RP: Reactivated Reactivated M4: Firebase Assault

[Commissar Farzi]

RP Date

YE 44.3.2

RP Location

Sandraker

Steiner was pouring over the data feeds-areal drone reconnaissance had finally located where the tracker's signal was coming; while the intelligence that Morris's squad was currently being processed the gribbly vehicle had been recovered and according to the beacons placed had come to rest at what seemed to be some kind of facility; the facility reassembled a cross with a series of towers jutting from it. The feed showed what looked like convoys coming and going, but they hadn't dared loitered their drones any longer than they had to. Either a factory or firebase-and the brief active scans they'd risked had shown it to be only moderately fortified with few if any trenches; instead having bunkers and strongpoints with a few walls for cover-either that or much like Bifrost their defenses were buried in the toxic soil. Of course, static defense such as theirs meant little when even infantry could be airborne.

He found himself wishing not for the first time today that Tacho had recovered-she'd been in the isolation ward since her injury; her armor would have greatly contributed to reconnaissance. However, now was not the time to dwell on such matters, there were gribblies that needed killing. "Yeomen's Morris, Andrake, and Auli'i report to the main gantry." He called over the intercom, and set a transmission to Pascal as well...

---

Morris had just woken up and was currently settling down to a breakfast of bread and cheese when the call came through. His wife looked at him for a moment, and with a nod of understanding slathered some butter on a few slices before placing a large slice of cheese and salted thruok between them making a crude sandwhich. "Duty calls," he said, giving her an appreciative kiss on the cheek before collecting his helmet and meal, "See you when I get back.' If he came back-thought that went unsaid.

The big man had finished his meal by the time he'd arrived, brushing away the crumbs off his brigandine. "Yeomen Sergant Morris reporting." He said with a salute-though when he spotted Pascal a shiver went down his spine-The presence of a knight-captain either really good, or they were in for a rough time.

 

[HarperMadi]

Yeoman Andrake, though her uniform clean and pressed, appeared at the Gantry as though walking out of the shadows clutching a cup of hot, caffeinated sludge. Based on the mat of hair and the brush in her back pocket, this was her first cup. And the ration bar in her other hand would have told Morris that Andrake was well and truly still half asleep and had not noticed Pascal just yet.

"Yeoman Andrake reporting..." Mike threw back a mouthful of the sludge, blearily looking to Morris as though hoping he could get her out of whatever mess the squad was going into so she could go back to sleeping in a hammock strung between hydroponic towers. "Sorry, my bunkmate had guests over."

 

[Charaa]

The short fox, Auli'i, stepped back from the machine she'd been fixing in the Iron Company's hangar bay, wiping a bit of grease from her hands onto her outfit. Her sensitive nose twitched at the familiar scent of metal, oil, and overheated circuits—a scent she had long grown used to, though she still disliked it. The technician stretched her arms, rotating her shoulders to ease the stiffness that had set in after hours of work.

"Okay... ship issue repaired," she muttered, glancing over her handiwork one last time. Her ears perked up slightly as if listening for any sounds of malfunction from the vessel, but it remained silent. Satisfied, she gave a small nod of approval.

"Time for this short fox to get cleaned up and grab something to eat," she mused aloud, already imagining the comforting scent of food replacing the harsh tang of the decontamination spray she'd soon have to endure. Before heading off, she checked her work tools and started putting them away in her pack, moving with the efficient precision that came from practice.

As she made her way toward the exit of the hangar, a soft chime sounded on the intercom. Auli'i frowned slightly, The words "Report to Main Gantry"came through. She sighed and signed in exasperation. "Looks like I gotta get back to the other work," she muttered, her tail swishing behind her in mild annoyance. There was always something more to fix, another task needing her attention.

With a practiced motion, she reached for her weapon, a compact but powerful piece of equipment that she had maintained and customized herself. Slinging it over her shoulder, Auli'i straightened her posture and began her walk toward the main gantry of the base on the planet Sandraker. As much as she grumbled, she knew the importance of her role, both as a Supply Smith and a technician. The machines and weapons wouldn't keep themselves in working order, after all.

Her steps were brisk, and despite the weight of the work ahead, she couldn't help but think about the meal waiting for her when she finally finished for the day. "Maybe I'll ask Mike or papa for a little extra training after," she thought, though the idea still made her hesitate. For now, though, duty called. "Apprentice Smith, Auli’I reporting for duty!” She said as she stepped beside Mike. ‘hey papa, sis, ready to destroy some gribblies?” She asked.

 

[Commissar Farzi]

Steiner looked at the trio-Mike looked half-dead with a mug and ration bar in hand, Morris had clearly finished a meal if the crumbs he was brushing away were any indication, and Auil'i's tail was waving rapidly, betraying her annoyance; the fox. In short the squad he'd been assigning some of the more difficult missions looked like a bunch of bed-raggled, recently recruited novices rather than the professional soldiers that he'd come to expect. "I do apologize for calling you in on such short notice," He began, indicating the holo display, "But unfortunately we have an opportunity that we can ill afford to miss-3 Days ago we were able to zero in on the tracking devices you planted-leading us to here." He showed the facility. "We have reason to believe this is a major firebase, located approximately 80 kilometers due east-in fact it may be the cause for the sudden influx of enemy units as indicated by this footage here." He showed the various armored units coming and going-mostly the lighter vehicles they'd been encountering lately, though a number of heavier elements could be seen. "At the moment we have limited intel on the ground defenses-" Several red markers appeared along the northern and southern parts of the facility "-these indicate possible strongpoints, as well as the intermittent foot patrols-while I am loathe to commit our forces to such a distance, if this is the case we may only have one opportunity to strike a proper blow against the foe"

"Knight Captain Pascal here has been place in charge of the assault," He said, indicating the old man beside him, "I will turn the briefing over to him."

Pascal looked at the trio; from what he heard their first several missions together had achieved mixed results. Spider mines had stalled the recon on the outpost, and their attempt at tagging enemy patrols had gone poorly to the point they'd been forced to abandon the mission after one of their own had been injured-a poor excuse some would say-but at the same time they'd recovered a fair amount of Intel.

In short; their successes seemed to be more the result of dumb luck and bumbling than actual skill-something that was unfortunately in over-abundance at the moment and rather undesirable in such a squad. Still, you worked with what you have. "After much discussion, we have decided to commit a total of 9 cohorts; 7 assault units and 2 artillery." Morris's eyes went wide-that was almost a full legion's worth of troops. "Given the circumstances and nature of our enemies, it was decided that overwhelming force was needed for this mission." Several arrows indicate points of attack as Pascal continued. "We'll be striking at dusk, with a preliminary hurricane bombardment, and then advance as quickly as possible to overwhelm any potential counter attack." Short, sweet, and simple-just how the big man liked it-but at the same time something didn't sit right with him.

"Sir," Morris began, chewing over his words, "If we're committing so many units to the front, why do you need an individual squad?" A slight smile played on the old man's lips. "The grandmaster has seen fit to give you a special assignment." That wasn't good. The mechanoid looked down at them. "Your task will be to gather any further intel on the enemy-computers, documents, ranking officers, even equipment while providing support to any squads as needed." He produced a particle rifle-a common gribbly sidearm. "In terms of equipment the Particle rifle are of great interest-if you are able try to secure any manufacturing equipment or design notes pertaining to them should they be present." While Steiner had his doubts that any such thing would be made available if this truly was just a firebase, but he could hope. "There is also the matter of ensuring your squad is back up to strength." At least as much as an understrength squad could be in an ad-hoc commando role, but Steiner needed a unit he could call upon at a moment's notice outside of his honor guard. "Junior Yeoman Susan Blood Report to the central gantry immediately."

This hopefully wouldn't be a disaster; assigning a fresh out-of-training yeoman was not ideal, but they needed a replacement for Tacho, at least until she made a full recovery.

If she recovered...

 

[iaincarter]

"... Report to the central gantry immediately." Susan grunted in annoyance at the interruption to his exercise, letting his heartrate and breathing continue to calm as he slowly lowered the thirty kilo dumbbell to the floor. He had learned early on in basic training not to ignore announcements just because they probably wouldn't be about you. Not wanting to repeat the experience of cleaning a training barracks' bank of shitters with a toothbrush, the Yeoman had quickly taught himself to pause whatever activity he was doing when the announcement called out. The way he figured it, it was only a matter of time until it became an ingrained habit, like a lot of the stuff the Iron Company had been training into him.

Still, this was no time for lollygagging or wool-gathering, not when he'd been ordered somewhere. Fortunately, one of the first things they taught you was how to get dressed and out the door in a rapid fashion. So, unsurprisingly, it didn't take him more than a couple of minutes to be roughly-cleaned and appropriately dressed, striding through the base in his grey-blue duty uniform. Also, unsurprisingly, several of his fellow knuckleheads unconsciously moved out of his way as his long legs propelled him across the base like a predator on the scent of it's favourite prey. That was one of those things you got used to when you topped seven feet in height and massed almost three hundred pounds of muscle.

Susan liked to call it the 'squishy mentality'.

Of course, Susan mused, it could also be because of his scars, visible mementos of fifteen years of getting into every fistfight, brawl and scrap that he could find. Or maybe it was the eight-pointed tattoo inked on his forehead in red the colour of fresh blood that so drew the eyes of those who crossed his path. There was even the chance that they were admiring his bald scalp or full, black garibaldi-style beard. Maybe it was all of the above, not that Susan really cared what they thought. Unless they wanted to make a fuss about it and throw down, of course. There was nothing quite like a quick rumble to get your blood pumping at the start of the day!

Assessing the potential combat promise of his fellow knuckleheads, and how best to quickly put them down, kept Susan busy until he reached the gantry access. Entering, he halted in front of the group and saluted. "Junior Yeoman Susan Blood reporting as ordered!" he growled out in his gravelly, deep voice as he ran his ocean blue eyes across the assembled knuckleheads.

Spoiler: OOC

If saluting isn't an Iron Company thing, assume that the drill instructor-equivalent that taught Susan thought it would be funny to make the recruits believe it was a thing, but nobody has told Susan otherwise yet. Feel free to poke fun accordingly. For an image of the mentioned tattoo, see here.

 

[HarperMadi]

"And rookie wrangling to add to the mess..." Mike's whisper trailed off as she broke off her already chewed piece of pimekin, passing the rest to Auli'i.

"With all respect, Grandmaster, our squad is good for infiltration, BSA sabotage, ambushes, and high value target management. We're a brawler, a saboteur, and a sniper, and Tacho usually provides air support." The woman speaking was short, too short to be Valhallan, normally, but she carried herself like one. Aside feeding the beastkin at her hip. Perhaps a farm kid? Some tucked away agriculture focused world that would have grown food to feed the armies. Thin built, but well muscled and sharp featured, with a mass of red-brown hair she was just now dragging a brush through. "No offense intended, Yeoman. I'm hopeful that you'll do well with us. I'm Yeoman Andrake, anti-armor and sniper support, Auli'i is our fluffy sweetheart with a penchant for making things not work and ambushes, and Morris is good at stopping forward progress so the other two of us can give the enemy a bad day. We've had a rough couple of missions recently, so we're glad for any support we can get. What's your go-to?"

 

[Charaa]

Auli'i stood still, her tail swishing rhythmically behind her as she listened intently to the briefing. Her sharp eyes were locked on the holodisplay in front of her, a detailed map of the facility they were about to attack. The image flickered with the outlines of buildings, barricades, and pathways that snaked through the compound. The facility was sprawling, a key position held by the Gribblies.

Her brow furrowed as she studied the movements on the display. Various armored units could be seen coming and going in real-time, mostly the lighter vehicles that had become familiar to her after several skirmishes. Fast and agile, they were often used for hit-and-run tactics, probing defenses and retreating before any real damage could be done. But today, she noticed something different.

Among the lighter vehicles, several heavier elements were moving into position. Larger, more imposing machines—artillery, tanks, and heavily armored transports—were strategically placed around the perimeter of the firebase. They were clearly reinforcing the area, preparing for a larger engagement. Auli'i's sharp mind raced as she pieced together what this meant.

This definitely seems like a major firebase the Gribblies are using, she thought, her ears twitching slightly as she picked up on hushed conversations around her. The enemy wasn't just defending; they were digging in, ready to fight hard to hold this position. The heavier vehicles indicated a possible command center or an important supply depot deep within the base—something critical enough to warrant such protection.

Auli'i's thoughts drifted momentarily to the task ahead. She was used to fixing and maintaining weapons and equipment, but on the battlefield, her role shifted. As a Smith, she knew every detail about the tools her squad used and how to keep them in peak condition, but here, in this assault, she'd be putting those skills to the test under fire. She would be alongside her team, using her compact weapon, knowing that every second in the fight mattered.

Her tail flicked with a hint of agitation. She wasn't one for idle waiting. Her mind had already moved ahead, thinking about how best to navigate the upcoming battle. Should they focus on taking out the heavier vehicles first to cripple the enemy's defense, or would it be better to move through the lighter units and punch through to the firebase's core? Her instincts leaned toward the latter—it was always better to go for the heart of the enemy, but they'd need to be fast and precise.

"Heavy armor in the perimeter, lighter units patrolling—probably scouting," Auli'i thought to herself, committing the layout to memory. She glanced around at her teammates, reading their expressions. She wasn't the strategist here, but she'd be ready, whether it was providing cover fire or keeping the equipment functional in the chaos of battle.
Her eyes shifted back to the holodisplay one last time. before Steiner called in another Yeomen, someone she wasn’t familiar with. She watched the man enter, before accepting the broken piece of the pimekin. Silently she munched it, slowly squenching her hunger. The New guy though, only time will tell if he was one of those she deemed the dirt, people like Revjak. or Family, like Mike, Tacho, Morris, and Steiner and so on who were nice to her.

 

[Commissar Farzi]

Morris shot a glance at Mike disagreeing with their assessment; their squad wasn't really well suited to any of those missions-they just happened to be the unlucky thurok fuckers that the grandmaster could call on short notice when he needed to throw bodies at a particular problem. "Alright-how soon do we mount up?" Pascal looked at him for a moment before nodding. "You have two hours-get your junior situated by then." He nodded to the grandmaster before turning and heading off to the staging area-likely to assign what cohort was where; it wasn't his business-or anyone's really-they just did what they were told. "Before you all depart- for the purposes of this mission you are now receiving the Temporary Designation of Onyx Squad," Said Steiner, causing the big man to look up at the mechanoid with a start-a new squad being formed for a specific mission was surprising-though he'd never heard this particular designation before, "Morris you are designated Onyx 1-1, Andrake is 2-1, Auil'i Is 3-1, and Blood is Onyx 4-1-get yourselves prepped for combat." With that the mechanoid trundled away, likely to oversee any larger preparations for battle.

"Alright Junior," Morris said as he turned to the newbie-he figured the best way to keep him out of trouble was to have him in the back with the big gun, "We're gonna need some heavier firepower than a few rifles; draw an assault hardsuit and plasma rifle from the smiths-I think they may have a volley gun variant down there." He wrote something on a piece of paper, "So see if this requisition actually goes through-if not just get a regular." He cracked his neck before looking at the other two. "After we suit up-all three of you eat till your bursting and drink till your sloshing-chances are we aren't gonna have any downtime once we the assault begins."

This was going to be the start of a very long, and likely very trying day...

---

2 hours later

In the back of the Defender Flamethrower, also know to its crew as the Pillbox due to its numerous mechanical problems Morris rested his head, trying to catch what little sleep he could before the assault hit-Thankfully Revjak had opted to command from a Myrmidon which meant an actual moment's peace for once. Granted the engine was groaning and occasionally clanking like a whorehouse full of old beds, but at least it was running and it was drowning out the worst of the wind. So there was that. He kept his combat shield close-it's EM screen fully charged for the occasion as his warhammer rested across his lap...

He wondered briefly how many yeoman would see tomorrow, let alone the end of the next few hours-and decided it was best not to dwell on it. It'd cut into his rest time.

 

[GingerGlitch]

A few wandering thoughts rambled through Nara's mind as she flew above the ground crew. Most of them centered around the mission ahead of them, a few strayed out of concern for Tacho. Now this was no direct personal concern, as she had no deep personal connection with the woman yet. This was more of an empathetic concern, as she had an inkling or two of what Tacho meant to some of the others. Especially what this unfortunate event meant to her sister Auli'i. She had peeked in on the injured norian briefly in between things, but she had kept it short. As she felt any longer of a stay would not only be mildly awkward but possibly inappropriate given their lack of personal relationship. However, she did do one risky thing. Given her knowledge of the make up of norian armor and its likely importance to Tacho, Nara did what she could to make sure what was left of it was preserved for Tacho. Granted there was a risk here in touching Tacho's armor and attempting to make sure its mindhive S'thae's slurry got changed, Tacho could be pissed and come gunning for her.

That risk of losing limbs would be completely irrelevant if she did not make it back from this mission however. Her eyes glanced over those below as her sensors scanned to check on the crew. Essentially assessing that no sneaky unwanted creatures had attempted to come up on them.

 

[HarperMadi]

Mike lay on the floor in the back of Defender Flamethrower, apparently asleep as her darkened helmet scanned comm channels for her to provide the much needed sniper support. Her shotgun hung from her hip, her pistol at her lower back, but the rifle against her chest was nearly her height, set on a bipod that could easily extend to a height to make her weapon fireable from a kneeling position. Not that she ever did.

Plasma sheathed kinetics for punching through and burning away armor, held in the hands of a woman who was malice and humor in her touch from miles away. Her suit was still greasy.

"Got a Norian contact on the HUD..." Moving for the first time, Mike tapped into her comm. "Norian contact, this is Onyx 2-1, please ID. Good to see a friendly face in the skies."

 

[iaincarter]

The young yeoman considered the question put forward by Yeoman Andrake even as he matched the mentioned names to the others who were present. What was his go-to? On the one hand, Susan knew he had what many might consider an unhealthy interest in close-quarter combat and honestly, he did love to fight. On the other hand, he hadn't officially been given a specialisation yet - so trying to claim close-assault or front-line specialist status might backfire in the 'clean the barracks shitter's with a toothbrush' kind of way.

Before he could consider any further, his thoughts were interrupted by the briefing officer. Onyx 4-1. Not the most awe-inspiring of callsigns, but Susan supposed that such would matter little to him once the proverbial excrement impacted at speed upon the air-circulation device. The yeoman cocked his head with interest at the instructions given to him by Morris. Staying back and shooting things wasn't exactly his preferred role but if there was one thing the Iron Company had trained into him, it was the ability to competently use a wide range of weaponry. And he definitely had the build for it.

Taking the requisition form, he nodded in acknowledgement and turned to leave. Fortunately, Susan didn't think he'd have a terribly difficult time of finding the team after he got geared up. They were kind of a distinctive bunch. As he stalked towards his destination, the sounds of hammering, engines and swearing growing louder as he went, Susan considered what he recalled about his training with hardsuits and plasma rifles. He would definitely be grabbing a support pack for the plasma rifle, wanting at least a few spare barrels and replacement coolant fluid in order to help avoid the self-immolation that had plagued so many in the past. Especially as it sounded like Susan was going to be toting a bigger, badder version of the temperamental weapon.

Finally arriving at the maintenance hangar, Susan made his way over to the armoury counter. With a nod at the smith manning the counter, Susan slapped down the requisition form. "Sergeant Morris told me to come down and draw an assault hardsuit and the biggest plasma rifle you've got. Also, I'd like..." He began listing the support gear Susan wanted to take along that he didn't already have in his personal gear. Considering that his personal gear was little more than the basic yeoman package, some field tools and spare parts were a sensible ask. Susan was sure his parents would have a heart attack at the thought of their son actually planning ahead 'like a sensible person'.

2 hours later

For the third time since boarding the Defender Flamethrower, Susan mentally checked all his pockets, pouches and packs. "Ration bars, second belt pouch left-side. Canteen..." he muttered to himself as he worked on memorising the locations of everything he had squirreled away around the exterior of his assault hardsuit. He knew he couldn't afford to pause in the middle of a firefight in order to try and remember where he had put the third spare clip for his standard-issue battle rifle. In fact, there had been a whole lesson during basic training, based upon all the different ways such a pause was a monumentally bad idea in combat. Which was why he was there in the back of the Defender, compiling and memorising a mental map of every piece of gear secreted around his person - Susan had to perform well during this operation. After all, you only got one first impression and, unfortunately, he couldn't punch these people hard enough to make them forget about a bad first impression.

 

[GingerGlitch]

Nara smiled a bit to herself, it was pleasant to see such vigilance. Even if that meant she was a forgettable partner in the Company's shenanigans, which actually would work better for her in certain scenarios. "Onyx 2-1, this is Milk Drinker, over. Watching from above." Milk Drinker was her given catchall name with the Company, as of yet she had not received a different one and she did not see why one would be warranted. The only one who really called her by her given name was her little sister Auli'i, so she did not expect anyone else to know it.

 

[HarperMadi]

"Milk Drinker,Onyx 2-1, Lima charlie. Get me some juicy shots and my ale rat's yours after mission. Ignore the girl on the ridge as the man behind the curtain. Sniper. Out."

Muting herself on the comm channel, Mike turned her head to Susan. "Your first mission's always rough. After a few you'll figure out your system. Till then, you need a drill buddy? Or just to have Morris brief you on how to call my angelic ass?" Laying as she was, her armor did little to accentuate the figure of the tiny agriworlder. Her helmet was closed, showing only her eyes behind the thick armor glass, and the grease on it was a trick to cake herself with the dust and debris of Sandraker's permanent haze, making her nearly invisible in the storm. Her feet rested crossed, her rifle's muzzle between her knees and her hands in casual ready grip against the sling. Her Brigandine seemed to be the slightest version, form fitting and slim that allowed her to move and aim and reposition quickly and readily. It seemed she wasn't one to take hits. Not one to like a fair fight. Too high a chance of losing. Morris had seen that rifle's bark knock a power armor helmet off the pilot.. and send much of the chest cavity out the neck seals. But that was in battle. Right now, she was trying more for the mom role. "You got any family back on base?"

 

[Commissar Farzi]

Lead Myrmidon: Avenger

Revjack sat in the cupola of the tank monitoring communications between the columns while making sure to keep an eye on the admittedly clouded surroundings-despite the Myrmidon's thick armor he was under no illusion of just how quickly even such a juggernaut could be laid low in a matter of moments. ("Base is 3 klicks out!") The driver called, running a quick test to make sure the monoplate canopy wasn't going to jam on him the moment he activated it-therefore reducing the likelihood of a potentially lethal hit on what many an offhand observer would call a critical weakness in an otherwise formidable combat vehicle. ("Alright,") He responded, turning the tank's radio, and breaking radio silence ("Pascal, this is Revjak, we're approaching the target now-3 kilometers out, over.") A firebase-if that's what it was-wasn't really a major target but if they could pull this off it would be a morale boost.

("Roger-have your spotters prepare to call down artillery once your within a half-klick and then we'll move in under the cover of the bombardment, over.") Revjak replied with an ("Acknowledged.") The cohort's vehicles began to pick up speed with what seemed to be enclosed attack bikes streaking ahead.

----

Morris cursed as they hit a particularly hard bump, having been nearly thrown from the carrier's bench. ("OI!") He barked at the driver, to which he got a laugh in response. ("Sory Morris, goh a rough pa'ch up 'ere-a'pparently we're do'ble timin' ih.") The big man couldn't tell if he was some backworld hick or missing a few teeth. Still the news that they were starting to pick up speed only meant one thing....

They were nearing the target.

("Alright Onyx Squad, double check your gear and make sure everything's in working order-we're coming up on the target!") He toggled the comm as he checked his machine pistol, "Milk drinker, you're on us-be ready to provide support when we hit the base-over!" Now all they had to do was potentially come out with a few prisoners and some salvage all while having the gribblies breathing down their necks...

No pressure...

----

Spotter Teams

The yeomen rolled up on their bikes-they called em Last Chance-simply because all that stood between you and a horrible end was the thin bulletproof canopy of the cockpit if you fucked up. Toggling his radio, watching as the cohorts closed the distance on his hud. ("Alright...call it in.") A line was opened up directly back command. ("Control, this Emerald 3-4-requesting fire mission at Battle Sector 5, grid coordinates Echo-4, Sub-grid coordinates 55-31, Altitude 434 meters above surface level, range .")

Back at Bifrost the crews of the massive Admonisher cannons prepared the two-piece shells as the artillery commander coordinated with the spotters. ("Roger that, gun crews loading rocket-assisted rounds and prepare for fire mission!") The crews placed the shell in first, followed by the propellant charge-they then gave it a good ram and then closed the breach as the gunners coordinated-bringing the barrels of the guns to the appropriate angle to deliver death to whatever poor slob was on the other end. ("GUN READY!") The yeoman sergant in charge shouted, followed by the commander's response of ("3, 2, 1-FIRE!") The massive guns roared-sending dust into the air as the area was lit up by a brilliant fireball, sending the deadly payload screaming into the night as their rocket motors igniting.

The indication of something wrong the NMX received was the scream of the massive rounds incoming-the second was the massive explosions rocking the base-sending those unfortunately enough to be caught in open flying even as their bodies were torn apart by the shrapnel if not the concussive force. Several more rounds screamed into the installation's peremeter, tearing asunder the defenses and whatever sense of organization there was. The very planet itself seemed to tremble with the forces being exerted upon it as debris flew through the air
----

Morris could feel the impacts of the rounds even inside the relative safety of Flamethrower; for a moment he felt a pang of sympathy for those on the receiving end, but then quashed it down. The gribblies deserved this and then some. ("Prepare to dismount!") The commander shouted as it grounded to a halt even as the gunner opened up with the autocannon, ("DISMOUNT!") The back ramp dropped with a clang and Morris gave a roar of ("MOVE!"), charging out into the battlefield with shield raised-but not so far he couldn't immediately take cover should it be required.

All around them was the hell of modern warfare-yeomen could be seen dismounting and trading shots with the defenders even as the armored units began pummeling them into the ground with withering fire. They'd been able to get far closer than he'd thought they would. Likely if there were mines the arty took care of that issue. ("Alright, all of you on me-we need to get into that facility.") The big man barked-before them was the gribbly factory-large and ominous in spite of the heavy damage inflicted-who knew what sort of horrs they might find lurking within...

 

[GingerGlitch]

"Copy, will do. Over." Nara responded over comms. Her sensors continued monitoring for unfriendly contacts as the group continued its approach towards the base. She watched as their target was struck by artillery, feeling no sympathy whatsoever for those inside. Though she was immensely grateful that no smell wafted off the rounds into her nose. When she saw Morris enter the battlefield her descent began, her suspicions on next moves confirmed by his next order.

She landed with a soft thud, falling in behind Morris with her rifle at the ready. Perhaps she would get a chance to use those concussion grenades again, though with them going into a facility the odds might drop slightly. Nonetheless she readied herself to enter the unknown.

 

[HarperMadi]

With a kick of her knee and a roll of her hip, Mike turned her body, her boot catching the floor as the ramp hit the ground, launching herself out with one leg and directly into a powerful sprint that let her jam her sniper rifle into her upper back on its sling and raise her shotgun to chase behind Morris, his shield as her cover, at least until she could break away and become his angel of death. ("Friendly on your seven, one half meter. Bayonet fixed!")

Within the first few seconds, the dust of the atmosphere had clung to her greasy armor, creating a layer of grime the same color as the storm, and she seemed to melt into the shadows of the swirling, ever present storm. Between her small size, her lethality, and her farm girl tricks, Mike seemed perfectly suited to her role of disappearing and denying the enemy armor support.

 

[iaincarter]

The yeoman shook his head in response to the diminutive woman's query. "Nah, I'm good." Susan decided not to ask whether he could get the sniper to stick to incapacitating shots only, just so he could have the pleasure of stomping his enemies to death. He'd learned that some people were just soft in the head about things like that - as if violence and gore were things to be abhorred. It was so bad sometimes that he'd heard of people having a screaming hissy fit about finding bits of blood and body parts splattered over their clothes. Pansies, the lot of them!

"Not on base - left the family back at the mine. Guessing they got the note I was leaving to join the Company." Now that he thought about it, Susan should maybe drop them a message sometime, letting them know how to contact him if they wanted to. Maybe he'd acquire some good personal weapons to gift to his siblings. Nothing quite said 'I love you' like the gift of the ability to protect yourself and your loved ones. A sharp and sturdy knife might work, or at least something you could keep under your pillow for emergencies?

It didn't take long to double check his gear after ordered to by the Sarge. Susan assumed the plasma rifle was in working order - the indicator lights were good and nothing felt like it was overheating. Susan doubted that would last. As he understood it, the volley gun variant of the plasma rifle was basically the result of slapping four helstrom plasma rifles together and slaving the lot to a single firing control system. All the yeoman knew was that it was heavy, bulky, looked mean as all hel and - if the Smith he had requisitioned it from could be believed - was guaranteed to give a whole lot of people a really bad day.

With a grunt, Susan trailed the rest of Onyx from the Defender, certain that he could feel the transport shifting under the impact of his heavily laden and armoured form. The extra monoplate on the assault version of the hardsuit made a noticeable difference - the yeoman reckoned that between himself and the battle rattle, he was weighing in somewhere around the quarter tonne mark. Susan made a mental note to up his workout routine, if he was going to be pulling this sort of duty often, it'd be worth it to up his core strength and endurance.

Wait, what was with the armoured woman just dropping out of the sky like that? Susan was pretty sure he'd overheard some teenagers once talking about how attractive women didn't just fall out of the sky. Clearly they were wrong about that. Admittedly, Susan had no proof that the woman was attractive but the yeoman wasn't really sure that mattered, all things considered. With the mission objective looming, it was far more important that she was a capable combatant after all.

Falling in behind the others, his long legs easily eating up distance, Susan levelled the plasma rifle in the direction of the gribbly factory. "Onyx 4-1, bringing up the rear, good to go." He disabled the safety on the Helstrom, before depressing the trigger and allowing the deuterium/helium-3 gas to flow into the reaction chamber to start pressurising. The rifle was effective out to a kilometre although accuracy was a roll of the dice even at the best of times. Still, it would likely make anyone trying to shoot at them think twice about poking their head back out and that should help the squad get closer to their objective. Better wait for the Sarge to call it though, just in case there was some weird sneaky shit a'foot.

 

[GingerGlitch]

Nara's eyes flitted briefly over the person who slipped into formation ahead of her. Swiftly the norian adjusted her weapon accordingly. This woman who had asked her for juicy shots previously, "Let's see what we can do about that," she thought to herself. Though Nara gathered from the looks of the gribbly factory ahead there would be plenty to go around.

The blonde mercenary's slender ears twitched when she heard an Onyx 4-1 report. She turned to look behind her, then immediately back forward. Swiftly she sent a sweet little communication just to Susan "Watch your aim Onyx 4-1. You hit me with that thing and you will be in pieces before anyone blinks." Of course she was joking, or was she?

 

[Commissar Farzi]

"Alright knock it off; standard armor formation!" Morris barked, "Nara in the middle, I'll take right, Auil'i you take left, Susan and Mike take up the flanks behind us and watch your ancestor's damned fire!" As they prepared to enter formation, the squad found themselves at an entrance-a large hole that had been knocked in the side of the building; beyond they could see what looked like a storage area; with multiple shelves of miscellaneous parts-bottles, pipes, boxes, spools of wire and various tools. The room was dark save for the dim light of Sandraker painting it a twilight grey mixed with swirling dust devils.

"Alright, watch your corners." Morris said as they entered, "We lucked out here but-" He nearly lost his footing as he stepped in something wet. Looking down he saw the blasted remains of several of nekovalkyrja, at least four, and a smattering of items and debris scattered across the floor-their remains shredded and pulverized by rubble and shell alike. What satisfaction he had ended abruptly as a large form came barreling at them; before skidding on the same mess that he had-the massive form of a Skitterbug careening into the shelves and sending them toppling-half-burying itself in the process. "Open fire!" Morris roared, bringing his machine pistol up and squeezing the trigger-only for the entire top of the Scythe to go flying into peices as the round in the chamber detonated. While his armor protected him from the worst of it he let loose a battery of curses as he threw it to the side and grabbed his warhammer, ready to engage the ugly bastard in close combat if needed...

 

[HarperMadi]

Seeing the skitterbug slide, Mike slipped forward, sliding on the gore and her knees as she brought the shotgun to bear, attempting to jam the barrel into the gap between the creature's neck and head before pulling the trigger to send her slug into the relatively unarmored flesh there.