|
Dire Wolf
So who's ready to help me sock ol Adolf on the jaw?!
2,894 posts
49 likes
Have dakka will travel
|
|
last online May 6, 2020 18:55:51 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jun 21, 2009 15:28:23 GMT -5
Post by Dire Wolf on Jun 21, 2009 15:28:23 GMT -5
((OOC: Ten thousand apologies for the lateness, and the confusion of the former post. I completely forgot that Crass ordered everyone back to the briefing room before the ship and one of my posts contradicted that said order. >_> Sorry folks, I have always been terrible at logistics. Hopefully this clears any potential problems up. Also: For sanity's sake... I'm not going to retype the briefing. Go back and look at it.))
Crassus may not have known if anyone died out of this ordeal, other than hundreds of pirates of course, but what he did know was that there was a considerable amount of people that were seriously wounded. He began to weigh the actions and the cause with the consequences. Were the lives of the few people that they managed to rescue really worth the lives of his crew? The ship? The Mission? The Zeltron shook his head at himself, he was disgusted at himself for even thinking that. Of course they were. After being kidnapped by pirates and being integrated into their sub-sentient “culture” for nearly a decade he was more than qualified to say that anything was preferable to being captured by brigands. They tortured. They killed. They raped. If the victim was lucky... it was in that order. Those survivors were in for far worse than they knew before the Ascension showed up, far worse. He was so rolled up in his thoughts that the Commander nearly forgot that he was walking back to his quarters rather than the briefing room. The man forgot that he told everyone to turn up after their little detour was over. What a fool he was. With another disgusted shake of his head he turned on a heel and jogged back to the meeting room. Not many people have seen the man that was captaining their ship jog through the halls with what looked like reckless abandon... okay... it was reckless abandon. Yes, jogging with reckless abandon. Don't ask. But who cared? Oh... apparently that petty officer that dropped all of his papers as he dodged the hurried Zeltron cared a bit. He slowed down to a brisk walk as he neared the room, looking rushed but still natural rather than his previous “holy hell, I'm late” demeanor. Luckily he got to the damned place before one of field units did... Force help him if he was late to his own briefing. He took a quick look at the chrono... it was It wasn't a minute after he entered the room that Rahja herself tiredly came in and sat down on the chair, not even bothering to try and hide a yawn. Was it really that detour really so tiring? He had planned on sending everyone back anyways... but now he was just concerned. Crass' brows knit slightly in concern (I know, comon) and he was about to ask if she was alright just as Sean came in. He promptly shut his chee chee berry hole and waited for the rest of the folks to file in. After a few moments of looking around at the tired and beaten crew he drew in a breath in preparation to speak. “I could go over the briefing again, ask for questions, and get none because all few of you are in the condition to be here right now. I don't want to put you, or me for that matter, through that torture. All of you, go to your quarters. Get some rest. Be back here by 2300. I was going to recap the briefing anyway.”He mentally laughed... they probably thought he was mighty ridiculous. Crass could care less what they thought, so long as they at least respected him to his face. Oh yes, he knew that folks talked about him behind his back, Force knows he did when he was in their position, so honestly he enjoyed being a little ridiculous every so often... … It came with the title “REMF.” He waited for everyone to be out of the room before taking a seat in a seat that one of the crew members was using not a few minutes before. The view from right there was a whole lot better than at the front of the table... his head nodded slowly at the thought. Yup. Crass missed being a pilot. The exhilaration of zooming around in the upper atmosphere of a planet at just over the speed of sound was amazing. It was even better if you did it while toying with a Corsair pilot who actually thought he had a chance. Or two. Heh... or three. Those were the times he missed... the times he would never see again. A sigh escaped his lips as he stood up and headed up towards the bridge... he needed to finish up his shift up there. Not that he had much time left... War Stories thread (Crass' actions in the inbetween time, nothing critical here) Hours later, after the whole ordeal with Rah was over, Crassus found that he was laying in his bed completely restless. He couldn't get the faces of the wounded out of his mind's eye. People had died on his orders. Doing something that he honestly shouldn't have been doing, in a place that he obviously shouldn't have gone to. After hours of just staring up at the low ceiling something seemed to click in his head. Commander Vossk couldn't allow this to get to him. He couldn't be in constant fear of people dieing... it happened. Even the best leader in history had men die under his command, it was unavoidable. There was always one solid strategy for dealing with this... think logically. If he thought and reasoned based off of emotions he was wrong, every time, just like everyone else. For every person that died under his command ten others were saved. Or a hundred. The number was really inconsequential... but the fact was that they destroyed four pirate vessels today... and that was four less that would pluck innocent people from their lives. It was a win on their side. Vossk's eyes shot open as his alarm chrono threw him out of his dreamless slumber. The man's eyes grew to be the size of dinner plates as he saw that it read 2240. He overslept... to say the least. The crimson hued man practically shot out of bed and threw on his jet black uniform. This time Crass didn't “jog” down the halls with “reckless abandon,” he ran with “reckless abandon.” It was about five minutes before he got to the briefing room... and so that left him with a solid five minutes to get prepared (saying that it took ten to get his uniform on, yes, he was rushed so he did it quick). After everyone was in the room he proceeded to go over the briefing, recapping everything that he said before the distress call was heard. “Any questions?”
|
|
|
|
|
Mara
nothing worth anything ever goes down easy
9,275 posts
55 likes
the one and only
|
|
last online May 2, 2022 22:30:17 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jun 23, 2009 17:27:23 GMT -5
Post by Mara on Jun 23, 2009 17:27:23 GMT -5
((Sorry in advance, Wolfie, to all of Pak's demeaning remarks to Crass )) After returning back to the Ascension with the rest of his Venom squadron, Pak had immediately stripped off his helmet and flying gear to follow the rest of the pilots back to the briefing room. Well, the pilots with commissioned ranks, namely himself and Shenhua. He thought it rather awkward as they made their way to the room they had just left an hour previous, even though supreme pumba Commander Vossk had mentioned 2300 hours as when he would recap the interrupted meeting. But the Balosar just shook his head and followed along with Shen and the others as they slowly trickled into the briefing room, coming from all directions. His antennapalps couldn't get a good read on what the Miraluka woman was feeling as they sat down again in the briefing room, he taking his seat next her again. Pak settled in for another long speech, quickly glancing at all the other tired souls around him. He wasn't as wiped out, but he had had the 'easy' job of just sitting in his fighter, blasting enemies. Shen looked pretty rested as well. However just as he got comfortable in his chair and had his 'palps tuning into the thoughts of those around him, Crassus Vossk spoke. And told them to all leave, just after they had all traipsed into the briefing room after a grueling battle. Pak felt sorry for the army grunts; they had gotten the brunt of the battle, from what he could see. Poor guys probably hadn't even been fully patched up yet. He wasn't sure if this Vossk fellow was ready for command of this caliber. But he kept his thoughts to himself, leaving the briefing room with the others. He wanted to meet up with Shen and see what her thoughts on events so far were, but he decided against it. She could be tired and just wasn't showing it. Or maybe wanted to be left alone after flying like that against the pirates. Either way, he couldn't, since by the time he exited the room, she wasn't to be seen. Pak ran an idle hand through his mussed dirty brown hair and sighed. There was something intriguing about that woman... and he wanted to learn more. Learn more than he had earlier on Kuat in the Aegis's officer's lounge. Pak headed through the hallways to his personal quarters, deciding to take a few moments to clean up in the refresher and perhaps get a nap in. He had to be back at 2300 to finish the 'all-important' uber briefing from smarty-pants Commander Vossk. The Balosar smirked to himself as he closed his door behind him. The Zeltron must have been dropped as a child; for all the time he had been in the Commander's prescence, he seemed to be quite a defective example of his species. No wonder he didn't seem to have any friends except for his fellow pilots. For Shen. ... At 2230 Pak woke up from his nap, having slept a lot longer than he thought he was tired. But it was good for him; you never knew when the action would pick up again. They might have to deploy again right after the briefing recap, and he didn't want to be caught in his Venom with his lids and pants down. He yawned and stretched, then dressed in his dress uniform, giving his lieutenant's bars a little shine with his finger before checking his appearance in his room's small mirror. He made his way back to the briefing room, a path that was well-worn by his booted feet by now. Finding a spot open next to Shenhua once again, he parked himself in the empty seat, giving her a smile before turning his attention to the front of the room. Pak had arrived right on time; just five minutes to 2300. Perfect timing. A few others came in at the last minute, and then Vossk recapped the mission. At the repeating of the Venom squadron's role in the mission, Pak couldn't help by wrinkle his nose slightly. Even hearing it again, and its importance to the success of the rest of the teams, even the commander's half-assed apology for it, he still felt like the pilots were getting the short end of the stick once again. Playing guard duty wasn't exactly what he had signed up for. Nor for why he was transferred to the Ascension, he would beg to differ. Hopefully something big would come up, and he could blast those pirates to the high atmosphere, dust in the wind.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jun 23, 2009 18:51:42 GMT -5
Post by skaral on Jun 23, 2009 18:51:42 GMT -5
Jarka returned to his room when the commander had postponed the meeting and sat quietly on his bed. He began thinking of the people he had killed not an hour ago and the men on his side that had been killed. He closed his eyes and saw the pirates he had killed in the very close and very personal hand-to-hand combat. It was horrible, he began feeling regret for having done what he did, even though he knew it was in his job description. Jarka opened his eyes and looked to his hands. He was a weapon, and nothing more to the higher ups in the military. He bent his head low and tears streamed down his face. He had never killed anyone before this and it tore up the young lieutenant to know that he had taken life away from someone, even though he thought they deserved it.
After a few minutes of his sobbing, Jarka began to feel angry. If those blasted pirates were not there! I would not have to kill anyone or lose any men! I hate them! I hate them all. When we get to Subterrel, I am going to kill as many of those damned pirates as I can!
--------------------------------------------
Kha Bakkara sat quietly on his bunk. He had gotten an hour or so of sleep and not much else done. He got off the bunk and walked to the mess hall. There were some soldiers and pilots and other assorted crew members there, they were eating, talking, some were sitting quietly not doing much other than sipping some caf or nibbling at some food. Kha walked over to where the caf was served. He grabbed a cup and allowed the mess droid to pour in some.
The Sargent sat down quietly next to some of his men. A few asked him some questions which he nodded at or shook his head. He was not in the mood to talk and just quietly drank his caf. The skirmish was over, he knew, but the real test would be on Subterrel. On Subterrel there would be more killing, more objectives to do and a larger job by far. He hoped that the Lieutenant leading them was up to it. And he hoped by the Force he and the other of the squad were up to it.
Kha watched them all. Right now, the men were alive and happy. He knew in a second though, one of the faces around him could would be wiped of its lively look and color in a second by a stray blaster bolt, a lucky slice from a pirate or even a misfire from a twitchy squad mate. He knew this was true even for himself, he just hoped that they would all come back after the mission.
------------------------------------------
Jarka looked at his chronometer, it was almost 2300. He took some water and splashed it on his face and smoothed out his uniform. Jarka was still an emotional roller coaster, but his outward appearance made him look indifferent to the situations at hand. He walked to the briefing room quickly and took a seat at the oval briefing room table. At Crassus' question Jarka answered with an indifferent voice.
"Do we know how many hostiles are down there?"
|
|
|
|
|
Squee
The Keeper
2,286 posts
95 likes
I am Deception, and I defy your holiest moralities.
|
|
last online Oct 24, 2016 0:33:56 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jun 24, 2009 5:10:56 GMT -5
Post by Squee on Jun 24, 2009 5:10:56 GMT -5
((I think I got everything. x.x Left room for people. Ending seemed a little blah. Forgive any confusion stuff, and simply tell me if it's too confusing enough you cannot comprehend its meaning. I'm half asleep. xD))
Doc was meaning to poke her with needle. Gah, needles. Good for nothing things, most of the time. As long as she didn’t have to tolerate them for extended periods of time, she was okay. A quick little jab and administering a drug was fine. Pricking for a little blood drop was fine as well. Drawing blood was slightly different. Cersa hated having her blood drawn. And there was that one time she woke up from being critically wounded with an IV in her hand. Woozy, she had snarled at the nearest medical person to get the damned thing out of her.
And now one of the medical people was stopping the Doc. And Jessica didn’t look to appreciate it too much, given her retort. Cersa even almost snarled for the woman when the person grasped the wrist of the hand holding the needle. And then the man said something that the cathar woman did a double take on. Cersa gave the one interfering medic guy a rather incredulous stare, blinking her large feline eyes at him. What had he said? Her mouth opened, ready to give a rather nasty and stern talking to. She, Staff Sergeant Cersa Ratarre’ta, wanting the be stabbed for simply the drugs. Was the man blind? She wanted to stretch her arm out and give him a good slap.
“Is he blind? Can he not see that I have a hole carved from my side? The rather gaping one that I can see disgusting stuff dripping from it? It grotesque enough it seems like it could be put in a jar? Seriously now… WOAH, needle!”
By then the needle was being thrown about and Cersa was wary of it. Unnecessary, imprecision stabs were very much wanted in high avoidance. Her eyes focused sluggishly back on Jessica, who seemed to be blurring out. Maybe it didn’t matter if she took the sleeping drug or the numbing drug. She might be out cold in a few moments. She did her best to remain conscious of her surroundings, though now a dizziness was settling in and Cersa, while the Doc chewed out the uniformed medical officer guy – “whatever he is called” -, used one hand to push her further onto the bed and laid down, her wounded side up, back to the Doc and her instruments. She closed her eyes and sounds were beginning to drown out to a low buzz. She felt the prick of the needle. Had Doc shaken off the man? Didn’t matter. Her body became heavy, and it steadily proceeded to. Heavier and heavier, and sounds began to choke out, and voices her a steady hum.
And then there was nothing but tranquil blackness.
Merciful had the dark been, it didn’t seem to last very long to Cersa. Not only had she been exhausted before the fight, but she had fought to her best known limits, and suffered a grievous wound in return for her efforts. Combined they had let her fall into a dreamless, kind of restless sleep of some kind. Jessica had cleared her major wound and tended to others, patched her up and did whatever doctors did to make their patients well again. When Cersa’s eyes opened, the place seemed to bright, too loud, and simply overloading to the enhanced senses of a cathar woman. She shut her eyes tightly and flattened her free ear to her head, muffling the noises with her stiff hair. Her limbs felt like noodles. Floppy, uncontrollable noodles Cersa found out as she tried positioning one to see if she could attempt at sitting up. Smacking the table and feeling the unstableness of a little pressure, Cersa resigned to lying on the medical bay bed.
“Doc, you hear somewhere?” Cersa’s loose lips mumbled out almost incoherently. She fumbled around a bit, digging out her datapad and struggling to a certain extent to check the time: 1640. Really had it been that long? She was a little surprised.
Her stomach growled.
So many times some doctor or nurse or medically inclined person would give her a drug and say it would make her sick to her stomach and should the ailment appear when she awoke was declared as normal. The first thing she would always feel was where she was wounded or hurt. Well, Cersa’s bizarre body seemed to bypass everything and reject what the docs always said and replaced the spoken declarations with its own set of laws. Cersa was starving, just as she had been before she had gone to sleep. If slipping into unconsciousness counted as sleep. Cersa didn’t know if it did or not.
There her train of thought went again, skipping around and being utterly random. It was like it was trying to catch up on all the thought processes it had missed while she had been out cold.
Anyway, Cersa was hungry, yes, famished even. And she wanted food. Her mouth was dry. She wanted drink. And the IV in her arm needed to come OUT! That needle was stinging! Get it out.
“Someone come and get this damnable, cursed thing outta my arm!”
---
2215.
Cersa was awake, relaxing back in her personal chambers, careful to not stretch out her side too much. Her mind was wandering much as her eyes were on the ceiling of her little dorm. She was thinking about the previous briefing, checking her datapad and reviewing notes she had taken before. Her memory was absolutely terrible. Without this datapad, Cersa sometimes wondered how she ever made it to the nearest refresher. It was helping her now, as Cersa ran through a mental keyword list to remember the facts.
2220.
Cersa heaved herself from the bed. She was fed and washed and well rested now. Since her meal as soon as she came out of the medical bay, Cersa had made it back to her quarters and washed her plastered hair. And from there she had simply curled on her bed and slept like a newborn cub, finally happy to have some real rest at last and in peace.
But now she had to dress up and look pretty for the Commander and the other party leaders.
By 2235 Cersa was maneuvered rather slowly through the halls, making her way to the briefing room. She kept her graceful stride, just considerably slower and more attentive to detail about her body. Other than her careful pace and the small cut displayed on her cheek, there wasn’t much that the cathar displayed to impose she had been in any fight.
She was decently early. About fifteen minutes early. The Commander wasn’t even here. That was interesting. Gently she maneuvered to her seat she had sat in previously and relaxed in the seat. She flipped her datapad out and gave half a mind to send a text to her brother. And Cersa once again brought up the briefing’s notes. It did not hurt to keep reviewing them.
Commander was extremely late when he arrived. He looked almost as if he’d woken up. The feline warrior smirked at that. The Commander might’ve slept in. That was something one did not hear everyday. Silly Commander, she thought as she watched him quickly slap things around and set up the briefing. As the others trickled in, most of them a few minutes early or just seconds in the door as the clock struck, the group was presented with the same briefing. Cersa did not add much to her datapad and she leaned back, enjoying repeating facts just before Commander said anything.
No, she didn’t have any questions. She had the information she needed. And it seemed simple enough for her and she would explain it well to the rest of her team. Her eyes flickered across to others, as if trying to see whether they would speak or not. Those who did, she listened to, sometimes resisting the urge to roll her eyes and instead turned her head to the Commander, politely waiting for to answer any and all questions fired his way.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
last online Sept 21, 2010 6:04:53 GMT -5
Knight
|
|
|
Jun 24, 2009 9:05:21 GMT -5
Post by Val - Warning:Contains Sarcasm on Jun 24, 2009 9:05:21 GMT -5
As far as Jessica had been aware, her treatment of the Cathar was working. There was little more she could do other than let the IV drip do its work and have the Cathar's body heal itself in her controlled environment. Finally contempt that the Cathar was in a suitable state and wasn't too far away for her to monitor, she slipped from behind the curtain and looked around the med bay properly for the first time. It was close to full. All these wounded for their little ship? To defeat a bunch of ragtag pirates? Life was never kind to those who intended to do good. She sighed, pulling Wexon up and asking for the patient histories that he had been gathering.
"Patient designate 001 has a severe burn to his left arm and has suffered minor skull fractures." "Fine, let's start there then." Knowing the incompetency of the other doctors, she knew most of the work would be done by her. She approached P001's bed and looked over him. His left arm was showing, very badly burnt, and he had bandages wrapped round his head. She gripped the rails of the bed to prevent her hitting someone. "Wexon, please inform the other doctors to get out of here immediately. They aren't fit for duty." Wexon paused, scanning the patient, before complying with her request. He launched off and approached each doctor in turn.
Meanwhile Chezz approached the young man, inquiring about whether he had been seen by any doctors. "A few minutes ago miss, why?" "How did they treat you?" "They were rather amicable about it all.." "No I mean what treatment did you receive?" The man nodded suddenly agreeing. "Ahhh, right, gotcha miss. Well one of them said I had some fractures so they gave me a tight bandage round it, and they said they needed time to work on the burns." "I'm sorry to tell you, then, that your doctors are idiots."
She quite quickly removed the bandages around his head, before pulling up a steralised liquid from one of the cabinets and applying it to the man's head, finally finding the cut that had not been addressed yet. She moved gently, feeling around, until he jerked a little, and she knew she had her fractured bone found. She tenderly realigned the bones and cleaned and dressed the wound, before turning to the arm. She applied cold towels to reduce the swelling before applying a thin membrane of gel to aid the healing, giving a kolto injection while she was at it to help. She informed him that his arm would be fine, but there might be some skin grafts necessary if it had been left too late. He thanked her, just as the other doctors arrived.
"What is all this idiocy about you wanting us to leave this med bay?" Chezz almost laughed. "First of all, you're all here arguing against me instead of attending patients. Secondly, if the level of treatment performed on this soldier is anything to go by, you're all horrible doctors." They looked dumbstruck. "There was nothing wrong with the treatment on this man. I carried it out myself." An older man stepped forward, more beard than face. "Oh yeah? For 20 points, tell me what you treated him with." The doctor paused, not amused by the game, before replying warily. "A head concussion and burns." "Correct, and that is why you lost the game. That soldier had an open fracture. Easy to miss, I'll admit, what with the gaping would at the top of his head. Anyone else notice he's not a redhead? Might have been the eyebrows that tipped me off." The doctors paused, re-examining the soldier. "That bandage you applied could have killed him. When someone's got a fracture you don't need circulation restriction. Also, I treated the burns inside of five minutes. Where were you?" There was another long pause, followed by the huff as the beard doctor left, almost primadonna-like, followed by the others, leaving the Med bay in her hands. Wexon returned to her.
"I believe they're going to inform the Captain of this vessel, Chezz" "I know Wexon, what can you tell me about Patient 002?" "Suffering from an extreme power problem. More psychotic than physical doctor." "OK fine, where is he Wexon?" "He just left, with the other doctors."
|
|
|
|
|
10Tickler
Should probably be stopped sometime soon
1,569 posts
7 likes
Entropic Overload
|
|
last online Sept 25, 2023 19:53:30 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jun 30, 2009 4:39:25 GMT -5
Post by 10Tickler on Jun 30, 2009 4:39:25 GMT -5
Sitting in his own seat, Damien sighed once the Commander had finished his Briefing...or was it a Debriefing? Or maybe a Re-briefing? The Master Sergeant wasn't sure, and wasn't sure that he cared either. Eyes scanning the others, he listened to one or two Questions before that one officer, the Lieutenant from before, spoke up, requesting intel on the numbers of OpFor.
Raising his eyebrow, Damien coughed loudly. A good Question, Sir, do we know if we have any Infiltrators down Planetside that have been taking Census of each pirate's Race, age and Weapon proficiency while we're at it?, he asked, his voice serious in a way that only a Sergeant could be. Or, perhaps we should send them a Holodisk requesting that intel before moving in? I wasn't aware that pirates were Diplomatic Criminals, who would need to be captured. My orders, as far as I know, are to be shot out of a Cannon, aimed at the surface of this Forceforsaken planet, To get out, and to shoot anything that's not Wearing Republic clothes and is carrying some sort of weapon. Looking to the commander, he closed his eyes. Or, am I wrong about that, Sir?
|
|
|
|
|
Dire Wolf
So who's ready to help me sock ol Adolf on the jaw?!
2,894 posts
49 likes
Have dakka will travel
|
|
last online May 6, 2020 18:55:51 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jul 5, 2009 16:33:07 GMT -5
Post by Dire Wolf on Jul 5, 2009 16:33:07 GMT -5
(Okies, sorry for delay... was waiting for a few of the other members to post, and the below is for those of you who aren't familiar with military acronyms OpFor = Opposing Force AO = Area of Operations HVT = High Value target)
Crass looked down at the army lieutenant as he spoke, then Sgt. Meesha as he spoke as well. It was a good question, Crassus knew, for one, that he wouldn't want to stick his neck out on the proverbial chopping block without knowing how many knives were going to try and come down on it. He gave quick nod before sweeping his eyes over the two.
“OpFor has a company sized force in the AO.”
He so desperately wanted to give the sergeant the all clear to kill everything he saw. But he couldn't. Sure, any of the normal pirates were fine... but some General wanted to butter some senator's biscuit with the “leadership” of some of the highest ranking members of a pirate organization. The HVT's couldn't be slain, unfortunately, and as said above... he wanted nothing more then to give the order to allow these special operations personnel to kill everything in that base.
“Its open season on the guards, but don't kill the HVTs, General Vinay wants them alive for a trial... though I seriously doubt that anyone would be too sad if they resisted and you were forced to kill them.”
The man hoped that his message was clear, “Order's are don't kill them, but if you do it will go down as self defense.” The Zeltron waited a few more moments, waiting for any questions to spout up, and after those few long moments expired he let out an infinitesimal sigh, on that he squelched quickly, and spoke once again.
“You have a few hours to saddle up. Be ready to drop the instant that we do a fly over of the drop zone, we are kind of pressed on time. I want this to be quick and clean, all goes well and this should be half an hour at the most. Dismissed.”
Half an hour. That was thirty gut wrenching minutes of sitting on the captain's chair and praying to the Force that one of those big ships didn't happen to have something that could counter ECM. The Zeltron waited a bit for everyone to clear out before leaving the room himself. He strode through the drab and dull halls of the Ascension until he made it up to the turbo lift that lead to the bridge. It wasn't thirty seconds before the man found himself staring down the raised runway that separated the tiny pitts that held the bridge hands.
He walked to the observation window and gazed out at the hyperspace tunnel. Those things had a certain kind of chilling beauty about them, and Crassus always found it content to simply watch the pocket as the ship rocketed through it. It was somewhat soothing, and allowed the thoughts to come to his mind easier. It wasn't long until they would be at Subterrel.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jul 5, 2009 19:01:15 GMT -5
Post by skaral on Jul 5, 2009 19:01:15 GMT -5
Jarka exited the briefing room as everyone else did. He walked briskly to the Mess Hall. The Twi'lek sergeant in his squad was sitting alone.
"Sergeant Bakkara, I want the men geared and ready for drop by in an hour, is that clear?" asked Jarka.
He recieved almost a whispered yes sir. Jarka then walked back to his quarters. He got his gear out and quickly changed into it. He sat on his bed for the next hour cleaning his rifle. The weapon was mildly dirty and a little singed from the IED that had hit him. His armor was a little damaged, so he dropped what he was doing and went to the armory of the ship. Once there the Second Lieutenant got new plates for his body armor and slid them inside the pouches. He continued cleaning the blasters for a few hours. He hurried to the hangar with complete gear, pack, and his weapon hung off his left shoulder. He leaned against the door, he had gone to battle on the Corvette with fourteen men, now he was going to battle with twelve. They would be facing a company-sized unit of sixty or more. They had to spare any HVT's they sited, and the AO was probably some sort of apartment building-sized stronghold.
He got out his datapad and looked at the briefing he was supposed to give his soldiers. It was not very long, or very drawn out, it got to the point. Jarka watched as the men filed in, each saluting him, one after the other.
"Alright boys, its time to go into combat again. We are headin' straight for hostiles this time. We have a company-size unit for the OpFor, our AO is somewhere on the surface of Subterrel. There are going to be three HVT's. Each one of them is to remained unharmed, but if you happen to kill them, don't worry, it will go down as self-defense. I will be uploading the pictures of the HVT's to your datapads now. Any questions?" asked Jarka as he began sending them the holos of the HVT's/
After a few questions, Jarka had them all stand around and wait for the deployment. Jarka began feeling stressed as Kha Bakkara walked up to him.
"Sir these help," said Kha as he handed Jarka a tube of paper with tabacc in it...A cigarra.
Jarka lit it and took a drag, the Twi'lekk had been right, it did relax Jarka. The Lieutenant sat there smoking the cigarra, waiting...Just waiting before he once again had to enter the valley of the shadow of death...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
last online Sept 21, 2010 6:04:53 GMT -5
Knight
|
|
|
Jul 6, 2009 10:18:48 GMT -5
Post by Val - Warning:Contains Sarcasm on Jul 6, 2009 10:18:48 GMT -5
"Patient designate 004 has shrapnel caught in his side." Jess paused, looking up from the man she was still applying treatment to, narrowing her eyes at Wexon. "Wexon, are you familiar with human anatomy?" Wexon chirped a little. "Fully informed, Chezz, why do you ask?" "Why do you seem to believe I can be in two places at once?" She blocked the droid out, returning attention to the man who had suffered a nasty hit to the head. "I'm keeping you here overnight, in case something happens." The man smiled, moving a hand to touch her arm, but she was already on the move, to this Patient 004 or whoever it was. She could pretty much see where WexoN was indicating by now. The man writhing around on his back in the bed in the corner with a red mark on his side. "That's 004 Chezz."
"Didn't you even sedate him? Useless droid. Run a ranking system. Serious cases on top." She pushed past the floating droid, moving into the medical cabinet and filling up a syringe of fast acting pain relief, jamming it into his thigh and pressing it into his system "About time a doctor showed up." The soldier quipped, glaring at her. "I know, it's a wonder you managed to last so long on this ship without one." "Where are Doctor Murray and the others? They're the ones we want, not some ragged chick who's trying to play all goody goody to the soldiers because she hasn't had any in a while." She resisted the urge to shiv him with the syringe, placing it by the bedside and moving towards her patient. "Wexon, get my some tongs and something to get at the shrapnel with." The droid nodded, heading off towards one of the instrument trays. He returned a few seconds later, but it was a few seconds she could have done without being present in, sharing eyes with the man before giving him her cane to hold.
"So now I'm become a toolbucket for some useless cripple of a doctor? Why are you even here?" Ignoring him, flushing a little at his ignorance, she pried open the wound with the tongs and set about removing the small pieces of shrapnel from inside the man's side. "Wexon, do a scan, see how much is still in there." The bird hovered over the would for a few seconds. "Three pieces on your left, one piece on the right, and one further in." "And another thing, where's all your doctory stuff anyway? I bet you're not even a doctor, you're probably just some useless cow from that ship we were supposed to attack who thinks she knows what she's doing." Two pieces from the left side down, one more to go. And she could feel it, or at least, she it felt like it. She pulled a little. Yep, that was another one, 2 left inside.
"I don't get why we should have had to save your useless ship in the first place. Jay Ramon, he died on that ship, saving you and your precious nurses, we should have just left you there." She'd pulled the last part out by now, looking at Wexon who confirmed it, before patching up the wound and getting Wexon to apply some kolto to speed up the process. "Cane." She gestured with a hand, as he slowly placed it in her palm, looking slightly taken aback. "No arguing back? What gives? I pretty much insulted you for every reason I could think of." She rolled her eyes, walking away slowly from the attention seeker, indicating for Wexon to follow. "Patient 004 down, did you reassess the needs of the patients?" "As you requested Chezz." "And our next patient is...?" "Patient designate 005." "Figures."
|
|
|
|
|
Squee
The Keeper
2,286 posts
95 likes
I am Deception, and I defy your holiest moralities.
|
|
last online Oct 24, 2016 0:33:56 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jul 9, 2009 5:32:13 GMT -5
Post by Squee on Jul 9, 2009 5:32:13 GMT -5
“Awww… there goes my chance of gore,” were one of Cersa’s last thoughts as the questions were answered. No killing the HVTs, no matter how lowly they were or might’ve been. No killing based on scraggly, half nasty looks. Such a shame. She didn’t like pirates. They did no good deeds and their personalities stank like rotting flesh and they were generally ugly. Oh, well, looking ugly came with the personality. It was probably why she was so ugly. “You flatter yourself, Raterre’ta.”
Cersa stood stiffly with the others when they rose. With a salute, the cathar warrior was one of the last to leave, walking to stretch back out her injury. Maybe she should go ask the doc a question or two about it. Cersa really wanted to be part of the mission, lead a few of her numbers onto the frontline first, even if leading was at the back of the pack. That may or may not occur, depending on what Doc says and what the men/women she didn’t know thought about her. Bah, Corporal would’ve spent a little of his time loaning a few words. They were probably about the gore scene she had created, the one that he had fallen squeamish over. Knowing the military, he wouldn’t say anything about paling over a decapitated head or else the others would kid. Then she’d have to cut off another head, show those who had made fun of him, and watch in sick amusement as those people paled, some hopefully turning to lose their lunch.
The cathar made the appropriate turns, bringing herself back to the medical bay and walked in. Yep, still smelled like a medbay. It was sickness with a cross of metallic scented blood. Or sometimes the blood smelled an awful like boma guts. She moved off to the side, away from the other people, sick or whatever was wrong with them. Deep brown eyes watched as the blonde human flitted here and there, talking to one patient, treating another, moving on to another quickly. That cute little mechanical bird seemed to do nothing but follow Jessica around half the time. Couldn’t that thing be more useful to the woman with the eight arms and eyes in the back of her head?
Cersa moved forward now, heading for the doctor who seemed ready to dig around in some guy. Oooo… something similar to her, how joyous. The guy wasn’t even knocked out either. At least Cersa had passed out. It had made the experience in the medical bay a little more delightful. Not to be confused with the pleasantries of vacationing on the beach, however.
Quickly Cersa recognized that the man was insulting Jessica. The cathar’s ears shifted back, pressing against her head. Her hand clenched as the soldier continued to mouth off the doctor, and the feline could feel her blood bubble just slightly. Jessica set down her tools at last and the soldier acted surprised that she wasn’t returning any of his insults.
Well, Cersa would.
“You worm,” snarled the cathar as she took the necessary steps to bring her to the patient’s bedside. She leaned on the bed, a hand holding up her weight as she glowered down at the soldier. “Call yourself a soldier? Call yourself MALE? Actually, I would call you male, since many of you seem so alike. You’re a withering twit. All I should’ve heard coming out of that mouthing gob of yours was, “Thank you, ma’am for getting the kriffing shrapnel out of my unworthy side!” If I was doctor, I would’ve saved you last if you were talking to me like that. Good thing I’m not a doctor.” She didn’t quite know how the soldier was going to take having a baseline, angry Cathar snarling in his face. But she lifted herself up and snorted, and turned back around.
“Hey, Doc, want me to use this one as my scratching post? You can save his life and I bet he’d be grateful then… By the way, let me know if you have a moment. Came to ask you something about the hole in my side.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
last online Sept 21, 2010 6:04:53 GMT -5
Knight
|
|
|
Jul 9, 2009 9:08:39 GMT -5
Post by Val - Warning:Contains Sarcasm on Jul 9, 2009 9:08:39 GMT -5
Jess watched, a little taken back, as the Cathar she had treated not long ago returned, seemingly taking her side against the man in the bed who had been insulting her. She paused, watching her argue in his face loudly, and well, and considered her offer. She really did consider it, but sighed remembering the medical oaths she had took, and so forced herself to decline the offer from the nice kitty. "It's OK. The faster I can get him out of my sight the better." She smiled, getting the feeling the Cathar wasn't down here for company, and she didn't seem to have broken anything else, so it meant it was something minor, and considering Wexon was hanging around something red, she figured that it might be slightly less important.
Placing a hand on the Cathar's arm, she pulled slightly and inclined her head, indicating for her to follow. She didn't take long to move to 005's bedside, though it was pretty stained at the moment. She paused, flicking her eyes up at Wexon. He'd at least given this one something to block the pain, so the droid was certainly learning to be decently useful. She brushed a finger on the sheets he was laying on. Almost totally soaked in blood. Walking to the cupboard at the other end of the room quickly, she retrieved a sponge and some water from the tap nearbly, storing it in a bowl and returned, softly washing away the blood from his arm with the sponge and warmish water. "Heh, how cool is that?" She pointed out to the Cathar, part sarcastically, as she revealed a rip along his arm, muscle exposed.
She paused, about to speak to the man, but saw he was rather frantic. Almost hyperventilating. Maybe he had been earlier, she wasn't sure. She checked she wasn't being too rough, but it was a rather soft sponge. "Something wrong soldier?" His eyes shot from staring at space to her face. "Don't let them. Don't... they want to cut it. Don't let them... I don't want it cut off." He gasped, hardly finishing words or sentences, but she knew what he meant, and what he had been told. She reassessed the injury, doubting it needed amputation. "You'll be here a while, but I'm not amputating your arm. Relax." She opened the nearest medical cabinet, turning back to the Cathar. "I'm guessing this isn't some sort of social visit." She gave a friendly tone, removing some pliers and surgical wire from the cabinet and, after Wexon had administered more painkiller, began the process of tightening the skin around his arm in several places, hoping the skin would heal together soon.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
last online Jun 4, 2023 4:58:38 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jul 9, 2009 20:56:18 GMT -5
Post by Talau the Ever-Lurking on Jul 9, 2009 20:56:18 GMT -5
((complete and utter ramble/osik post here. working off of no sleep in almost 48 hours. so yeah. forgive the...uh....mess))
Vinay...now where had she heard that name before?
Rah shrugged it off, still exhausted, but at least fed...food...for once...in a LONG time....food that WASN'T mush...or tack...or still running around trying to kill you...or mooing....or...
She stopped herself there, blinking around at what was going on. Why were people moving? Were they done already? Had anything been mentioned about her target? TARGET!
OSIK!
The slinky chiss woman had opted to take a seat away from the rest of the class of attentive young "students" having wandered in late anyway. Now, however, she was....also one of the last through the door.
<<How the HELLS does THAT work?!>>
She pondered, rather irritably, to herself in cheunh as she rushed to catch up to Crass. No luck. Where the HELLS did that zeltron vanish off to? She could swear that he was better at disappearing than she was...and that was saying something.
Speaking of disappearing, it was time to make herself disappear to go get some armor on, gather her gear, then get her hind end to where ever it was that Crass was hiding. She was going in blind on this one. She almost DID vanish down a maintenance shaft just to try and get to her room and changed more swiftly, but with all the people around, and her third arm (Sender) not being around to help navigate the correct direction....well, she just wasn't willing to take the risk of getting lost in the inner workings of the Ascension, thank you VERY much.
It didn't take long to get there either way, and once she WAS there, Sender immediately started blabbering at her. The irritable blue woman certainly tried her best to ignore the annoying talking sounds that were emanating from the little bird-droid as she pulled on, strapped down, and buckled up her armor once again. Two words DID catch her attention, however...The Wizard.
She only barely knew OF the guy and had never actually met him. Sean had worked as his proxy for distributing the AERs...at least to her. Curious now, she took the letter from Sender.
|
|
|
|
|
A®heim
One does not just make a dreadnought.
3,801 posts
6 likes
|
|
last online Sept 16, 2018 19:37:00 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jul 9, 2009 21:07:38 GMT -5
Post by A®heim on Jul 9, 2009 21:07:38 GMT -5
((OOC: Backish. Managed to snag some Internet at a library. Sorry for my general inactivity, I should hopefully get some more established connection in a few days. Anyways, enjoy what I can do ^ v ^))
Sean awoke just as Vossk dismissed everyone. Sean wasn't annoyed, far from it in fact; sleep = good, after all. When Vossk said, "All of you go to your quarters. Get some rest. Be back here by 2300. I was going to recap the briefing anyway." he may as well of said, "Dark chocolate caramel almond fudge custard!" for all it sounded to Sean. The webweaver blanket around his shoulders was truly a marvel in itself. It weighed next to nothing across his weary back, yet warmed him like the glare of Tatooine's twin suns. This, of course, did nothing to help dispel the drowsiness that had settled upon him. Yep. Nothing like woven spider crap to comfort the wounded. he muttered to himself. If the universe were his to command, he would want nothing more than to remain in that little seat in the briefing room, wrapped in his cocoon til judgment day befall them all. But alas, he wasn't even technically supposed to be at this table and was certainly nowhere near master of the universe yet, so he counted the seconds before it would be prudent to remain before rising and falling ibn after the other dis-attendees. Maybe he should ask for a promotion...
Shaking the sleepiness from his head, he approached his Sergeant. There was no doubt that his behavior in that man's eyes weren't exactly spot-on, so why not make amends? So far he had disobeyed orders (direct or otherwise), acted somewhat slackish, mourned beyond the tolerance of most, slept during what could have been an important (pfft) briefing (thank goodness it wasn't...a briefing of course, not important- er...it WAS important, well would've been if had been...existent, not important- GAH!), and overall came off as suspicious and unworthy. Right. Scratch that plan. Sean nodded to Damien as their gazes met. They could talk later when they were less formal grounds. Like that meeting coming up...assuming Damien got the memo.
That mysterious letter came back to Sean's mind as he trudged back to his quarters. Dealings with Familiar were never straight forward, secret organizations rarely are, and so Sean could only imagine what the subject may be. Were they going to reassign him? A sour taste developed in his mouth. He knew that even if they offered him the most technologically attuned, most advanced, state-of-the-art, synonym-for-new-est model ever to come off the assembly line, that he would sternly decline. You just can't replace something- someone, like an Ayer. Then again, if that were the case, why would other agents be notified? No, this was something bigger, much bigger.
The door to his room flitted open at the touch of a button. Just like in those 2,000-year-old infomercials! Two millennia and the doors still don't open automatically after reading your genetic code through microscopes aimed at your retina, welcome you in with a soothing voice, and serves you a cocktail on the other side. Sure, the doors open a lot faster than they probably did 2,000 years ago, but why the kriff does that matter? They should have spent more time developing doors with built in flamethrowers that incinerate encyclopedia salesmen for you. But no, 2,000 years of potential research and development has gifted the galaxy with fast doors. Yay.
The sight of a clean, made bed was more than enough to snap Sean out of his brooding. Holy light fell upon it as a choir of angels spun melodious song through his ears. He half ran half stumbled towards those ivory sheets and almost fell to the floor when his belt snagged on a miscellaneous knob on some random pipe. Irritated, he lurched forward to pull himself free. What was this sticky-outy thing to impede his deliverance unto gossamer paradise? There was a moment of resistance and then nothing as his belt came free. Something jingled.
Sean rolled his eyes and turned to see what he had lost. A pin hung from the knob. At first he didn't recognize what it could have been from, but a small, nagging voice in the back of his head was screaming the answer to him in a tiny panicked voice. What the... Sean' backed up slightly and his belt hit the wall. The detonator plate on the wildfire grenade compressed.
*click*
Ah, f-
____________________________________________________________________________________
Sean sat down at the briefing table at exactly 2301 and flashing the Commander with an innocent smile. The black dusting of what may have once been his eyebrows exaggerated the expression. After the cleaning droids had done their job, the smoke had all been ventilated, and a near endless mass of concerned crew members were placated, it really hadn't been much of an issue. At least he had gotten his sleep, and the floor doesn't really feel all that different from a bed after a flash bang goes off in your pocket. Unsurprisingly, he attracted a lot of bizarre glances, looks, and stares from those assembled (at least that's what he figured, everything was still mostly obscured by a big, white starburst), but as long as he wasn't court marshaled for potentially endangering a Republic Soldier (amazing how many ways you can get arrested for injuring yourself), he didn't mind.
What? He addressed the room at large, It was designed to be dropped by a 2 pound bird, which don't really have very much in the way of operable digits going for them, from high altitude. Safety features had to be rather scarce. Deafening silence. Be thankful it was a flash bang...smoke grenade...bomb...heldtogetherbyducttape...it could have been much worse. More deafening silence, this time accompanied by a shrill ring.
Sean hoped nothing new was added in this briefing since he was, for all intensive purposes, death, er, deaf...both sounds good. He would make sure to speak with Rah later to make sure. They shared the same objectives after all. First, however, there was another stop and another matter to deal with. Two actually, but they were fairly intertwined. Besides, his bandages, singed by that freak electrical surge in his room's circuit panel that set off the wildfire grenade that there was no chance of actually being caused by the careless actions of its creator, needed replacement.
The sick ward was, well, sickening. Sean left it at that clever description and refused to look for more. He didn't think his stomach could handle any other fitting adjectives for this place. It was rather dreadful, though (dammit!). Ignoring the screams of agony and pictures of gore around him as best he could, he spotted a familiar (no pun intended) face at last. Wexon hovered from place to place doing what he did best badly. From what Sean remembered of 08's capabilities, he wasn't doing NEARLY all in his ability to comfort and heal the wounded soldiers and survivors of the frigate. Granted, he was doing better than the multitudes of rushed, panicked doctors half-diagnosing the wailing, bleeding throng of people, (droids benefit from a general lack of fear and queasiness) but he was a state-of-the-art piece of equipment that was programmed for exactly these situations.
It was obvious that the bird was much to busy to be questioned right now, so Sean placated himself with simply brushing by and muttering, Step it up, 08. You're givin' your kind a bad name. quietly as he passed. It was fairly obvious by the droid's over-methodical actions and general lack of much personality that that Doctor woman received him fairly recently. Of course, that didn't solve the real mystery; what was a civilian, honorary or otherwise, doing with an AER?
Said doctor woman was spotted at last by Sean supplying treatment to a wounded soldier. It looked like he had suffered a similar injury as the Cathar had, shrapnel perhaps? Speaking of which, the very same Cathar, (Cersa was it?) stalked up to the man once the doctor had finished and had began snarling obscenities at him. Sean's hearing had come back, and with a vengeance. The half-roared admonishing of Cersa made his ears throb. He had missed whatever had happened between the man and the doctor, but from what he could gather from what Cersa was saying he had apparently been rather rude to very woman that had likely just saved his life. The scum was no better than those pirates...
Pausing next to the man, Sean bent down much as Cersa had. ....uh....ditto?
As Cersa stormed off after the doctor, Sean put out his hand for her to pause for a moment so he could interject. Similar perhaps, but don't turn me into a stereotype. A lot of good men died out there, maybe some of his friends. Loss does things to you. Trust me. Without waiting for an answer, he exited the sick bay, grabbing some fresh bandages off a cart on his way out. His questions would have to remain unanswered; there were a lot of men and woman in there whose lives may balance on a few flitting seconds. Sean wouldn't be able to live with himself if he thought he was wasting them.
Besides, there was still something else to clear up. Now where's Rahja?
He wandered the halls more or less aimed at her quarters. Finding no sign of her on the way, he took a guess, knocked twice on her door, and peeked inside. She was indeed in her room, Sender present as well, letter held in hand. Letter? Sean didn't need questions or second guess to figure out what it was likely pertaining to, or who it was from. However, if he remembered correctly, the letter explicitly told him not to mention it to anyone so he remained silent on the matter partially out of respect and partially out of the whole "just in case" aspect of things.
Rah, a moment of your time if you don't mind? Sean crept in cautiously, still part-way through re-wrapping his arm. As far as I know, I'm going to be getting shot out of a cannon with the rest of the team. I know we share the same objectives so maybe we shouldn't stray to far apart, at least not until we're in the AO. What do you say we go skydiving?
It was a matter of unsurity, no doubt about that. He was a member of H.A.L.O. but he was also assigned along with Rah to keep an eye out for those HVTs. That said, it would probably be best for Rah to tag along on the drop pod so as not to end up on different sides of the battlefield. Sean's brain shrugged. He would run it by Meesha. Besides, how could he pass up an opportunity to see the look on Rahja's face when the pod first fires?
Sean took note of her expression out of pure curiosity. She never seemed perturbed by anything. In the face of pain, fear (if she had any), or even great joy, those features rarely shifted more than a few millimeters. He gazed into those crimson eyes, contrasting stunningly with her sapphire skin. It was at that moment that something occurred to Sean that the little voice in his head had always wondered and fantasized about. He couldn't stand it anymore, he just had to know. He leaned in close and whispered, Rahja? He fought to restrain the shaking uncertainty in his voice. What the hell are you?
((OOC: Had ya scared there for a moment, didn't I? > v < )))
|
|
|
|
|
Squee
The Keeper
2,286 posts
95 likes
I am Deception, and I defy your holiest moralities.
|
|
last online Oct 24, 2016 0:33:56 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jul 11, 2009 6:02:09 GMT -5
Post by Squee on Jul 11, 2009 6:02:09 GMT -5
“Darn, I wanted to nibble a little on him, too…” Cersa said lowly, almost wistfully, darting a glance to the rude soldier still lying on the bed. He seemed rather stunned and was staring after the cathar woman. That was okay, at least he wasn’t insulting Jessica anymore. The large feline’s head swiveled back to the blonde haired woman, the corners of her mouth lifting. Her fangs showed in her smile and there was a small purr eliciting from her throat. “Never mind that. Don’t like it when folks insult the docs that take care of me after I threaten their life.”
She followed Jessica as she moved on to her next patient, standing at the foot of the bed to try to remain as much out of the way as possible. Poor guy. He seemed less than happy, and his arm was pretty roughed up. Blood scent tinged the air, a drying copper smell that made Cersa’s little triangular nose wrinkle a little.
"Heh, how cool is that?"
Muscle exposure? Oh sure, it was really cool on the enemy. On another soldier, it made Cersa frown a little. Muscle exposure on someone on her team made sure of a handicap at least for a little while. It meant a less hand in battle. It meant spending more time in the medical bay. Cersa felt truly sorry for the guy. Being in the medical bay was another word for being in hell. There were just too many things that she didn’t know about in the medical field. Too many things she didn’t know if they would kill her or not. Worse things happened here than in the field. Sometimes one could drag his buddy out of the hot zone, alive, and place him into medical hands only to have him die. Not in the battle field but rather a cold, sickeningly white area surrounded by gloved hands and strange utensils.
The patient began to mumble. One of Cersa’s ears twitched forward, honing into his words. And she didn’t blame him for his gaze being swamped by things unseen to her and Jessica. His attention was focused on what he had been told, and she was sure whoever told him his arm needed to be amputated scared the hell out of the soldier. If Cersa was ever told her arm needed amputated, she’d curse the person in basic and her native tongue and tell them no way after the string. If there was one very important part to her body, it was her arms. In any case, they needed to be saved under any circumstances. Her arms were her center of battle. They were sometimes her legs, they had claws at the ends that could tear flesh, they threw the daggers, and they handled the sword she manipulated to her cause.
“Nice to see you’re… assuring patients of what they believe is their fate. And no, it isn’t a social visit, just wanted to figure out if I can get a few painkillers, some bandages, and know that I can be in on battle again in a few hours.” Earlier, Cersa had nearly ripped the IV from her arm, zipped up her torn suit and stomped from the bay in a huff, without so much as a word to Jessica. It was some other guy who came to take the IV from her arm. He had warned her against leaving since she had suffered a rather grievous wound and she should remain bedridden for at least a couple of days. The cathar woman didn’t want to be in bed in the place sick people went to. Besides, if she could stand, she was well enough to leave, she always thought. The less time spent here, the better. “Since I left… in a rush earlier, you could say. If I have to beg to be in this mission, I will.” Cersa’s ears went back and her eyes widened a bit. “Please? I want to gut some more people.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
last online Sept 21, 2010 6:04:53 GMT -5
Knight
|
|
|
Jul 11, 2009 20:21:54 GMT -5
Post by Val - Warning:Contains Sarcasm on Jul 11, 2009 20:21:54 GMT -5
“Nice to see you’re… assuring patients of what they believe is their fate. And no, it isn’t a social visit, just wanted to figure out if I can get a few painkillers, some bandages, and know that I can be in on battle again in a few hours. Since I left… in a rush earlier, you could say. If I have to beg to be in this mission, I will. Please? I want to gut some more people.” Chezz half listened, focusing more on the man's arm she was pulling together to make sure the skin grew back properly. She kind of didn't want to do something wrong and damage the muscle she could see. Nothing worse than a doctor that didn't do their job properly. Or at all, as she reminded herself some of the others had been. She wondered how many of the men in this room would have died if she hadn't been here from misdiagnosis. She sighed, tugging a little on the wire, checking it wasn't too painful for the man as she tried to draw the skin a little tighter around his arm. Not too taut or it's rip. Too loose and it'd pretty much die, and leave muscles prone to infection. Getting it as tight as she wanted it, where it wouldn't be at risk of tearing, she secured the wires and moved to get some bandages, pulling some extra ones and handing them to the Cathar, before beginning to wrap the man's arm up to prevent something getting into his arm.
"If you want painkillers, then grab some from the medical cabinet. They're usually in little white tubs. There's a variety so you might wanna check what suits your situation best." She paused, glancing at the Cathar. "I'm all up for independent women." She smirked, before putting on a more serious face. "I'd recommend Tynonin B64 though." She added, pointing to a bottle on the far left. She turned, redirecting her attention to the man. He was hardly even awake. "Tha-..." "You're welcome. Wexon, next patient." "Patient designate 23." She started heading that way, turning to face the Cathar, referring to the examination the soldier was apparently willing to beg to pass. "Hmm, I've never had a Cathar beg to me before. Plenty of men, but that's kind of confidential. I guess I can give you a look over." She took a quick glance at the Cathar's arm. No bruising, or allergies. Her eyes were fine. She checked the side, pressing where she had operated with her fingers. "Ok. If that hurt go lie down. If not, get the painkillers and go gut some idiots. Send the wounded to me as soon as you get them. She nodded at the Cathar in a motion of good luck, before heading off to the next patient.
"Patient designate 23. Suffered brain damage in the attack, doctor." "He's in a coma, Wexon." "Correct." "You want me to treat a coma patient?" "He is next on my list of priorities, Chezz." "I know I'm a wonderful doctor, but really. Let's be slightly realistic." She sighed, stroking her hand along the bed and touching the skin of the man. No response. Not dead, but not going to be awake for a while. "Yes, Chezz. Next patient has severe drowsiness." "Boring." "One is complaining of aching arms." "Boring." "One is bleeding from the ear." "Wexon, please don't tell me I've exhausted all the interesting cases already." She sighed, knowing she had, heading off to deal with the more minor things now. Maybe if she got rid of them all she could clean up the Med Bay, make it look half decent. More space for the 2 patients she really had too. But then what? Medicine got incredibly boring if she didn't have something amazing to work on. Maybe she could start working on learning a cool trick with her cane. She begrudgingly started making her way to the next few patients, knowing not much of interest was going to happen for the rest of her day.
"Wexon, go run a second diagnostic analysis just in case."
|
|
|
|
|
Latus
May the Quartz be with you.
850 posts
0 likes
Ain't got time for this. (?°?°??? ???
|
|
last online Jun 27, 2014 19:37:36 GMT -5
Guardian
|
|
|
Jul 19, 2009 15:31:12 GMT -5
Post by Latus on Jul 19, 2009 15:31:12 GMT -5
The start of the operation had not gone the smoothest for Sergeant Sevchenko. In fact, he felt like one of the new recruits that had just shipped out when the Ascension had launched, wandering about the ship aimlessly just trying to get his bearings. He had reported to Commander Crass' first briefing almost immediately before it was complete, largely missing the information that might save his life and the lives of his wingmen.
After the great ship responded to the mayday he had returned to the hangar to find that all of the venoms, save the two piloted by his men had launched. It nearly broke him in two when he sent them out with no more instructions than; "Lads; watch each-other's backs oot there." His fighter, parked in a far corner of the hangar, was being fitted for drop from lot orbit but did not have the systems to operate in deep space. Collecting his gear he made for the dropships only to find that they had all launched, thankfully no one was around as he cursed his luck; Lucky Sev'ns my arse. With naught to do but wait, Sev returned to the hangar.
_______________
What happened, Sarge? Get left behind?
The thin private had a smile and grin on his face as Sev approached his small green fighter. The young man didn't even look at his superior as he continued welding in an open panel on the left wing. Sev had to hand it to Jennings though, he was the only subordinate that could get away with not saluting his Sergeant.
Yer keen eyesight has triumphed once more, over excitable tossers. Why aren' yeh keepin' an eye on Archer an' Trigger? They should 'ave engaged the pirates by now.
Walking over to his fighter Sev leaned his rifle against the rear landing strut. As the sergeant spoke, Jennings stopped welding, raised his eye-shield, and sat down on the edge of the wing. The young man was handsome but, being covered in soot and grit, had a weathered look about him.
Got the order that, since you aren't out there with 'em, Fighter Command would see to them. Feel like getting your hands dirty, sir? I need to finish this upgrade to the wing struts and replace the conversion servos in the other wing tip.
Motioning toward the other wing Sev removed his helmet as Jennings nodded and turned back toward his work. With the mission imminent and his fighter still not effectively fitted for it, Sev was beginning to worry. Jennings was a skilled mechanic, one of the best Sev had ever seen but there was just no way only one person could finish the craft in time. Sev began disassembling the servos in the folded wing tip, setting the outdated bits aside to be discarded. Pausing to think he shouted up to his subordinate.
Oi, Jennings. I'll get Archer an' Trigger doon here t' give you a hand when they get back. We migh' be able t' finish 'er.
*Some time later*
It was some time before the battle raging outside ended and the soldiers returned. The hangar quickly filled again, the small number of venoms made what space there was to be had feel claustrophobic and cramped. To Sev, every moment that his Firehawk was not combat ready made the fighter a waste of space. Thinking back to the times he had flying with the Sevens Sev couldn't help but miss them, after the loss of so many pilots; some good men and women. With his two wingmen returned the space around the Firehawk was soon filled with the whir of machines, bolting, drilling, fastening, all trying to get the small craft ready. The small craft was a work of mechanical genius, he knew, but he wondered what one outstanding ship could do with a hangar full of top of the line fighters. He didn't dwell on it for long as he was sure it would soon become clear.
_______________
The next morning, Sev entered the briefing wearing a normal uniform and sat down. He was undoubtedly grateful of the second briefing. It was short and sweet and everyone was given an objective. His was to cover the dropship's approach and maintain air superiority until the dropships returned to the Ascension. He payed little attention to his fellow soldiers aside from an occasional salute to a superior and returned to his quarters to equip his gear. With time to spare he returned to the hangar. What he saw warmed his heart; both Archer and Trigger were geared up helping Jennings put the finishing touches on the Firehawk.
Well, ain't tha' just a beautiful sight. You lads ready?
Archer and trigger were the first to speak, Jennings giving Sev a sharp salute.
Ready when you are, sir. Ready to go, boss..
This 'hawk' is good to go, Sarge. Don't go 180 until you get into the cave system or the acidic atmosphere will eat her alive. Get into those tunnels and show them why the Sevens are the best on Corellia.
Sev gae all three of them a quick grin and nod. They were his men, his friends, and they had never let him down. Sliding on his helmet he clenched his fist and thrust it out.
Saddle up lads, le's do this!
His three men stacked their fists on his before breaking away towards their Venoms. Clasping Jennings on the shoulder Sev climbed onto the wing and dropped into the cockpit of his fighter. Now, all there was to do was wait.
|
|
|
|
|
Squee
The Keeper
2,286 posts
95 likes
I am Deception, and I defy your holiest moralities.
|
|
last online Oct 24, 2016 0:33:56 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jul 22, 2009 4:42:04 GMT -5
Post by Squee on Jul 22, 2009 4:42:04 GMT -5
One ear lifted up, the natural satellite perched upon the cathar’s head twitching and swiveling toward Jessica. The fur at the ridge of her eyebrow lifted someone. Even Cersa’s nose twitched in amusement, wrinkling slightly with the motion. “Beg? Nah, that was just me being nice. If I were begging, you’d probably hear mews and purrs with it.” A large feline grin broke out across Cersa’s face, which she dropped to appear serious when the doctor took up her arm, checking the injury there. She put her ears back as she lowered her head slightly for the doctor. Her shoulders scrunched backward and she clasped her calloused padded and furry hands behind her back. As the human woman checked her eyes, Cersa’s eyes flicked from Jessica’s right eye to her left. Hand on wrist, the cathar stood tall and straight as the Doc prodded at her side. Some soreness. Cersa didn’t count that as hurting, however.
Her smile displayed her happiness when Jessica said she could gut some idiots. She found the painkillers that had a label that sounded like what Jessica had called it. At least to Cersa’s inward pronunciation. She scooped up bandages and made her escape with a nod to Jessica.
Her side was stretching out better the more she stood and walked about. Her stride became more fluid, carrying the grace found in any feline galaxy-wide. Her ears forever twitched at sounds carried down the hallways of the Ascension, head twisting in said directions every so often as if to find something interesting awaiting to appeal her alert eyes. This amused Cersa until she reached her dorm, keying open her door and entering to find a nice package waiting for her. This time, she smiled to herself. Mail had been delivered. That was rather fast, and convenient. What was packaged had been what Cersa hadn’t been able to carry with her during her transfer. Stripping it open, Cersa examined her extra suits. It might not be a bad idea to order another couple up.
Unfortunately, being a cather, sometimes the suits provided didn’t really fit. Sometimes they were too tight. Sometimes they had closed hands. Head gear didn’t quite fit the ears. Or it pinched and rubbed the fur uncomfortably, making the eyes twitch and you had the urge to pierce the suit with your claws just to care for an itch. And then there were times the folks who made the suits thought you were kidding when you said you’re a female, five foot ten inches, baseline cathar. Ignorant pieces of garbage.
Cersa consulted her datapad and reckoned she should get to the rest of her teammates. Several of them would not have met their new staff sergeant just yet. Hopefully Corporal and the other guy had spread the news and swapped a good story in her favor. They needed a “meet the Cathar CO” introduction. This should be fun. The tip of her finger highlighted the several names that were part of her force and sent them all a message to meet her in the next half hour. That gave them time to finish naps, food, and other necessities. This gave her time to check her equipment and change her bandages, and even mess around on a mini-game found on her datapad. But then she found herself heading down to meet her teammates, sword and suit and a bag of her equipment slung over her shoulder.
She keyed herself into the designated room belonging to her operations team, knowing that they were hushing each other quickly. She walked in to find them standing from where they had possibly been sitting. The well rehearsed salute was nearly simultaneously among them, women were outnumbered, and they were a relatively small group. They were the best of the best, though. There wasn’t too much need for there to be too many. The number stood probably between twelve and eighteen, with Cersa leaning her guess toward the middle. She returned their salute but didn’t tell them to be at ease just yet.
“When I say “at ease”, return to what you were previously doing, understood?”
A medium and rehearsed voices joined in with a “yes ma’am” and she allowed them to return to looking over their equipment, though there was a wary eye tracking her as Cersa pulled up a seat and rested her bag on the ground, her sword propped against the chair, and suit draped on the chair. As Cersa brought up the briefing details on her datapad, she introduced herself, told them a couple of things, and then questioned if they had something they wished to ask her. Silence met her. With a glance at them all, Cersa let things lie and launched into describing the upcoming mission.
“Believe only a few of us are needed. I’m going in. We’ve got HALO and the regular infantry on our tails when we get in. Five total will go, so, I want four more.” She put the datapad away. “Anyone good at capture? Riflemen are liked…” And she talked to herself for a few more moments before finally getting a response out of her team. The four others were selected quickly: three men and another female. As she sat down to clean her sword and knives, Cersa lifted her eyes to the other teammates.
“You know, I’m not going to grow a tail no matter how much you stare at me. There isn’t one there. And you can chat and laugh and have a howdy good time with even me here. I could hear you before I walked in the door.” She had elicited a few chuckles with the tail comment. They were quickly silenced and steeled by the owners. Cersa merely sighed and set on polishing her beloved sword.
“Ma’am.”
Cersa looked up, swiping the cloth down her sword.
“You don’t mind me asking, what are you?”
“I suppose I look like a furry experiment gone wrong. A cathar.” And that launched a discussion among the team. Cersa’s fangs shined at last.
---
Painkillers were taken, bandages were freshly changed, knives in check, and her hair was appropriately styled so as not to bother her. Firmid, one of the technological ones of the team had fitted some kind of device on her head, with an earpiece and something her chin could tap on to signal the other teammates with her. Bizarre device, and it felt just as strange strapped around her head. Two of the four going with her all smiled and told her she looked absolutely marvelous while one said she looked like something from a kids’ nightmare.
“Let’s remember we’re on the frontlines, now. Someone has to look scary. Triggs doesn’t look that much scary with her small feminine self. And if her helmet wouldn’t be on, no one would take the blond hair seriously. We’d kill the pirates with laughter.” Datapad consulting. “Let’s go get boarded. There’s a party on the planet and we weren’t invited.” Already Cersa was at point with her team, leading them for their ride in the hangar. And leading them headfirst into a dangerous game of chess, where the winner keeps their life.
|
|
|
|
|
Dire Wolf
So who's ready to help me sock ol Adolf on the jaw?!
2,894 posts
49 likes
Have dakka will travel
|
|
last online May 6, 2020 18:55:51 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jul 26, 2009 23:14:07 GMT -5
Post by Dire Wolf on Jul 26, 2009 23:14:07 GMT -5
((ooc// swrponline2.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=repmilplot&action=display&thread=4661&page=3#45971 read please. I'm going to let you guys fill out your little parts in the plot... cause my muse for Crassus is at an all time low. Sorry for any bad quality, and for the outrageous delay//)) The red-skinned Commander stood a few meager feet away from the transparisteel window that separated the ship from the deadly radiation of the chillingly beautiful hyperspace tunnel. His eyes slowly washed over the scintillating purples and blues of the alternate dimension. He found himself trying to understand the marvelous wonder that was hyperspace, trying to wrap his head around how it takes sub-light particles and throws them past the light barrier. But, he quickly found that it was either impossible to understand or the answer was beyond his scope of intelligence. Most likely the latter. “Commander, we are two minutes out from Subterrel.”Danni's voice brought him back to the task at hand: which was to ready the ship for safe entry back into pirate infested space. Their shields were down, which meant that if they were discovered Operation Infinite Horizon would be the first, and last, mission that the Ascension would ever take part in. He slowly turned back to the bridge crew, eyeing each man and woman until his gaze rested on Danni, his executive officer. He slowly keyed the shipwide comm unit. “All personnel... battle stations.”The surprisingly commanding voice of Crassus Vossk resonated throughout the entire ship, and its crew responded in kind. The bright lights of the bridge winked off, leaving only the warm glow of the tunnel to wash illuminate the bridge. A few scant moments later the lights were replaced by a menacingly dim, yet deep red. He turned back to the observation window and flipped off the shipwide comm, now only his bridge hands could hear his voice. “Okay folks. Activate the ECM,” he paused for a second, waiting for the appropriate officer to give him the okay. ---- Nothing could be heard in the void of space. No vibrations could be felt. There was no media for such waves to travel across. The only thing that could barely be seen from the corsair fleet was an almost infinitesimal shape rocketing out of hyperspace and gliding against the stars. The incredible distance between the Ascension and the gathering of brigand vessels made the relatively tiny destroyer look like a small black dot against a midnight black canvas. The sleek vessel slid through the black of space with the same predatory grace that it held when it was departing from the shipyard ring around Kuat. It wasn't long until the destroyer moved into position over the planet, right over the massive hole that served as the entrance to its objective. The smaller craft that shot out of the Ascension were albeit invisible save the slight glint of sunlight against their metallic surface as they passed. Operation Infinite Horizon was in progress...
|
|
|
|
|
Mara
nothing worth anything ever goes down easy
9,275 posts
55 likes
the one and only
|
|
last online May 2, 2022 22:30:17 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Jul 27, 2009 19:51:13 GMT -5
Post by Mara on Jul 27, 2009 19:51:13 GMT -5
With the briefing ending, Pak Har'endanno decided to head back to his room to change into something more comfortable. He was still feeling a bit wound-up after the lackluster adventure of attacking the pirates, his long nap and the boring briefing from Commander Vossk. It wouldn't be a good idea for him to get too trigger-happy for the real mission, though he wanted to, so he needed a way to release some energy. And with Shen not to be found, running was his best option right now.
Just ten minutes later the Balosar found himself on one of the less-used decks of the Ascension, running through the corridors at a fast pace. He didn't like the exercise rooms allotted for the officers; it was so boring running around in circles, always turning to the left around that 100-meter oval. He always got more excitement running over more cross-country terrain. And while the decks of the ship were flat and smooth, at least he got to go in various directions and dodge obstacles, like cleaning carts and noncoms.
He felt relief almost immediately. His legs pumping, his heart rate up, Pak felt fantastic. It was just as good as almost any other physical activity he could think of for a stress reliever. His thoughts wandered to Shen, the beautiful red-headed Miraluka in his fighter squadron. She was so mysterious, he knew little about her, but yet he had been instantly attracted to her. Perhaps because he knew little about her and wanted the task of getting to know her. There was just something about her, about how he felt her emotions with his antennapalps. She was different than other women he had been with. He had a feeling that this one could be the one. Or at least, the first meaningful relationship he would have ever been in. Shen was too beautiful a person, both inside and out, to be relegated to one-night-stand duty.
Pak swallowed and ran harder, forcing his blood back to his heart and his head, trying to clear his mind of all thoughts of the woman. He made a couple more circuits of the deck before stopping at a turbolift to ride back up to his room. In the 'lift he glanced at his chrono, thinking he better get back to the main decks in case the call came through from the Commander. It wouldn't look good for him to be late for his first real mission with the Ascension. Pak didn't need to give Vossk more reason for him to dislike the Balosar.
He was just toweling off his hair when he got the call to battle stations. Pak swore to himself and made quick work of putting on his flightsuit and boots. The Balosar ran to the nearest 'lift to ride down to the hangar level. Though he wasn't in charge of the Venom squadron--that was Shen--he was one of the more superior officers in the group and knew he had to make a good impression.
Pak rushed into the large room to find all the other pilots climbing into their Venoms, beginning start-up procedures. Quickly, Pak got situated in his ship, retracting his 'palps before placing on his helmet. There was no time for other thoughts; his entire mind was focused on the job ahead. The inglorious job of guarding the drop ships. But it was his job, and he knew he would do it well.
Engaging his engines and repulsors, the Balosar lieutenant followed the rest of the Venoms out through the hatch, making way to their positions above the planet of Subterrel.
|
|
|
|
|
Squee
The Keeper
2,286 posts
95 likes
I am Deception, and I defy your holiest moralities.
|
|
last online Oct 24, 2016 0:33:56 GMT -5
Master
|
|
|
Aug 1, 2009 7:30:19 GMT -5
Post by Squee on Aug 1, 2009 7:30:19 GMT -5
((Let me know if I screwed up on anything. x.x The song is Frontline by Pillar))
“All personnel... battle stations.”
“And that would be our cue to get our butts onto the dropships,” Cersa said, ears twitching at the noise from the shipewide comm. She lowered her brown gaze to the other four going with her and nodded her head. Cersa had just finished messing with her hair one final time to make sure it understood its place and held its ground. The test had resulted as clear, after many ruffles and violent, back and forth shakes of the head. The shakes had almost knocked away her head device Firmid had installed. Fortunately she and Triggs had managed to get it set back correctly and make sure it worked.
The group had only been sitting and wandering around for but a few minutes. Cersa had known the call to begin would start soon. The rifles, sword, and other weapons sat around, helmets casually sitting around on ground, supports, or under the crook of an arm. At the command given by the Vossk zeltron guy, his status currently being invisible, everyone took up their weapons and the four following Cersa made sure to snatch up their helmets.
And this was the eye of the storm. The big storm this time around, not a little tornado that distracted the reporters from the hurricane. No, the Ascension was beginning to enter into the main reason they came headed for Subterrel. Cersa was instructed that this task wasn’t to be very long. It was very much in and out. Grab the goodies with sheathed claws and get out without much blood being exchanged. Easier said than done, but Cersa knew her special operation to be successful at what they did, and was having great confidence in the skills of those settling themselves into the dropship. Step one to mastering the eye of the storm was complete. There were no nervous doubts about her team. Now there was just pre-excitement to the upcoming mission task. No one could say they weren’t having flutters flying into a hot zone. They would be lying. Unless they had some kind of emotional control chip, they were lying. Cersa didn’t believe anyone she knew had a suppression chip (besides, wasn’t that close to a myth to have?).
The nervous flutters that chased circles in one’s stomach and tugged at the heart while tickling at the throat was the absolute worst part of heading onto a battleground. The dropship was lifting off, and Cersa’s stomach seemed to squeeze tighter, her breathing a little harsher. She stilled the breathing quickly as skilled and experienced soldiers were capable of performing. As soon as the dropship had lifted away from the Ascension, the team had been committed to this mission. There was no deciding to back away and let someone else take the ride. It seemed everyone here wanted to join the party. Which was nice, since Cersa didn’t want to attend it by herself and the HALO jumpers.
The edge of the eye was rapidly approaching. Cersa knew that as soon as she left the dropship they were in the hurricane. The destruction the briefing had done was behind them. The quiet moment before entering the field was soon to pass. The game was going, and the game would only get tougher. The cathar doubted largely that once they snuck in and snapped up their little leaders that the pirates were going to sit by and let them go. There was no offer of tea, but an order for blood, and lots of blood.
Cersa didn’t plan on getting injured again, but sometimes that plan didn’t go quite go as accordingly as most. She was protecting packages again. And she had only protected a precious little doctor only… what, a little over a day ago? Time moves by too fast when on the job, Cersa thought. Well, that could be because she slept a good deal of the time. But, recently, that sleeping was a forced one from medicinal drugs. At all costs Cersa wanted to avoid waking up a second day in a row with an IV in her arm dribbling fluids into her bloodstream. That made the fur rise up along her spine, making it feel itchy under the light armor. Great, now her fur was all messed up. All because of a stray thought of fluids entering her body via bloodstream. That thought was just unnatural to Cersa. It was gross in a way.
She got the warning they would be dropping toward a cave soon. From there Cersa and her team would hurry along on foot, infiltrate the pirate place, kill those in their way, arrest the leaders, and run like hell on the way out.
Yeah, that thought was resting really heavy on her mind. Her ears and nose twitched with the flutters that contracted around her stomach. She ran a mic check all the way around, getting confirmations that she was heard clearly. Everyone twisted left and right to chec their equipment. Cersa checked the restraints that held her swords scabbard to her back and gave each knife a little push to ensure their place lined on her belt. Her teammates seemed satisfied with their devotionally cleaned and cared for weapons.
She could feel as the ship as it tried its way through the atmosphere. Cersa was watching the walls, expecting to feel acidic burn against her skin because the atmosphere ate its way clean through the ship. But, it seemed it was suited for the planet, and the descent came in rather slow as they all but crawled to avoid sight by the bad guys. At least Cersa HOPED that’s why the ship was slowing.
“Oh darn,” Cersa commented out loud, looking around at the other soldiers. They all looked up, the visors of their helmets gleaming back at her. “We forgot to bring the whiskey. We’re such rude party-goers. We arrive uninvited and didn’t even bring a present to make up for it.” At least one or two of them found the joke funny. Their chuckles helped Cersa’s tight stomach ease out some.
The ship bumped a little and their landing was announced. “All right lady and gentlemen. Let’s get out there.”
“Everybody with your fists raised high Let me hear your battle cry tonight. Stand beside or step aside We’re on the frontline!”
|
|
|
|