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RP: 4th Fleet (NSN) [Mission 5.0] Planning

Code: 
Don't blame me.  You were the one who put the virus on my servers with your bugged torrents.  It may use my servers to spread but I'm not infected and neither is the SAVtech backup.  Only files being shared are getting infected.  Clearly whoever is infected is downloading something.  - Drei

"Next person I find smoking in here, it's a month of kitchen duty AND a pay deduction! And you get to explain to Captain Ironside AND Admiral Valken why YOU put the ship and their lives in danger before we even see the NMX!" Leon Santiago's voice rang across the hangar. He had no issues with smoking but here, with several thousand kilotons worth of ordnance packed into one area, was not the smartest place to do it. And even the stupidest Marine should have known that.

--------------

"Okay, Sergeant. If you say so. But anything crops up, let me know, 'kay?" Laura said to Phaedra.

She noticed that the Irregulars' squad leader was hovering, waiting to speak to Phaedra and so she backed away to let them have a word.

"Sergeant Volkov. Stephen Holmes, I don't think we were really formally introduced. All of my men are ex-Paragon. I know this Fleet has had some... history with the company and I want to say, none of us were involved. We quit the company before it went under because we disagreed with its philosophies. I ... hope we can prove that 4th Fleet Marines are just as good as any other Fleet's Marines," Holmes held out his hand to Phaedra.
 
"Understood, ma'am."

After his reply, Phaedra glared at Ran one more time before returning to Laura's side.

"Okay, Sergeant. If you say so. But anything crops up, let me know, 'kay?"

Phaedra nodded in reply to Laura and then focused her attention on Holmes.

"...I hope we can prove that 4th Fleet Marines are just as good as any other Fleet's Marines," he said.

"That is my hope as well, Corporal," said Phaedra, returning his handshake. She began to walk further down the bay towards her own PA.

"The experience I had with a certain Paragon contractor did not improve my impression of mercenaries in the slightest. Ex-mercenaries on the other hand have potential. If they follow orders and have a stronger loyalty to the Nepleslian Space Marine Corps than a paycheck, then they are certainly welcome."

"I understand if your men are somewhat...rough around the edges, but understand that they will conform to the standards expected of a Marine. I will not tolerate blatant insubordination or laxity in protocol that would cause others to be put at risk."

Phaedra placed her hands behind her back.

"Is that understood, Corporal?" she asked, stopping and looking directly at Holmes.

"If you or your squad ever need my assistance, please do not hesitate to ask."
 
Bastilen groaned, rubbing his head with his hand. His beret tottled over onto the floor, lying crown up. What the hell!? The A.I. is supposed to delete threats like that! Damn it all, this thing was fucking with him! He put another cigarette in his mouth and breathed through it. He didn't get much air from it, but there was a faint draw he could taste. The soldier needed all the synthetic relaxant he could get at the moment.

Takka tak takka tak...

Code: 
<KnifeEyes> Fine, damn it, I'll scrub your servers later and clean them up.
 
Sawyer heard the random conversations and heard something about Desu, shrugged it off and queried the ship's systems through his well secured Datajockey to determine how much RX-33 Plastic Explosive in blocks and Detonating cord was available in stores. When he got that information back he'd sit down on the deck with his datajockey in his lap and a diagram program up to start making charges that would be capable of cutting 7 1/2 foot tall by 4 foot wide breaches through any blast doors or other obstacles that would be thrown into the squad's way. He decided to go with the simple truism of all demolitions work, variable P for Plenty, and just decided to take for each charge 2 full rolls of Det cord, wrap them into 7.5x4 foot squares, then every half a foot he would place a combined charge of 2lbs of RX-33 Plastic explosive, to ensure that the charge would be directed at the armor of the enemy hull and to prevent backscatter from affecting the team he added a thin layer of durandium to the side that was designed to face the team and submitted his design to the ship's fabricators to see if it would be possible to have a number of them produced before they entered the system
 
"And you will understand, Sergeant, that everyone has pride in who they are. Do not condescend upon my men before you have even spoken to them. I would suggest you see to your own squad's penchant for insubordination before turning your attention on mine. Good day, Sergeant," Holmes replied icily before walking back to his squad.

"Getting to know each other, I see," Leon interjected before Phaedra could respond. He patted her on the shoulder. "Odd guy. Very smart, very capable but very introverted. He's like the Old Man, except with even less emotion and even more calculating. I'm surprised he even came over to talk to you. You're both pretty different and pretty similar at the same time. You're way prettier, of course. His XO, Janet Watson, does more of the talking for him and is rather more... normal. Suggest you say hi when you have the chance," the Marine Chief said jovially.

He lowered his voice. "No problems with your squad? All of the newbies kitted out?"

---------------

Ding!

Code: 
Virus eliminated.  That's what you get for playing with viruses and torrents at the same time.  :P  - Drei
 
Bastilen crunched that cigarette too, the unlit bit fall to the floor, and causing him to spit out the other end. He made some quick strikes and taps on his keypad, a little red flushing to his forehead with that delinquent look on his face.

Ding.

Code: 
<KnifeEyes>
....................../´¯/) 
....................,/¯../ 
.................../..../ 
............./´¯/'...'/´¯¯`·¸ 
........../'/.../..../......./¨¯\ 
........('(...´...´.... ¯~/'...') 
.........\.................'...../ 
..........''...\.......... _.·´ 
............\..............( 
..............\.............\...
 
"Well, fuck-desu," Lisa proclaim and then she stopped caring, because things she ordered were finally being brought to her. She moved to one of the work-tables nearby. She examined the bunch of things that junker drone brought in. First she took a close look at the reactor. Small thing, yet powerful. It was easy to see where to connect the cables, she still need to put an actuator in, before it could even be considered to attach it to fusion cutter.

Lisa told Junk Droid to put the cutter on the table next to her and bring her TEK. She then got into work. Blonde girl whistles as she worked, putting the new weapon together and making it wrong.

"Ma'am-desu?" Lisa shouted at Phaedra, not paying attention to the -desu problem. "Where can I test this when I am done-desu?"
 
After having to chastize Ran, and then having Corporal Holmes react in a completely different way then she anticipated; Phaedra was glad for the presence of Chief Leon Santiago. He suggested that she speak with Holmes' XO when the opportunity presented itself.

"No problems with your squad? All of the newbies kitted out?" said Leon in a quiet voice.

"Thus far, yes. I do believe there was one more new arrival that I had to check up on," she said quietly.

Phaedra turned when she heard Lisa shout at her across the room.

"Ma'am-desu? Where can I test this when I am done-desu?" she said, fiddling with her new torch device.

"Desu? What?" she thought with a raised eyebrow. She held up a hand for Lisa to wait.

"Sir, do you have any suggestions?" she asked Leon.
 
Leon glanced at Phaedra for a minute. "Explain to me what's going on? I was checking on Holmes' squad so I don't know what you've got planned."

It looked like a fusion cutter from a VOID. And then it clicked. "You're going to jury-rig a fusion cutter onto a Hostile? Well fuck, go ahead and do it but don't test it here! I assume you've run this by the AI as well and run the sims with it?"

Behind them, a young woman in Navy blue flightsuit and JG bars waited patiently for Phaedra and Leon.

----------------

Laura checked her watch before taking it off and stuffing it in her trouser pocket. Half an hour before the Admiral's speech began and that order to get into armor. So she had a few minutes to kill. Who would be fun to tease?

Bastilen was clearly worked up about something so he was out. No point in teasing someone already wound up. The whole point was to wind them up.

Sawyer was too engrossed in whatever he was playing with. And she'd already tried and failed to bug him.

Ooh there was a newbie. Ul... Ulfric Butter, or something like that. A mischievous grin spread across her face. Without Bernhard to babysit, no one paid Laura any special mind to keep her from doing these shenanigans. She bounded over to her unsuspecting victim.

"Whatcha doin'?" Laura asked her prey innocently.

----------------
Bridge

"Sir, all of our squadrons will be dropping out of FTL in the formation you wanted. We'll be ready to hit anything nearby as we come out. All of the fighter, bomber and shuttle pilots report their readiness. The Marines are taking a little longer. I still think it's very risky to leave so many fighters to protect the shuttles, sir." Valencia Ironside had no issues voicing her concerns to her superior officer, as long as no one else was listening. It was one of the reasons why he had chosen her ship, the Dauntless, as his flagship.

Dominic Valken's current plan involved disabling the NMX capital ships and boarding a select few with Marines and armed sailors. Those few would be based off DREI's assessment of which were most likely to be the NMX flagship. After that, it was down to probability and luck. The Marines would go in first with their armor and enter via any hull breach made by the warships. If one was not present, then their fighter escort would gladly make one. Part of each boarding team would secure the hangars while other Marines made for critical areas such as the bridge and engineering. The sailors were insurance for the Marines, to hold the positions they overrun and prevent the NMX crews from isolating and trapping the Marines. It was also a good use of the numerous ID-SOL sailors to take on the NMX's living weapons.

But it all depended on the Marines getting there in the first place. That was why Valken was diverting half of his fighter strength to cover the Marines' boarding actions. It left the Fleet's warships more vulnerable to NMX battlepod swarms but the whole operation depended on the loss of command organization by the NMX since the latest reports showed that the squids vastly outnumbered the 4th Fleet's full complement of warships.
 
There was a lot of discussion around P3C Bridget Blackwood about outfitting Hostiles, but Bridget opted for the standard issue so she could get equipment out of the way and practice her own brand of meditation before the mission.

She found a comfortable amount of space and turned a few pirouettes--just for fun--before she plopped on the ground and formed a V with outstretched legs. Her curly pink hair bounced around like tiny coil springs every time she moved her head. She leaned over to one leg and put her head on it.

"Anyone want to join me?" she asked those within earshot. "We could all use a good stretch before suiting up!" She giggled and switched to stretching her other side. She didn't wait for volunteers before launching into one of her stories.

"You know," she said, sitting up then leaning in between her legs and resting her elbows on the floor, "we were in the middle of a performance of The Fireclone when the dancer playing Prince Ibad lost his footing and crashed through the dancing princesses--I was one of them--and knocked over one tree, then the rest fell like dominoes! Eventually the entire forest was leveled! Hee!"
 
The oddness of Bridget's action brought attention from many of the Marines and sailors present. Corporals Holmes and Watson remained as passive observers. The Chief seemed too busy with Sergeant Volkov.

"Should we get her to stop?" Watson asked her squad leader. Holmes shook his head, "No. Some madness is necessary for the human mind." He paused for a moment before adding, "On occasion, Watson."

So they left it alone but Bridget had drawn the attention of others. A male Nepleslian Lieutenant Commander, followed by an attractive female Iromakuanhe Ensign, in Navy flightsuits walked up to Bridget and announced loudly, "Green Squadron never dismisses a challenge to its position as the silliest unit in the Fleet!" And promptly began to dance as a pair to imaginary music around the Marine. At first it was slow but once they'd made a complete circle, they wordlessly transitioned into a faster ballroom dance.

"Is that enough madness for you, Holmes?" Watson asked cheekily. "More than enough," her partner replied, "You can always trust the Navy pilots to show off."
 
Bridget squealed with delight at the dancing pair and quickly rose from the ground.

"I knew the military was the place for me!" she cheered.

To say her grin was... stupid, was putting it lightly. She twirled delicately on her toes and paused in careful intervals, fashioning herself into intricate arabesques, capped with an artistic attitude en pointe.

She spotted a mechanic at just the right distance for Bridget to perform a daring grand jeté and land in his arms. She flew toward him; he put his arms out to block Bridget and screamed several four letter words at her. She saw it as an opportunity to close the distance between them. He unwittingly caught her and the two of them spun twice in a circle before she put her feet back on the ground.

She exclaimed, "You were magnificent! Bravo!" She curled into his chest and tipped them back as a pair. "Do you do this often?"
 
Zyv lifted his head at Corporal Rui’s entrance, shook it and went back to his gear. The marine had heard a lot of rumours about the man, how he had been a chief and of how he fucked an admirals daughter in every possible way foremost among them. The admiral’s daughter he could believe but what he saw of the man made Rakowski doubt the chief bit. Mildly surprised the corporal avoided a court-martial the marine went back to his kit.

Making room for a Medical Kit Zyv strapped the piece of gear to his hostile and made sure it wouldn’t get in his way during the operation, perfect. Satisfied with his layout he instinctively reached for a cigarette before remembering the “no smoking” rule. Scowling he looked for anything else he could do. Chewing tobacco? They probably wouldn’t appreciate the spit. Not having anything else Rakowski decided he might invest in gum if he came back from the operation.

With a sigh he took another look around, Romero was bounding around like quicksilver, the sarge and chief were being serious and the vast majority were being grumpy, all in normal it would seem. Except for the “desu” that seemed to be floating around. Zyv sincerely hoped the “desu” was merely the result of the Yammies hacking their systems in a prelude to an invasion and not because somebody liked the phrase. And than, there was the dancing.

Zyv slammed his head into his hostile at the display and muttered.

- ‘I should’ve gone for the penal battalion.’
 
"All the time," the Nepleslian grinned widely. "Squadron Leader Edward Bannock. Banny to close friends and madmen," he introduced himself with a flourish and a deep bow. "Always the actor," the Iroma woman muttered. She almost seemed bored despite the dances they had just done. Yet, there was a hint of a smirk on her face. "The horny one is Ny," Bannock jabbed his thumb at the Iroma, "We can't be bothered to remember her whole bloody name so we call her Ny. Or Chuckles."

Bannock made a motion to check his watch but had hardly done so when he said to Bridget, "Well, look at the time. Gotta jet. Have fun touring the NMX ships. The rest of will be, you know, fighting the war." With that he bounded off back to the cluster of pilots, followed by the more sedate Iroma.

-----------------

"All Marines, make your final preparations and get into armor. The Fleet will be dropping out of FTL in less than one hour. I repeat, all Marines make final preparations and prepare for combat in one hour." Drei's vocal announcement echoed throughout the hangar. Though it was intended for the Marines, the naval armorers and mechanics moved with an quicker pace to ready the two dozen FA4s of Green Squadron stationed on the Dauntless. "Make sure all of the wonderdrones are loaded with ammunition!"

"Greenies! Equipment check! If any of you go out with faulty equipment, it's your fault not the mechanics! And they're not going to be writing the letters home saying how sorry they are that you didn't examine your bird properly!"

Laura Romero started flexing the fingers in her Hostile. It wasn't the same as her VOID, missing all of the custom configurations that she had written into it over the weeks. Well, it would do for now. But after this, Laura wanted to go back to her adorable VOID. She did a quick mental checklist: MED & Hypolathe secured, LPA locked onto her back with cable attached, HPAR in hand, 4 grenades for the underslung launcher, ARROWs loaded. What about... Ber... Laura slapped her head. Bernhard had been transferred. She was the only medic left.

So, with an hour to kill, Laura walked around to see what the idiot newbies were doing. The Most Brilliant Medic in the Universe knew way more than they did. About everything.

"So... whatcha doin'?" she asked Ulrich again.

----------------
Bridge

Valencia Ironside picked up her headset and brought the microphone close as she leaned against her command chair. "This is the Captain speaking. We are now going to Yellow Alert status. In thirty minutes, we will go to Orange Alert. We may be ambushed by anti-FTL fields at any moment so I want all hands ready for combat at a moment's notice. Grand Admiral Valken has some words for you."

She passed the headset to the Admiral, the usual frown upon his face. "All yours, sir," she smiled. He thanked her as he took the headset. Deep breath and pause for effect.

"Sailors and Marines of the 4th Fleet. It is just under a year since I took command of this Fleet. We have transformed from a special projects unit to a combined-arms combat unit. We have been given the honor of breaking the NMX supply line and securing 1st Assault Fleet's flank! 4th Fleet leads the charge today. Grand Admiral Coast's Wolf Pack follows behind. We all know the rumors about 4th Fleet and the shadow of doubt left by Admiral Wazu. You and I know that we have overcome it. We have trained for the last three months for this chance. Now, show those bastards under Charlie Coast just how useless they are!"

That message had been broadcast to the entire Fleet. All seven squadrons, the six cruiser units and a flotilla of scouts. Much to Valken's dismay, the sailors on the bridge started chanting, "Uncle Dom! Uncle Dom!"

Dominic Valken began to wonder about the wisdom of these pre-battle speeches of his. Each time he made one, the sailors cheered and Ironside never let him forget it. It was beginning to be difficult to continue maintaining a professional distance from his sailors. The Marines may hate his guts but 4th Fleet sailors were proud to be in the Fleet. After all, they had gotten the most modern warships ahead of the other Fleets.

"Well done, Uncle Dom." Valken was also beginning to regret his choice of Flag Captain and her sharp tongue. "I don't know what effect these men will have on the enemy, but by God, they terrify me," he replied to her.
--------------
Hangar
Two dozen pilots and weapons officers gathered around. Each pair flew one FA4 and controlled another unmanned FA4. Each man or woman held a shot glass filled to the brim with whiskey. "Right boys and girls. You heard the Old Man. Blow the squids away and get a kill for Uncle Dom. PEACE THROUGH SUPERIOR FIREPOWER!" They echoed the last statement and drank their alcohol before smashing their glasses on the hangar deck. "To your birds!"
 
Sawyer finished his working on the data jockey and quickly assembled 5 breaching charges made up of 5 pounds of RX-33 plastic explosive along with a roll of det cord to be sure to have a backup method of detonation of the charges in case the electronic detonators glitched. With that he checked over the load-out of the Hostile that he was assigned, he didn't like not having the extra bulk and firepower of the Aggressor but he'd have to put up with it for this mission and hoped that the next one he'd be able to get back into it. He checked over the siting of the Light Plasma Auto-Cannon and checked that the swivels of his laser arrays were clear, then he rechecked his ARROW missile launchers to ensure that they were fully loaded and finally placed his charges into the backpack of his suit along with a number of plasma grenades for throwing through the breaches to deal with any hostile forces waiting after the door was breached. He then climbed into his armor and got himself prepared for the mission by running a few tracking routines to check that his weapon would aim where he looked in front of him. Other than running the last few system checks he was ready to rock and roll.
 
Ulrich stretched out the limbs of the Hostile now encompassing him "Well I certainly don't feel vulnerable, that's for sure". Content that the Hostile was well to do, Ulrich set about checking his equipment and suit thoroughly.

The suit was in good condition,with slight joint stiffness from under use. The SAVtech functioned properly, although Ulrich lamented it's blandness, reminding himself to upgrade to a JANE model when he got back, if he got back that is.

One AS4GS with 28 plasma shells. One fully loaded LSP, one VCBS, One ammo container, holding an extra 28 plasma shells and a good old NAM VCBS Vibrosaw Knife.

Unaware of the Laura lurking ever so near Ulrich began to sing to himself
"Let me tell you a story to chill the bones
About a thing that I saw
One night wondering in the everglades
I'd one drink but no more
I was rambling, enjoying the bright moonlight
Gazing up at the stars
Not aware of a presence so near to me
Watching my every move"

Lost in his song, Ulrich was caught off guard by Laura's question, startling the P3C, who snapped into a salute "Just checking my equipment Sir...er Ma'am".
 
Bridget was waving her farewell to the pilots when the announcement came through. She tingled with fear but quickly converted that fear into excitement. She trotted over to her Hostile and situated herself inside.

She rubbed her hands together and giggled. "Systems check, right? Give me a damage report, please."

Her SAVtech was initially slow to respond to the odd request. "No damage sustained. All systems running at optimal output."

"Yay! I love you, Savvie!"

The computer was quiet.

"Now," said Bridget, stretching her arms and fingers, "let's do a weapons and equipment check! Vibrosaw? Check! Pistol? Check! Scary rifle? Check! ARROWs and DARTs and lots of 'em? Check! Plenty o' ammo for the baddies? Check!" She reached into a cargo pocket and pulled out a hair clip with a glittery red heart on it. "Good luck barrette? Check!" She put it in one of her curly pigtails.

Her SAVtech seemed to protest this action. "That is not a standard..."

"I know, Savvie, but it's for good luck!"

Bridget hummed while she made her usual adjustments to the controls and sights. The SAVtech only spoke when spoken to. It was probably for the best.
 
Bastilen had already made most of his diagnostic checks through the maintenance mode on his Hostile. The equipment was secure and so was the payload that went with it. Still, he made sure that all his hard-point weapons were secure, as some armorers had an odd habit of putting a missile pod on a little hap-hazardly. Double-checking things put the man's mind at ease in more ways than one. He felt more secure in mind, and it helped him get his brain off the under-handed Drei.

Pat pat, pat pat. Everything appeared secure. He had full load-outs, and save for a few scuffs of paint, he doubt he could be any more ready to go. So, the soldier climbed into his armor, and got climatized for the mission ahead of him.

There was a lot to think about. He hadn't had the chance to really show himself in the last mission. He wasn't sure if they hadn't trusted him, or if his paper-work hadn't cleared, but he was tired of being someone lacking the rank-bars to back his own words. Bastilen was tired of being a shamed soldier that let his anger get the best of him.

So, as he gripped his rifl, he thought back to those days. His HPAR became a LBR, and his Hostile, a WATER. In that deeply thought moment, he pictured the battlefield around him. Scared civilians were running away from the intense fighting. Dark Demons, Demons, and Brick-shitters defended their lines and post until surrender or their last. The Marines of the NSS Alliance had already won the day by the time the rest of the whole Marine Corps got there. They were the first wave, they had the riskiest, and the deadliest assignment.

Second wave had the longest fight, though. Bastilen could remember running, jumping, and flying across old, war-torn expanses, seeing children playing amongst the wreckage of old homes. Every now and then they'd find a pocket of Reds refusing to follow their leader, Admiral Coleman, into the arms of the Greens. Then they'd swoop in, and either kill them or make them surrender.

They almost always chose to die.

Clack, clack. went Bastilen's eyes under his Hostile's visor. The troubled soldier looked down at his hand, and found it shaking.

He always went back to that memory, he played it over so many times he could remember just how many people saw him do it. Him, dragging an unarmed prisoner-of-war in front of an already scared populace. Then, as almost a thousand looks of horror stared upon him, including the one looking up from the bore of his rifle, he executed a man who was no threat to him. All he had done was run his mouth, that man, and Bastilen saw that as enough to end his life.

He resolved not to be that, not anymore. With a deep breath, an a lamentabled cloud clearing, he focused his mind, and awaited further orders, silently.
 
The door to the hangar bay slid open with a soft pneumatic hiss as the Cavalier's resident Ladette walked through the archway. She had a stoic look on her face and stayed silent as she walked by her squadmates, which was somewhat characteristic of her being in a sour mood. She stepped over to her Hostile, turned around and entered the armor. It sealed around her body and she grasped the helmet with both hands, pulling it up and carrying it under her left arm. She'd opted for the same load-out as last time, sans missiles, and with a new melee weapon: A VBCS longsword, plasma lance rifle, HPAR, shoulder-mounted pulse LASERs and an HHG with BLUE and RED rounds. She stepped forward into the room and let out a droning sigh that sounded so depressed, it was almost pitiful.

"I can't believe I'm still stuck in this chickenshit outfit."
 
The electronic's specialist had gathered his focus quite well, his suit tromping over to the DataJockey he had left near the suit. Having relived his past a moment put a little fire in his belly, and gave him plenty of resolve. This was the moment where he'd make a difference. Hell, Bastilen might even gain a little temperament to his short fuse. Working with people did that for him, and this group here seemed like an especially good bunch. They all seemed ready and willing to hop into the thick, and were happy for it.

She stepped forward into the room and let out a droning sigh that sounded so depressed, it was almost pitiful.

"I can't believe I'm still stuck in this chickenshit outfit."
Click to expand...

Bastilen almost put his finger through his Datapad. All the huffing and blowing the other P4C had been doing killed the vibe he had worked up. His hand shook again, as he quickly lamented the loss of his chi. Partially, the anger was directed at himself for being thrown off so easily, another one was at the groaning source.

"Hey, you want a some moaning to go with your bitching?" piped Bastilen's external speakers, his mono-eye edged to the limit of his field of view, only giving Rita a side-profile of himself. "Because I'd love to hear some of that."
 
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