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RP: NSS Altomir [Mission 1.1] Gathering the Bearings

Satisfied that the bathrooms were clear, Krystian had made sure to inspect the stalls of each one with a quick glance, and then proceeded to walk out in to the main room in order to get to work on double-checking the book store. Before he even moved to the door, he opened up his comm-line with the Marines.

"This is Private Czarnecki. Bathrooms clear. Power and water are still working in there, but for how long is not clear with the current circumstances." He glanced around for a moment, "Starting on the book store."

With that short bit of speech done, he moved to the entrance of the book store, feeling less threatened then before by the whole place. This room was large enough that the other Marines would have had no choice but to clear it, had they been thinking tactically about things. So he wasn't really expecting any major traps to be waiting. Any that had been there had likely been triggered by the Marines earlier, or simply diffused. So as he moved about through the book store, he kept his impaler at a low ready, but was focusing more on eyeing out any resources like food, ammo, or other supplies. A lesser concern was always NMX ambushes or traps, but less-so in a place like this one.

Sweeping the shelves and all his other surroundings, he began to pick over the book store.
 
"No one should drink the water until its been scanned. The Squids sometimes like to poison the water supplies and there is no telling if the city's filtration systems are online."

Yuriko's Hostile went into 'Power Saver' mode as the front opened enough for her to grab at something from the pack of the suit's lower back. Even as she did so, she took in a deep breath.

The smell of ozone, molten metal, gunpowder and gore thick in the air. Something every battlefield had, that distinct mingling of stink.

"Anyone bring a TEK? We need to get that man's," pointing to Saveli's Hostile. "Suit patched otherwise it'll slow us down."
 
"I don't have one but I'll take a look at it." Thomas said, volunteering. It didn't matter for him that he didn't have a TEK, he would at least try to find what was wrong with Saveli's armor and maybe he could just pull out a crazy way to jury-rig it like his dad used to do in his repair shop, if anything, most of what the marine knew about repairing things and engineering came from his old man.

He moved towards the Iromakuanhe, "Let take a look at that, stay still." Thomas said, circling around the other marine's Hostile until he could crouch down and determine the extent of the damage on his PA right leg and find out what to do about it.
 

A quick tug on the Mindy's (B) shoulder-mounted aether cannon revealed to Saveli that it was indeed installed rather snugly into the armor's hardpoint; it would be difficult to remove it without critically damaging the unit, and there was still the matter of actually using the device. The Cohronl had too little information and little means of accomplishing such a task.

Saveli's general search of the Mindy (B) turned up little else. Much like a majority of Nepleslia's defending ground forces, the NMX were also dealing with the wear and attrition of prolonged combat. The Mindy had a single, round battery for an Impaler rifle attached to its hip, although as with the NMX weapon, the Nepleslian soldiers had no way of discerning the number of shots either the Impaler or the battery had left.

---

Alex said:
"Sorry sir, I don't have anything else." She said, opening the box and started bandaging Flint's wound with pink horribleness. Hopefully he won't bite her head off.
Click to expand...

Flint turned his head as far as his massive, thick neck would allow to look at the medics handiwork. The distasteful look on his face conveyed his disapproval quite clearly, although he didn't protest as he began pulling the black mesh material back over his shoulder with a sigh. "Well. We make do with what we have. Good work marine."

---


Although Devlin would not find any food inside the cab of the half-track vehicle, he would see a variety of things. The cab must have, at one point, been used as a point of refuge; a number of empty bottles and wrappers of various miscellaneous junk foods. There was a SMoDIoN standard-issue .45 on the dash, the magazine ejected and revealing that there were no rounds left.

The most intriguing item amidst the junk strewn across the cab was resting in the large seat. Saveli's HUD took a second or so as the suit's face-oriented monoeye quickly scanned and mapped the object, the Hostile's savtech computer displaying a small window of information being next to the item for Devlin's use. The object in question was a MPR-01a; a multi-phase long-range rifle, commonly used by NIGHT reconnaissance armor. The weapon was laying sideways along the leather-lined seat, a single large magazine for the weapon sitting beside the MPR's barrel. A quick look at the magazine would reveal that it contained at least one of the foot-long sabot rounds, although it was difficult for Devlin to tell just how many more were within the magazine from his distance.

Despite the presence of a NIGHT-related weapon, Devlin's Hostile picked up no signs of any Nepleslian armors other than the ones back out in the subway station.

---


Violetta shook her head side to side shortly. "No, private. You're dismissed for now. Just keep on the ready."

---


Krystian's sweep of the bookstore revealed that, for an undetermined amount of time, the NMX scouts that they had just previously dispatched had been holed up in that small subway store. An area at the back of the building had been cleared of shelves and displays, with a number of seats positioned in a semi-circle. There were a couple of candy wrappers and empty plastic bottles as well, but other than that, Krystian would be hard-pressed to find anything of immediate value.

---

Thomas said:
He moved towards the Iromakuanhe, "Let take a look at that, stay still." Thomas said, circling around the other marine's Hostile until he could crouch down and determine the extent of the damage on his PA right leg and find out what to do about it.
Click to expand...

Although Thomas did not have the proper materials for extensive field repair, his knowledge of the mechanisms and subsystems of common Nepleslian powered armorsuits gave him more insight on the situation.

Saveli's right leg had no power, which explained why the Iromakuanhe was unable to move it through normal means. At first glance, the reason was obvious, an Impaler rifle shot had pierced the thigh, luckily just missing the pilot within as it traveled through the thinning alloys. Thomas would realize that, while it was entirely possible that Saveli's Hostile's thruster system on that leg was no longer functional, that would not explain why the leg was not moving at all.

The most obvious reason (to Thomas) was that the localized damage had sent a warning to the Hostile's compact computer system, which in turn shut down the mechanisms of Saveli's leg in order to minimize any further damage, at the risk of critical failure. Thomas would be able to override the safety system in place by the Hostile's savtech computer, but it would take direct access to the Hostile's computer core located near the back, which would require the suit to be open and the pilot to be out of the way.

It wasn't a guarantee for the return of proper functional movement, but it was the best immediate course of action for both Thomas and Saveli to take.



---



"Two friendly approaching from the street level."

After a little while, Violetta, Flint and the rest of the Nepleslian marines would hear the duo of soldiers that Violetta had sent topside speak into their communication links. From their position on the 10th floor of the office building across the street from Liganda's subway station, the two soldiers spotted two Hostiles approaching from the eastern street, slowly advancing.

"Friendly on eight o'clock high," one of the marines called out to the two newly-arrived Hostile armorsuits, revealing his location after linking through the suits direct laser communication array. "You're clear to head inside, the rest of the group are there."
 
"I thought we'd never get here," Des said to Naomi. She stopped at the intersection and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Marines," she replied over the comm system.

It was amazing how close she'd been to the station all this time, but after the assault her route had been a mountain of rubble and debris. It had taken what felt like an eternity to trudge up, over and through, even in the Hostile. She could have sworn even her savtech was sounding weary now. Still, it was reassuring to know others had not only made it to the station but had apparently cleared it as well. She picked up her pace and crossed the street.

Desiree Caldwell felt both lucky and guilty for being a survivor. It wasn't as though she'd made it through the assault alive by her fortitude and clever tactics alone. No, some of it was sheer luck. A lot of it she owed to the careful leadership of her more experienced superior, Naomi Scroggins. Naomi may have been a woman of few words, but the company kept Des occupied. At least the two of them finally found the blasted station mentioned over the short-range message.

"Keep moving forward, keep moving forward," she chanted to herself, the station entrance in her sights.
 
No rest for the wicked. How long had it been since he had eaten or slept? He'd lost count a while ago. And the stims in his suit had all been used up.

Bernhard sighed and marched up to the entrance. "I'm coming up," he informed the two Marines topside, weariness in his voice. He saw the two Hostiles approaching and readied his weapon. "You cleared them without even asking for identification?"

"Name and rank now!" Bernhard demanded of the two incoming suits.
 
Devlin whined as he leaned into the cab, like a puppy unable to find its treats no matter how far into the bag it went.  He scrambled through the trash for any traces of sugar or salt, setting the empty bottles on the ground in neat, triangular formations.  By the number of wrappers, whoever had been here before appeared to have picked the vending machines clean in the rest area.   The selfish glutton, thought the marine as he looked within a wrapper on low-light and enhanced visual modes, wishing he was that glutton. Dissatisfied, he climbed into the driver's side to expand the search, but stopped when he noticed a large object lying across the seats.  His stomach continued to protest, but as the readout from the object's scan rolled across the HUD, his face split into a gaping smile and excitement smothered the venomous gut.  

Trembling hands took in every rise and fall of the black surface as Devlin pulled the item out of the half-track, revealing a sniper rifle nearly as tall and stocky as the Hostile itself.  The Nepleslian pulled the weapon into a quick embrace and then set it aside in one hand while grabbing the Impaler with the other.  Weighing both options, he said his farewell and discarded the damaged beam rifle, setting it gently beside the bottles.

Leaning the MPR against the vehicle, Devlin climbed back into the cab to retrieve the magazine.  After counting through the sabot round(s), the marine started examining the dashboard for compartments.  Hopefully, the glutton had left the keys to the half-track behind.

Unless he ate those, too.
 
The lack of progress was frustrating, to say the least, and Krystian idely kicked one of the seats nearest him. Feeling frustrated about his lack of any real progress, Krystian once again left the room he had just searched. As he did, the call of two more Marines arriving came over the comm-line, and Kyrstian couldn't help but feel a little relieved as word of more help was coming. Not to mention that it was a sign that they weren't the only ones left alive on this Creator-forsaken rock of a planet. However, just as he felt relief, he watched the Marine his suit identified as P1C Greer head up to meet the new arrivals. Not wanting to leave a fellow Marine alone top-side, with the nearest support across the street, Krystian took up following his fellow Marine at a slight distance, and came top-side just as Bernhard addressed the two new arrivals.

He demanded names and identification just as Krystian's IFF system recognized the two Marines. P1C Naomi Scroggins and P3C Desiree Caldwell. He had met neither, probably because they were from a different regiment, or possibly hadn't been in the first wave. Scanning the surrounding area, Krystian still held his impaler rifle at a low ready to engage any possible enemies, and opened up a private comm-link with Greer as he did so.

"I may be green, but I would think --" He glanced in the direction of the two new arrivals, "-- not even NMX cats would be dumb enough to announce themselves if they wanted to attack us."

What he said next was open-comms, for any Marines present to hear.

"SAVtech is pinging them as clear. P3C Caldwell and P1C Scroggins." Then he addressed the senior-most NCO present, Yuriko, "What's the call?"
 
Alexandra could not help but to smile, seeing Bernhard stomping off to meet the newcomers. "Oh Bernhard ever so paranoid," she said for herslef and jumped off the fountain. Now that Admiral was okay, she wanted to stretch her legs. It was good to be out of the PA for change. Not to mention how tired she was. And hungry. But food will have to wait.

"Admiral De Luca are you okay?" Alexandra asked as she circled around the fountain to have a look at the other Admiral. After all, she only wore a lousy bullet proof vest. If anything there had to be some scrapes and bruises which could use a band-aid and a disinfecting.
 
There was something impressive about seeing a whole company of men killed around you, and to survive. Horrific and terrifying, to be sure, and not something she wanted to see again, but impressive all the same.

Naomi had been a recent transfer, making her way to the forces headed in the direction of Rok'Veru from Pisces Station on a Navy transport that had smelled like piss and sweat and tobacco smoke down in the hold, as if she had minded that last one. Assigned a unit on arrival, she was very happy (perhaps too happy) to learn her company would be taking a part in the first wave.

That had suited Naomi just fine. She wasn't the kind to sit around while her fellow Marines did all the heavy lifting.

From what Naomi could tell, the landings had gone pretty much to plans initially. Marines were on the ground, Bal'Sharok was in their sights, and Mishhu forces had been driven from the system entirely. The first Marine unit to hit Bal'Sharok had reported heavy resistance, but Naomi had just laughed and told the P3Cs around her that just meant fun for everybody.

Then, the big Mishhu counterattack had landed. Masses of troops came billowing out from the city center, falling on the Marines in waves, like a massive tsunami of flesh and metal. Attempts to coordinate between the units already on the ground had been foiled by jamming, and before too long, her company was down to maybe 30% effective strength.

The torpedo and beam strikes came after that. Naomi could only guess how many ships had been lost, but those which escaped had only made it by retreating from low orbit, leaving the ground troops alone. She had been able to see the remains of the ships that hadn't moved burning out in the atmosphere. It would have made a pretty light show if she hadn't know those flashes of light were the funeral pyres of who knew just how many people.

The remains of her company, stranded and unable to call for help, had run afoul of Mishhu ground troops and had been slaughtered almost to a man. Naomi had survived due to being knocked unconcious at one point in the fighting. Left as dead, she came to surrounded by real corpses. Having no idea what remained of her unit, she had stripped the dead in haste (there hadn't been much) and moved. That had been hard at first. Her left leg was tingling and somewhat numb. She chalked it up to a bone bruise, or a sprain.

Being alone for a few hours had been creepy as hell, so finding Caldwell had been a relief, even if the two had only met recently.

Code: 
"All receiving this broadcast, however, are ordered to move to regroup at the underground subway station in Liganda District of Bal'Sharok, on 5th Street near the central transport hub. The area still contains scattered enemy presence; be cautious in your approach and avoid drawing attention to the subway station regroup point. Repeat. This is a short range-"

The short-ranged broadcast had been another miracle to the Marines, an instruction, an idea of what to do. The two had started out immediately in search of the assigned rallying point. They were just approaching the location when...

"Friendly on eight o'clock high," said an unknown voice over secured comms "You're clear to head inside, the rest of the group are there."

"Sweet." The word came out with a bit of a wince. Naomi's left leg was hurting more than it had been before. It was still a dull ache, but it was beginning to get annoying.

"We're alright," she said to Private Caldwell as they kept moving. "We'll be fine. We just need to get inside, and-"

"Name and rank now!"

Naomi sighed. She was pretty sure she recognized the voice, but for the moment, she was just pissed at the situation.

"What's the matter, Pop-Tart?" she asked snidely. "Can't you check an IFF signal?"

Before the irate Greer could respond, another Marine arrived on scene to look them over, taking a moment before speaking out.

"SAVtech is pinging them as clear. P3C Caldwell and P1C Scroggins."

"Got that right," Naomi said, sounding a bit less irritated now. "We've been having a nice walk, enjoying ourselves, and we thought we'd stop in and say hello."
 
"Let'em through, but keep your guns on them until we know they're who they say they are." Yuriko stated as she stuffed the ration pack back into the bag somewhat irritably before closing the suit once more.

Afterward her HPAR was leveled on the escalators even as she took up cover from her position near the restrooms. "Soon as they come down, have them remove their helmets and use the Savtechs to run a thorough scan."
 

"Relax, asshole. We checked them out before we called," a distant voice replied to Greer's chastising remark.

---


The Admiral had taken to sitting down on the edge of the fountain next to her rifle. The woman had removed her earpiece for the moment, holding it lightly in one hand while she gently massaged the ear in question, eyes closed in quiet, serene concentration. Violetta opened his eyes when Alexandra addressed her, the deep violet irises watching the orange-skinned soldier approach her.

"I am, thank you," Violetta replied politely, lowering her hands into her lap as she sat up a bit straighter. Although the vest was a bit cumbersome, there were no visible signs of wear and tear amongst the articles, although some of the Admiral's clothing beneath the simple vest were a bit less than clean and pristine. Although Violetta was doing her best to remain proper, as to her nature, she still had a slightly disheveled look about her; the tightly-wound bun of jet-black hair atop her head has several loose strands, and there were slight smudges and sweat stains at the base of her throat near her uniforms neckline. These instances were not all that strange, however, considering that hours earlier she was on the bridge of her own starship.

"A little shaken, but I am trained for this sort of thing. I will persevere," the raven-haired woman said with a nod before heaving a sigh and turning her gaze over to the twin stairwells.

---
 
"Yeah, well fuck you for not saying so earlier," Bernhard snapped. "I'm not here to fuck around so I don't care about what you say until I've double checked them! I saw enough zombies on Tange and sure as hell don't want any walking around in armor!"
 
"You scared, marine?"

Flint's voice reverberated outward from his seated position on the end of the fountain's edge. The Grand Admiral had just finished replacing a number of his body armor's sections, and was delicately running his thumb along the edge of his equally enormous combat knife. The ID-SOL smirked beneath his short beard, his eyes glinted off of the polished metal of the weapon in his hands. His tone of voice was almost chiding, as though he were speaking to an infant whom had just had a nightmare. "Afraid of a bunch of trash like these things?" Flint said, most likely making mention of the number of killed NMX forces scattered around the area. "Looks to me that you've got some jitters going. Want to get it off your chest, marine?"
 
Des chuckled at Naomi's greeting to the one she referred to as "Pop-Tart," but realized her comms were still on and quickly coughed to cover up the laugh. Oops. She turned to the disgruntled Marine.

"Hey, no worries," said Des. "I've gotten worse greetings from my own brothers, and after watching my squad get obliterated, I probably really do look like a zombie. I sure feel like one."

A tinge of guilt crept up again as Des though back to when she was unable to reach her squadmates after the high rise near them was blown to kingdom come. She could only drag one Marine from the rubble, and that turned out to be an exercise in futility. He was already long gone.

She shook her head. No time to think about that. Move on.

"Anyway, it'll be good to get out of this helmet for a minute or two. I can't guarantee you won't turn to stone once you look at me, though."

She smirked and descended the escalator-turned-stairs.
 
"I don't think swearing will help." Krystian replied, looking to Bernhard.

He now had his eyes set on the two Marines arriving. He listened to both of them silently. Females, true, but his aversion to the "fairer" sex was buried by his need for survival in the current situation. So he was willing to suppress any urge to get the hell away from them for the time being. Instead, he stepped to the side, and motioned for the two to head to the escelator. Just as they headed past, he looked to Greer.

"I'll take care of them, Greer." He said, motioning to the two Marines, "Don't worry about it."

With that, he took up an overwatch position behind the two women. He still held his impaler at the low ready, not pointing at either of the women, but ready to do so in case Greer's suspicion came to be true. In that case, he wanted to have his salvaged NMX rifle ready to blast their heads across the platform. He stayed back a little ways, just to be safe . . .

"Three coming down." Krystian announced over comms, then to the two women, "Stop at the bottom."

Once they had reached the bottom of the escelator, he would quickly signal any one of the nearest Marines to take over his position behind the two, moving to stand in front of the two of them. His stance showed he wasn't necessarily scared of them, just -- on edge. It was his way around women a lot, it seemed, and he knew why. Of course, so would a high ranking officer with access to his psychological jacket. Impaler hefted to rest on one shoulder, Krystian motioned to their helmets, waiting patiently, and watching either of them.

He was rather blunt now, "Helmets. Off."

Now he just needed to scan them with his SAVtech and he could be done. Such was the way with guard duty.
 
Ignoring the commotion that was going on outside of the station, Thomas continued examining the penetration mark on the Hostile's right leg, completely concentrated on it as he did so. "Alright. I got some good news and some bad news for you." he said to Saveli via laser comms as he got up. "I'll save you all the technical details, but the good news is that I can get your Hostile mobile and working again. I think " Thomas said, quickly adding the last part.


He paused for another second or so, "Bad news is, your thrusters probably are busted to hell and I need you to get out of your PA to see it through." He wouldn't be entirely sure until he took at look at the inside armor.
 
"Yeah, well fuck you for not saying so earlier. I'm not here to fuck around so I don't care about what you say until I've double checked them! I saw enough zombies on Tange and sure as hell don't want any walking around in armor!"

Naomi smirked silently inside her helmet as Pop-Tart (she was going to keep calling him that as long as he didn't pull the stick out of his after hatch) got his dander up and became defensive.

"I don't think swearing will help." That was the Marine standing next to the first one.

"Damn right," Naomi quipped back casually.

"Hey, no worries," said Des. "I've gotten worse greetings from my own brothers, and after watching my squad get obliterated, I probably really do look like a zombie. I sure feel like one."

"I'm sure you look as cute as always, Caldwell," Naomi bit out, wishing like hell she could smoke about now. Her leg still ached.

Following the hand gesture from the more sensible second Marine there, Naomi turned to face Desiree, speaking without a care in the world as to who heard what she said or what they thought about it.

"C'mon with me, Caldwell," she said. "I think Pop-Tart doesn't like me."

Following the instructions to go down the escalators, Naomi kept a pace beside Caldwell and made sure not to do anything threatening. While on her way down, she remembered a funny line from an old comedian back home somewhere. She opened a private line to Des.

"Warning," she said, doing her best to sound nonchalant. "Escalators temporarily stairs."

Halting at the bottom as instructed, she reached up and removed the helmet from the Hostile, letting the Marine examine her and make sure she was legitimate.

"Private First Class Scroggins," she said. "This is Private Third Class Des Caldwell. Scan away, Marine."
 
"No, sir. No issues. Not taking chances, is all. Sir." Bernhard spoke formally but the weariness in his voice was evident to anyone who could hear. Anger came and went with the adrenaline. Bernhard knew, in his professional medical opinion, that he was getting close to physical exhaustion. The human body simply wasn't designed to endure countless hours of high intensity, high stress without rest.

If that really was Naomi Scroggins, then the squad was not much better off. She had been slated for the Tange mission but dropped off the grid. She had been slated for the 87I mission but dropped off the grid, both times being sent to work a desk at HQ instead of a combat unit.

So the scuttlebutt was true that she had been sent to 1st Fleet since the Admiral had no use for Marines who weren't good enough for the combat squads. Damn it, he should have refused this assignment and stayed with the Cavaliers. Let the Admiral pull some other medic from some other squad.

"Will that be all, Admiral?"
 
Cute. There was that word again. If only she were few inches taller, maybe she'd hear cute less often; stupid genetics! Des blushed and was glad she was still under her helmet so no one could see her get worked up over a word.

At the bottom of the convenient stairs, Des complied with the Marine's orders and removed her helmet just as Naomi introduced her. Ahhh, fresh air! Well... maybe not so fresh. It did have a familiar, if not dank, subway smell to it that reminded Des of home.

She vigorously shook her head to free the hair matted to her forehead by sweat. She was sure her short hair was now sticking out in every direction, but she didn't care. Thanks to cybernetics, Des's eyes adjusted instantly to the light difference in the subway. It was nice not viewing the world through a HUD.

The scene in front of Des was grim. Only a handful of marines and officers appeared to have made it to the rendezvous point so far. She glanced around the nearly empty station, worrisome.

"Are there any others?"
 
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