March 3rd, 2993
Pvt. Albert Bedard,
USC Marine Corps
You would think in the centuries we've been in space, somebody would've come up with a better solution to boarding ships than jumping out an airlock, with mag boots and a hand drill. Unfortunately nobody has, so I here stand, on the bottom half of a Paranid Hercules. No noise except for my own breathing, and Gunny Holte screaming through his wireless at the Polaris, in his defense they were landing those FBC shots a little too close to our LZ. A slight vibration trembles through the hull underfoot, as 2nd Squad's boarding pod impacts south of us. My radio goes static for a few moments as another beam shot lands. Our drill bit breaks and we're not even close to breaking into the corridor underneath us. Standard procedure would dictate that we engage our emergency boosters, scatter, and activate our pickup beacons, but our lovely platoon sergeant isn't known for following SOP. After making sure we all were far enough away, and had a steady handhold. Gunny places a beacon on the hull section we were cutting. Seconds later I notice a white glint in the void moving towards us rather quickly. The rapier lets loose a missile, and veers off, back towards the Polaris. In the half second before the missile impacts I notice my laser rangefinder had put the missile's speed on my hud. 500m/s, and its chock full of high explosives. My squad is less than 40ft away from the impact site...just another day in the Corps, oorah.
The Hercules slowly limps into the waiting arms of the USC-Polaris, a Hakata class frigate, and the home of 2nd platoon, the rest of our company is spread out on the ships of Polaris's Battlegroup. We carry our wounded and dead out on our shoulders through the docking tube. Five dead: Marler, Crouse, Buzzel, Bickford, and Gallaway. We won't be getting replacements though. Our tour in the New Dutchy sectors will be over in a month, then we'll set course for home, in this case our battalion, 1st Battalion, will be joining the rest of our regiment at Camp Pendelton, on Earth. Though our company had spent most of our time out here with the Polaris, the other company's of the battalion had spent the better part of this tour aboard troopships, sitting in formation with 3rd fleet's flagship. A welcome surprise greeted us as the Polaris and her battlegroup slid back into formation with the fleet. Transport shuttles requesting clearance to land. Turns out we were going home early. A short hop on these shuttles to a troopship and then the long, boring, sleepy, journey home.
Rifle, Boots, and a Drill
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March 17th, 2993
Pvt. Albert Bedard
USC Marine Corps
Klaxons start wailing. So much for a sleepy journey home. General quarters sounds, time to suit up. Lieutenant Hughes meets us in the armory, 2nd platoon is being delegated to guard the bridge. We nearly lose our footing on the way there, as the whole ship trembles. Too much for a boarding pod, must have been a torpedo. We aren't equipped to take on torpedoes, we're just a converted MMBS. Emergency lighting turns on as we lose main power. A nav marker pops up on my hud, pointing me towards the nearest airlock. The Lieutenant's way of telling us to abandon ship. We leave by squad's, 1st squad first, then 2nd squad, and so on. The bridge crew leaves with 3rd squad, they'll head to the flight deck and make sure the captain and his crew get aboard the shuttles. Lt. Hughes set the self destruct sequence and we left. Heading towards the airlock, I'm on point, the hud says we need to take a right. We do, and its a straight shot down the corridor, further down I see Gunny Holte waiting for us, and in a flash he's gone, along with most of the corridor. The vacuum sucks us out and my faceplate connects with some debris. The impact must of knocked me out for a few seconds. As I come to, the first thing I notice is that I am very far from where I just was, and I'm moving. My hud registers a friendly contact less than a foot from me, its Sgt. Cortes, my squad leader. He's got a tether running from my suit to his suit and another one running from another suit, my iff doesn't give me a name on the unkown, just that he's friendly.
My visor polarizes for a few seconds as a another troopship, the Puller, goes up in flames. That was A company's boat, hope they got out in time. I activate my pickup beacon, somebody had to have gotten a distress call out. A response force from 3rd fleet should be here any minute. A red light starts flashing on my hud, my airtanks are leaking. Cortes tries to patch it up as best he can but it didn't stop the leak entirely, he injects a sedative into my bloodstream. To put me to sleep and slow my air intake.
As I wake up once again, getting knocked out is really starting to get old, I notice I'im missing my suit. Where ever I am it happens to be very dark, and smells like death. The floor beneath me is rocky and several small pieces of gravel cut me as I rise from laying position. Steel bars make up one wall the other is rock, some kind of jail cell. A alien figure presents itself in front of the bars, its a Split, a hostile, violent race, known for keeping slaves in ore mines. Then everything clicks in my head, the rock floors, the jail cell, we were captured by split. The alien doesn't speak just stares, gives an arrogant humph and moves down the hallway. So much for a boring ride home eh?
Pvt. Albert Bedard
USC Marine Corps
Klaxons start wailing. So much for a sleepy journey home. General quarters sounds, time to suit up. Lieutenant Hughes meets us in the armory, 2nd platoon is being delegated to guard the bridge. We nearly lose our footing on the way there, as the whole ship trembles. Too much for a boarding pod, must have been a torpedo. We aren't equipped to take on torpedoes, we're just a converted MMBS. Emergency lighting turns on as we lose main power. A nav marker pops up on my hud, pointing me towards the nearest airlock. The Lieutenant's way of telling us to abandon ship. We leave by squad's, 1st squad first, then 2nd squad, and so on. The bridge crew leaves with 3rd squad, they'll head to the flight deck and make sure the captain and his crew get aboard the shuttles. Lt. Hughes set the self destruct sequence and we left. Heading towards the airlock, I'm on point, the hud says we need to take a right. We do, and its a straight shot down the corridor, further down I see Gunny Holte waiting for us, and in a flash he's gone, along with most of the corridor. The vacuum sucks us out and my faceplate connects with some debris. The impact must of knocked me out for a few seconds. As I come to, the first thing I notice is that I am very far from where I just was, and I'm moving. My hud registers a friendly contact less than a foot from me, its Sgt. Cortes, my squad leader. He's got a tether running from my suit to his suit and another one running from another suit, my iff doesn't give me a name on the unkown, just that he's friendly.
My visor polarizes for a few seconds as a another troopship, the Puller, goes up in flames. That was A company's boat, hope they got out in time. I activate my pickup beacon, somebody had to have gotten a distress call out. A response force from 3rd fleet should be here any minute. A red light starts flashing on my hud, my airtanks are leaking. Cortes tries to patch it up as best he can but it didn't stop the leak entirely, he injects a sedative into my bloodstream. To put me to sleep and slow my air intake.
As I wake up once again, getting knocked out is really starting to get old, I notice I'im missing my suit. Where ever I am it happens to be very dark, and smells like death. The floor beneath me is rocky and several small pieces of gravel cut me as I rise from laying position. Steel bars make up one wall the other is rock, some kind of jail cell. A alien figure presents itself in front of the bars, its a Split, a hostile, violent race, known for keeping slaves in ore mines. Then everything clicks in my head, the rock floors, the jail cell, we were captured by split. The alien doesn't speak just stares, gives an arrogant humph and moves down the hallway. So much for a boring ride home eh?