo-stick already in hand.

    "Gentlemen, we have an unknown composition and amount of hostiles in orbit... and after that opening salvo from the Mjolnir we are likely their primary target." Orwell begins briefing glancing at the satellite image on his tablet but deciding not to concern them by the sheer amount of aliens above them.

    "Currently we are charged with defense of the northern sector. R.O.E. will be to repel any non-U.N. forces that enter our quadrant. I don't care if they're flying saucers or cold-war era MIGs if it doesn't say U.N.-something on the side you blast that shit. we'll deploy in two teams, Mac and Trout are on Air Team while Dr. Frankenstein and I will be on the Ground Team. Air team you guys will be receiving the brunt of this but I want you to focus on destroying troop carriers while any escort fighters will be your secondary targets... hopefully we can get some artillery support from the Mjolnir but don't count on it. I'll focus on anything that reaches the ground in the Thor while Frankenstein ((OOC) after the first time he jokingly referred to Dr. Sasche as Frankenstein in his mind it somehow stuck out, seeing as his goal was to create a construct and Dr. Sasche was a mecha inventor.)) will provide cover in a Beowulf. If you get any of their escort fighters on your tails I will designate avenues in which he will be waiting to swat them off of you. Does anyone have any questions comments or alibi's?" Orwell concludes his briefing genuinely interested whether his men have anything to add (Leadership... for the whole briefing).

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    1. ((OOC) clearly I need to do more editing before I post... sorry my bad))

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    2. (OOC: The hangar and briefing will be a new scene anyway. These replies should be focused primarily on immediate reactions to the situation presented in the scene post. I'll include the briefing you've posted as part of that scene post.)

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    3. Gregorov's brows furrowed. "Uh, sir, do we have any intel as to what the difference between what an alien troop transport looks like and, I dunno, whatever it is they used to abduct people for anal probes?"

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    4. ((OOC) hahaha! update more frequently and we won't put the cart before the mule and stubbornly push it forward... but seriously not a criticism we're just clearly very excited about this... well I am anyway.))

      Orwell cracks a grin. "Beats the hell out of me Trout... an exceptionally large whatever it is they used to abduct people for anal probes? likely full of aliens readily intent on anal probing? But seriously we're playing this one by ear as of right now... just use your own judgement, you're a transport pilot so I'll be relying on you to call them out so anything that seems like it's trying to ferry troops to the ground in your opinion is the best we've got right now... I've requested a Combat Coordinator to supply intel but am yet to hear back." Orwell explains jokingly before steering the conversation back to a serious note.

      ((OOC) This exchange had better be in the briefing as well))

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    5. "Generally speaking, Trout, the troop carriers will be doing their best to land and/or drop ground troops, and the fighters will be doing their best to shoot us out of the sky", Macabee said with a small grin. [(OCC) This is close as Mason gets to a sense of humor]. "Sir," redirecting himself to Iacrus, "You mentioned remaining in fighter mode during engagement. Any chance we can try out the the other modes as well? I'm dying to see how the hybrid mode works at under actual combat conditions."

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    6. "My bad for not being clear Mac, simply taxi out in fighter mode, I reiterate once we get into combat DO YOU, AKA whatever you are comfortable with... If you feel like transforming that god damned thing into a vodka filled watermelon then so be it so long you shoot down as many of those bastards as possible." Orwell responds with a slight shrug of his shoulders, hands poised at his sides.

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    7. "Understood, sir." Mason turns to Trout, "Let's saddle up. There are some uninvited guests who need a lession in manners. DO NOT crash UN Spacy's parties!"

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    8. Gregorov chuckled and rolled his eyes. "So that's marine logic, eh? Do you have to figure out which burner on the stove is hot by putting your hand on it, too?"

      With a mostly good-natured smirk, he turns back to Icarus "So we don't know whether the aliens look like some wierd blob of snot or if they're more like bad black-and-white flicks from the 20th century? Wonderful. And I thought recognizing people at my last family reunion was awkward."

      With a bemused sigh, Gregorov grabbed his helmet and rose, pausing only to stare in incredulity at Icarus' suggestion that they transform their VFs into vodka-filled watermelons.

      "...they can do that, sir?" With a grin, he proceeded to head for the waiting fighters.

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    9. "Unfortunately I don't think they can... But I'm willing to bet at the end of the day we'd wish they could." Orwell let out with an exaggerated sigh, blending some more of the camo paint into his skin with the heel of his hand. He ran a hand through his longer than regulation hair then replaced his beret, covering it with a heavy duty pair of headphones with integrated comms and a microphone boom. With a last look around and grabbing a few last minute items including a long section of rappelling rope he followed his team to their waiting mecha.

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  7. Gonna cut the scene here so I have time to craft the next scene without worrying about playing catch up.

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