"Alright if no one has any questions... Rhic Glanced toward T'risa with a slight nod before snappng into Master sergeant mode."  I want demo packages and weapons check in two hours, Mecha diagnostics and check out in one hour. Elspeth I want you and Balkiir to check out the grunts we borrowed from security make sure they have weapons that fire, and know which end the bullets come out of....if anything looks shaky trash it and find something from the armory."

    Come on folks we got a war to fight, we aren't being paid by the hour un as and get to it." Rhic clapped his hands and spoke with the calm confidence of a senior NCO that had been through the drill many times before.

   " I'll have final check outs and load out reports before dust off. He turned back to T'risa as he pulled up his own data files waiting for any final instructions.

He listened with silent interest. It seemed a solid enough plan, daring dangerous but solid. He had little equipment to check so he picked up his pack and his rifle and walked towards Rhic. "Ready sir. Is there any other things that I might want to be aware of? Our last engagement with the enemy, I noticed no officers on the field. So picking targets of oppurtunities might be a bit hard. What would you and the Marshall deem as secondary targets so I have a bit of leeway and can take a shot before having to ask my spotter?"

Elsbeth nodded to Rhic and saluted him.  "Yes, Master Sergeant.  On the bounce." she intoned, with just the right inflection to sound almost genuinely respectful without sounding like a kiss-ass.  Then she waited quietly for Balkiir so that they could go and do personnel and armament inspections.  She also wanted to give her own armor and weapons one more once over; one never could be too careful.

And now, Elsbeth felt an extra impetus.  Balkiir's oath to protect her and the crew of the Crow as well as defeat the enemy on the planet, bleed into her own Oath.  His quest, by necessity and by choice, became her quest, as well.  So, now they were to try and take the fight to the enemy.  So, now they were to try and create their own Destiny.  She still wasn't sure that there were happy ending for the Grunts of this universe.  But, maybe endings are not the point. Elsbeth noted quietly to herself.  She gave Balkiir and slight smile and a head tilt as she watched him work for a moment.

Elsbeth's ruefully smile continued as she kicked off another set of diagnostics on her armor.  She would strip and service all of her own weapons in a bit.  But getting the recruits and their armaments ready were her focus for the moment.  She started to review the spare weapons, checking barrels, slides, receivers, and sights.  Then she counted ammunition and magazines.  She and Balkiir had already stripped them all down and gone over the weapons inventory.  So, this time her inspection was more cursory, though still rather thorough.  She counted out the number required - it was a bit of hodge-podge, but there were enough long arms to go around.  Elsbeth carefully laid out the munitions.

Then Elsbeth tapped the large blue Valkiir man on the shoulder and gave his hand a tight squeeze before she grabbed half of the rifles and ammunition boxes that she and Balkiir had previously serviced and started to carry them out the squad of militia that was assembled in the courtyard after the briefing.  She stood at the door of the armory waiting briefly for Balkiir to follow suit.  A slight smile played on her face, "You still owe me pizza..." she noted.

In reply to Victor Grym (msg #168):

"Mecha pilots, anti air crew, heavy weapons specialists. Anyone who looks as though they might be organising a defence or poses a threat, especially to the freighter. If you see an O'meada....shoot them as a priority. I doubt there will be any there, but you never know." she paused for a moment. "I'd prefer to capture any O'maeda, but if you see them go for kill shots. When I said I would act as your spotter, I know you will engage independently. It's just I have a good sense for the overall flow of the battle and know where one or two shots might make a very big difference."

T'risa made her rounds passing words of encouragement to all, helping people pack, making sure everyone had everything they needed and knew what they were expected to do while Tiny brought back the Hummer from the desert.

    " On it. Balkiir replied as he headed out the door behnd Elspeth. Heading down he went through the weapons again, checking the mags and pulling the protective cases off the warheads of the RPGs.  it would take a pretty heavy blow to set them off but pulling the safety pins and arming the warheads was the final act that meant it was show time.
    He attached the propellant blocks that would fire the round out of the tubes and slid each round into the fabric carriers four rounds per man four rounds per extra bandoleer for every one in the group. the short simple tubes of the launchers were still unfinished looking primitive by modern standards but they still had the punch to take down a truck, or APC. even a Mech had to worry about being hit by one of the laser guided rounds.
   counting Pins, and warheads to make sure the numbers matched then having Elspeth do a visual inspection of each round as well insured no one fired a round that could not detonate.
   he turned his attention to the grenades next slipping them ou of th cardboard tubes the were shipped in and screwing the fuse bodies into place. each set of web gear had four grenades . held in place by D rings that the safety level slipped through then a wrap of tape to make sure they stayed in place. a quick tug would be all that was needed to pull them free in combat but it want likely they would fall off on their own.
   Eight magazines, first aid kit, two smoke grenades, and four magazines for the pistols. went into the pouches. He also added a belt for his machine gun, and a couple fo 40mm grenades for hs launcher each man was carrying a heavy load of ammo and weapons but the op depended on overwhelming shock to work. running out of ammo was a death sentence for the whole unit.

    He had prepped backpacks each one containing a spare ammo canister and a single missile for the Mecha. along with food and water for three days in case tey had to walk out. those packs could be dropped easily each man could carry MREs and water in cargo pockets and on his web gear the extra was just another precaution if they had to  move fast they could be dropped.


    " Pizza Huh," Balkiir smiled stood by the door." I think I can find one around here somewhere, course you may have to tip the delivery boy. Balkiir kissed her once, then again for luck. his hand lingering on her face for a long moment before he went cold, his war face now firmly in place.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:17, Thu 07 Oct 2010.

Conrad continues working on the final touches to his mecha.  Making sure everything is in working order.  Conrad takes a moment to lube up any joints and makes sure the fuel supply was good.  He hops in and takes a few test steps and makes sure all weapons were functioning.  He runs a quick program that does a system check and looks for any that would cause problems.  Before he is ready to head out, Conrad stashes a pistol in the mecha just in case everything goes south.

Next he does the final tune up on Tiny's mecha while she is out doing her thing.  This was going to be an important day for Conrad, because now he's new creations where either going to work good, or get himself and tiny killed.  Though he keeps positive thoughts running in his head, because there was no time for self doubt.

He nodded as the Marshal walked off and then found a quite corner to himself. Many misunderstood the sniper as a whole, yes they coldly calculated death for each man that fell into their crosshairs but he was still human. Or was he? He had died and been put back together. He pulled out his ghuille suit as he walked through his mental preparations. He looked over the photos Poppy had given him and began to make small alterations to the suit to better vanish into the landscape.

He then did a double check of the rifle and its scope making sure that both were combat ready. He went down the checklist of targets and made sure his radio was juiced. He then saw to his survival gear, and the sidearm he had picked up. When all was ready he sat in quite meditation a killer ready to be fielded against the enemy.

  Tiny return with the Hummer following along like a lost pet, the gun ring mounted sensor package swiveling around to take in the sighs. As she led it back to the refueling station and topped off it's fuel cells. Then ducked into the Crow to pt on her Mecha.

    Chef Jon is waiting with his men giving them last minute instructions and checking out their gear, he seems relieved to see that their meager weapons and armor are being replaced for the operation with a better grade of equipment.

   The Crow and the fighters are fully refueled and her missile racks reloaded with the last of the missiles from storage. with last checks made the mission is ready to commence.

When T'risa makes her rounds and reaches M'kira she gently takes her hand with a smile for a few moments. It might be a bit before they see each other again. "I don't think anyone will be a smart (Censored word) T'risa. Just remind them not to shoot at you. Your not a priority target. I will see you after this mess is over."

When it was time she gears up in her mini battle mech. She wonders for a moment how it would all end. The empress herself probably had her eyes on this mess. In due time she notes Tiny's return smiling and waving to her. "I see you found your pet Humvee. Are you ready to Create Chaos and confusion in the enemy ranks Tiny?"

Leoulin's expression was masked at this juncture as well, "I do believe that the man cutting through their structures with no mechanical assistance will be deemed something of a priority.  I've seen a straight line to the areas we need down and I'll be upset if some flimsy wall or less intelligent vehicle stands in my way for long."

Somewhat more hardened soldiers were tougher to get a proper strike against, but anything that more or less stood there was bound to be made short work by his unique application of psionic, technological, and physical brute force.

Aziza strolls down the hallway, looking well-fed for a change although a keen eye will note that it's not fat or muscle on her ribs but rather that her fur is poofed out, from an apparent hasty drying.
"This is being most inspiring." she comments brightly, although in her typical relatively uninflected tone.  "I am being make recording in ship's black box, after we are all being die shortly surely somebody is being make holofilm and I am being include will so that proceeds will aid furesh clan later."

  Once the two groups are dropped of Aziza can loiter away from the combat area using her sensors to monitor the approach of the civilian freighter to the area. It is less than twenty minutes away when T'risa asks for it's arrival time.

OOC: If Aziza would give me a computer use ( sensors ) check Please

15:47, Today: Aziza rolled 23 using 1d20+13. computer use (Sensors). 

 As Aziza watches the ships entry track she pots an odd variation in the Em signature of the ship. Every drive system gives off it's own unique signature, a radio frequency noise pattern that can tell a trained operator what sort of engine the enemy is using.
     The signature of the ship seems to be fluctuating as if two drives were operating in close proximity to one another. an arrangement usually avoided by any competent engineer since mixing drive types causes problems with power flow and stability due to unequal power demands and out put.

alert hostile fire control radar detected the crows electronic warfare board lit up as one of the incoming ships switched on it's active radar and began to search the area for a target.

Noting the incoming warnings with the odd calm that takes her beyond the edge of panic, Aziza calmly toggles several switches that starts the weapons system powering up, then sets her communications to a broadband high-power transmission.
"Attention all incoming ship, this is being the Strange Wonderful Black Bird with the Cunning to Use Tools and a Love of Shiny Objects.  We are being detect all of you, including ships that are being hide in freighters wake.  We are also not being tolerate any incoming fire.  All ships are please being return hail and confirm peaceful intentions or we are being open fire."

 </i>" Pragga....  pilot... controller.. of The quick witted hunter that snatches meat from the jaws of Scavengers, Greets Pilot captain Aziza</i> A deep rumbling multi toned voice replied in thickly accented Cetu. The Strange Wonderful Black Bird with the Cunning to Use Tools and a Love of Shiny Objects. Is known to this one, This one tracks the slow witted beast of burden ahead for those who keep the laws of travel and trade. To locate and discover the fate of your craft is the mission this one was given.

   As the pilot of the hidden Cesti built scout ship trailing the freighter poke the freighter accelerated and began to broadcast a wide band stream of white noise and random sensor bursts to through off tracking and fire control sensors. the ship also turned into the crow accelerating as it bore down on her the size of the ship giving her two choices turn off or try to slip past the ship without being herded toward the landing zone, and the guns at that location.

OOC: Pilot check DC16 to avoid collision( will bring you in closer to the ambush site) or Pilot check 21 to avoid being herded

"I am being see.  Please to being aware that this is being a combat zone, I am being suggest care and evasion." Aziza transmits back, toggling the signals system with one hand while she guides the ship with three others.  The enemy vessel crowds in, threatening to ram, so Aziza responds by cutting power entirely, letting her vessel drop like a stone before gunning the engines to maximum only a few yards above, turning a verdant hillside into a hellish landscape of molten slag as the plasma exhaust turns every living cell into instant ash and the dirt melts and runs like water.  Cunningly using the backwash, Aziza angles her ship to reflect the enormous bloom of hot air rising off the melted stone and suddenly rises much faster than her engines alone could manage, putting her right behind where the enemy ship had passed a moment earlier, and neatly putting it's vulnerable exhaust in a line with her mass drivers and plasma turrets.


Not sure of the enemy ship defenses or AC so I won't be rolling any of those yet.
21:51, Today: Aziza rolled 20,15,18,9,13 using 1d20+3,1d20+3,1d20,1d20,1d20+3. Weapon Strikes.
21:47, Today: Aziza rolled 23 using 1d20+13. Pilot, Evasion.

  The freighters guns rotate and fire over it's rear as Aziza evades it the gee fores and load on the ship causing it to groan almost as if roaring in anger at the abuse. the subsonic rumbles of the engines growing to the point the tickled and made her ears twitch involuntarily.
   robot manned the fire control consoles beeps, growls and squawk sounding as they exchanged information faster than any organic could. the guns doing their best to keep up with the target as the Crow executed a maneuver usually only executed by fighters..
    The mass cannon and one of the missiles slammed into the enemy target sending a gout of escaping plasma and shards of engine casing flying in every directions plasma tracers streamed from the ships rear turret a the crow settled in at it's six o'clock position. a single pulse striking the crow as Aziza made her shot.

   the stalker roared in under Aziza the ship smaller older and less well maintained, the size and design making Aziza wonder how he pilot managed long duration flights in such a small ship. It was a refit of an old P'shahn clan attack hip intended for fast strikes not long duration flight. Red and black tier striped decorated the forward hallf of the sleek combat craft and three red stripes ran down the spine of the attack ship markings not used since the destruction of the Rahw Kahl clan 20 years before in a battle with a Najuhlim fleet intent on enslaving their home world. the clan had died to a member only cubs and a few to old to join battle survived the battle, but not a single Najuhlim capital ship survived and the few crewmen of picket ships and support craft who escaped with their lives wee hunted down and torn apart by sister clan blood drinkers.

OOC
38 pts of damage before DR to the crow.

"Cesti Vessel, please to being transmit clan identity codes.  Your markings are being confusing relative to transmitted message." Aziza transmits, unwilling to ues the name of such a strange and apparently undead vessel.  Fortunately, she congratulates herself, she's not superstitious in the least.  She makes a mental note to have a psych evaluation later just in case as the battle robots trigger another barrage into the enemy ship.  A potent strike hits an engine and drives it to one side, which unfortunately pushes it out of the way of the rest of her weapons fire completely.

21:29, Today: Aziza rolled 10,6,3,20,4 using 1d20+3,1d20+3,1d20,1d20,1d20+3. Confirm Plasma Critical.
21:29, Today: Aziza rolled 22,7,8,8,9 using 1d20+3,1d20+3,1d20,1d20,1d20+3. More Attacks.

  The first shot to hit the freighter is brutal. Plasma boils away metal and ceramics exploding something sensitive sending a gout of blindingly bright drive plasma out at an angle to the main drives. the ship lurches spins and rolls never designed for a dogfight at low altitude the ship clips a rock outcropping and executes a perfect face-plant. digging a deep furrow through the sandy soil until it comes to a stop..Inertial dampeners and impact control can nullify tremendous acceleration forces but even the best combat systems would not keep the crew from being slammed about as if they had hit a brick wall at fifty miles an hour.

    The Smaller cesti ship screams over the wreck and cuts upward heading toward two glints of light on the distant horizon. the ships mass guns firing rapidly as it moves to intercept the hypersonic fighters bearing down on The Crow. the pilot too busy handling the craft at near ground level to reply with more than a bale scream as he charges the fighters.

  the next sound Trey hers is the sound of a warning Klaxon, he feels himself upside down, on his back and then on his feet again as the world spins and he slams face first into a glass surface. as his head clears he can see he is inside a cryo tube, in the cargo hold of a ship. a ship that seems to be leaning at an angle with most of it's cargo sliding to one side.
  The cryo pods seals have ruptured and the emergency revival functions have kicked in. he feels the lid slide open and himself dumped in the floor. at someones feet. he cant make out the person standing over him clearly but a hand comes down and helps him to stand.

  " Don't you worry, everything going to be alright Ernie assures i as he helps him stand, his features still clouded and hidden. but his voice familiar.

Trey has only a moment to feel alarmed before all that worry disappears, and the universe becomes a far more pleasant place. A brief panic flutters around his stomach, before it hatches and flies off as a shrieking little raven, easily overwhelmed by the singing birds. Trey's smile is dazed, confused, but happy, even as he's tucked into bed by the pleasant penguin. Everything melts into the darkness behind his eyes, like colored water going down the drain in slow motion, taking him with it, leaving nothing but the beating of the heart of reality...

It was Music!

..and then explodes back out again in a sudden tumble of gravity, the inner ear kicking him awake but not clearing his brain. He cries out tunelessly, like a baby woken from a nap, unable to grasp the sudden penetration of consciousness. At last the cryo-sleep clears out, Trey feeling the sharp pain in his face, a slow trickle of blood running along the plasteel where his nose had smashed up against the cryopod's surface; Restraints came loose.

The lid slides out, and Trey falls out bonelessly, still behind the times, his mind a jumble of loose memories. Something about a Survivor, something dangerous. He weakly kicks his legs, desperately trying to stand until he can feel someone help him up. But his eyes are still murky, webbed over with sleep, and he's panting for breath - unable to breathe through a mashed in nose.

"Earnie?" He asks, mumbling through a numb face. "I a-an' I not feelin' so hot.."




OOC> Mood Music? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5FCdx7Dn0o
This message was last edited by the player at 20:45, Mon 01 Nov 2010.

  You'll be fine," Ernie whisperedBut your not where ya were when you took a nap, thats for sure.... if this ship is friend's with the one who took you then you need to be careful...and find what was taken from you. Ernie warned as he pointed past Trey to the cryo pods, the same cryo tubes from the prospect, one that Trey had been sealed in and the empty tubes that had held his brothers.
  The sound of thunder rumbled through the ship, it took Trey a minute to realize it wasn't thunder but explosions, heavy rapid fire thuds that rattled the walls and kicked up dust that hung in the air. the smell of ozone, hot metal and burning insulation crept into the cargo hold, lack smoke boiling in through a section of the cargo bay that had been peeled back like it was tissue paper exposing a wide view of broken hills and a dusty stone covered plain.
   Streaking low over the plain another ship, one like he'd not seen up close before roared overhead it's guns sending a stream of plasma and mass round at the plains below the small town and landing field outside it covered in heavy smoke from burning buildings and wreckage scattered across the field along with dead alien bodies.
   about the only thing Trey recognized was a couple of standard emergency supply equipment lockers and pallets from the Witch including the anti ship missiles that had been on. even stranger than the surroundings was the smell of air, unfiltered air and the brush of wind across his face.

Trey rubbed his eyes again, blinking through the blurriness caused by what probably amounts to a broken nose; The sharp pain is suddenly a lot less important as he notices the other pods. The clone begins scrambling across the rubble, painfully banging his shin a couple of times in his rush - eyes still stinging from the stench of smoke that wafts throughout, carried by a wind that was too warm, too wet; Too filled with bizaare scents for a nose that had spent most of its time breathing recycled air. He hit the first pod, and brushed away the dust, to find it...

Empty. Unlocked three weeks ago. And, according to the date listing, the incident out in hyperspace had been three months ago. With a growing sense of horror, Trey rushes from one empty pod to the next, a lull torn from his throat in a stumbling sob as he just collapses against the last one.

"O-oh, oh, when kan I git some re-est?" He sings the old lullaby softly, sliding off the pod, tears drilling rivulets in his stained cheeks. "O-oh, when kan I git some sleep.." He trails off, staring blankly at is own hands for a moment. Before reaching up and wiping away the tears.

"Earnie." He calls out, without turning around. "Yah bettah find a gude place ta git down, mon. I an' I got stuff ta do, 'fore dat War out dere come be findin' dis ship again." It was obvious the ship was grounded, and hard - even a rough landing wouldn't have tossed cargo containers around like this.  And he didn't want his only friend - even if that friend was probably imaginary - to get hurt. Trey stumbles upright, taking only a moment to look out the hole in the wall, where the metal had been torn away.

It hurt his eyes, the way the landscape scooped away towards the horizon, rather than curving up. Made him feel like he was eternally falling forward. Nausated by the sense of vertigo, Trey moves towards the emergency lockers, and finds most of his old stuff;

And begins suiting back up again. Whistling a tune once more, though it shudders and stutters as emotion takes him. What's a survivor's first code? Despair is death. Three weeks; They wouldn't get rid of trained slaves. Not slaves with as much skill as him. Surely they wouldn't. All he had to do was find a way to find the Bredren once more.. Just got to get red-eye.