Legix
Well-Known Member
Hray in 1st Fleet, Juno's Temporary Cabin
"Hisssssssssssssssssssssssssssss." "Ssssssssssssssssss... ssssss~!"
A thinned and elder soldier of burly Nepleslian descent was speaking from the other-side of a monitor aboard one of the many Hray of the Third Fleet's Recon detachment. More specifically, this older gentlemen petting a well-trained cobra from one of no doubt countless worlds was one of the finest soldiers in the NSMC. A man of countless battles who, in the early days of Nepleslia, had been promoted and helped found the 309th when it was one of the countless main battle divisions. A face in a sea of many in the grand scheme, but General Apollodorus was one that had faded into a more obscure position. Among the untold amount of upper command soldiers, this was a general that had been regarded as a fading legend. A disease and bad health had seen to making him frail in the eyes of the common buff Nepleslian. It had led to him spending time with his pet snake, Whooper, who had lived easily as long as the division had existed.
On the other side of the screen, however, was the sole man leading a single platoon of a once-famous division. And as he sat his Nerimium-tipped fingers on the desk before him in a personnel cabin he'd been assigned, it was a man of a more modest but no-less hard-fought reputation. Lieutenant Juno had fought with the Division for the last seven, coming up on eight years. Of all the veterans who hadn't been transferred, the reputation behind the man's leadership was quite simply gruff and war-focused. A battlefield commander, but no politician or elegant strategist who saw the fields of battle in his mind before they ever sprung up. Five tanks had been fielded and lost under his command, but not a single battle where he was allowed to command the 309th had soured.
"Sir, I don't doubt Whooper's opinion as important, but we have greater problems. This system we're helping the Third Fleet mop-up? 'Freemud'? It looks like it's a hotbed of all sorts of shit."
"Tsk-tsk," said the man without even looking toward a seated and furrow-brow Juno, "Now Juno, you've never been one to doubt me or the high command... especially since the Navy took over. Tell me, Lieutenant... do you think you and the new blood of the three-oh-ninth can't take care of it?"
A thunk of Juno's pointer finger sounded over the comm and filled his cabin without remotely any sort of hesitation.
"I think we can, but... most of these people are green. It doesn't make my job easy, you know, having to babysit... and now, I found out we don't even have suits of Power Armor for our infantry detail?"
"Lieutenant, most of the other Riders aren't being supplied death-suits. It's rational when we have so many without any experience. Even Whooper understands not throwing so much equipment on untested assets."
A hiss came across, the cobra looking at its owner momentarily with recognition of its name. Clever boy.
"Well," the Lieutenant paused as he turned his gaze toward the cabin exit. A shuffle had caught his attention for a moment before the grizzled veteran returned his blue sight on the fully-attentive general. "I agree, then, sir. We're coming into orbit of New Bernese soon... I need to get out and meet the troops in the cargo module and prepare for some drop. They were picked up before we Ef-Tee-El'd here, but the flight was about long enough for them to get small naps or make some arrangements. I'll make sure we don't lose the Maximus you got us. Wish they'd let us try out those fancy RUSE upgrades..."
No formal dismissal was needed between the two friends, Whooper hissing lightly as the feed cut. Rising to his feet, Juno took all but a moment to fetch his rather new but far less-than-shiny jacket. Being promoted to Lieutenant at least put him in one of the jackets, even if it was the utmost earliest point to acquire such attire...
1st Fleet, One of the Hray Cargo Modules, AKA the 309th "Drop-Box"
Juno walked into the platoon's cargo module with his dufflebag in the robotic left hand, the man's custom-made Grinning Devil hanging from a strap worn around his chest. It looked like an unwieldy and large uzi-like sub-machinegun in design, the metal painted red on the barrel but a nice shade of Nepleslian green on the remainder of it. With his tall stature, Juno made his way over to a still non-christened Maximus. The Platoon's support staff were handling boxes and pallets that held the gear and supplies they'd need if the local militia and populace wasn't willing or able to support them, leaving the platoon-head alone to stare at one of many of the tanks he'd commanded. It'd been out for around for three years, proving to be a good alternate to more practical hover tanks. It was also the only tank that he'd had break down and forced him to turn-out while driving. Four times.
"I have to somehow make one of these things work while undermanned in combat power. A single squad of infantry and this... all because the rest of the platoon has to be support staff for the stupid reconnaissance and ground-work laydown."
Turning around, the Kuznyetski man didn't even have to clear his throat before yelling more than loud enough to disturb ancient spirits if he believed in that crap.
"Alright, I need my tank crew and grunts formed up on me! Make it snappy, I know you're all green or transfers, but we don't have time for messing around! We got only a short while until we're entering orbit and getting set-down for drop-off! Anyone who takes their time owes me one Neko whore once they make it big in whatever job they find after I have them kicked out of the Marines for wasting my time!
(@Cordinarr @SirSPT @HAMnJAM =3=b All future characters gotta get passed, but you three have had your posse pretty solid for more than long enough. Let's get this ball rollin'!)
"Hisssssssssssssssssssssssssssss." "Ssssssssssssssssss... ssssss~!"
A thinned and elder soldier of burly Nepleslian descent was speaking from the other-side of a monitor aboard one of the many Hray of the Third Fleet's Recon detachment. More specifically, this older gentlemen petting a well-trained cobra from one of no doubt countless worlds was one of the finest soldiers in the NSMC. A man of countless battles who, in the early days of Nepleslia, had been promoted and helped found the 309th when it was one of the countless main battle divisions. A face in a sea of many in the grand scheme, but General Apollodorus was one that had faded into a more obscure position. Among the untold amount of upper command soldiers, this was a general that had been regarded as a fading legend. A disease and bad health had seen to making him frail in the eyes of the common buff Nepleslian. It had led to him spending time with his pet snake, Whooper, who had lived easily as long as the division had existed.
On the other side of the screen, however, was the sole man leading a single platoon of a once-famous division. And as he sat his Nerimium-tipped fingers on the desk before him in a personnel cabin he'd been assigned, it was a man of a more modest but no-less hard-fought reputation. Lieutenant Juno had fought with the Division for the last seven, coming up on eight years. Of all the veterans who hadn't been transferred, the reputation behind the man's leadership was quite simply gruff and war-focused. A battlefield commander, but no politician or elegant strategist who saw the fields of battle in his mind before they ever sprung up. Five tanks had been fielded and lost under his command, but not a single battle where he was allowed to command the 309th had soured.
"Sir, I don't doubt Whooper's opinion as important, but we have greater problems. This system we're helping the Third Fleet mop-up? 'Freemud'? It looks like it's a hotbed of all sorts of shit."
"Tsk-tsk," said the man without even looking toward a seated and furrow-brow Juno, "Now Juno, you've never been one to doubt me or the high command... especially since the Navy took over. Tell me, Lieutenant... do you think you and the new blood of the three-oh-ninth can't take care of it?"
A thunk of Juno's pointer finger sounded over the comm and filled his cabin without remotely any sort of hesitation.
"I think we can, but... most of these people are green. It doesn't make my job easy, you know, having to babysit... and now, I found out we don't even have suits of Power Armor for our infantry detail?"
"Lieutenant, most of the other Riders aren't being supplied death-suits. It's rational when we have so many without any experience. Even Whooper understands not throwing so much equipment on untested assets."
A hiss came across, the cobra looking at its owner momentarily with recognition of its name. Clever boy.
"Well," the Lieutenant paused as he turned his gaze toward the cabin exit. A shuffle had caught his attention for a moment before the grizzled veteran returned his blue sight on the fully-attentive general. "I agree, then, sir. We're coming into orbit of New Bernese soon... I need to get out and meet the troops in the cargo module and prepare for some drop. They were picked up before we Ef-Tee-El'd here, but the flight was about long enough for them to get small naps or make some arrangements. I'll make sure we don't lose the Maximus you got us. Wish they'd let us try out those fancy RUSE upgrades..."
No formal dismissal was needed between the two friends, Whooper hissing lightly as the feed cut. Rising to his feet, Juno took all but a moment to fetch his rather new but far less-than-shiny jacket. Being promoted to Lieutenant at least put him in one of the jackets, even if it was the utmost earliest point to acquire such attire...
1st Fleet, One of the Hray Cargo Modules, AKA the 309th "Drop-Box"
Juno walked into the platoon's cargo module with his dufflebag in the robotic left hand, the man's custom-made Grinning Devil hanging from a strap worn around his chest. It looked like an unwieldy and large uzi-like sub-machinegun in design, the metal painted red on the barrel but a nice shade of Nepleslian green on the remainder of it. With his tall stature, Juno made his way over to a still non-christened Maximus. The Platoon's support staff were handling boxes and pallets that held the gear and supplies they'd need if the local militia and populace wasn't willing or able to support them, leaving the platoon-head alone to stare at one of many of the tanks he'd commanded. It'd been out for around for three years, proving to be a good alternate to more practical hover tanks. It was also the only tank that he'd had break down and forced him to turn-out while driving. Four times.
"I have to somehow make one of these things work while undermanned in combat power. A single squad of infantry and this... all because the rest of the platoon has to be support staff for the stupid reconnaissance and ground-work laydown."
Turning around, the Kuznyetski man didn't even have to clear his throat before yelling more than loud enough to disturb ancient spirits if he believed in that crap.
"Alright, I need my tank crew and grunts formed up on me! Make it snappy, I know you're all green or transfers, but we don't have time for messing around! We got only a short while until we're entering orbit and getting set-down for drop-off! Anyone who takes their time owes me one Neko whore once they make it big in whatever job they find after I have them kicked out of the Marines for wasting my time!
(@Cordinarr @SirSPT @HAMnJAM =3=b All future characters gotta get passed, but you three have had your posse pretty solid for more than long enough. Let's get this ball rollin'!)
