RP: NSS Acadia [Mission 4.5] Claw of the Beast

"Don't move sir," Alex said to chief but of course he didn't listen and started climbing. She just shaked her head in disbelief and started climbing after him. And them Anselm fell.

It looked quite painful as big ID-SOL fell and crumbled. Alex coudl swear she heard a cracking sound. "Bloody careless wanker," she said and climbed quickly towards him. She set herself next to him and crouched.

Laceration on calfe, his feet was definetly broken. He was also unconscious. Alex shaked her head and took out hypolathe. She was going to give him small dosage of nanobots to stabilize him and close lacerations on hsi calf.

She then took her knife and cut laces on his boot. Then she slowly took it off. She was still swearing as she started fixing his foot, which will take her a minute or two.

The dark clouds overhead parted for just a brief moment as a white and red starshipdescended through them, its engines tilting downward, slowing its decent until it was hovering in the air only a few hundred feet off the ground.

Meanwhile a pickup truck rounded a corner, barreling down a street than ran parallel to the monorail. In the back was another bald Nepleslian standing behind a large double barreled machinegun complete with armor plating on the front. Though he was turning left and right constantly searching for something to shoot he had yet to spot the Storm power armor flying in the air.

"Phaedra!" shouted a voice as it echoed through her head.

"Phaedra...help...rope...get out..."

Words became more distinct as the fog lifted from her eyes. Suddenly the world popped back into focus with crystal clarity. Phaedra groaned from the pain that flared across the side of her head. Her squadmates were shouting at her from below, and she realized the monorail car that she rode in was now nearly vertical. She tried to push herself up from the seat, but her left arm did not move; the cybernetic limb hung inert from her shoulder.

"Shit..." said Phaedra with a painful grimace.

"Hey Phaedra, can you throw us a rope or something?" shouted Morris.

Phaedra reached to the back of her utility belt with her right hand and retrieved the bundle of rope stored there. She held the bundle of rope before her eyes for just a moment before she began to pull apart the rope knot with her teeth. After several difficult moments, Phaedra was able to uncoil most of the rope. Carefully steadying herself with her good arm, Phaedra rose to her knees on the seat and held the end of the rope in her teeth. She managed to find a nearby pole that looked sturdy and she began the arduous task of tying the rope around it, using only her right hand and her mouth.

After what seemed like an eternity of trial and error, Phaedra managed to tie a suitable knot around the pole. She threw the remaining length of rope down to her comrades at the bottom.

"Give it a tug!" she yelled.

Sean rolled over on his seat, slowly sitting up, still rubbing his head and back. "Sonuva..." He paused at the sound of a ship of some sort coming down, especially since it sounded a fair bit bigger than a shuttle of any sort. "Well guys, our lives either just got way worse, or a little bit better. I'm..." and he winced before continuing, "not sure which is preferable at this point."

Viktor gave one hefty yank on the rope with his whole arm; it didn't budge. So P1C Kingston pocketed his compatriot's beret and hauled himself up the rope all the way to Phaedra. The next and more arduous task was hefting himself- broken ankle included- over the seat. Once there, he proffered the cap to its rightful owner. "Looks like a nasty hit, how are you feeling?"

At about then, Matteo felt like a one shot pony. With the petrol bomb evaded by his two targets, he had little other to do than to take cover and hope they didn't find him. A quick dash and a mantle over the counter of another store let him get behind something to hide behind. The marine's eyes darted too and fro; there had to be some ammo, a gun, or rocket launcher somewhere!

'THIS. IS. NEPLESLIA!'

He thought to himself. Matt immediately felt ashamed at thinking in capital letters. It was downright embarrassing, especially in a time like this! In his frantic search for any additional armaments, he somehow almost missed the ship coming down, the noise pushed to the back of his head until it snapped a vivid memory into his mind. It didn't exactly pertain to him for the moment. The private went back to his search for more dakka.

Once again, he felt ashamed.

Henry took a look at Kingston as he climbed up the rope in spite of his injuries, "Hmmh, you're tougher than me," Henry complimented as he tried to climb the rope himself. He found that he couldn't do it by arm strength alone, and had to brace against the wall/floor of the train to find his way up.

He eventually got to where Phaedra and Kingston were staying, short of breath. He examined Phaedra's wound and listened to Kingston's analysis, Henry was prudent to add: "Hopefully the bloody medevac will be here by now, or I'll be incredibly angry."

"Medevac's here." Ran flatly responded to Henry's question, eye slowly lifting itself to view the white and red starship which had just made it's entrance. The Chief was about to let the door he just ripped off fall to the ground, but the sound of a vehicle got his attention.

Instead of just dropping the door he ripped off, the Chief slowly sunk down out of view and held it in place as best as he could. "Vehicle coming up from the south!" The Chief peered over the edge of one of the windows on the door he was holding up, noting the weaponry the vehicle possessed.

"Heavy weapon in back. Looks like he's still scanning for targets. Morris, get Skwigleff on the horn and tell him to draw that fucker away from us. We need to fucking move before we get pinned down in this death trap." Again, despite the urgency of the situation, the Chief's demeanor and tone did not reflect it.

"And someone find my fucking shotgun."

Chad eyed the marine that threw the Molotov. It was smart thinking, but it looked like the small bomb was all he had, and the crazed ID-SOLs seemed to just have lost a little clothing and managed to look even more pissed off. But they didn't fire at the lone unnarmed marine or Chad. Instead they watched as the E3-C descended onto the location of the distraught monorail.

Reinforcements or Medevac, thought Chad, Sweetness.

The possesed turned their launchers toward the ship and fired, but the rockets just bounced harmelessly off the shields. The Ship registered on Chad's HUD as the NSS Sugar Pea. Sweet name, a little gay maybe, but who am I too judge.

As he stared at the ship and questioned it's sexuality, (not that there is anything wrong with the ship's personal decisions, Chad was just curious as to if he could trust to take a group shower with it), another name showed up. This was a civilian truck, liscenced to some John Doe. But what wasn't on the computer dealing with the truck was the huge double barreled turret on the back of the bed.

This posed a somewhat imanent threat, although it hadn't seemed to notice Chad floating above the mono. He took out his RAPTOR as he descended to the rail for cover. His HUD displayed a message but he dissmised it for now. Once he allowed himself to get set in prone on the rail, he waited for the turret to swing to where his back was turned to the new marine. He did a sniper squeeze on the trigger of his .50 cal and let his gun talk for him, aiming to put three in the back and one in the head. Good bye, Mother Fucker, was the Greenhorn's only thought as the four rounds flew from the barrel and Chad crouched down even lower behind the rail.

Phaedra helped Victor up onto the seat as best she could with only one usable arm. Once he was in a less perilous position, Viktor handed Phaedra a beret.

"Looks like a nasty hit, how are you feeling?" asked Viktor.

Phaedra's eyes glanced at the beret, then back up to Viktor, and then back to the beret. With her good hand, Phaedra searched her head for a beret that was no longer in place. She did not remember losing it, but it must have flown off from the impact of the crash. She nodded in thanks to Viktor and returned the beret to it's proper place.

"I feel like my skull is going to split open, my left arm is inoperable, but otherwise I'm just fine," answered Phaedra quickly. From her monotone speech, it was unclear whether Phaedra was being serious or sarcastic. Without skipping a beat Phaedra helped pull Henry up onto the seat. Phaedra hissed in pain when Henry examined the wound on her head. She knew the wisdom in having her injury examined, but the extra attention didn't make her feel any better.

The trio of .50 cal rounds would slide through the chest of the ID-Sol riding in the back of the truck, causing the body to quickly crumple onto the bed of the truck while the fourth round meant for the head would instead miss its target and bounce off the rear of the metal plate that served as protection for the gunner.

The driver of the truck would look over his shoulder after hearing the thud of his partner hitting the bed of the truck. The front wheel of the truck would end up clipping a piece of jagged rock and blow out causing the truck to swerve and come to a stop on the edge of the clearing. The driver would ensure the truck was at an angle, facing a building so there was a small space in-between the two here he could get out and crouch down behind the rear wheel well. He would use a small mirror attached to the end of a knife to look over the back of the truck for where the attack came from.

Shortly after this the power armor pilot would receive a text message from the NSS SugarPea:

From: 4th Fleet
To: Storm power armor in area.

Which unit are you with and are there any other greens on site?

Click to expand...

It was wrong. Completely wrong. Unnatural. Against the laws of physics and a crime against nature. There was a lack of firepower in Nepleslia. Despite all his searching through the storefronts, alleyways and so on, Matteo couldn't even find a loaded gun, let alone more ammo. "What's happening to Nepleslia?" he moaned to himself out of earshot. A quartet of high powered rounds sounded off in the distance towards the derailed monorail. Train. 'That can't be symbolic.' he thought. The crack of a high powered rifle rang in the private's ears. Cautiously, he peered out from behind some rubble and saw the truck, now crashed, gunner dead and driver exposed to him but turned away in a search for the shooter.

Matt went back behind cover, took a deep breath, and made sure his last three rounds were ready to go. The marine sneaked as close as he could to the truck at the edge of the clearing, revolver raised and ready to use. With careful aim, the private did his best to make every single round count.

He fired. Fired. Fired.

It was blatantly obvious just then that Phaedra was not doing so well. She didn't even seem to remember requesting her cap. He gave Henry what he hoped was a knowing look and also hoped that Henry could meet it squarely. We need to keep an eye on her is what he was thinking.

The sound of Chad letting loose shook him a little, and he nearly went for another tumble, but caught himself this time. Viktor also caught glimpse of what could only be Chief Ran's "baby." Hanging by its shoulder-strap from the underside of a seat's support frame was a shotgun. Still clutching a handrail, he leaned over and snagged it by the barrel. Kingston sat upright with a grunt then leaned toward Ran Rui, proffering the shotgun. "Sir."

The hulking ID-SOL hidden between the truck and the building would spot Matt as he lifted up go get over the truck. He would respond by dropping to the ground and spraying a full clip from his SMG under the truck, bullets fanning out just above the ground. The ID-SOL’s head and upper body would end up being covered by the side of the truck he was against, leaving only his lower body and legs vulnerable from Matt’s position. The weighty Nepleslian revolver would end up punching a two big holes in the left leg of he ID-SOL while the third round caused the right foot to disappear entirely in a bloody red puff.

"We can't fucking spare anyone right now, and we cannot fucking stay here." The Chief growled as he grabbed his shotgun, pulling the bolt back and checking that there was a slug chambered already. Soon after, the sound of a high powered rifle echoed off the buildings surrounding them and up the street. What followed was a crashing noise, which prompted the Chief to poke his head out of the door.

The oncoming truck stood there with it's gunner destroyed; the only form of resistance coming from an ID-SOL stuck under it. He was at an angle where the Chief could possibly shoot him in the side, if he had an actual rifle.

"We're going to get out of here, hold this position until the wounded are out, and move to the Medevac. Morris, get on the horn with whoever is flying that thing" The Chief kept the shotgun in his right hand, jamming the stock into his shoulder to keep the gun at least a little bit steady. Keeping it pointed in the general direction of the truck, the Chief pulled himself over the door, let himself slide down and hang there by his left arm, and dropped to the ground. All done slowly to not attract attention.

The Chief would move to the side to make room for any other dropping Marines, and got into a kneeling position, back against the side of the fallen cab and shotgun scanning from left to right, ready to return fire at a moment's notice.

Alex wiped her forehead of sweat. Last few hours were getting prety exhausting. Hauling injured soldier and psychical fatigue from takinc care of wounded and shaking head in sad motion at dead ones.

Now she finished working on Anselm. He will live, but he won't be tap-dancing anytime soon. "Sir Anselm is out of it. He fell and got broken. I fixed what I could be he is down for a mission. He is also fat-bastard and heavy. I need help with hauling his bloody ass out of the vagon when we move." She said to Chief and moved to see at other in the vagon.

She couldn't see much, being down at the bottom of the train car. "Hey anyone else injure? Broken bones, head-wounds anything? I haven't treated anyone in half a minute and I am getting itchy?" She said to other hoping no-one will answer her question with positive answer. There was enough dead and wounded for one day.

As blood splashed, Matt already knew he was in a bad way; the shots missed the vitals. A long burst of blind fire raked the ground from below the truck. With no help visible, he knew it was all or nothing. The marine made a mad dash from cover as the last bullets flew by, pumping himself up to run as quickly as possible to the side of the truck in hopes that the magazine was empty and that his legs could carry him to salvation; the dual machine gun turret and it's shield. With a grunt, he attempted to quickly mantle onto the truck's bed and bring the heavy guns to bear on the ID-SOL, muzzles flashing thunder and crapping massive slugs of lighting.

"Just what I need, a lazy-ass medic," Anselm groaned, bringing a hand up to caress his floor-battered head, "did I get hit by a car or something? ...cause I think my leg's broken"

"Shut up you fat bastard," replied Alex to Anselm. "Try to not move much. You ribs are shit and your foot to." She added to her previous statement. She was glad he regained counscioussnes.

The starship would continue to move downward, moving to a hover around twenty feet off the ground above the monorail. A hatch on the underside would slide open, lowering several cloth stretchers down towards the ground. Shortly afterward a pair of white Hostile class power armors would jump down, firing their rockets briefly to break their fall before running up to the monorail. “ANYONE ALIVE IN THERE?” They would shout through their external speakers as they each took up station beside the armored bars across the windows, ripping and pulling them with the augmented strength from their armor to help clear the window. They were tearing into the monorail in full sight of the truck across the street, opposite of the side that the Chief had climbed down on.

At the same time the two ID-Sols that had run into the building overlooking the clearing had reached the sixth floor. One quickly shot a few holes in a window before throwing a chair through it, knocking a pane of glass loose so it would fall toward the streets while the other took aim towards the monorail and the ship hovering over it, firing off a set of four rockets.

The ID-Sol hiding behind the truck, meanwhile, would be fishing out another loaded magazine from one of his pockets, slamming it into the back end of his SMG before taking aim again. He would just barely catch the sound of the Marine jumping into the bed of the truck and knowing full well what the marine was planning to do the ID-Sol grabbed hold of the wheels of the truck and yanked, pulling himself directly under the gun just before the machinegun rounds started taking baseball sized chunks out of the concrete where his blood was now pooling. He would then quickly begin tieing off his legs to stop the bleeding, hoping for a short break as small shards of concrete bounced off his thick skin.