RP: 4th Fleet (NSN) [Mission 6.1] Housekeeping

He hadn't ever been dropped before and the experience was something he would rather not repeat. Upon entering the building via grand fashion, Eric had watched where everyone was firing from and moved to cover the squad's flank. When the immediate danger was over, he was taken by surprise as some crates erupted with robots. Falling back and ducking behind some machinery, he picked a few shots at the bots, making sure to let the others of his squad cover his flanks. He kept sighted downrange and took shots as they presented themselves, not too worried about being overwhelmed by the robots.

"Copy that! Advancing, someone cover me!"

"Got you covered!" He put some shots into a bot that had moved between some debris and put it down. He quickly scanned the area where Wulfe had been moving and set up to watch for any threats targeting him.

Stan smirked to himself. Well, that wasn't too bad...

His train of thought was interrupted, though, by Leon's warning and then the unwelcome surprise of a bevy of new heat signatures making themselves known on his HUD. By this point he had reholstered his LSP, clutching his AMP in both hands as he attempted to maneuver out of the spindly robots' line of fire and into cover. Having done so, he then took aim at the Jimmies and Steves - though the ID-SOL stopped first to make sure he wasn't going to clip someone with his shots (or accidentally set off something volatile). Pulling the trigger, he tried to destroy or suppress the troublesome machines with a long, sustained burst of fire, using his Aggressor's chainguns to handle any robots that tried to go after other Marines.

"Hey, do we have any idea where the control room might be?" asked Stan. It felt like a dumb question, but as far as he knew nobody was actually sure where the accursed thing might be.

Talbain let his armor's PCTs switch over to the robots while he took a moment to stow his side arm and look for the largest group of robots not in the middle of a hail of plasma from the marines.

"Noise maker going up." It wouldn't help with the group of Jimmies and Steves that were already active. But it would block signals to activate anything else in the room remotely.

His Aggressor armor started lumbering towards the first unfortunate robot he had picked. He didn't bother pulling his VBCS knife. The weight and strength of his armor would be more than enough for him to do the job by hand..

"No idea," Laura chirped helpfully.

The sweet, dulcet tones of Chief Santiago shouting into their ears changed matters.

"Cavaliers, endex, endex, endex! Abort, abort, abort! Abort mission and proceed to extraction point. Neutralize any resistance in your way but speed is critical. Hostile forces are assaulting Headquarters. IPG Commando reserves are being deployed but they're only five armors. All missions are being aborted! If you have prisoners, bring them. Gunships will be landing in three minutes. Move your arses, Marines!"

Bernhard turned and fired a trio of ARROWS at the nearest wall, blowing it out and creating an exit for the Marines. The rendezvous point was just a block down, an intersection of road large enough for a pair of gunships to hover low enough for the Marines to fire their thrusters and get aboard. "On point," Bernhard said, leading the way out.

Laura kicked the new guy, Eric, towards the hole. "Don't just stand there! Move!"

"Abort, abort! Move it Cavaliers! Proceed to extraction point! Grab any prisoners and bring them with! Gunships inbound three minutes!" said Phaedra, firing bursts from her HPAR at two of the nearby robots. She moved with the rest of the squad towards the hole that Bernhard had created.

The Hammers and Cavaliers piled into the gunships that hovered a few meters above street level. Traffic had come to a halt, wary of the heavily armed aircraft above them and the multi-ton machines of war sprinting past them.

Chief Santiago was in the same craft as Phaedra's and placed her a hand on her shoulder as he walked by, ostensibly checking on the other Marines. "HQ is under attack. They've got mortars set up on three buildings and they're popping off dozens of rounds at the building. They're also firing off Zen ATGMs at Kerr and Toby's tanks. If the tanks are busy defending themselves, they can't shoot down the mortar shells. According to Sergeant Rochester, they're also being pinned down by ground level light infantry armed with rocket launchers and Gart guns. Light casualties for now but they're losing ground and shield power.

"Our job, bring death from above. Hammers will clear the ground level and take out their infantry. Cavaliers will take the roof, neutralize the mortar positions and clear the building. They have to be all kinds of stupid to attack us in broad daylight."

"Shit, they've got Zen combat bots now!" Rochester's voice was audible only to Leon, Phaedra and Hardman, the latter two had been patched into the HQ defense force comm network.

Leon turned to look at Phaedra. If there were Zen robots in the warehouse as well as at HQ, that meant there were other storage places.

"Ammo check, Marines. Dropping in three!"

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For the second time that day, Bernhard was uncomfortable. The sensation of freefalling was like being encased in jelly. It brought back the fears, the memories and the shame. He should have died that day with the others. Only mere chance allowed him to use the few seconds that it took the NMX to kill the others to let him escape.

As the Cavaliers descended from the clouds, energy beams and rockets shot up to meet them. Their LPAs easily burned away the fire-and-forget rockets and for the moment, their shields shrugged off the energy beams. He watched Laura land first and in the moment that she needed to recover her balance, two rockets slammed into her armor, engulfing it in smoke and flame. Bernhard froze. It was happening again. Laura was down. She had to be. Bernhard didn't register his landing, smashing into the concrete roof and lying still. His mind began replaying the landing at Rok'Veru, his desperate escape and solitude in the gutted city then juxtaposing it with the image of Laura's VOID wreathed in fire. Slowly, the two separate images became one and kept playing themselves over and over.

While the smoke cleared, meanwhile, the other Cavaliers had landed. Phaedra saw that Laura was on her hands and knees but relatively unharmed. Her shield drones had taken the brunt of the damage and half a dozen of them lay smashed besides her. Bernhard, too, was down though no one had seen him get hit.

Laura rose silently, hunting for targets oblivious to the fact that Bernhard was not moving.

"Fan out Cavaliers; we need to take the insurgents and their mortars out pronto!" said Phaedra as she landed on the roof. She saw Laura on her hands and knees after taking two rocket hits.

"Move, move, move!" she said, pointing for emphasis. She made her way over to Laura's position.

"Laura, are you alright?" she asked. And then she saw Bernhard laying still on the ground.

"Bernhard's down. Did anyone see him get hit?"

Stan checked his weapons, PA status, and his ammunition reserves almost obsessively after he got into the gunship. Getting caught out during a day that seemed fraught with "gotchas" was not the ID-SOL's idea of fun by any stretch of the imagination. At least they had a plan. That was a start. Anything else would have to be done on the fly. The enemy couldn't foul that up, thankfully. Stan's expression remained blank behind the Aggressor's helmet as he mentally pumped himself up for the impending drop.

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It was tricky, trying to focus on the details and everything at the same time. Though he knew the Aggressor could handle itself during the drop, Stan still had to fight the instinctual urge to flinch as a rocket came screeching toward him, a flaming dart or harpoon trailing a smoky path through the sky. It almost felt like he was going to be speared upon the projectile until the Aggressor's LPA dealt with the threat. The powered armour's shielding was holding up quite nicely too.

They were almost there now. A slight intake of breath. Stan was faintly aware of something happening to one of the other Marines, but he was so transfixed by what was in front of them that he dared not tear his eyes away. His PA's mechanisms were already completing the complex dance that had started at a much higher altitude. Systems meshing with systems meshing with systems. Another gulp of air. So close. Brace.

This time his rate of descent was arrested in a less dramatic manner. Jolted out of his thoughts by the shock of the landing and Phaedra's transmissions, he did as he was told, AMP in the ready position. Sparing a sideways glance to where Bernard lay - a fresh core of icy horror threatening to take hold in his body - Stan managed to blurt out, "Uh, negative."

Have we already lost someone? The question ran laps around his head, only heightening his anxiety. Stan tried to force it out of his mind - there was still the small matter of how everyone else was doing.

Wulfe tried not to bother himself thinking of how a stray missile or energy beam would end him as he dropped on free fall. It was out of his hands until he dropped, and once again he was better off letting the PA's AI do the calculations and fire at the incoming rockets. The marine winced as a few energy beams were deflected by his shield, but kept his gaze downwards as the building grew bigger and bigger.

His Hostile landed the same way it had in the warehouse, violently and with the suit's thrusters still screaming. The marine raised his HPAR, firing it at any target that presented themselves but trying to make sense of the highest threats so he could engage them. The infantry armed with small arms certainly were not, the marines were there to clear out the mortar crews and that's what Wulfe was looking for.

Eric was even less thrilled at his second drop than he was on his first one. He busied himself with checking what little information they passed his way and looking at the rest of his team. He swapped out an almost depleted magazine with a fresh one as they dropped for the second time.

Falling through space felt a little surreal to Eric and he flinched as a rocket or laser was intercepted by his suit. He landed and immediately went to one knee and opened fire on a launcher that he had spotted from the air. The rooftop was lashed with automatic fire as the enemies ducked behind cover. He caught snippets of the situation, but he didn't worry about it much. Medics helped the soldiers, he just kept the suits running. "Lot o' good I'm gonna be without my toolkit though," he mumbled to himself.

Laura spun at the words "Bernhard's down." While she moved on auto-pilot, Laura also fought the rising panic in her head as she scanned his medical readouts. His Hostile reported that his heart-rate was extremely high and that he was under a lot of stress but nothing physically crippling. Instead of easing her fears, the readouts heightened them.

"He's having a panic attack, Sarge! He's not hit!" Laura reported as she crouched besides his prone form. Immediately, she connected wirelessly to his Hostile's medical systems and injected him with a drug to slow down his heart rate. Dear God, if he's having one of those nightmares, we're damn lucky he's not violent. Whatever he's seeing must be terrifying. In the past few weeks, Laura had grown used to Bernhard's uneasy sleep. Sometimes he was violent but most of the time, he was just uncomfortable until she calmed him down. This was the first time she had seen him frozen in terror. The man who was unflappable.

"Bernie, focus! Focus on my voice, you idiot! Focus on me! Get up, you idiot! Get up and fight and kill these bastards who want to hurt me and the Sarge and the newbie you won't let me hit!" she continued shouting at him, shaking his armor to get him to snap out of it. Slowly, on her readout, Laura watched Bernhard's heart rate drop. It wasn't fast but it was steady. And that alone was good. It would stop hyperventilation. For the moment, Laura's world was closed off, limited to just her and Bernhard. She trusted the others to defend them. It wasn't even something she thought about anymore.

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Energy beams and rockets flew furiously but it was obvious that only a couple dozen mercenaries were on the roof. Six of them were manning a trio of mortars at the far end of the roof. The Cavaliers' job was simple: Eliminate all threats with extreme prejudice.

"Cavaliers, Irregulars are below you, working up. Clear that roof and hold it. IPG reports their target down and they're moving onto the last one. Renegades are moving in support. 505th has taken out a reinforcement column. We've got 'em on the ropes!"

Leon Santiago's voice over their radios urged them onwards.

The Marines made short work of their opponents. Against the relentless advance by the 4th Fleet's Marines, veterans of the Rok'Veru Offensive, the former Paragon mercenaries could not stand up to them. Whilst skilled as paramilitary operators, it had been too long since any of them had faced an equally professional and deadly force. They also had the huge disadvantage of lacking power armor.

Complacency alone was a deadly fault but coupled with the enormous handicap of facing modern power armor with barely adequate weapons, the mercenaries put up a brave though brief resistance. It took the Cavaliers exactly thirty seconds to wipe out the position before them. Led by Phaedra, the Cavaliers, minus their medics, ploughed through the front rank of the mercenaries. The six Nepleslians were ripped to pieces by pulse lasers and the heavy power armor weapons.

Phaedra was the spear-point. A long volley of mini-missiles spread out from her Hostile's calves, destroying the obstacles in her path and scattering her opposition. Liberally applied ARROWs were the textbook assault cover. And infantry had no defense against them. As she and her squad passed through the smoke and debris, they found a pair of mortar teams hastily trying to pack up. That act of equipment preservation cost them their small chance of escape as the Cavaliers simply gunned them down where they stood. No mercy was offered. Those were the orders.

Once upon a time, Phaedra had been chastised for gunning down defecting NMX Nekos. Today, the same man who had chastised her was giving the execution orders.

"Brilliant work, Cavaliers. Looks like we've got 'em. Admiral's compliments, all 4th Fleet Marines report for immediate debriefing. Time to break open one of those crates of whiskey the Admiral gave us," Leon Santiago congratulated them.

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"Bernhard!"

"What, Romero?!" All of a sudden, the nightmare was gone but the scorched and ruined streets remained. But there weren't fires as far as the eye could see. All of the damage was localized to just this area. The cold fear in his gut remained but it was as if waking from a bad dream by having cold water doused on him. Bernhard slowly unclenched his fingers, shocked that they were clenched and that he was on the ground.

"Did I..." he started to ask but immediately enveloped by Laura's VOID.

"First time I ever saw Marines hug each other like that in Armor," Sergeant Hardman commented as his squad appeared on the roof. Laura gave him a middle finger.

"You should always be prepared for the unexpected, Sergeant. First rule of warfare." Corporal Holmes' interjection received the same response.

Bernhard's temporary lapse would be dealt with later. With Sergeant Volkov and qualified doctors. For now, Laura was glad he was back amongst the living and not lost in the ruins of Rok'Veru.

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Later

Sweaty, stinky but alive, the Marines gathered in one of the lounges. It was an odd place to choose but the Marines grabbed the comfy chairs and lounged around. Some from Rochester's squad started napping on the carpeted floor.

The Cavaliers were joined by a face they'd never seen. Introduced as Pvt. Alexander Reams, the new guy fell into the squad without a voice of complaint.

Then one of the doors to the lounge swung open and in a crisp blue and black uniform, with golden decorations adorning his shoulders, Grand Admiral Valken marched into the room. There was no announcement of "Officer on deck."

As some of the Marines made to stand and salute, Valken waved them to remain as they were. He was flanked by a pair of bodyguards and Rear Admiral Ironside.

Uncharacteristically, he pulled up a chair and sat down in it. His entourage appeared surprised by the move but stood around him like statues.

"I've been in a lot of wars. They are really strange things, unpredictable and chaotic. But this... this isn't war. This is someone's political game and from what I have seen of the outside, you've beaten it. Someone, something is at work here and rest assured, the IPG will find it. While we've been back, you've been my bodyguards, protecting this gilded cage. Thank you. I think this is the second time that some of you have saved my bacon so doubly thank you to those people.

"We have a month until the New Year. Starting tomorrow, you have leave but you're restricted to the planet. The 405th will take over guarding this building though I doubt they'll try anything like that again. I won't even be here. Tomorrow, I transfer my flag back to the flagship. The new Dauntless is arriving and we can begin fleet maneuvers. After that, we're going to have a friendly exercise with parts of 2nd and 3rd Fleets, including ground combat on Delsauria. Chief Santiago," Valken stood and handed the Marines' senior officer a slip of paper.

"Good day, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you." The Admiral left with a ghost of a smile on his face. As the door closed behind Admiral Ironside, Leon looked at the paper and read it aloud.

"'All personnel who have served more than six months are hereby awarded elite status. All personnel who have served less than that are promoted by one grade. Promotions and pay adjustments are effective immediately. Signed, Dominic Valken.' Oh, there's a postscript. 'This week's code for the contraband locker on the 8th floor is AMBER. Help yourselves to it this one time and don't tell anyone. Not even Admiral Ironside or she'll do this to me!'"

Leon started laughing and handed the paper to the others. It had two little hand drawn comical figures, fat and short. One was obviously the Grand Admiral in his uniform, fleeing for life while the other was an exaggerated Admiral Ironside with knife and pistol in one hand looking to murder him. The figures were even colored with pens, showing how much work the Grand Admiral had put into the doodle.