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This is a plaza of sorts, that stretches from the main entrance through the center of the dome. The roof of the dome stretches up into the air, with lights, ventilation, and life support systems as well as access tunnels, and maintenance bridges all suspended from the ceiling. From here, the other sections of the colony can be accessed, with the Hydroponics bays to the south, Residential Quarter to the west, and finally the assemblage of military, government, and medical buildings to the north. The primary entrance to the dome faces east, leading out to Gordii Fossae and the landing zone.
Unlike the air outside, the atmosphere within the dome is comfortable, while still a bit crisp. Heating units keep the ambient temperature to 23.9 degrees Celsius, combating the influx of cold air from the open exits, of which there are three more besides the main one, though smaller and only able to allow passage to smaller vehicles. Atop the military and government complexes, numerous satellite arrays for communications with sensor beacons, command, and the orbiting vessels.
Tacitus comes striding out of the Government complex, a frown upon his face causing the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes to become even more pronounced, he looks very old. Though, his appearance is such, it is obvious that he is still in good health and possession of strength, his step quick, orderly, and strong.
In the sky above, one can begin to discern a new movement among the stars and growing closer. The blinking red and green telltales of a dropship, accompanied by the increasing thrumming drone of its impulse engines.
The group is where they're supposed to be - by the military vehicle entrance. Verrus stands at their forefront, dressed in his tactical armor with his red cloak falling over his back. His optio, Lucius Metellus Nepos stands next to him, similarly attired, except for the lack of cloak and the distinct helmet, with yellow feathers and a small crest. They stand in front of ML-223, the Cont's vehicle.
The GFD Cayetano enters the illuminated haze around the Legions colony dome, arcing around the structure before firing its retrojets with a whooshing hiss. Dust devils swirl in all directions as the vessel touches down on the landing area with a creaking thump.
Martinus is actually in his full combat gear, with a small duffel bag at his feet. He stands not at attention, but more like he hasn't been ordered to fall in at all, with the only thing crisp about him being the way his rifle is slung, if that can be called crisp. As the Guardian Fleet ship appears and touches down, the Immunes does appear to straighten up a good bit, a very small smile coming to his face.
Quietly aside, but still with the rest of the group, Cicero is examining his medical equipment, making sure that all is in top condition. As the Cayetano touches down, the Immunes's gear rustles against the wisping air. Finishing up his equipment check, the medic places his equipment in their slings and cases, putting them on. He stands at attention, waiting for the group to do something.
Tacitus walks out to ML-223, right behind the Centurion. "Let's not keep them waiting gentlemen," he says rather gruffly while snapping shut the buttons of his heavier coat and heading out to gordii fossae and the landing zone, not waiting to see if the officers follow.
The ramp of the Cayetano k-chunks and its mechanisms whir as the platform descends to allow a handful of Guardian Fleet soldiers in black armor to march off, armed with rifles held against their right shoulders. The soldiers form two parallel lines and stand facing each other as a new figure begins to descend the ramp: The familiar gray-clad human with the grin of a wolf, Colin Neidermeyer.
Verrus nods in agreement with his Praetor, although a sour frown creases his face once the superior is out of sight. "Alright Red Devils, let's move. Two lines of 6." He gives ML-223 a smack, as though he'll miss the IFV. Then, with him at the front of one line and Nepos at the front of the other, Verrus signals the march order. The steps are crisp and precise, and the two break into a jog.
Down the ramp he walks, self-assured, determined, and grinning in the bloody light of the Martian evening. Colin Neidermeyer steps off onto the ground of red Mars...dead Mars...and gives the dusty soil a kick with the toe of his shoe. Then, narrowing his eyes, he looks toward the approaching Legion troops and waits.
Martinus glances to Tacitus as he speaks, and the sharpshooter gives a light shrug. Though, all traces of the undisciplined sniper that the Legion has known seem to disappear as Martinus catches sight of Colin Neidermeyer and the familiar and long-awaited forms of the Guardian Fleet soldiers. He straightens up a bit more, and begins moving with the rest of the group, almost like a real soldier. The Immunes's armor is completely different from Verrus's. It holds nothing akin to the Roman Legions of old, but instead looks like it's arranged in splotches of shades of red, camouflaged, with there being little actual hardened armor to restrict his movement.
Reed comes out onto the assembly area at a dead run from the barracks, in the midst of fitting his helmet upon his head and slipping a datapad into his belt at the same time. He reaches the back of the ground and slows his pace, matching step, though still a little hurried.
Built for carrying medical equipment and marching at the same time, Cicero easily keeps in time with the marching. Catching a glimpse of Neidermeyer's dropship as they head towards Gordii Fossae, the medic perks a brow, but nevertheless continues on.
Tacitus is still ahead of the main body of the group, and his eyes narrow slightly as the form of Neidermeyer becomes apparent. He stops just short of the two ranks of black-armored troops, relaxing his form and waiting for the others to arrive.
"Time's wasting," Neidermeyer calls across the ruddy landscape, putting his hands on his hips. "And you grunts have work to do."
The group is quick to catch up with Tacitus. They pull up just behind the Praetor, slowing to a stop. Verrus is the first and only one to talk, brow creasing as he says to their leader, "Sir, further orders requested."
Martinus lets a smirk break across his face at Neidermeyer's words, but then erases the smirk and returns to merely being at picture-perfect attention.
Cicero follows suit with the rest of the group, slyly shifting his equipment back in place at times when it seems to slip from his shoulder.
Reed is at the very back of the ground, he follows silently, stopping as the rest do.
"Mr. Neidermeyer, I trust that if I give you my officers, they will be returned safely," yells out Tacitus in a very calm and mannerable voice. Then, without waiting for a response he moves his hand in the air, pointing forward to the "King" as an indication to the Centurion.
"Hey, I'd love to make that a promise," Neidermeyer retorts, smiling tightly and crossing his arms. "Can't. The job I've got for them ain't a cakewalk."
Verrus raises his right hand up into the air in a formal salute to Tacitus. "Ave et vale, Praetor." Are his final words to him. He lowers his arm. Quietly, over the group's comms, he says, "Adress all the Guardian Fleet officers with respect, and address the king as Your Majesty." Then, Verrus breaks into a jog, the Optio next to him mirroring his movements.
Martinus moves forward with the group, his boots clanging in step with the rest of the group as he walks on board the drop ship, and he shifts his rifle slightly.
Cicero follows behind with the rest of the group, still shifting his equipment as it occasionally slips from its place. As the group moves, he does not turn to look at the "King," but continues onward at the same jogging pace as the others.
Reed follows after the rest, giving a sidelong glance to the ranks of soldiers they pass. He has a large bit of curiousity as is obvious, his eyes scanning each soldier slowly, taking into consideration of their armor and weapons.
Tacitus seems about to speak, but as if something yanked onto his throat to keep him from saying anything crude of unmannerable, the Praetor remains silent, giving a salute to the passing Legionaries.
Glancing from one Martian soldier to the next appraisingly, Neidermeyer inquires, "Praetor, how good are these men? What kind of action have they seen?"
Verrus finishes his jog and stands in front of Neidermeyer, waiting for the answer from Tacitus. He and the Optio stand quite still, eyes staring straight forward. Other than his eyes blinking and his horsehair crest swaying slightly in the wind, he is like a statue.
Martinus does break his attention stance to look around at the Guardian Fleet vessel, a very impressed look crossing his features.
Cicero comes to a stop with the rest of ML-223, still as a statue. His equipment has decided to stop being stubborn, resting in their positions without moving. The green eyes of the Immunes stare straight ahead, directly at the nape of the soldier in front of him.
Reed is still curiously examining the Guardian fleet soldiers, but his attention soon falls on Neidermeyer himself. Like Verrus, he awaits the Praetor's response.
"While I find the current armor they wear, which was instilled by my predecessor, as archaic and frivolous, these are the men of our first Cohort, and I'm sure they will be able to complete any task given to them. I instructed them to pack.. reasonable apparel in the form of fatigues. I trust that you will be able to equip them as necessary for whatever it is their mission to do." Tacitus says very frankly, just the sheer manner of his speech implying honestly and conviction, though slightly scathing.
Neidermeyer lifts his eyebrows. "Well, we *are* talking about fighting the Nall here, people. Jesus fucking Christ, you expect me to outfit you with hardware too?" He grimaces. "Hope you don't mind if a couple of them get banged up or skulled. These scalebacks are a tough bunch."
A figure appears on the Cayetano's ramp. It descends with an odd sound, one thump, two thumps, and a clang. The clang is made by an ebon cane that supports the figure's right side. He moves carefully, hobbling down to stand just behind Neidermeyer.
Verrus breaks his still-ness, his eyes surveying the King very quickly and then the man by his side. However, his head does not move and he does not make his expression known.
Martinus finishes surveying the Guardian Fleet vessel, and he gives one slight smile and a quick nod before returning to his statue-like attention.
Cicero's eyes flick swiftly between Neidermeyer, the new arrival behind him, the Praetor, the Guardian Fleet, and the soldier in front of him. The expression on his face is solid, unmoving. He awaits for something new to happen, his quick surveys continuing on.
Reed remains silent, a good soldier for today. His curiousity is obviously aroused by the appearance of Cross, and a bit of frustration by the lack of firepower on his side.
"We're in the midst of reorganization, we are ... refugees," Tacitus says, the last word a strain accented by the further creasing of his face. "I wasn't informed we were to engage the Nall. While we have had our troubles with the lizards, I question why we must provoke what is sure to be wrath."
Neidermeyer smirks at Tacitus. "Oh, listen, Mary Sunshine, you got nothing to worry about. We'll be doing Vox Ulkakithar a solid. See, there's a place we need to, uh, re-acquire, if we plan to restore your pretty red planet here. That place, it turns out, is currently a hideout for a bunch of Ockvril loyalists. Holdouts from the civil uprising who were left behind to wait for orders to wreak havoc in the neighborhood. So: Don't fret about the Nall back on Nalhom getting all bent out of shape about the lot up there. You just worry about whether these circle jerkers of yours can shoot straight and duck proper."
Verrus furrows his brow, showing the first hint of expression. He opens his mouth to speak - the words come out loudly and clearly. "Sir, we have Combat Armor as well as full weapons aboard the Falstaff. Sir." After his "assement", Verrus falls silent once more.
Victor Cross pans the assembled soldiers with his good eye. He looks over at Neidermeyer, "Guess they didn't hear the news.", he comments, "Saw a tape of that fight, lizards're vicious little bastards. She had him all but dead, then she broke his neck." He turns back to the soldiers, still talking, "Not that it makes a difference, really. God damned things don't belong here." He places both hands on the cane, "Anyway, boss, I'm sure you're getting to the good part."
Martinus continues to stand at attention, either not caring too much about what is being said, or just being a good soldier as well, for the time being.
Cicero shifts his head ever so slightly to listen to the parley ahead of him. He continues to cast his gaze on those around him, moving from person to person.
Tacitus just nods, acceptance. "If you can postpone for 30 minutes after taking off, I can have a shuttle from the Falstaff transfer full combat gear to my men."
Neidermeyer grins. "The *good part* is that Victor here will be along to advise this bunch of skid marks. He knows a thing or two about a thing or two. And once the base is secure, well, I'll come on down and tell you what's next." He then shrugs. "We'll wait here. You go get your toys. In 30 minutes, we launch. If your boys are with us, they're with us. If they're not, well, I'll let them take turns probing each other with rifles." He winks, and turns to start walking up the ramp. "Get this crate warmed up again, Victor, and make sure that twitchy shield generator is online. I'd hate to get plugged by a lucky shot."
Victor Cross gives Neidermeyer a shallow grin, "If I'm looking at the generator, you'll be lucky you don't end up as tiny little fucking particles splatting on that Cathedral of yours." He turns to ascend the ramp, "I'll have the engineer I shanghied off of the Osiris make sure it doesn't twitch when it counts."
Verrus arches his eyebrows at the 'Skidmarks' part, but as usual, remains completely silent. And still. His eyebrows soon return to their still position.
Martinus also raises an eyebrow at the 'Skidmarks' part, but also remains silent, aside from a slight sound from him adjusting his rifle.
Cicero is too busy casting his gazes upon the various soldiers to hear the 'skidmarks' remark. He slightly shrugs his shoulder as an itch where the equipment strap is irritates him.
GFD Cayetano
A heavy Guardian Fleet Dropship of the Chicago Class, circa 2950. This dropship, due to it being an ancestor of the more common Vanguard Dropship, looks much like a manta ray in appearance, with a flat main hull with a wide window, and two tails which are joined together in the rear through a long stabilizer wing. However, this Class also features two long and broad stabilizer wings that just out from the aft section at forty-five degree angles when in flight, a fully dedicated cockpit module at the front of the vessel, and remains roughly three times larger than the Vanguard type, sharing perhaps more in common with its little brother, the Baltimore Class. It is designed for the transportation of vehicles of all types, and features a fully realised vehicle ramp system at its rear. Upon the fins of the tail, this dropship is numbered as GF-72-181/C, while the name of "Cayetano" remains elegantly emblazoned upon the cockpit nose. One might notice that two rocket-pods, fully equipped with a potentially lethal array of 2.75" folding-fin aerial rocket, rest firmly under those two large stabilizer wings, while a 30mm Chaingun rests under the nose of the Cockpit area.
Neidermeyer is currently strapping himself into one of the seats, watching as Victor prepares the dropship for liftoff.
Martinus comes jogging onto the Dropship, and he offers Neidermeyer a crisp -Guardian Fleet- salute. "Sir, Special Operations Sergeant Reilly, reporting in." he says crisply, dropping his duffel bag at his feet and standing at attention for a moment.
Victor Cross is messing with the controls toward the front of the dropship. He growls into his commlink, "Look, I don't need a hundred and one god damned excuses. Can you keep it running or is the fucking thing going to blow up like a cherry bomb once you put a load on it?" He shakes his head, "That wasn't so fucking hard, was it. Just keep it running smooth."
Neidermeyer nods to Martinus, smirking. "Plant your ass in one of these comfy chairs, Sergeant Roly-Poly. Strap in. Get ready for launch." He leans forward a little. "You call your mama today, tell her you loved her and all that shit?"
Martinus smirks at Neidermeyer and immediately does as ordered, planting his ass in the seat and getting strapped in like a professional. "My mother is dead, thanks to those rookies out there." he says, strapping his sniper rifle next to him, taking up it's own seat.
Neidermeyer draws back at Martinus' revelation. "The rookies gang-raped her to death or something?" His face has a demeanor of feigned shock.
Victor Cross snorts as he keeps messing with the dropship controls.
Martinus snickers at Neidermeyer's jest. "Something like that, your majesty. Let's just say I was hoping that my stay with the Legions would be a temporary transfer."
Neidermeyer nods. "Well, keep on hoping. Get through this alive, maybe you can go over to one of their mom's houses and give her a good pumping." He winks, then looks over at Verrus. "About fucking time. You people have to change goddamned diapers when you heard you might have to actually shoot some fucking thing?"
Verrus shakes his head as Neidermeyer comments on their lateness. "No, your majesty. I apologize for the lateness but our Praetor... is not the most competent general." He lugs up a huge crate which he then drops on the deck and fastens under a seat.
Martinus glances to Verrus as the rest of the troops arrive. His rifle is strapped into the seat beside him, like a protected child.
Neidermeyer narrows his eyes. He unstraps his harness, then rises from his seat. He glowers at Verrus. "Smile, you fucking maggot."
Victor Cross yells into his commlink, "Look, I don't care if you have to splice it together with tin foil and bubble gum, just fix the damn thing." He's currently seated at the controls of the dropship.
Verrus arches an eyebrow and quirks a grin. However, this does not seem to be forced at all - it's quite natural. Verrus takes off his crested helmet, also laying it on his seat.
Neidermeyer nods curtly at Verrus, still glaring at him. "Now, using that right hand you'd normally be whacking off with right about now, ball it into a fist and punch yourself in that shit-eating grin. Hard. I want to see teeth and blood."
Verrus's smile stays on his face, although the natural-ness of it seems to have faded away with the self-styled King's words. Verrus punches himself in the mouth - hard. A top left pre-molar loosens significantly, and blood begins to leak out of the root.
Coldly, Neidermeyer narrows his eyes and tells Verrus: "I don't give a flying fuck whether you think your Praetor is competent or not, personally. But I *do* give a flying fuck when some low-life grunt gets a hard-on enough to spew that shit out loud. Insult a superior officer again and it'll be a *gun* in your mouth, not your fist. We clear?"
Verrus's smile totally and completely dissapears from his face. He snaps to attention, yelling, "Sir yes sir!", although it is a bit muffled, since his mouth is filling with bloody and a tooth is dangling.
Neidermeyer nods, then looks toward Cicero. "Pull his fucking tooth." With that, he walks over to his seat and straps in. "Time's wasting, Victor. Let's get moving."
Cicero follows the rest of ML-223 to their places, each dropping their crates. He removes the medical equipment from his back and leaves it with the crates. The rest of the group begins fastening up to their seats. The medic glances for a moment at the exchange between Verrus and Neidermeyer, but looks away as he almost catches a glance from the king... but is caught. He leaves his seat and moves over to his equipment. Pulling out the appropriate instruments, he moves to the Primus Ordines. "Stand still, sir, and open up." He points at Verrus's mouth with a canister labeled only with a red cross.
Victor Cross nods at the console, "You're the boss." He presses some buttons and the rockets fire, "I think the grease monkey has the shield generator working. At least he told me he did." The dropship rises slowly, "I'd suggest you all strap yourselves in if you don't want to be a tangle of assholes and elbows at the back of the ship. I'm about to clear the atmosphere."
Verrus points to a little plastic baggie hanging from Cicero's medical kit, and then feigns a motion showing him spitting into it. He blinks twice at Cicero and proceeds stares at the bag.
Cicero sighs and nods, moving back to his equipment. He tucks the canister back into a slot and pulls the bag out. Bringing it back over to Verrus, he holds it in front of his mouth and waves his hand at his superior to hurry up so he can strap in.
Martinus stares straight ahead now, keeping rather silent, and leaning back slightly.
Verrus spits the blood into the big, making sure not to get even a little speck on the floor. Mouth now empty, he says, "Pull it quickly." And opens it.
Cicero seals the bag and tosses it over to the equipment and raises up a device much like a pair of tweezers and brings it to Verrus's mouth. Noticing he forgot something, he gets the canister again and sprays the inner mouth with it, numbing the nerve. Positioning the tweezer-like device over the loose tooth, he clamps down and pulls gently, the tooth coming out.
Neidermeyer watches from his seat as the dropship rattles out of the atmosphere. He then glances toward Verrus. "If you're lucky, that'll be the only new hole you get today."
The tooth was already loosened quite a bit - no trouble in pulling it out. Verrus looks distraught. Verrus straps in and puts his helmet in the secure under department. "I'm an idiot... I can't believe I did what I tell my troops not to. I'm a hypocrite." He mutters. His gaze is at the floor, and he doesn't notice the salty taste in his mouth left by the blood.
Victor Cross looks back and says, "Hold on to your asses, ladies, this isn't going to be a fun ride." The ship tilts upward, over the horizon and starts to accellerate. The force causes everyone to be pushed back into their seats. The roar of the engines is deafening in the enclosed space as the dropship heads for orbit.
"Yeah?" Neidermeyer inquires of Verrus, eyebrows waggling. "Boo-fucking-hoo, Nancy. Just put a thumb in your suckhole and whine all the way to the drop zone, but spare me the angst." He thumps his fist against his chest. "Gives me heartburn. When I get heartburn, I get irritable. When I get irritable...people die."
Cicero mutters something under his breath after hearing Verrus's comment. Tossing the bloodied device back into the equipment container, he quickly makes his way back to where his seat was. Strapping himself back in, he ignores Neidermeyer's comments.
Martinus finally leans forward a little bit, again, glancing to Verrus. "Welcome to Basic Training, mark two." he says, simply.
Neidermeyer glances toward the front of the dropship as it thrums along its course between Mars and their destination. "Cathedral still off sensors, Victor?"
Victor Cross nods, "Yeah, can't see the damn thing on them." A liberal dose of cursing into his commlink follows, "Then again, it could just be that fucking generator interfering with the sensors on this thing."
Martinus is sitting in one of the seats, strapped in, with his rifle strapped in beside him and his duffle underneath him. After a few moments he pulls his duffle up, and opens it up to take out a small set of rifle cleaning supplies. He zips the bag back up and deposits it under his seat, taking his rifle from it's place of honor, and beginning to dissassemble it, cleaning parts as he goes.
Valens, like most of the Legionnaires is sitting in one of the seats, clad in his heavy Legion Armor. His Energy Rifle stands next to him as the Immunes goes on for a checking of hid gears gear. He leans back and starts deep concentration, readying mentally himself for any upcoming fact.
"It's the cloak, Victor," Neidermeyer growls. "Your computer should have the specific coordinates of the docking bay. If the Nall left it open, we should be able to fly right in. If they closed it, well, we'll probably make a really loud noise and piss 'em off." He glances around at the Legionaries. "When we hit the bay, you unload from the Cayetano like it's on fire, find cover and kick scaleback ass. We've got at least ten hostiles holding the station. We'll need to move fast and fire accurately." He grabs some combat armor from a nearby trunk, and then checks the loads in his flechette pistol. "Any questions?"
"Gotcha, boss.", Cross says, slight drawl drawing out the words, "I'm surprised you don't have a garage door opener for that damn thing." He punches a few more buttons, "Computer has it now. You all might want to say some prayers and pucker up, because if the door's closed, you ain't going to have a lot of time to kiss your asses good bye." He unholsters the pistol from its shoulder harness and grabs his cane with the other hand.
Martinus finishes cleaning his rifle completely in a few moments, and he pulls out a clip, depositing it into his rifle and pulling the charging handle with a satisfying 'chk-CHHK'. "Sir, no sir!" he says, removing the suppressor on his rifle and slipping it into his duffle bag before strapping his rifle back into position, beside him.
Verrus shakes his head, speaking for the first time since last night of the group as he loads up his ML-AR-E. "No, sir, no questions." His gaze shifts to the 11 other troops in the group. "Lock and load, boys. Once we're out drop low and find cover." His eyes move to the sharpshooter. "Martinus, you'll do what you do best. Understood?" Most of the group nods and sends out a Yes Sir.
The Imumunes, Valens is one of those who do not answer to the "yes Sir!" shouted by the rest, as his eyes are barely open and his heart starts beating violently. He knows he will be spearheading the assault and is getting ready for it.
Neidermeyer snaps the fasteners of his combat armor over his suit. "It's been a while since I killed a scaleback personally." He looks toward Cross, tucking extra loads for the flechette pistol into a pouch at his hip. "We got any helmets in this crate?"
Verrus places the helmet over his huge combat armor with a small smile on his face, and locks it into the neck plate. His visor remains up, however, while he makes a last minute checks the rifle. His eyes travel over the energy bayonet port. "After you find cover, engage the energy bayonet attachment. The Nall like close combat." He says to his group.
Immunes Valens suddenly opens his eyes. He feels his concentration has come to an end. His hands though sweat from the inside his combat armor. He is ready to engage. Listening to the words of Verrus with agony he is, since in those moments last time words count.
"Yeah, somewhere near the bottom.", Cross answers, he's punching a few buttons on the ship's console, "Just don't grab the cracked one. That was Deerborne's. Its sort of unlucky." He looks back into the cab, "Five minutes till we touch down." He shakes his head, "I'd suggest shooting them before they get that close. They'll tear you apart in close quarters. There's only about ten of them, you should be able to keep their heads down. Let's just hope they didn't repair any of the turrets on the landing pad."
Martinus relaxes a bit, and he yawns slightly, closing his eyes. After listening to Cross he grins a bit. "So the bayonets might not be -that- useful.." he says rather quietly. "Only ten of them?" he says a bit louder.
"We will bring the fight to them and will kick them even in close combat if we have to..." says the Legionnaire Valens, his morale raised by the combination of meditation and prayers he performed earlier silently.
Verrus glances towards Martinus, shaking his head. "It's a precaution, Martinus. I'd rather be prepared for close combat than have to fumble with a switch after a wounded Nall approaches me. Alright, Red Devils, quiet. Let's get ready."
"Ready!!" shouts Valens as he is the first to stand up. He is going to Spearhead the assault so he walks closely towards the exit and in this position he satnds in a stance with his body lowered. From times to times he turns his glance towards Verrus as his face is seen blushed and his rifle as shaken. Though his head remains steadfast...
Neidermeyer kneels to open the supply trunk. He rummages through. He finds the aforementioned cracked helmet that belonged to ill-fated Deerborne. He holds it up, turns and peers through the crack, which is wide enough so he can see Verrus' bloody, puffy mouth. Smirking, he tosses the broken helmet aside and then plucks a battered but uncracked helmet. He stands, donning the helmet, and grabs a strap as the vessel closes for a landing.
And before Verrus shuts his visor and switches to unit comms, he rubs the side of his mouth that he himself had punched yesterday. Then, Verrus slides down his visor and locks it into position, holding his rifle at ready. The helmet moves around the room, surveying the troops as they stand ready to fight. He gives his Optio a pat on the shoulder and then concentrates on the door.
"Two minutes!", Cross yells, standing up, "Check your gear and assemble in the troop bay at the back. It takes two point five seconds for the ramp to lower once the ship touches down. At three you all should be off the damn thing and grabbing cover." He flips his pistol over and checks the energy gauge on it. Then he hobbles away from the controls, "We'll be right behind you once you secure the perimeter around the ship. Try not to get your asses shot off before then."
Martinus unstraps himself and his rifle as the vessel closes with its intended target, and stands walking towards the front of the vessel, where Valens is, and grabbing onto a strap with one hand and holding his rifle with the other, looking coolly undisturbed and unconcerned by the entire event. He glances to Valens, and reaches over to press a button on the other man's rifle, disengaging the safety and starting the rifle's powerup cycle. "Keep your finger off the trigger. If we land hard, you'll end up shooting me. As soon as we land, break right and find cover, I'll break left. If you need to, use the ship as cover and keep the rest of the squad safe." the veteran Guardian Fleet-turned Legionairre sharpshooter says coolly.
Verrus glances towards Cross, nodding slightly and turning his body, which then, in the huge set of Legion Combat Armor, heads for the troop bay. The 8 other soldiers follow him tightly, all dressed similarly. The only way to tell rank is that Verrus has a silver spear painted on his right shoulder, and the optio has a red plume. His glovedfinger rests in back of the trigger guard, ready for his hot-drop. He waits just above the ramp.
The Immunes nods to the veteranas he advices him and smiles. "At least I can get them in some close combat fighting iof the dare approach you, though i doubt they will..." says valens in a sense of complementing the sharpshooter...
The King of dead Earth stands in the shadows of the dropship, gripping a support strap and clutching a flechette pistol, waiting to take back his hideout.
"One minute!" Cross calls out, "Brace for impact!" He grabs a convienent ceiling strap with his cane hand, somehow maintaining his grip on the cane at the same time.
Martinus nods to the rookie. "Do not let them get in close combat, you will be killed." he says easily enough, and he mentally begins preparing himself, mouth moving in silent words as he braces himself for impact.
The Immunes nods and is indeed preparing himself both mentaly and physically for the impact, his reaction must be fast and Valens is ready for this.
The ship begins to rock and roll. Verrus naturally grabs up for the ceiling strap, and finding it, he braces himself. He breathes deeply and then listens to the ambient sounds. Verrus also keys up the local comm, so his words will be heard right away.
"If this doesn't work," Neidermeyer grumbles over his shoulder at Cross, "well, it better work."
The ship lands with a bone-jarring thud. The stabilizers take up the slack on a lot of the impact, but the ship still bounces as it hits the ground. Pneumatic pistons hiss loudly as the exit ramp lowers quickly. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, and the Crystal Citadel's landing pad comes into full view.
"If not, neither of us will be around to complain about it, will we?", Cross returns just as the ship lands.
Without waiting, Verrus yells over the comm, "Go! Go! Go!" This itself takes up a full second, insuring that the ramp is fully open, the first to go out is a young Decurio, charging off the ramp. Verrus follows, and then the other 8 come.
Martinus immediately has his rifle up and is scanning the area for anything moving as he storms out of the dropship.
Docking Bay <Crystal Cathedral>
A cramped docking bay, barely large enough to accommodate a scout ship or two, it is clearly a facility where vessels are meant to stop briefly, drop off supplies or personnel, and then depart with haste.
The bulkheads are constructed of a transparent metallic alloy that most likely contributes to the station's sensor-masking characteristics. Through the walls, beyond the twists of conduit, electronics and water pipes, lie the stars, with the tormented roil of Earth's surface to port and the pitted gray surface of Luna to starboard.
A heavy door, closed and locked and guarded by four remote-op laser cannons, glows in the illumination of two bright spotlights. The door, unlike the bulkheads, is not transparent. It is unclear what lies beyond it.
The Nall don't waste time. The heavy door swings open and eight reptiloid warriors in their black armor, hefting their plasma rifles, come out in a hissing attack squad, intent on the Cayetano. There are several crates scattered around the landing bay, but the Nall seem uninterested in cover. They seem interested only in slaughtering the intruders.
The boarding ramp of the Cayetano drops down, and the first person that shuffles off of it is a soldier in gunmetal grey armor, carrying a Legion made assault rifle. Second to come out is Verrus, who immediatly dives for cover behind a metallic crate. The rest follow, acting similarly. 9 troops, plus Verrus, Martinus and Valens.
Once Valens drops the combat zone he runs hastily to a large and effective crate. "Incoming he is shouting for the rest to hear as he jumps in and falls the incover in his one knee. He then in this defending position aims his rifle and shoots at the closest of the adversaries.
The Nall that Valens targeted leaps left and right in serpentine fashion, tail lashing about as he dodges the blaster assault. Successfully evading those shots, the Nall leaps atop Valens' crate, aims the barrel of his rifle at the Novamartian soldier's head and prepares to fire.
Martinus comes out of the ship and is pointing his rifle at the lead Nall, having somehow not seen the large crate that he could take cover behind right next to him. He follows the Nall with his rifle as it quickly moves up towards Valens and leaps onto his crate, and he squeezes the trigger calmly.
The blast from Martinus' weapon catches the Nall perched atop the crate in the side of the head, penetrating the pebbled skin and exploding through bone and gray matter before splattering out the other side. In an instinctive move, the Nall's claw twitches on the trigger and he fires off a blast that just misses to the right of Valens' head, leaving the soldier partially deaf as the Nall topples off the crate. Meanwhile, Martinus remains exposed, and another Nall is taking aim at him.
Verrus screams out on the local comms, "Keep that fire coming, boys!" His gaze shifts around and the HUD in his visor registers a hostile near Martinus. Verrus, his rifle already lifted up, squeezes off his four shot burst at the reptiloid.
The Nall going after Martinus is absolutely frenzied as it closes in on the soldier. So bold, so furious, the reptiloid hurls his rifle aside once he's within six feet of Martinus. While the rifle clatters across the deck, the Nall springs from the floor in a fluid, graceful and deadly arc. Claws extended, fangs flashing, the warrior is about to come down on Martinus like a living meat shredder when the blasts from Verrus' weapon suddenly and repeatedly perforate him. The twitching corpse of the Nall lands on Martinus and sends him sprawling. Of course, it's about this time that a Nall is closing in behind Verrus.
Valens sighs in a momentary sigh of relief as turns to face the two veterans. Noticing the Nall trying to sneak behind Verrus, the Immunes shouts, "Sir, twelve o'clock!" as he raises his rifle and shoots at the incoming alien.
Martinus is taken by surprise by the Nall as it jumps and is perforated. When the corpse lands on him, Martinus is pushed to the ground and attempts to both push the creature off, and roll towards where his rifle is. "Get off!" he grumbles.
Verrus is able, just barely, to maneuver out of the way as Valens opens fire at the Nall lurking in his vicinity. Verrus can feel the blasts singing past him as he staggers in a clumsy dance to evade. The Nall, on the other hand, is able to gracefully dodge the shots and he continues closing on Verrus, swinging the claws of his left hand at the Legionary's throat.
The Centurion Primus Ordines was not ready for another Nall after he had taken out Martinus' threat. That, coupled with Valens poorly aimed shots means that the Nall is on top of him, slashing at the throat of his armor, where less protection is availible. He screams out, but the sound is drowned out as he finds himself unable to speak - right into the voice box, it seems. His body remains basically still on the ground, strained breathing the only hint of movement.
Martinus rolls out from under the Nall, and grabs his rifle quickly, staying at his proned position to aim at the Nall. He places the crosshairs quickly over the Nall's head, squeezing the trigger and holding his breath to assure that nothing interferes with the accuracy of the shot.
The Nall that attacked Verrus crouches, setting its rifle aside as it drops its snout closer to the Centurion's throat. Jaws opening, fangs flashing, the mouth is around Verrus' throat when the blast from Martinus' weapon scores into the Nall's head. The alien's dark eyes roll over white, his forked tongue lolls wetly against Verrus' flesh, and then the creature collapses on the deck.
Martinus stands up and says, loudly and over the commlink. "Legionairres, report in.", and he glances around, frowning at the damage the Nall caused. Talking into his commlink again, he says, "We've got wounded out here, and still at least 2 hostiles."
Lucius Metellus Nepos, the unit's Optio was one of the two men left un-injured, shoulders his rifle and then speaks into the comm, calmly. "Area secure - we have eight casualties, and the Centurion needs urgent medical attention. Requesting backup." The optio himself bolts towards the Centurion who lies motionless on the ground, bloody sprayed all over his armor. Nepos removes his helmet and then removes bandages from his pouches.
Martinus smirks at that, walking towards the Centurion while removing the clip from his rifle and sliding a fresh clip in. "Backup? I didn't see any backup on that dropship. Unless you meant King Neidermeyer and Mr. Cross." he says quickly. Looking to Valens, he growls out an order. "Make sure you put a fresh clip in that weapon, and watch that door. We're moving out after we get the rook--Centurion into the dropship." he says, slinging the rifle over his back and moving towards the Centurion's feet, preparing to move him.
Down the ramp comes Colin Neidermeyer, flechette pistol drawn. As he sets foot upon the bloodstained deckplates, he glances around the chamber and nods appreciatively. "Not bad, not bad." His attention settles on the Centurion and the nearby dead Nall. "Messy." He does a quick count of the Nall bodies. "The other two," he says, must be in the command center."
Valens looks in a sense of fear and agony at the bleeding Verrus while in the same time listening to Martinus. He quickly stands up to start running towards him eith his head and shoulders lowered. Upon reaching Verrus, he pats simply his armour and instantly turns in the directions to make circular scoutings, checking the perimeter.
Nepos glares at Martinus, visor rising up revealing a sour look on your face. "Martinus - if we weren't in a combat situation, I would have hit you with my rifle. Don't comment unless I ask you for your opinion." His expression eases up. "Now, do you know how to stop the bleeding here?"
Victor Cross nods, and looks over the place, "Looks like they never got those turrets back online. Good thing." He hobbles down the ramp, leaning on his cane. "Not too bad. Scaleback's are nasty little fuckers, especially when they get close." He looks toward Neidermeyer, "Probably watching us right now, too. They won't go down without a fight, best to get up there before they figure out how to barricade the place."
Martinus merely shakes his head and snickers. "For now, bandage the area and apply some anti-toxin. We don't know what they've had their claws in. It's best to get him onto the dropship and press ahead, -sir-."
The soldiers proceed…
Access Corridor <Crystal Cathedral>
A narrow access corridor leading from the docking bay to the operations facility, this spine-like structure is built with the same transparent metallic alloy as the rest of the bulkheads. The cold depths of space, the stars, and the worlds of Earth and Luna can be seen through the clunky conduits and piping.
Heavy doors - opaque, not transparent - lead to the docking bay and further on into the station. The door opposite the docking bay hatch is encircled by four remote-operated laser cannons.
There are no Nall waiting here. It is quiet. Too quiet. A heavy door, currently closed but unlocked, is ahead.
Martinus takes the left side of the corridor, moving forward while staying close by the wall, using it as a somewhat semblence of cover. The rifle is pointed at the door, and he motions for Valens to move along the right side, and approaches the door very slowly, keeping an eye on the laser cannons and an eye out for any sort of traps.
Verrus comes into the access corridor, leading the way with his rifle pointed ahead. He quickly clicks the visor up, not hearing anything "Nall-ish". "Let's continue on. Be on your toes." He heads for the heavy door.
Valens approaches the door, getting his back on the wall in the right part of the door. There he remains lowered and careful, rifle standing ready.
The laser cannons remain inert.
Nepos glances around and goes to the other side of the door. He points with a finger towards the door, then himself. He then goes in front of the door, point his rifle at it. "Get the button." He whispers.
Martinus slides up the wall, towards the door. When he reaches 'the button', he presses it, readying his rifle as well.
The button causes a loud buzzer to go off. The buzzer lasts for about thirty seconds. Then it stops. The hatch handle remains unturned.
Martinus smirks. "Well, that was brilliant. The -handle- opens the door..." he snickers at himself, moving over to the handle and turning it.
Nepos smiles slightly, and wipes the sweat off his forehead from the heat. "Alright," he says, holding his rifle again. "Turn the handle and I'll fire in."
Martinus turns the handle after a moment of letting Nepos sweat a bit, and then immediately readies his weapon, getting ready to peek around into the open room, letting only a little of his body present a target.
No targets are immediately visible. You see the room, slick with slime and bugs, with a pyramid-shaped structure in the middle.
Martinus peers into the room, with the Optio standing in the center of the door while it opens. They are both looking for targets.
Still no immediate sign of obvious targets.
Nepos glances around the room, half-expecting to be lit up by shots by now. When he's not, he takes a few careful steps into the room, still scanning the area for targets.
Martinus moves more fully into the doorway, at a crouch, moving slowly with his rifle at the ready, and his sniper rifle resting along his back as though he were some kind of heavily armed mercenary. He grumbles upon not seeing any targets, but continues moving into the room with the Optio.
Martinus and Nepos move onward…
Operations Facility <Crystal Cathedral>
A broad-based pyramid that rises to a slender peak, this chamber is about twice the size of the docking bay, but it's constructed of the same transparent metallic alloy. However, the similarity to the rest of the Crystal Cathedral center ends there.
The walls are dripping with greenish-gray slime and crawling with skittering bugs, and dreary black chains hang in long, intestine-like loops from the ceiling. A swampy mist clings around ankle level, while slithering "somethings" ooze around down there.
The centerpiece of the chamber is a bulky mini-pyramid of cold gray metal with an octagonal door built into it and etched with squiggly runes. The smaller pyramid, bathed in an eerie green light that glows from plasma lamps overhead, appears large enough to accommodate a spacious hovercar, with room left over for at least one or two people.
The two remaining Nall are crouched behind the metallic pyramid in the middle of the chamber. As the soldiers enter, the reptiloids immediately open fire. One Nall shoots at Nepos, and the other at Martinus.
One shot grazes Martinus' armor, but leaves him unharmed. The Optio isn't so lucky. The shot aimed at him catches him directly in the forehead. An instant kill.
With little fanfare and even less gore, the Optio's head merely disappears in the intense heat of the plasma shot. With the head cleanly burned off, the Optio's body falls to the ground with a thud.
Martinus curses as a shot grazes his armor and leaves a nicely charred spot on it, and he skitters behind a nearby console, barely peeking out to return fire with the pair of Nall.
As the Optio collapses dead on the floor and Martinus leaps for cover, one Nall emerges from behind the pyramid on a straight approach to the sniper's hiding place. The second Nall circles around, maneuvering to take Martinus from behind.
Martinus growls as he notices both Nall moving, with speed. Taking a deep breath, he stands to his feet, aiming his rifle at both Nall, in succession. He quickly fires two bursts, one at the Nall approaching him directly first, and the second aimed at the Nall attempting to flank him.
As Martinus emerges from behind his cover, the two Nall accelerate. The first one leaps through the air, hurling his rifle aside and throwing arms wide to bring the claws slashing back toward Martinus. But the first four shots from the sniper rifle hammer that Nall, and the impact hurtles his lifeless corpse back toward the pyramid. Then, the barrel swings toward the final Nall, caught in the midst of skulking within a few feet of Martinus. The Nall warrior eyes the Martian soldier, bringing his plasma rifle to bear and squeezing the trigger. But before he can shoot, the Nall takes three hits to the head and chest, and down he goes. The Crystal Cathedral is secured.
Martinus is actually sweating quite heavily, when he finally releases his breath. He quickly replaces the energy clip, making sure he's prepared in case anything else comes jumping out. "Area is secured, final two Nall are dead. I repeat, area is secured." he says into his commlink, after catching his breath.
Neidermeyer steps into the operations facility. He doesn't say anything to Martinus as he steps over the headless corpse of the Optio. He still says nothing as he kicks aside the corpse of the Nall nearest the pyramid. Still saying nothing, he walks over to a sort of control console on the pyramid-shaped object and studies a display. He smiles, then nods slowly. "Good. Excellent."
Martinus glances to Neidermeyer as he walks straight into the room, and raises an eyebrow slightly, that being the first time he's ever even heard of Neidermeyer using such strong praise. Martinus, however, takes merely a few steps towards the King. "Orders, your majesty?" he says, his rifle across his chest as he stands at the ready.
Seeming to notice Martinus for the first time since he entered the room, Neidermeyer grunts and turns toward him. "What?" His brow furrows. "Orders? None at the moment. Tend to your men."
Nepos' body lays on the floor, headless. The only thing that makes it recognizable as the optio is the red feather painted on the armor's right shoulder. Neidermeyer is standing near the pyramid-shaped object in the middle of the room. Martinus is nearby. The corpse of Optio Nepos - sans head - is near the door. Two dead Nall are sprawled on the deck too.
Martinus is standing near Neidermeyer, seemingly completely unharmed, though his rifle is still smoking from its barrel, and his sniper rifle is slung across his back. "I need a report on the status of the wounded." he says, into his commlink.
Victor Cross steps in, "Well, looks like this is under control." He looks down at the headless body, "That's unfortunate.", he comments before taking a few more steps into the room. "Looks like you're back in business, Boss.", he says to Niedermeyer before poking one of the Nall bodies with his cane. "Some decent shooting there, Tex.", he says.
"We are definitely back in business, Victor," Neidermeyer replies. "The coordinates are *still* here. We just need to get this thing working again. Now that we're secure here, I can contact Volstov on Luna and put the next part of the plan in motion." He looks around at the carnage, then back at Cross. "Get the Martians back home so they can tend to their wounded."