13/03/2190
12:57
Solaris Ridge
Connection failed. Attempting to reconnect...
Connection failed. Attempting to reconnect...
Connection failed. Attempting to reconnect...
Connection established. Synchronizing...ID: PFC Caldwell, Aleric
_____________________________
|Through the camera, a pair of combat glove clad hands worked deftly to strip the deceased Delta specialist of equipment. The helmet was already gone, obviously, given that the camera feed was currently from it. Chiefly, the M3-S armor, custom tailored for high mobility and respectable protection, was pulled from the fallen Marine. The camera swept back over Caldwell's shoulder to where other Marines were fighting, hunkered behind solid metal barricades. Muzzle flashes clashed with vivid green as outgoing weapons fire competed with incoming acid. When it returned forward, Caldwell was pulling SMG magazines out of his old, standard issue armor, which lay discarded on the ground, and sweeping the dead scout's thermal cloak over his shoulder, presumably clipping it into the armor he had looted. His bounty taken, the marine paused only to check the scout's ID tag, confirming its absence before straightening up.
Despite the digital ammo counter on the M39 he carried, he slid the SMG's magazine out into his offhand, examining it himself before seating it back in the weapon and shouldering past other marines towards the front.|
A quick sweep of his consoles confirmed that the fighting was focused in South medical right now, the facility's reception area turned into a fortress. Windows smashed out, barricades erected, and every inch bristling with guns and barbed wire.
|At the south entrance, Alpha's grenadier stood tall at the front, grenade launcher in hand as he plugged the jagged gap melted in the wall with his body. Compared to the marines around him, he looked a tank, wearing heavy, explosive-resistant armor complete with a full-face helmet. Caldwell glanced away to check the eastern flank, but movement in the periphery of the camera (and presumably his vision as well) dragged his gaze back to the Alpha. From outside, a clawed limb reached in, snaking in under the full helmet to wrap around the grenadier's throat. Caldwell's weapon snapped up, but even if there hadn't been a handful of marines between him and the grenadier, the grenadier himself was in the way of a clear shot. Seconds later, the Alpha was gone, dragged out into the darkness, and with him, a precious source of firepower for the Colonial Marines.|
>>FFW
|Lights danced along metal walls as marines spread out, securing the immediate area south of colony medical. The sun was still hours away, and colony power showed no signs of reviving itself. The only source of light came from rifle and armor flashlights, along with the eerie red glow of flares left to mark paths, or thrown into the darkness to keep it at bay. Through the camera, Private First Class Caldwell (AKA Klepto) had stopped and dropped into a crouch, his armor light falling across the heavy helmet of a grenadier, marked with a red stripe to indicate it belonged to an Alpha. Examination revealed blood splattered on the back of it, and the visor cracked in three places, with no sign of the one who had been wearing it. No body meant no death, though knowing the habits of the Xenomorphs, being taken alive was inarguably a worse fate.|
>>FFW
|"Office complex is hot!"
"Affirmative, Delta 2-1. Advise you withdraw and make contact with company assets. Wes-Ya PMCs are on site."
The helmet camera lingered on what was left of the office complex, growing more distant as Caldwell retreated. As with the bar, the library, and Operations, it was one of the buildings that had taken the brunt of the ordnance brought to bear against the Xenomorphs. The walls that hadn't been blown out by explosives had been chewed through by acid. Not a single undamaged part of the building could be seen beneath the flashlight that swept along it from the end of Caldwell's weapon. "Contact!" Between poor lighting and an abundance of motion, the action was difficult to follow. Briefly, a four-legged creature was illuminated in the flashlight beam, several rounds punching into it from the side before it withdrew. The camera jerked suddenly, and the M39 flickered and vanished, along with Klepto's arm.
The camera turned away from the creature's last position, bobbing up and down with rapid movement as Caldwell beat a hasty retreat beneath the cover of his optic camouflage. Another stumble as he rounded the corner and he flickered back into view, or the parts of him the camera could see did, anyway. A quick sweep with his weapon and he slumped heavily against the wall, sliding down into a crouch and glancing down, the camera focusing on a bloody wound on the marine's leg.
"Fucking PMCs just lit me up!" He practically hissed the words out through gritted teeth, fumbling at his hip for a roll of gauze.
"Delta 2-1, this is Falcon." The Captain's voice cut in sharply, a strained edge bleeding through into his tone. "Confirm green on blue incident. I say again: Are PMCs hostile?"
"Negative, Falcon, negative. Incompetent, not intentional." With the wound bandaged, Caldwell took to his feet slowly, warily, and then let out another hiss, sinking back to a crouch and jabbing himself in the leg with an autoinjector, the purple tint identifying it as a standard issue painkiller. "Delta actual, sitrep?"
"Charlie is pushing for Eta labs. Front line at filtration. Current objective is finding the hive."
"Lambda looked likely. I'll check it out after the medic clears me." |
>>FFW
|"Should we wait for more marines? We're...what, four?"
"Fuck that. We're Delta."
"Hah. Oo-fucking-rah."
Four flashlight beams swept over black weeds and resin walls, dark, unnatural things that seemed to swallow the light, and deepen the darkness of the cave around, deep enough that no sun would have reached it even in the middle of the day. A particularly imposing barrier of thick resin blocked their advance, prompting Caldwell to reach down and draw a knife from his boot, chipping away at the structure as two marines who had spoken did the same with bayonets mounted on their weapons. Moments later, it collapsed, spilling their light into the cavern beyond, falling across a small bipedal xeno. It immediately turned, backpedaling and spitting acid at them. Beyond, sevearl significantly more imposing aliens were caught by the edge of the beams range, though these were slower to react, until a burst of rifle fire caught one in the back.
Each of the larger xenos was easily a match for a marine in one-on-one combat, barring exceptional skill and luck, and the marines risked being outnumbered by reinforcements with every passing moment. Klepto continued firing as he withdrew, until the ammo counter on the side of his SMG read zero. The spitter stepped back out, and was met by the blade of a throwing knife, courtesy of Klepto's now free off-hand. The blow was far from mortal, but it bought precious time, as the farthest of the other marines was born to the ground beneath the weight of a xeno. The caught was caught as he reached for a spare magazine, and then the camera turned away, Caldwell's limbs disappearing from view as the marine made a hasty retreat.
"-lta 2-1, come in. You hear me, Klepto?" Pulling a full 180, the camera focused on the entrance to the research lab, entry tunnel extending far beyond where Caldwell's weapon light would reach. Something flickered, either movement within the tunnel or simply an artifact in the video feed.
"Send it, El-Tee."
"Thought we lost you there, Caldwell. Charlie reports Lambda clear. Delta 1-5 is WIA, medevac'ing. You're acting squad lead as of now. Confirm."
"....shit. Alright, yeah. Yeah, confirmed. Where we at?"
"Squad's mainly fighting at filtration. Get there." |
>>FFW
|"Delta 2-1 to Actual. Found 0-1."
"Checking your cam. Standby. Hell. That's him. Get his tags."
Delta squad's Staff Sergeant, or what was left of him, was in a bad way. Right arm missing, armor rent in several places from vicious claws, a couple of damning bullet wounds near his vitals, and acid having melted away at parts of his flesh. There was nothing that could be done for him now but to take his tags and close his eyes. While ostensibly behind friendly lines, the propensity Xenormophs displayed for ambushes made wandering alone a dangerous prospect.
Caldwell made it about a dozen paces before he practically tripped over another body, plain blue jumpsuit betraying its wearer as a colonist. A dead colonist wasn't particularly unusual, given the fate of the colony, but Klepto crouched to examine the item laying next to the colonist, a small, compact handgun with an integrated suppressor. Suffice it to say, not standard colony issue, for militia or marshals.
"Korovin .22. Weird. Colonist with a UPP sidearm."
"Get to filtration, Delta 2-1. I promise we'll look into the black market _after_ the colony is secure."
"Yeah. Yeah, en route, Actual."|
>>FFW
|"Be advised, Delta Actual is going dark. High Command sent us a present. We've gotta get it prepped."
"Solid copy, Actual. Delta 2-1 pushing into filtration caves."
"Good luck, 2-1."
The beam of Klepto's flashlight revealed before him a motley mix of marines from all four squads, wearing helmets, boonie caps, berets, or no headgear at all. Mixed among them was the bright white armor of WY's PMC team. The advance was kept in a loose formation, beams of light sweeping out and across the walls and floor. Already Caldwell had passed by a forward barricade position, and was now deep in the caves, on the tail of the recently-retreated Xenomorphs.
"PMCs are earning their pay today, lead."
"Oorah. Tracker clear?"
"Yeah. Must have fucking bolted. We got 'em running sc- oh shit. Contacts on our six. Lots of contacts!"
Surprise and fear could be seen reflected in many of the surrounding faces as the camera turned, following Caldwell's weapon as he turned to check behind them. A half dozen other lights fell on a swarm of xenos pouring out from the tunnel they had arrived through. Despite comprimsing of a typical mix of xenomorph castes, all of them bore the same, purplish color, a stark contrast to the normal shades of black and red different castes typically bore. The group of humans unleashed weapons fire on the advance, but momentum carried them on, shrugging off bullets and tearing into the humans who had been the rear guard and were now on point.
After a few bursts of SMG fire, Caldwell's weapon lowered slowly, and the camera glanced about at the other fighters nearby, who already were giving ground as quickly as they could. A moment later, the thermal cloak activated, the chameleon effect sliding out once more across his limbs. Quickly, he strode forward, but every attempt he made to slip through the hostile lines was rebuffed, the xenos packed too closely together to offer any hope of threading through their lines. A hasty retreat coincided with the cloak's effect ending, the camera's view dropping down as he grabbed at his weapon, which had at some point been left clipped to his armor. The camera looked up once more, the muzzle of the weapon rising into frame just as a wicked claw lashed out, sending Klepto stumbling backward. Another few steps back and the camera fixated on a nearby grenade, just in time for it to detonate, the blast engulfing the camera.|
>>ERROR. UNEXPECTED HALT. USER KIA\WND\INCAP?
>>Attempting to re-establish connection.
>>Connecting...connection re-established
|The camera flickered back on, the view dominated by an armored limb, beyond which lay only the cave's ceiling, shrouded in darkness for want of any flashlights shining upwards. Slowly, it was shifting, as if being dragged, several other figures entering and exiting the edge of view, followed by a line of barricades. A moment or two after they had been left behind, the camera came to a halt, and the armored arm was replaced by a marine's face, betrayed as a medic by the helmet he wore, along with a red stripe that indicated he was Alpha. Frantically, he went to work, brief flashes of autoinjectors and advanced first aid kits visible as his hands passed over the camera, though most of his work was conducted out of view.
Soon after, another medic joined him in frame, this one wearing the same Delta blue that Caldwell bore, and clutching a small, handheld medical scanner. After running it over him, he glanced at it, then showed the numbers to the Alpha medic with a slow whistle. "See those numbers? He's d-o-n-e fucked."
"Not yet. Epi?"
"Epi? Front line is collapsing. You have maybe thirty seconds. You-fine, here." A small autoinjector was passed to the Alpha, and then the Delta medic stood and left, leaving the Alpha alone to work, starting with the autoinjector he had been handed. Shortly after, the microphone picked up the high-pitched, electronic whine of a defibrilator just before it came into view, and then left once more. On the periphery of the camera, several more soldiers passed by hurridly, the Alpha medic offering several glances over his shoulder before eventually cursing and unfolding a roller bed, half in view. Maybe thirty seconds went by in which the Alpha medic was all that was in view, leaning over the camera and rolling the bed that Caldwell was now strapped to along. Slowing to a jog, he ran a hand-scanner over the camera (and presumably the rest of the marine wearing it) and uttered another curse, the bed coming to a halt and the defib coming out once more.
"Clear!" A long, high-pitched eletrical whine and then a jolt as the camera shook.
"Clear!" Again.
"Come on, come on." Another furtive glance over his shoulder betrayed the medic's anxiety, and then another zap. This time, the camera shifted, and a loud gasp followed the jolt of electricity, a blue-gloved hand reaching into frame and grasping at the medic's arm. Casually, the medic batted it away, tossing his head back and downing a pill before taking off at a sprint once again. Several times, he spared a glance towards the camera and its bearer, but it never lingered, and he didn't stop until several sets of barricades and the marines manning them had blurred past. Slowly, warily, Caldwell rose, first to a sitting position atop the roller-bed, and then he stood, the camera swaying precariously before stabilizing. The medic ducked under his arm and supported him deeper into the FOB, to where a doctor had set-up a makeshift field hospital.
"Doc! His heart's shot. Epi and defibs. Another shock might just fry it."
The doctor frowned, clad in an armored vest and an ill-fitting helmet as concessions to the fact that he was in a combat zone. "I'm packing up. All non-combat personnel are leaving on this flight." He explained, gesturing first to what was left of the field hospital, and then over to the side. The camera turned to follow his outstretched hand to the dropship that had deployed the marines to the colony, and was now running supplies and troops back and forth. Opening his satchel, the doctor began digging through it, focusing on the tablet he held in his other hand in the meantime. "Might just...ah, here. This'll keep him together until he had get surgery. Probably." An autoinjector was passed over to the medic, who wasted little time in applying it, and then stepping back, loitering just a moment before patting Caldwell on the shoulder and then turning to leave.
"Good luck, Klepto. Got other patients to tend to."
A short jog later and Caldwell stepped out into chaos. Already the enemy was at the gates, Klepto's helmet camera slowly panning over a desperate attempt to hold the line. Mixed in with their more common bretheren, the purple-hued xenos from the cave were pressing all along the line, which was buckling in several places, acid and claws rending barricades faster than they could be repaired or replaced, and the steady output of weapons fire not quite adequate to stem the tide. Glancing down, Klepto reached for the weapon at his hip, only to find it conspicuously missing. A frantic few seconds later, he cast his gaze outward instead, crouching by a fallen marine and drawing a sidearm from her belt. A short distance away, a barricade was rent open, orange-tinged gas spilling through the gap, and driving two marines back before it, lest they be caught in it. Klepto raised his weapon, emptying the magainze in short order into one of the new brand of aliens, one that had been the first through the gap. It had scarcely flinched by the time the slide locked back, and with no spare magazines, he had little choice but to toss it aside and retreat. With practiced ease, he slid a throwing knife into his grasp, but the paltry blade stood little chance of doing what concentrated weapons fire from several soldiers couldn't.
"Confirmed. Package delivered. T-minus-" The rest of the radio transmission was lost in the blast wave as a claymore detonated nearby, at another breach in the line. The camera turned away from the incursion, retracing its steps inside just in time to see a dropship coming in to land. A wave of marines poured forth as the rear doors opened, Caldwell fighting against the tide to board. Most of them were unbloodied, much fresher looking than the soldiers who had been fighting planetside over the last few hours. As quickly as the tide poured forth from the dropship, they were gone, leaving only a handful of wounded marines to occupy the interior, waiting for a ride off the planet. Brushing past them, Caldwell made for the cockpit, the door still open, though there was no sign of the pilot.
Caldwell staggered as he reached the cockpit door, catching himself on the frame and glancing down, his hand coming away from his side bloody. Drawing an autoinjector from the pouch at his side, he jabbed it into the wound, adding another dose to the chemical cocktail circulating through his blood. Looking up, the camera focused on the dropship controls as he approached, reaching out to tap several keys.
ACCESS DENIED
Even as acting squad leader, Caldwell didn't have near enough access to touch any of the controls.
REMOTE OVERRIDE ENGAGED
COMMS ONLINE
All at once, a cacophany of noise erupted from the console, only brief snippets picked up by the camera's mic before it was overwhelmed.
"FOB breached, south-east!"
"Xenos north LZ!"
"30 seconds to detonation!"
As the mic cut out, the cockpit screen flickered, readouts and displays cycling in a manner an experienced pilot would recognize as a take-off sequence. Caldwell was nothing of the sort, but judging by his hand reaching out to grip the pilot's chair, there was some tip-off, likely the noise of the engines. Even that wasn't enough, the acceleration sending him staggering back out of the cockpit, pushing him off his feet as the microphone rebooted and the sound came back online.
"Delta 2-1, this is actual, do you read? Confirming nuclear detonation in the FOB. Please respond. Repeat-" The camera flickered as the dropship shook, and then the feed blinked out, along with the vitals of Klepto, and every other marine still alive aboard the dropship.|
_________________________________________________
Private First Class Caldwell, A. opened his eyes to a blinding, all-consuming whiteness. It was the sort of brightness he would expect to trigger a splitting headache, but he felt nothing. If anything, he felt almost...weightless. Numb. He strained to remember the last moments of consciousness before darkness had consumed him, and came up empty. His memories all swam in a haze, just out of reach, tickling at the edge of consciousness without ever venturing close enough to grasp.
Closing his eyes, Klepto struggled once more to arrange his thoughts in anything resembling cohesion, and one thought, one concept, broke through the fog. The nuke.
Caldwell bolted upright in the bed as the memories came pouring back in, as if the dam had broken. At least it wasn't Trijent again. The Xenos, and their unexpected offshoot. The extensive casualties. The nuke.
"Corporal Caldwell. You're still with us."
"XO. Err, Commander. I'm- Corporal?" With his head still spinning, Caldwell attempted to snap off a salute, though he found his limbs not half as responsive as he'd have liked.
"At ease, son. Doctors haven't cleared you yet. Call the rank a field promotion. You took command of your squad, brought back some expensive gear we'd have otherwise lost. There was talk of pushing you to Sergeant, we have losses to replace, but...well, there are protocols."
"The nuke. Sir, how many-"
"Not enough, son." A frown broke out on the Commander's face, and he turned away. "Evac didn't happen. We're still piecing together why. Sorting through footage. The Company wants answers. High Command wants numbers. UPP wants blood."
"The UPP? This isn't their territory." Slowly, Klepto felt his head clearing, though the sudden influx of new information kept it from being anything resembling a smooth process. If nothing else, it was keeping him from processing just how bad their losses planetside had been. An entire colony, gone, and most of the deployed men with it... "Why are they upset?"
"I was hoping you could tell me, son." Turning back to face him, the XO produced a small, suppressed pistol. It was the Korovin he had swiped off the UPP planetside, pointedly off-camera. Evidently they'd searched his belongings. Caldwell opened his mouth to reply, but the Commander shook his head. "Better yet, tell the Captain. After the wounded are all cleared, he wants to debrief you all personally."
"Who's left?"
The Commander sighed. "Everyone who had come shipside for treatment. Some of the second wave who hadn't deployed yet. The six of you who rode the last DS out all recovered, barring complications. We'll worry about piecing together Delta squad later. Rest up, Klepto." He smiled. "I'll put in a word about letting you keep the scout gear. It's already keyed to your ID, after all."
"Yessir. Mind leaving the Korovin?"
"Worried about UPP assassins coming for you, Corporal?" The XO chuckled, tossing the weapon onto Klepto's lap. "Just don't piss off the doctors." With a last nod, he departed, leaving Klepto alone with the (apparently loaded) UPP pistol. He hadn't been worried about assassins beforehand, but if they had an agent on the colony...well, infiltrating a colony had to be a hell of a lot easier than a military vessel.
Right?