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RP: NSS Acadia [Mission 3]: Between Lambs and Wolves

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After Phaedra landed in the shuttle Alex helped Anselm shove her inside. Then she looked outside and started firing all her rockets from mini-missile system. Both Darts and Arrows. Damaging shield with Darts and then impacting them with Arrows. It wasn't that bad of a combination.

She then took her HPAR, kneeled and started firing long burst at the enemy. Gauss fire was flying everywhere and her shield took one or two rounds. Not good.

"Everybody get into a seat and brace for impact! You'll know what I'm talking about in a few seconds!" said Avel. Alex quickly got away from ramp and seated herself. No time to strap to herself so she just held onto something and said AI to hold on. Alex was pretty much sure what Avel did in the downed Sunburn. It's gonna be a big explosion.
 
Sean planted his other foot back into the shuttle, and leaned against the hull. It was packed enough that there was no point in trying to get further in, so instead he braced himself against the side, and locked himself down with the p/p system. That gave him an idea. "We should all link p/p systems, to keep us together in the blast. It'll help make sure no one gets thrown free."
 
Henry finally found a place where the mortar would slow the squids down the most, although he took his time trying to fire it due to some anxiety, he eventually put it down - after everyone else had put considerable holes into them. However, more firepower against these squids was never a bad thing.

After the mortar launched and split itself into mini mortars, Henry put his dome barrier shield away and reorganised it into a series of three walls to keep the getaway shuttle away from enemy fire, and from the resulting explosion.

At this point, while the mortars exploded, Henry was sprinting back towards the getaway shuttle, yabbling something along the lines of, "Wait, wait, WAIT!" accompanied by an exaggerated gait.

Needless to say, he boarded the shuttle before it left.
"Sorry, didn't want that final mortar to go to waste," He coughed as he attempted to make himself comfortable, in a rare display of an interruption of thought.
He paused to consider. Is this change of heart making him lose his logical patterns and making his daily patterns less regimented and structured? Could it even be argued that having this new social and battle confidence was a double edged sword, as opposed to cold professionalism?
 
"You didn't rig something to explode, did you?" Anselm queried, grabbing a hand rail near the door and stamping a large strength-enhanced boot on the faceplate of an eager Ripper pod that had managed to find a handhold underneath the boarding ramp, "I'm sorry, you need to be this Green to ride the shuttle, come back when you aren't a dirty squid!"

After a few more boots to the face, the Ripper lost its grip and tumbled away from the airborne Viper, no doubt making a satisfying thump when it hit the ground.
 
Keladrian looked at Avel, but decided he should probably listen to her. He sat down in the seat and strapped himself in. What could the Marine have done to the Sunburn? Well, he supposed he'd find out soon enough.

Kel laughed as Anselm stepped on a Ripper and issued a cheesy remark. "Nice one Anselm." He said, nodding toward the Marine.

Keladrian was happy to be getting off the planet...finally.
 
Harrison observed the battlefield from the doorway of the dropship. He noted with casual (yet growing) interest the stomping match between Anselm's boot and the Mishhu's face. When the stubborn beast finally gave way, Harrison held up both arms and yelled, "AND IT'S GOOD! Anselm Wyatt with the field goal, putting this game's final score at 1-0 Green Nepleslia!"

The ex-mercenary fired a few shots from his wrist-mounted plasma chainguns for good measure, then stepped back from the ledge and sat back down.
 
Kingston smirked at Anselm when he made his way over (ages ago). "It was horrifying to watch, but entertaining in retrospect," he answered smoothly, then gestured to the others to follow when the call for evac was made. "Up and over!" he called, hitting his own boosters to jump the distance to the nearest shuttle. Once on board, he made sure to keep clear of everyone else. In the end, his VOID ended up with its back against the rear wall of the cockpit. He didn't have much of a view, but Anselm's words were clear enough to make him smile; when Harrison chimed in, Private Kingston finally laughed out loud. Then he looked around at all the fresh members of the team. "Welcome to the team, greens. You're in for a helluva ride."

Despite his words, Kingston hadn't forgotten that he was in their boots not long ago. Weeks, right? Perhaps not even that long. Wars moved quickly, especially when it was utter xenocide at stake, and from his experience if the squids had a word for "slow" it was probably synonymous with "dead."
 
The pitter-patter of gauss shells hitting the shuttle was silenced by the almighty roar of a small nuclear reaction. Rippers on the ground were thrown in the air, those in the air were thrown even further. For once a part of the Mishu wave was broken, allowing the the marines above and below to escape.

And then the shuttle hatch closed. For a moment there was just silence and darkness perpetuated by the occasional whimper of the wounded and the glow of monoeyes. Emergency lights came on a little while later illuminating not martyred heroes, but living and tired soldiers.

Chatter could be heard coming from the pilot's cabin.

"Delta Wing leader to Control, we have marines and wounded on board. Requesting permission to dock with the NSS Acadia, Over."

"Control to Delta Wing leader, negative. The entire 1st AF is engaged with the Mishu Fleet. Re-rout to the Baggage Train and dock with the NSS Dust Devil. Do you copy? Over."

"We copy, over."
 
Okay. Alex had to admit. This was something. She never saw explosion like this. Nepleslina artillery fire was inimidating but sheer destruction force of overloded reactor was on completely different scale.

"I bet you will get some kind of medal for this lady!" Alex said to Avel. It was Avels good thinking that took a lot of mishus to hell.
 
Avel glanced over at Alex. "A medal?" She asked in confusion. Avel had been too focused on dealing a massive blow to the Mishhuvurthyar and proving her worth to really care about anything else. "Maybe I did get one. Maybe Vel Steyr will give it to me in person. The cute-" She blushed. "I mean Chief personally gave me the okay on my idea."
 
Phaedra stood in the midst of the other marines, stabilizing herself with a handhold on the side of the shuttle. The stump of one of her NIGHT's wings poked awkwardly out from behind the right shoulder.

"Hey Mayhew," said Phaedra, "I owe you a drink for saving my ass." She paused before saying, "Actually, I owe several of you a drink."

"It was certainly true," she thought. "If it wasn't for her pulling me in and for the others laying down suppressing fire, I wouldn't have made it." Phaedra glanced about the shuttle, seeking the faces of those she knew.

"My comrades in arms did not desert me in my moment of need; I refuse to let them die needlessly. Maybe, just maybe then I'll be able to forgive myself for what I did."
 
The knuckles of Kingston's VOID rapped lightly on the cockpit wall as he opened up a comm channel. "What's going on with the Dust Devil?" he inquired. Not going back to what he now considered his "home ship" was a little unnerving, but more unnerving would be not knowing the situation at their current destination.
 
Anselm slumped against something that passed for a seat, too tired to check its existence other than to be sure it wasn't another soldier he was sitting on.

"A work of art, Avel, nicely done," the Aggressor's head rolled slothfully to look at the new additions, "I got snapshots if anyone wants one," he added.

Behind the cold visage of his armor, a tired marine closed his eyes, clenching his jaw against the familiar tightening pain of his scar tissue setting into a firm and unyielding line of fire down his side.
 
"Actually, I owe several of you a drink."

"I'm gonna hold you to that Phaedra." Keladrian said, chuckling just slightly. In all seriousness, he really needed a drink. It had been a long week. Kel thought he heard the pilots say something about not being able to go to the Acadia. This suspicion was confirmed when Kingston knocked on the door and asked them what was going on.

"Hey, are we not getting back to the Acadia?" He asked, glancing around. He was happy to be off the planet, certainly, but he did want to see this new ship he was assigned to.
 
The pilot threw open the cabin door. Beyond his helmeted face the marines could see open space through the transparent durandium cockpit window. The twinkling lights in the background were not stars but individual fighting ships, the stars themselves were drowned out by the ambient light generated by starship-grade energy beams and explosions. It was easily the largest battle since the Battle of Nepleslia.

On the left side of the screen was the 1st Assault Fleet, a rough estimate on the shuttle's HUD put their number at 120 capital ships divided into four groups that rotated in and out of the firefight. 1st AFCOM appeared to be using delaying tactics, distributing received damage evenly across the fleet by limiting the time each ship spent in the firing (and being fired at) window. Isolated lances of light away from the main groups directed towards to the opposing side indicated the presence of stealthed and skirmishing S1 Hrays.

On the right side was the Mishu fleet, the shuttle's simple sensors only tagged about 20 of the larger ships but it was easy to see the lights from firing ships to put an estimate of 300 plus, however the squids seem to be more inclined to taking the planet than overrunning the smaller Nepleslian fleet. Half their numbers were in a vulnerable low-orbit state, dropping and receiving pods. While the marines would not know it yet, what the Mishus were doing is potentially more cruel and damaging than the outright destruction of both Nepleslian fleet and planet.

"The Acadia is out there somewhere, I don't know." The pilot retorted. "Control isn't telling me where. The only thing they are saying is to dock at the Dust Devil."

He took one hand off the flight stick to perform an exasperated wave as the NSS Dust Devil drew up on the screen. The transport was in a supply convoy with at least ten other Red Hill Class far removed from the frontline. Once in a while a Twin Plasma Turret would let off a stream to ward away random Mishu scout pods. "We are all leaving this place anyways, Army and Navy."
 
"What!?" Avel stood up in surprise when she heard the pilots last words. "We're leaving? What about the other five lines of defense and the whole 'causing as much casualties as we can' thing?" she questioned. The frustration she had felt after the Cirrus Station disaster was back, full freaking force and she punched the shuttle wall, leaving a large dent. After a moment she sighed and sat down in her seat.
 
"We are all leaving this place anyways, Army and Navy."

"Wait, we aren't going to be leaving our boys down planetside, are we?" Keladrian asked, glancing at the dent Avel made. He made a mental note not to get on her bad side. "They risked their lives for this evac for us. We can't just abandon them." Keladrian finished his statement and looked out towards the fighting between fleets. It was an awesome sight, what with the lances of light and explosions and all that. It made Keladrian feel very small.
 
"I don't call the shots around here, I just follow orders." The pilot mumbled. "I have been flying people out for the past four hours, don't you think I feel bad too; being told that I can't finish my job?" He then shut the cabin door in preparation for the landing.

The marines felt a drop in their stomachs as the shuttle entered the NSS Dust Devil's artificial gravity, then one more drop as it touched the deck and rapidly slowed to a halt in half the usual time. It was a tricky gravion-assisted short landing. What made this necessary though was shown when the main shuttle doors opened, revealing scores of white medical tents, supply crates and refugees overflowing from the storage areas and covering every unused inch of the hangar. The air smelt stale, the ship's life support cannot handle this many breathing lungs indefinitely but it was only a matter of time before it FTLed out of the warzone.

A seven member Power Armor subsquad was ushering the shuttle passengers out, the leader of which in an open helmet white AIR-R was none other than the Master Chief Fian Vel Steyr. Compared to the members of his squad in the shuttle the black haired Nepleslian didn't look worse for wear, something which dissatisfied him greatly considering the stakes involved in this battle. "You've all done your parts well." He first gave his customary evaluation, and then proceeded on to business. "Please evacuate the shuttle, this transport is jumping back to the capital without it."
 
"You've all done your parts well," the Master Chief said over the comm. "Please evacuate the shuttle, this transport is jumping back to the capital without it."

Phaedra filed out of the shuttle with the rest of the marines. She popped her neck seals and removed her helmet, shaking her head as she did so. Her braided mane of white hair fell onto her shoulders, damp from the the sweaty confines of her helmet. Phaedra strode to the middle of the hangar, her helmet under the crook of her right arm and her left hand combing through her frizzled hair. She absorbed her surroundings: crewmen moving about at a frenzied pace, medics administering treatments to the wounded, and marines in power armor gearing up for their next mission. Despite the relative chaos in the surrounding hangar, Phaedra found herself surprisingly at ease.

"Could it be my PTSD? Have I become desensitized?" thought Phaedra."Or am I just denying the fact that I narrowly escaped death?"

She dismissed the thoughts quickly for there were more important issues to be remedied; her NIGHT was damaged and she was in dire need of ammunition. Assuming that this ship had relatively the same layout as the Acadia or Emden, Phaedra headed towards the armory.
 
The entire situation stunk of what Ran called "toogoodtobetrueism." That is, that the Marines wouldn't let him or the squad simply run back to the capital while there were still men in green fighting on the ground. It was simply too perfect that their squad, of all the countless other squads on Rokveru, would be ordered to retreat from a fight they had to finish.

"Stay alert, guys." The Chief had stepped out of one of the Vipers he had gotten a ride on, producing a metal flask of whiskey, taped to the butt of his HPAR. "I highly doubt that we're going to be let off this easy." At that, the Chief took a swig of the motor oil-like alcohol from the flask and tossed it at Keladrian. "See to it that gets redistributed among everyone. Like the MC said, you all did a good job, and I'll treat you fuckers to more once we're really done with it."

Still in his armor, the Chief set off towards the Master Chief, tossing him a small cylinder of Industrial Cleaning Alcohol. "So. We're not really being sent back, are we?" Was all he felt comfortable asking, producing and lighting a cigarette at the moment.
 
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