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  • 📅 May and June 2024 are YE 46.4 in the RP.

RP Flight of the Eagle


Inactive Member
RP Date
YE 45
RP Location
Grid 1419
The marines loitered about in the dimly lit armory aboard the ship, listening to a cacophony of guitar riffs and drum tirades. In the distance, the ship's engines can be felt, more than heard. A soft thrum that permeated all the surfaces of the ship, quickly lost from perception unless you actually focused on hearing it. The walls of the armory are lined with various weapons and gear, individual lockers displayed each marines last name and roster number in bold black letters. At the rear of the armory, an NCO was walking a large, musclebound private through the finer points of wall to wall counseling. "You can be a smart Marine, or you can be a strong Marine. You have decided to take the strong route, I will ensure you achieve your objective private." Crates of various munitions were secured against bulkheads. An impromptu gym dominated one end of the space, with one small screen playing the latest Shasta stream.

A chime sounded over the ships PA system.

"Attention all crew members, this is the captain speaking. We have just received a new tasking from higher. We have been tasked with locating three missing Jackdaw Class Heavy Corvettes, the NSN Glory, Independence, and Freedom. These vessels were sent to investigate the increasing number of starships going missing in this sector, but they have missed the last three sitrep uplinks. We must assume the worst and act quickly.

Our mission is to locate these vessels, determine their status, and provide any assistance necessary. Senior Officers, Department Heads, and Marine contingent commander are ordered to the Operations area for individual taskings. That is all."

The briefing did not take long, the marine commander and his senior enlisted returned to the armory and began to issue tasking. A stocky Sergeant First Class with an ugly mass of burns for a face, and an even uglier disposition called over Sergeant Minnie Valentine, veteran of the New Bernese conflict, as well as the Kuvexian War. "Get'cher team together and kit out fer ah long term observation post. Drop in 18 hours." The surly NCO spit a wad of brown colored slop into a drink container he had in his left hand. He wiped the back of his right hand across his stubbly chin, "Questions? Too bad. Get it done, Hero." The NCO sneered as he waddled away.

Five foot and just under eight hundred pounds of durrandium reinforced cyborg nodded stoically to the veteran noncom before metal stiletto-style heels clanked on the deck as Minnie Valentine strode a part circuit through the armory.

Having to look up at the man had been par for the course and did not irritate her anymore. Even before her cyborgization at the hands of her sponsor organization Minnie had been barely an inch or two taller; It gave her an early impression as to what neko must have gotten used to around Nepleslians for generations now.

A veteran of three campaigns now, and a mixture of unwanted celebrity and minor hero status she had opted to escape the limelight and return to duty doing what she knew best. A matte-black fingertip brushed along one armored locker; Her own, as she detailed what she knew. All the while browsing the medical reports of the marine contingent and their capabilities.

She kept lingering on one name. She stared at it, still unsure how to feel. Brushing a finger against her waist where once a belt might have been with a certain fetish from her first deployment would have hung Minnie reminded herself that it was with the rest of her equipment which gave some relief.

"What kinda name's Fang anyhow, Min?" A tinny voice asked in her ear when they were alone as the tiny fair poked out from beneath the curls of her hair and rubbed her holographic eyes tiredly. The sprite, connected to her systems remotely was looking through her interface the same way one might over another's shoulder to see what they might be reading.

"I never asked. Never felt the need." Minnie answered back, brushing a hand back for the fairy; Cha Cha, to take one her fingertips in her volumetric hands only for it to pass through them as if they weren't even there.

" 'S her right. The one you're always talking about like she's dead?" The bell-like chime of the sprites' voice sounding like the tinkling of glass.
Acting like she did not hear the question at all, Minnie stood with arms folded behind her back and her unblinking cybernetic eyes on her crowned head piercing the bulkhead itself with their intensity as the prehensile tail wrapped around her waist like a belt twitched; The bladed spike at the end of it hanging like a loose end of a belt in its rubber cover as she awaited with finality the rest of the team she had as of yet gone to great lengths to avoid since her arrival onboard the NSS Eagle.


Corporal Richter Keller had heard through the grapevine that very soon he would have boots on the ground, regarding several disappearances, at least that was the scuttlebutt had to say about it. Which was why Keller and Kilo were there cleaning his M3 Carbine, well Keller was cleaning and servicing it while Kilo was curled around his feet. Kilo knew better then to bother her partner-in-crime while he was prepping for a mission, well that and she had her favorite tug toy, this was the one none mission essential item which Keller carried on him.

Even though, there were engineers that had gone over the VTIFV which the team would be using. Keller had also gone over it as the Vehicle Operator on this mission. It was something he always did, something like his good luck ritual. Every mission he did this before even setting foot in any vehicle he would be driving. He had completed that about 30 minutes ago. He had then grabbed a snack for both himself and Kilo, which is what brought him to the armory.

Prior to cleaning his assigned M3 Carbine, he had cleaned both his combat service blade and RPB pistol. He didn't know what to expect, nor who he was going to be working with minus the NCO in charge of the operation. The Hero known as Minnie Valentine. "Kilo, stop slobbering on my boots. I just cleaned them."

Life had to be approached in a different manner sometimes. As an appropriately-specific example, when you were over seven and a half feet tall and capable of lifting a thousand kilos, the average man's gym equipment just wasn't going to cut it for you. That was a problem, because the ID-SOL named Jason Carver wasn't willing to give up on his exercise routine. The marine had ignored the immediate solution of just using the whole free-weight stand for his targeted exercises and went with an old trick he had learned growing up on New Bernese. Grab the heaviest weight there, add a hold count at full extension and when your muscles start to burn, finish the motion and repeat until your set is complete. Jason had never tested to see if it actually worked as well, but it felt kind of good and he certainly wasn't losing mass, or definition, from his muscles.

The ID-SOL continued working his way mechanically through the rest of the set, allowing Jason's mind to wander as it often did while exercising. In this particular instance the marine found himself wondering just how sick with envy his batchmates would be when they learned that Jason had landed an assignment with one of the Heroes of New Bernese. The 309th had a place in the hearts of all the ID-SOL's Jason had grown with, especially those few who had held the line against the enemy only a couple of years before his birth. It was pretty much established fact that the facility that birthed Jason and his brethren would not have existed if those valiant few hadn't held.

Once again, Jason tried to debate the merits of asking Sergeant Valentine to autograph the poster he had of her, from back when she had been stuck on hero-touring duty. On the one hand, she was one of his Heroes and it would be awesome to have his poster signed by her. On the other hand, it would remind her of that horrible time when she wasn't allowed to shoot people. Jason was pretty certain that that would be a cruel thing to do. Now that he thought about it, wasn't being denied combat missions as a marine against some kind of Articles of War?

With a shrug, the ID-SOL decided that he'd done enough philosophising for the moment and returned the weight to its stand. Shifting slightly to the side so he wouldn't block the weight bench for anyone else seeking to use it, Jason started a light calisthenics routine. Falling forward to the deck, the marine smoothly caught himself on his hands, and pushed up into his first plank. Feeling his body align correctly and almost lock into place, Jason began his thirty-count. "One 'I'm the Man', Two 'I'm the Man', Three 'I'm the Man'..."

Not a day went by that Anna did not enjoy the military occupation in which she now devoted her time. Though if she could work alone it would be just that much better, unfortunately that was not how the world worked. The wiry little four foot, ten inch tall Nepleslian woman was eternally grateful that she got the chance to work with her partner Gunny. Together they sat in the armory awaiting tasking when a commotion towards the back drew her attention with nought but a side eye. Emerald green orbs flicked down to the canine laying next to where she sat with his ears perked up. "I would not worry about that Gunny. It looks like someone played stupid games and is now winning stupid prizes." she whispered to him reassuringly. A chime from the public address system drew her attention while her comrade sat calmly. The brief look around of the room yielded that in fact her and the private who was quite literally twice her size, were the lowest ranked personnel in the vicinity.

It seemed that unless someone specifically hauled her rear in to the briefing it was not her that need be in attendance. Perhaps the Sergeant or Corporal would be summoned into the dank cave of political nonsense. Either way she did not care who went as long as someone with a fancier rank bar than her came out with orders. Nothing much really surprised her at this point, not even the dainty fairy that peered out from its hiding place in the android curls. They appeared to be in some kind of conversation of which she had no desire to listen in to, so her gaze drifted elsewhere. Black hair just barely grazed her shoulder as she tilted her head to the side just a smidge. Perhaps Sergeant would be going in to the briefing room, but the other choice would be the Corporal who seemed to have dusted his boots with some kind of delicious dust. At least that was the conclusion she came to from the way his partner seemed to be going at them.

Meanwhile she could not help a dramatic eyeroll while her head straightened when she heard the voice of a gigantic marine encouraging himself to become even bigger. There was not enough energy based beverage in the world to quell the sarcasm that brewed within at possible retorts. Instead she chose to digress, tucking a strand of hair from her short black bob behind her ear. What an interesting ensemble that seemed to have been gathered, each with their own very distinct personalities readily evident.

"Sergeant Valentine." A husky voice. The large woman loomed close with light steps and then saluted, impressively gigantic frame audibly straining against the vehicle operator's jacket she was so conservatively crammed into. "Seems we are equipped for sniffing out a smuggling operation, Ma'am?..."

Disguised under glasses, and a new haircut which tufted blonde curls over one eye, it was Private Fang Yin Zhou, in the flesh. For a Nepleslian brawler it was strange to have gone uncyberized this long- but there were certainly a few new nicks and scars along the rounded edges of their face. An impenetrable expression that still had the same dark unseen wisdom of her old self, but now rather more tempered by the concept of keeping her cards closer to her chest.

Mouth opened and then closed again, catching words that might have sounds perhaps corny or trite.

Deft hands fetched something from underneath the vibroknife sheath attached to the webbing across their chest, producing an old plastic card, bleached with age. She handed it to the small cyborg warrior with reserved feeling, and showed them the etching of a primitive wooden wheel arranged before a crown of stars. The wheel of fortune.

"...Too... Too much has changed, Ma'am... But I told you once, I had a good feeling about you."

"Wassat mean, Min?" Cha Cha piped up from Minnies shoulder at the old faded tarot card. The fairy tugging at a strand of her hair as much as her incorporeal body could manage without breaking to dissolution like an excited child yanking on the sleeve of a parent.

"In the deck of seventy-eight the wheel of fortune by itself represents destiny and luck." Minnie intoned, eyes clacking audibly as she looked at the card in her fingers, the age and wear on it implying Fangs mysticism had not fallen by the wayside since last they parted on new Bernese.

The last time Fang had drawn this card in determining where Minnie's fate may end up it had been alongside Judgement; Change and fate outside of their control.

How apt a reading it had foreshadowed Minnie thought now as she handed the old card back to the doe-eyed demolitionist and her eyes clacked up to appreciate her.

The years had done well for her, but Fang was still... Fang... The wonder and simple optimism in her eyes still ever-present even as Minnie fidgeted with a spot on her hip where a certain fetish was usually situated with her kit as if she could just pluck the preserved braid and present it to its former owner to reciprocate something.

And yet, despite the change of her outer appearance compared to what Fang may have once knew there was no reproach in her eyes, no judgment, no pity. Fang was still fang.

And Minnie Valentine, For her part. Was still Minnie as a very small part of her tried to claw to the surface before something out of her control she was still unnawares of stomped it down and took over as the emotion behind her eyes changed imperceptibly.

"That would appear to be the case, Private Zhou." Was her simple reply without inflection or reciprocity as the phantom feelings of a lump in her throat and tightness in her nonexistent gut vanished and the Fairy on her shoulder who had just moments before been doing a cute little jig on her shoulder in excitement gave a disappointed sigh at something only it could detect.

"Form up." The slight machine-tin of her voice enunciated itself as she raised it ever so slightly to get the attention of the other squaddies in the armory. Her own sizeable armory locker opened near to bursting with the various trophies of her campaigns but for her part Minnie removed a simple Carbine-pattern M43 Nova Rifle without much more adornment than a flashlight and reflex sight, as well as two little killer pistols that she Maglocked to each hip.

Her PMOPE, chainsword, and most of the other niche weapons went out of sight as the door closed again except for a few things she discreately removed and placed in a belt pouch for later.

Not ignoring fang, but instead giving her attention to the armory as a whole she went into the much-dreaded command mode.

"You heard the skipper earlier. Kit ops for long-term observation; Double mags and triple rations. Nothing you can't carry on the run or might otherwise slow you down.

Kaine, Keller. Load up as you see fit. Carver load up for pointman; Shotguns or Rifles, your pick but if the latter make sure you take an underslung. Fang-"

Minnie paused for a noticeable second before continuing, almost forgetting herself,

"Zhou. Double up on EOD with an emphasis on area denial and a spread of grenades. Gjallahorn, rifles with underslung, or your pick. If you need room we'll spread the love across the team."

Satisfied she concluded.

"There aren't any known worlds between Freemud and Ether in this part of the sector. But nobody cared enough to invest with everything going on the past few years. It might be Spacers or even pirates from the Claw Nebula getting too full of themselves so pack anything extra you might conceivably think of and stow it now. ETA is 18-Hours but we sally in 15, heard?"
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ATTN: SGT Valentine, M
Target for Observation Point

Planetoid Name: Epsilon-7

Planetoid Description:

  • Size: Approximately 3000 kilometers in diameter
  • Composition: Primarily rocky, with thin atmosphere
  • Surface: Barren and rocky terrain with craters scattered across the surface
  • Climate: Extreme temperatures ranging from -150°C to 100°C
  • Gravity: Low gravity, approximately 0.2g
  • Location: Located in the outskirts of the Taurus Secundus star system, near the intersection of several trade routes
Fueling Station Description:
  • Name: "Nova Refuel"
  • Location: Situated near the equator of Epsilon-7, in a large, flat crater approx 12 km in diameter (varies, irregular circle)
  • Appearance: A dome-shaped structure made of reinforced plasteel, with a landing pad for starships adjacent to it
  • Services: Provides refueling services for passing starships, including various types of spaceship fuels such as antimatter, hydrogen, and dark matter. Also offers basic repair and maintenance services for starships.
  • Facilities: Equipped with fueling and storage systems, as well as a control center for monitoring and managing fueling operations. It also has a small living quarter for the station crew.
  • Crew: Managed by a team of civilian engineers and technicians.
  • Reputation: Known for its reliable and efficient fueling services, Nova Refuel has gained a reputation as a trustworthy and discrete stopover for travelers passing through the region.
  • Payment: Accepts various forms of payment, including bartering with valuable resources.
  • Security: Squad sized element of Powered Armor troops.

"I am aware, ACE." Minnie did not so much as glare at the nearest Strata that the ships AI would likely appear or be watching from. She would have enacted the facsimile of a sigh if she had the lungs to do so.

"Pack environmental suits as secondary containment in your dump gear.

We're still in DIoN space and haven't elevated the threat status enough for powered armor or phase-2 so we perform our reconnaissance and observation as ordered and elevate and requip as needed as the situation evolves or expands."

Minnie took a moment to appraise the team. While Fang was a veteran pilot the rest of them were green or untested and if it all went south their best condition would be in staying together and coordinating as a team and relying on the Eagles contingent and firepower to bail them out than to let Fang and Minnie separate to deal with enemy armor or to deal with threats while leaving greenhorns alone and under fire. They would play it close and pull back at the first sign of danger and return with greater firepower and reinforcements if need be.

Just in case she changed her mind and made a mental note to pack her PMOPE. She wouldn't need her other exotics due to the nature of the planetoid, and could carry an extra weapon on her maglock if needed. But speaking on the terrain conditions...

"Animals are unsuited for the environment. Not only the temperature range but the gravity outside of the complex' artificial grav plating is one that few of you have been trained on the outside of basic and your companions not at all. This is not an order, yet, but consider the consequences that you may have to abandon them if we are forced to retreat outside the complex. There will be no selfish last stands because you cannot leave behind your animal companions, there are greater lives at stake."

She did not dislike animals. And in fact had a soft spot for Maulwulfhunds that had been on New Bernese. But selfishness got good men killed and Emrys did not make survival suits for dogs.
"Understood, Sargeant. Now will we be taking the Cougar (IFV) with us, because if that's the case, then the animals would be safe in the vehicle. Along with that having them with us may give us an advantage whoever we are about to bring the wrath of arms upon." Keller tossed Kilo a piece of facon (fog treat), to get her off his boots as he put his carbine back together with a final click of the assembly. He knew never to expect anything, but his constant safety net was always having Kilo at his side. With her there he knew they would make it through. He wasn't sure if Kaine felt the same way about her partner, but he was betting she didn't want to be away from them.

Following Valentine's orders though, he began to put his load out together. first, was three grenades (one concussion, one flashbang and one smoke). Next 6 fully loaded magazines (three for his carbine and three for his RPB) he placed all of these items in his LBV pockets, which he was putting on over his body armor. Next was his Carbine with a full magazine and then his RPB at his left hip and combat knife on his right. Into his pack he tossed in a two more magazines for each firearm and several days of rations along with other protective gear which may be needed.

"Kilo, heel and sit." Kilo obeyed the command and sat at his side where he stood in her own form of parade rest, as though she were waiting for inspection.
"...Best spare a consideration for the space-worthiness of your other pet, too. Your gun." Fang broke their stoic demeanour a little, visually completing their appraisal of the other team members. "I've been on buttoned-up low-grav shelters for the last few years straight. Take any expectation you have for noise and explosive potential for your weapons and triple it. I'd suggest ear protection and a spare roll of molecure tape, too."

More than simply assuming Minnie had forgotten the considerations of being made of meat, the large veteran was genuinely concerned with keeping the other team members intact. If she'd learned anything over the years, it was that Nepleslian 'rookies' were often more like gang fighters gone professional- And it was underestimating their willingness to get themselves in trouble that was really the problem.

On the other hand, being out in the woods for so long meant there was a whole bunch of new firearms she was personally unfamiliar with. Lumbering ponderously around the weapon rack, she reviewed the options with a data pad in one hand.

The Gjallahorn grenade launcher was a good call- It had a great spread of ammo types that weren't going to immediately kill them all in an enclosed space. She hefted the block of metal and inspected the action, then selected a cartridge of metal foam, another of smoke, two flechette and two rocket. It still looked like a toy compared to the sheer scale of their body, magazines disappearing down cavernous pockets on her thighs and webbing.

Pinched a few spare bricks for their Styrling Nova Pistol after that. Lasers were always better holdout guns since you could recharge them, though you needed to remember sunglasses.

Lastly, the nuclear option- A pair of standard NAM frag grenades, a scalar and a plasma. Just in case blowing up the pressurized module was the plan.

Night vision goggles. Vibrosaw knife. Fire axe. Her hat. Around the right forearm, a coil of fabric snakes entwined with bird feathers and brass keys.

After a deep breath, swinging her arms around to check the freedom of movement, Fang's attention diverted down to Kilo and their dark questioning peepers.

"...Do you have some way of attaching them to your back, like a backpack? We might have to climb some long reaches of substructure as well, the lifts don't always work in these places..."

Meandering thoughts, fingers reaching into a breast pocket and producing a small figurine of a wooden horse. She didn't look directly at Minnie, pretty obviously because it felt weird how much their relationship had changed.

"Sergeant... Permission to bless the squad, ma'am?"
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With the word given, Carver had immediately abandoned his latest plank, hopped his legs forward under his body and surged upright before crossing to where the rest of the squad was falling in. Even if he was going to stand out by default due to his size, the ID-SOL didn't want to bring any shame on his batch-brothers, especially in front of Sergeant Valentine. So that meant not seeming too eager by being first and not looking lazy or unprofessional by being last, but somewhere in the middle. Basic psychology at work, that.

As the Sergeant spoke, the large private converted her instructions into a mental tally of what gear he would need to grab to satisfy the mission requirements, especially with the order to prepare for close encounters of the 'stab them with the pointy end' kind. That meant Boomer and Chops were definitely joining him on this outing. Carver still couldn't understand why people tended to look at him funny-like when learning the names of his CQBS-12 shotgun and 01C combat axe. Those were perfectly sensible names. Huh, now that he thought about it, maybe it was envy and jealousy for not having thought of such appropriate names.

Hold up. Did she just say 'Fang'!

Mission preparation could wait a damned second. There was another veteran of the 309th onboard, another Hero of New Bernese that Carver was in the presence of and he'd committed the cardinal sin of being ignorant of said fact. Aww, man! He'd be in for a total ribbing from his batch-brothers when they found out. Its not like he could hide it, having already bragged to several of them about serving alongside Sergeant Valentine. With a mounting sense of horror, the ID-SOL realised that he had no Fang-focused memorabilia he could ask the veteran to sign.

Realising that this was not the time to have an emotional crisis, Carver buried all the mushy crap until after the mission. Head now back in the game, the ID-SOL nodded to show he had heard and understood that the team had fifteen hours until go-time. Once the instructions were finished and the squad fell out to prepare, Carver crossed the deck to his equipment locker and began extracting the gear he would need.

It took a few seconds to strip out of his workout gear, leaving him stood wearing only the standard-issue white underwear, ID-SOL variation. With ease born of much practice, Carver quickly threw on a white t-shirt and khaki cargo pants before donning a new pair of socks and the brown boots that looked as good as new. One of the first sergeants he had ever met had told him that if you looked after your boots, they'd look after you. It sounded sensible, so Carver had shrugged and considered it advice worth following.

The ID-SOL next pulled on the green shirt ubiquitous to the Marine Corps, making sure the shoulder pads were sitting right and that the rank patches and name plate were in the appropriate positions. The dark brown belt went around his middle and Carver paused for a moment to decide between beret or field cap. In the end, deciding he didn't want to risk losing any visibility due to the flap of the field cap, the ID-SOL pulled out the green beret, folded it flat and tucked it into his belt. The brown leather gloves joined the beret moments later. His canteen, datajockey and victory cigar were slid into the appropriate storage spaces of his belt.

His HHG revolver, affectionately named Blammo, went into the harness on the right side of the belt alongside the extra FMJ magazines and the M01A combat knife, Ms. Stabby, slid into its sheath on the left side. Choppy the combat axe was mag-locked to the belt at his back, handle coming up over his shoulder for easy retrieval. Finally Boomer was affectionately slung from a quick-release harness that attached to the bandoleer that went around his neck. He gave the shotgun a couple of pats to remind her she was a good girl - again, advice received from a more experienced soldier about treating your girl right so she would treat you right. Its why he'd given all his weapons girl names and was careful to talk nicely to them when cleaning and maintaining them post-battle.

With everything aside from ammunition and rations loaded up, Carver quickly moved through the basic exercises he'd been taught that allowed you to feel if your battle rattle was sitting right and tight. "Oh yeah, feeling like a badass!" Nodding to himself, the ID-SOL grabbed his duffel bag and threw in some clean underwear, socks, and his environmental suit. With a last look for any essential gear he had missed, Carver closed his locker and moved across the Armoury to collect the additional supplies he would need.

Anna tuned out the ID-SOLs continued inspirational chanting beginning to drum her fingers on her thigh waiting for instruction. She overheard some mentions of well known names present, which is all well and good. However, this was a military operation; not some fangirl event at a heavy metal concert and she would act as such. Gunny did not seem put off by all the chatter one way or the other while he rest beside her. They had been working together for some time; she could even carry him if absolutely necessary. This was almost the entire reason for her being in the shape she was in, her furry battle buddy would not be left behind if she could help it. When the call to form up came she slipped into place in the position required of her with Gunny at her side.

Emotionless she listened to the instructions provided making mental notes of the additional equipment necessary. Thank goodness Gunhunds were lightweight despite their size, otherwise someone might try to seperate her and Gunny due to misconceptions about her abilities. "Heard Sargeant," she responded almost robotically, proceeding to break with the others to make for her locker. While prepping her load out of her M43 Nova with extra ammo, utility combat knife, Marine combat axe, and she was about to select her sidearm when she overheard Sargeant Valentie deliver the news. Not allowed to take Gunhunds? Why have animal handlers along if you were not going to allow them to actually do their job? She could not argue with the logic that the woman put forth and shrugged looking down to the goodest boy. "Looks like you are gonna have to sit this one out bud," she squatted down to be at eye level with him making sure to deliver the bad new with ear scritches. "You know I love you, but I will not risk your safety unnecessarily. I will do my best to come back to you" she touched her forehead to his and straightened up. It was not what she wanted to do, she could not argue with Minnie on the fact that it would be safer for animals and teammates if Gunny stayed behind.

Luckily she had her medic training to fall back on, which made her still useful even without her gunhund by her side. She strapped in her gunmetal black styrling silver special .45 caliber pistol and extra ammo while listening in on the Corporal's comments. While Minnie had not made an outright command to leave them behind it certainly seemed like a strong "suggestion". Keller was definitely in more of a position to voice opposition to the matter. It was not necessarily what she wanted either. Anna turned to Sargeant Valentine, "Sargeant, in lieu of bringing my partner might I be permitted to bring the appropriate medical kits due to my prior MOS as a medic?" There had to be medical kits here somewhere, this way at least she would be somewhat of use if a member of the team acquired an injury. Awaiting a response while not being gainfully employed was not in her nature so she returned to packing the remaining load out items required of them, making sure to add the ones Fang suggested.

Her hair fell foward from behind her ear whilst she turned to Fang to respond.
"We likely could if need be, I would be able to help Corporal rig it up for Kilo," she noted looking down to the other handler's furry companion with the faintest hint of shine at the joy animals brought her. "I can carry Gunny or medical supplies if permitted, whichever leadership prefers. Could even carry both if allowed." she noted not missing Fang reaching for the figurine. Swiftly she finished up while waiting for permission to bring medical supplies, gunny, or gunny and medical supplies. It reminded her of the time she lovingly had nicknamed her kit TASL, which was kind of an inside joke to her seeing what the letters meant. No one had ever asked or cared to find out, not that they were focusing on its name when she was patching them up anyhow. Green eyes flicked up to the ID-SOL towering over her, not enough bandages in any kit to patch that up if it went down.
As the ship hurtled through the void of space the hum of the ship's systems reverberated throughout the corridors. The ship jolted suddenly as it took a hit from an enemy weapon, and alarms blared throughout the corridors. Explosions rocked the ship, and the sound of the ships weapons firing echoed through the halls, and could be felt in the vibration of the deck. Sparks flew as repairs were hastily made, and the smell of ozone and burning metal filled the air. The ship shuddered as it maneuvered to evade enemy fire, gravity seemed to stutter causing crew members to grip onto railings and handles for stability.

The constant sound of alarms, and the smell of smoke and burnt electronics created a sense of urgency and chaos. The PA system blared to live. "General Quarters, General Quarters. Secure all sections and prepare to repel boarders."

Through Fangs and Annas' requests and Carvers self hyping Minnie stared off blankly into the ceiling with a look of consternation as the subtle signs detected by someone who had spent the better part of half a decade in the fleet could disseminate.

The shifting of the gravity plate almost imperceptibly as the ship came about, the distortion of the outer shields intensifying, Cha Cha picking up on the ship's ACE making cursory actions a moment after it did.

With the Mass Mesher and the ACE both active the ship knew and prepared to take damage and adjust for evasive action before even the bridge crew knew.

"What is..." Minnie droned off, her mind racing as she played catch up right as the first impact jarred the ship. Steadying herself to avoid falling over and crushing one of the rookies with almost eight hundred pounds of her frame the world slowed to a crawl around Minnie as the crown of mercy flared on her head.

"Cha Cha?" She sent through her connection to the Fairy in a fast packet as seconds stretched on well beyond their length. The fairy, able to act much faster than the human mind parsed the information and disseminated it to her as only a few seconds since it started the world sped up again and Minnie began snapping out orders.

"Change of plans!" She shouted, the louder tone making the machine-tint of her vocalizers more pronounced as she attempted to pre-empt any panic.

"Change of plans, Carver! Load buckshot for hall clearing and take point. Kaine you and your partner take the rear. Fang load flechettes and take mid; No explosives in the ship.

We clear towards the power-armor bay and prepare to counter! If obstructed we clear for the bridge or shuttle bay in that order and ensure the main thoroughfare of the ship remains clear for counter boarding."

With a mental command, she unlocked her locker and swapped the PMOPE for a different weapon. Three feet of worn red-gray-gold metal gleamed dully in the hazard lighting of the armory as the old chainsword she claimed from a chaotic fight to the death she should have had no chance at winning. The red-brown scarf wrapped around it was still stained with long-since-dried blood where it ended in embossed gold for a red-colonels rank insignia. A lone braid of hair hung, wrapped and tied to hang off the pommel like a lucky fetish as a metal hand wrapped around the hilt and pulled the weapon out before mag-locking the entire weapon to her forearm despite its length where it stayed secure, all twenty pounds of durrandium reinforced casing.

It would take too long to suit up in GOLEM armor, and almost as long to remove it if they had to counter in powered armor. It would be close quarters, bloody fighting. But they had the home-field advantage.

"ACE!" Minnie shouted, well aware that the ship's AI could hear her. "Alert the bridge, Valentine-moving to counter."

It was beyond suicide to attack an SMDIoN ship in their own territory. And yet someone or something had already disappeared a task force without a trace. If it was to happen again the best place to be would be to take to the ink in either armor or a shuttle. The fueling station was far. But in a shuttle or even armor they could make it and reach out to the fleet in the worst case. Otherwise, they would be ready to engage if needed while the rest of the ships marines moved to do the same.

The Big Man would tear apart half this side of the sector once he found out that his disappearing ships were no coincidence.
The hatch into the armory exploded inwards, a VOID tactical armor suit strode into the open area. The triple barreled Doorbreaker it held leading the way. The twin plasma chainguns on the waist of the armor began to spray indiscrimately about the room. The smell of burning fabric and flesh quickly permeated the atmosphere. Those who were able could see the Markerlight begin to seek out targets as the armor made short, measured steps.

Cha Cha could feel the malignant presence of....not quite a full AI. But something like it, a program that was agile, but with a singular purpose. Probing at the systems of the ship and marines around the VOID armor, and throwing enough malware and processor eating nonsense that it wouldn't be easy to disrupt or crack it as it set about causing chaos in Meat Space. The faint outline of a Jackdaw Class Heavy Corvette with the lettering Glory, was just barely legible on the armors right shoulder.........

Any thoughts of the boredom sure to set in until it was time for the mission were abruptly silenced by the exploding hatch, then torn to shreds, set on fire and jettisoned out an airlock. Being confronted at close range with a hostile armour suit while you were essentially stuck with your unarmoured birthday suit would do that to you. Carver was sure this was what he had once heard being referred to as 'a brown pants moment', although in the present moment he had no desire to chuckle at the crude humour.

An automatic mental inventory of his current equipment confirmed that he was not setup for anti-armour action. Growing up with his batch-brothers, the ID-SOL had been taught sufficiently in battlefield tactics to know that the standard operating procedure at this point was to disengage until more favourable conditions could be established. Or, put more simply, avoid the armour suit until you find a big enough gun to take it down. Now, being in an armoury, there was a very good chance that such a weapon would be around here somewhere.

Unfortunately his squishier squad mates were present too and were much more likely to suffer in the coming seconds, especially if Carver did the sensible thing and disengaged, which was just unacceptable to the ID-SOL. With no other ideas, all he had left was to try and buy time for someone else to come up with a plan. Fortunately, Carver was almost designed to be a distraction.

By the time that thought had registered, the big marine had reflexively triggered his internal testosterone boosters and was already in motion. Pulling his trusty combat axe from where it was attached to his back, the ID-SOL began charging towards the VOID armour, angling in from the side to avoid the fire from the plasma chainguns for as long as possible. With a roar of rage, Carver twisted his body and swung the axe with as much force as he could, aiming for the large purple eye in the helmet.

Keller was in the process of attaching an under-barrel shotgun (loaded with slug rounds) to his M3 as the VOID armor burst through the airlock of the armory. "Kilo, maneuver 9." This maneuver was simple, it would find Kilo running distractions as she would zig and zag through the legs of the PA, to offer the team more reaction time.

In a period of seconds that followed, he watched Carver rush towards the armor in an effort to let the others find cover of some sort. Keller had other ideas though. Five seconds later, found Keller combat rolling and firing three rounds at the knee joint of the PA and to the weapon rack holding the Stryling Auto 12. Grabbing one of the rack and then ducking behind several crates and then loading it as quickly as he could. Ten seconds later, Keller popped up from behind the crates.

"Behemoth, catch." He would toss the loaded Auto 12 at Carver, he hoped that he would have time to catch it. To add to his chances from around the crates, Keller would take three controlled shots with his M3 at the elbow joints of the PA, hopefully this would allow Carver and the rest of the team more reaction time.

Minnie was within reach of her PMOPE still but did not hesitate to throw herself prone when the bulkhead burst inwards as her limbs splayed out at an unnatural quadrupedal accent and sprung her sideways to avoid the incoming fire.

When time continued Minnie moved against the incoming fire. Speed was security and despite the confines of the armory she was faster than the adjustment servos in the hips of the VOID. When Carver moved forwards, Minnie was just a hair behind him and reached the VOID at nearly the same time as bullets flew past them from Kellers sustained fire.

Her chainsword was a weapon that had been carried by powered armor. It, hypothetically, could do soft damage to a frame and suit. In reality, it was the weapon of a sadist who enjoyed the butcher's work of getting up-close against sub-PA targets and letting the weapon do its work. No, instead it remained on her forearm as Minnie threw her full weight against the suit.

Weighing almost five times what she did, and easily being able to overpower her enhancements she fought against one of the rotating barrels until her hand stopped skipping off of it and gained purchase to fight against the whining motors as it stopped spinning and used the momentum to wrench up and out; Staying inside of the VOIDs range of movement where she was safe from all but its two arms.

If Carver were older. If he had the full weight that SOL grew into and the momentum it carried, between the two of them they could lift and pull down the suit and when it was on the ground have a fighting chance.

But he wasn't. And as the axe carved through the air Minnie wrapped her arms and legs around one leg and used both of her arms to wrestle again the same arm on that side to at least keep the suit in a semblance of immobile while her tail whipped around her waist several times to come undone as nine-foot of cable-like prehensile tail thrashed as she tried to position the armored pilebunker spike made for this exact situation somewhere that it would penetrate not just the suit but the pilot within.
Two NAM Pulse Laser Arrays fired at the same time, vaporizing the Axe in the ID-SOLs hand. His closed fist smashed into the armor, with little more effect than what was probably going to be a nasty bruise later. Kilo had begun to run figure eights around the legs of the power armor as the tussle over the waist mounted chaingun continued with the surprisingly nimble little robo-marine. Minnie felt the engine spool up on a microsecond before the propulsion system fired a blast, rocketing the VOID armor across the semi open space of the Armory. Kilo yelped in pain, the fur on it's back a mess of burnt hair from the super heated plasma from the VOIDs engine. Carver was thrown to the side and crashed against someone's locker, the Stryling Auto 12 clattering to the deck at his feet.

The external speakers crackled to life for a moment, "Like the ride bitch?". Gunfire split the air as someone began to dump a magazine at the VOID armor with an M43....