Falling Skies: 7th Mobile Armor Suit Team (IC)

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    Falling Skies: 7th Mobile Armor Suit Team

    It is year 2899. Humanity has long since conquered the stars around them. The resources and riches from their conquests had brought the human race into an Golden Age of technological advancement. Powerful self sustaining AI's were developed to aid humans and their machines, and cyborg parts allowed cripples and the weak to continue working for society.With the advent of AI, biotech and cybertechnology several centuries prior, the advancement of humanity has grown exponentially. Starships of massive proportions were built, floating worlds in space were created, massive Utopia cities on lush green planets were erected. Worlds beyond even what humanity thought were possible were discovered. Wars weren't fought, the human race was too busy expanding at a breakneck pace. Life was perfect. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

    And then it did. By the year 2480, Humanity had overextended itself; the great sprawling empire it had forged had become too large for it to support itself. The empire collapsed onto itself. In the course of 20 years, the mighty empire humanity had established splintered into thousands of factions. The fall of the Empire resulted in a massive power vacuum and the Galaxy erupted into a large feudal war. Some factions grew power by warring with other factions, taking them over; others stayed secluded for as long as they could. Many were taken back by the earth empire, and just as many were lost in deep space.

    By the 25th Century, most of the numerous factions had consolidated into 3 major powers: The original Earth Empire, the largest and most numerous of the 3 powers, made up of most of the core empire planets; The Coalition, a group of separatists strictly opposed to the Earth Empire, spanning across most of colonial space; and the Krellian Republic, a reclusive, bizarre group focused mainly along the outskirts of known space. The Earth Empire and the Coalition fight bitterly, the Empire seeking to reclaim their lost territory, and the Coalition fighting for a new order in the galaxy. The Krellians choose to stay out of the conflict, their faraway frontier colonies too far away to be bothered by the other two factions.

    By the turn of the 26th century, the Earth Empire and the Coalition had suffered dreadful casualties on both sides, and just as many worlds lost in the splintering had been razed by both sides. The two superpowers agreed to an uneasy truce. That marked the start of an intergalactic cold war, as the two superpowers begin a buildup of military strength and engage in proxy wars with smaller nations and colonies.

    As the end of the 28th century drew near, a series of failed operations by the Earth Empire at an attempt at securing a rumored Coalition Superweapon has sparked up and reignited the flames of war. After almost 300 years of peace, war between the Coalition and the Empire had renewed in earnest. Millions of people from both sides are drafted as fleets of starships and planets are thrown into vicious war. The Coalition forces take advantage of the Empire’s overextended lines to take victory after victory by utilizing a new type of fighting machine: Mobile Armor Suits, a humanoid fighting machine much more maneuverable than conventional aircraft and ground units, and effective in most environmental situations.

    In an attempt to counter the new threat and reorganize their military efforts, the Empire assembles the 101st Legion, a Special Forces unit with the purpose of using Mobile Armor Suits of Imperial design to counter the Coalition Suits. All the meanwhile, the Krellian Republic continues to watch from a distance, giving unease to both sides.

    Though off to a rough start, the 101st Legion has proven to be an effective counter to Coalition Suits and has become the standard to which new Mobile Armor Suit units are designed after. The 101st has received news that the Coalition may be attempting to pull out its Superweapon to bare on the people of the Empire. Despite knowing full well the superstition and misfortune that has revolved around this weapon, the 101st regardless prepares to strike. This is Falling Skies: 7th Mobile Armor Suit Team.


    0600 Hours December 12th 2899 Universal Earth Calender.
    Ulysses Space Dock, High orbit above Fortress Planet Cerol.

    The Ulysses Space Dock, the largest of 5 space docks in orbit above the planet Cerol. Made up of three U-shaped multi-purpose docks, around a reinforced space station, each U-Dock had the capacity to hold up to 10 capital ships in its arms at a single given time, as well as over a dozen smaller vessels in its 'vertical' docks, with plenty of space for several more on its outer edges. Serving not only as a re-fit and repair station, the dock also served as its own shipyard, with an entire dock devoted entirely to the production of naval warships. Shuttles and freighters laden with supplies zipped back and forth between space stations and the surface, as wings of fighters and MAS units flew on regular patrols. Several large fleets floated in close proximity to the planet, some preparing to leave, others returning from the front lines for much needed repairs.

    Among the returning fleets was the Fifth Imperial Expeditionary Fleet, fondly named the 'Fighting Fifths' by the Emperor himself for their exemplary record and combat prowess. With UEE forces spread so thin, the Fifth Expeditionary was one of the few fleets to have a full compliment of 101st Legion MAS pilots, as well as an entire wing of carrier vessels to house them. Having recently returned several weeks prior from heavy conflict along the Ilyan front, fending off a Coalition attempt to establish yet another foothold into UEE space, the majority of the Fifth fleet was undergoing repairs, with several smaller ships being built from the ground up to replace fleet losses. Transports shuttled back and forth through the ships of the Fifth Fleet, delivering supplies and transporting personnel. Shuttles bearing the black and gold stripes of the 101st Legion flew from the planet Cerol to several of the fleet's capital ships, as they dropped off new pilots and MAS's to replace the fleet's losses during its previous operations. The station seemed to be giving the Fifth Fleet priority, rumor had it the fifth fleet was being sent off again on another mission, with little to no time to rest.

    Space Station Ulysses, Command Briefing Room.

    A rather dimly lit room, the command briefing room was a large, spacious room, with plenty of space for the officers that used it. The commanding officers from the Fifth Expeditionary fleet's capital ships, as well as the Station's command crew, and several of the top brass were in the room, either physically, or through secured holo-displays. The officers were in the middle of a heated debate...

    "We can't deploy yet! Half of our ships are still damaged!"
    "We don't even know if the weapon exists!"
    "We must deploy the fifth fleet now! They've already destroyed three colonies!"
    "Survivors confirmed that it was an orbital bombardment by a Coalition fleet"
    "What kind of orbital bombardment bores a hole through the middle of the planet?"
    "Regardless! Half the fleet is damaged, we're not fit to jump deep into enemy lines on a hunch!"
    "Do you doubt the capability of your captains, Admiral?"
    "One of my carriers barely has the capacity to jump, let alone make combat maneuvers!"
    "He's right! How do you intend on securing a super weapon with a battle group of crippled ships?!"​
    "What if we sent a task force?"
    "A task force?! Are you asking me to send my men on a probable suicide mission to test your hunch?!"
    "Why you.. You crooked snake! I oughta-!"
    "Admiral Bishop! Please calm down!"
    "Control your tongue Admiral Bishop! Might I remind you who you are speaking with?"
    "Yes, Bishop, control yourself or I will have you removed from this meeting, and much worse."
    "....(damned snobby upstart, thinks of war like a game.)....."

    "So," said Admiral Ardin, with a air of finality in his snobby, snakey voice, "Do we have any volunteers for this mission?"
    The Admiral was a thin, wiry man, with clean, short hair, save for a single lengthy lock that hung over his face, a look quite befitting his serpentine voice. The Emperor's nephew, Admiral Ardin made an astoundingly fast leap from lieutenant to Admiral in merely years, making himself the youngest admiral, and officer in the room. Aged in only his early 30s, many would have thought he'd be at the command of a frigate, instead of multiple fleets. Many conservative and older officers had no small amount of distaste for who they felt to be an upstart with more power than he could handle, though several commanders backed Ardin fully, likely for their own personal gain.

    On board the Liberator Class Abraham Lincoln.

    The hangers were a buzz of commotion as engineers made fine tune adjustments and repairs to MAS's and planes that they wouldn't trust machines with. The sounds of welders, sparks, computers, and dropping machinery could be heard as the small army of engineers went about their daily duties taking care of the sleek Naginata fighters, Albatross bombers, and MAS units with trained efficiency.

    Meanwhile, in the center of the hangar, Sterling McKnight along with most other of the 7th MAS team pilots lounged around, Sterling and several others sitting laxly on top of several crates, while others stood, idling around. They were all waiting for the 101st transport to arrive, and see who they were getting transferred to them, old friends, notorious pilots, famous war heroes, or new recruits, most of the pilots were eager to see who was coming, though not all for the same reason. On one hand, Sterling happily anticipated meeting his new comrades, and though there was still a sore spot from their recent losses, the large man was in a relatively good mood.

    Some of the other pilots on the other hand, weren't so enthusiastic. Rick Astelion in particular, their squad leader's twin brother, had an understandably moody look on his face. After the loss of two of his close friends in combat, he wasn't looking forward to seeing the Newcomers. Astelion sulked off to the side on his own, his foul, stormy mood prompted many more prudent pilots to give him some distance.
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  2. Gerten, Monica

    Monica sat aboard the transport and just rested her head lightly against the back of the head rest. It was for her to arrive and meet her new unit. It wasn't her first new squad but a new squad none the less. She shook her head and forced the thought out of it to hone herself for what was coming up inevitably. She took a deep breath and steadied herself as the lights inside of the transport kicked on. She shook her head again before she felt the docking clamps engage and lock the transport down. The sounds of hissing echoed inside of the transport as the door unsealed and light poured inside.

    Monica stood up and brushed herself off before gazing at the others inside of the hangar. She knew she wasn't alone in the experience category but there were far to many new pilots just out of training within the transport. She wasnt surprised as many of the older pilots were dieing off slowly. She was part of a rare breed that had survived due to skill and no longer out of luck. The blinking red lights finally dimmed and she walked out of the transport and into the hanger where she saw many people standing and lazying about. It was then she saw that her MAS had already arrived.

    She at first wanted to run over to it as she felt the only split second of comfort she could muster when she was near it. The thought passed quickly and she simply walked from the transport and towards the gathered mass of pilots. The noise and humm of repairs being made was evident as she groaned at the constant noise. She narrowed her eyes at those staring at her and she seemed to give off the aura of a grizzled veteran that should have been long dead. She arrived at the group and stood at attention. "Ace Pilot Monica Gerten reporting."
  3. Bickering, bickering like a bunch of kindergarteners.

    Reid, one of the lowest ranking officers in the room watched patiently writing down the conditions of the individual ships that their captains were yelling out, how many weren't jump worthy, and anything that could affect what was going to come next. He scribbled some notes, a table with the pros and cons of sending the 5th neatly lain out and written meticulously small and neat. He closed his notebook and looked up, "Well this is unusual" he said under his breath with a small glint of curiosity in his eyes as one of the highest ranking officers in the room; Admiral Bishop; got into a screaming match with a government head of something, who it was exactly Reid couldn't make out over the holo-display. The yelling ended abruptly, interrupted by one of the highest ranking Admirals in the room, his passive aggressive comment cutting through the egos of the two men before Bishop could manage to landed himself at the hands of an executioner.

    "Do we have any volunteers for this mission?" asked Admiral Ardin.

    Reid took a second and looked around the room, the majority of the Officers were in too high of positions to volunteer for a mission such as this, the kind of positions that if they fell into enemy hands the strategies and defenses of the UEE wouldn't work after the interrogation ended. I wonder if they'd get cyanide pills if they volunteered... Reid thought to himself. He glanced around once more, flipped the pages of notes he had taken earlier, and past a small picture of his wife Marie and their two kids; Walt Jr. and Anna smiling as they were held by their mother with three words in the upper right hand corner, written by Marie: "See You Soon" with a small heart under them. He sighed deeply and caressed the ring on his finger.

    "Commander Reid, CO of the Lincoln. I volunteer." He stood saluting, his stone cold complexion holding steady as he eyed Admiral Ardin waiting for a response.
    #3 FrostedCaramel, Dec 14, 2014
    Last edited: Dec 14, 2014
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  4. Logan White sat quietly in the transport, listening to the other pilots speak to one another as they approached the station. Most of them had something or other to say, about pilot school, or boasting about how many Coalition they'd kill. But the woman sitting across from him seemed to have nothing to say. From time to time he would join his comrades in their speech, but he would always look back at her, wondering why she kept to herself and seemed so expressionless. Finally though, the dim lights increased their brightness as they docked with the station, the clamps sealing, and the door opening shortly afterword.

    He casually stood up and threw his duffel bag over his shoulder while following the rest of the new arrivals out of the transport. As he walked into the hangar he felt a bit of awe overtake him as he looked from MAS to MAS, surprised at how many custom ones were present. He'd only ever flown one of the basic, mass-manufactored ones.

    It took him a few minutes to remember why he was here, suddenly causing him to feel a sense of panic as he quickly identified the group he must belong to. He ran over to them just in time to hear that woman report, causing him to go to attention and sound off as well, perhaps with a little less certainty in his voice, "Pilot Logan White reporting."
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  5. Aseleon, Constantine.

    "Now this is some bullshit." Constantine commented for what felt like the umpteenth time. When he was told he would be travelling with the MK1P Archangel, he didn't think it'd be so... Literal. He was told he would leave with the transport ship that would deliver he and Archangel to the Lincoln's MAS Hangar. So, he was caught off guard when he was told he would be inside the Archangel for the duration of the trip. He argued he would suffocate to death, something he wanted to avoid, only for his protests to be quelled when he was informed he would have enough oxygen to survive the trip.

    "This is suuuuuuuuuch shit." He groaned in the enclosed space. He could feel his stomach churning to the point it felt like someone had poured liquid chocolate down his throat before shaking his up like a soda bottle. Just the thought made him even sicker than he already felt. 'Why couldn't I have been put in a real transport ship? Do the tribunal hate me that much... Or maybe it's just those jackasses at R&D who thought it'd be funny to fuck with me one last time. Note to self: kick their asses the next time you see them.' He spoke mentally, which was the only thing he was able to due for the duration of the trip.

    Then, he felt it.

    The subtle shifting as the ship docked in the hangar and, even though he was in the Archangel's cockpit, he could hear the air being released as the containment unit for the MAS was opened. He waited impatiently as the MAS was extracted to the hangar and he contemplating starting it up - just to scare a few people shitless, but he figured that'd be somewhat of a bad idea.

    Hearing a knock on the cockpit, he hit the switch to open it and he winced when light flooded inside and momentarily blinded him. Groaning, he looked up to see a technician who had an expression of disbelief and amusement on his face.

    "Wow, they were joking. You really did ride inside." The man said with a laugh, extending his hand outwards and Constantly graciously clasped it, allowing the man to help him exit the MAS. Stepping onto the catwalk, Constantine groaned as he stretched and he could feel his back pop. Letting his arms drop to his sides, he took sight of several other MAS and technicians. Taking a deep breath, he sighed in content before looking over to the man who greeted him.

    "Ah... Smells like oil and steel with a slight hint of pretentious and mildly depressed assholes. Feels like home." He joked and the technician let out a forced laugh as well.

    "Just step this way, sir." The man directed and Constantine complied, stepping onto a platform which lowered him to ground level. Looking around like a lost child, he spotted the group of pilots off in the distance and speed-walked towards them, curious as to what was going on.

    "Ace Pilot Monica Gerten reporting."

    "Pilot Logan White reporting."

    "Pilot Constantine 'You-Wouldn't-Believe-The-Shit-I-Have-To-Deal-With' Aseleon reporting.." He chimed in, following everyone else's lead.
    #5 Jager, Dec 16, 2014
    Last edited: Dec 16, 2014
  6. The first proper bed he'd slept in for upwards of a couple of years, and he only got about 20 minutes. Not even a power nap, just a quick close of the eyes and then an alarm telling him to hurry his ass up before the rest of his team could start the hour-long hangar brooding session without him. Another reason to hate the entirety of this god-damned war, Adrian supposed. No time for sleep until you were at Death's door. Nevertheless, the disgruntled MAS Ace decided he'd actually humor the order this time, for the sake of the next batch of poor souls to join the team.

    As per usual, the hangar was bustling with activity to repair and tune up all the current and incoming Suits. Sparks flying, the disharmonious sounds of wrenching and welding and banging, and a faint smell of paint, combustion and unfiltered air. An inexperienced lad would practically choke and die right here and now. One learned to tolerate, but one could never really not dislike it. It always seemed to bring a sense of dread, that these machines were only being repaired so their pilots could risk their lives again.

    Adrian was lying face-up on a row of crates, still wishing he had that bed right about now. Not that it would block out the deafening noise around, but it didn't hurt to be hopeful. It might at least make time fly faster. God knows how many hours of their lifetime this team has collectively wasted just waiting plainly in the hangar. At least this time they were waiting for something relevant: the new recruits to the 7th MAS Team.

    Finally, the transport and the accompaniments arrived, dropping off the newer Suits and the most recent batch of pilot crew for them. Gazing at one of the more customized Suits idly, Adrian had to note that there was a pilot getting out of it. What the hell was that about? Was he somehow so worse than Adrian (or god forbid, McKnight) that he was to be towed into the 7th in his own personal machine? Because it certainly wasn't a honor; those cockpits were built for control, utility, and literally nothing else.

    "Ace Pilot Monica Gerten reporting."

    The greater Ace Pilot cocked an eyebrow at that, finally bothering to look over at the new lineup of pilots to deal with. Gertan was certainly the most... outstanding of them, for better or worse, with her donning of a neo-naval uniform, complete with dysfunctional hat. That look on face, and her look in general, gave a vibe to Harvey that she might've been one of the longer-standing veterans of the new war. And he thought he was the only one who would bother...

    "Pilot Logan White reporting."

    He had to be fresh out of the Academy, Harvey immediately concluded. The young man still had that look of wonder and insecurity about him, while the others were able to hide it under brash smiles and salutes. The obviously ironic name rung a few bells, too - maybe his complexion had something to do with all of this?

    "Pilot Constantine 'You-Wouldn't-Believe-The-Shit-I-Have-To-Deal-With' Aseleon reporting.."

    "Try this then," Adrian piped up, a rare occurrence indeed, often when he was about to be cynical. "You get to do it again, but twice as hard and while being shot at from 10 different angles." And cynical the Ace was, the sarcastic loathing of it all dripping in excess. Harvey had a small urge to sit up and pop out his joints again, but refrained. He'd be getting up soon anyways, he figured. "It sucks, we know. But at this point it's too late to complain."
    #6 Penultimate Pi, Dec 17, 2014
    Last edited: Dec 17, 2014
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  7. Jari, #99ccff

    "It's a dirty job but someone's gotta do it," Jari interjected with a sly grin as he joined the informal gathering of pilots. Looking around at his old unit he was cheered by the sight of the familiar faces of McKnight, Harvey, and one of the Astelion twins but there were far more new faces than he had expected -- or hoped for. It had been a long, bloody war and even the 101st wasn't going to come out of it unscathed...

    "Pilot Juho Jalmari Juutilainen, 504th TEVU, reporting as ordered," he continued, offering a tip of his imaginary top hat. There was a moment of expectant silence as several sets of shocked eyes snapped in the direction of the newcomer.

    "Jari!?" Came the eventual query, from a stocky pilot with a most distinct mustache sitting on one of the many crates that the pilots had elected to use as seating. "You son of a bitch! You're still alive!?"

    "Yes, Sokolov! You dog, I'm still alive!" Jari replied, grinning at the grim-looking Russian with whom he had shared an unhealthy amount of spirits. "Someone's gotta keep you chaps honest, after all."

  8. The team watched as the newer pilots filed in and sounded off, some of them, were veterans. A few, rookies. The squad for the most part had a rather mixed response towards the newcomers. Of the veterans, one was quiet and serious, the other, Jari was a returning face, and several of the squad members, McKnight and Sokolov recognized the man. The veterans were received moderately. On the otherhand, the rookies were looked at with a bit more disdain. One of the rookies already introduced himself as one with an attitude problem, and came with his own prototype unit. The other was quieter, more collected, but still very green. Harvey quickly spoke up to put the lippy one in his place, eliciting a mild chuckle from the rest of the squadron.

    "At ease pilots," McKnight called out casually, as the large man slid off the crate he was sitting on to approach the newcomers.

    He opened his mouth to continue, but was cut off by a taller, lankier man, with jet black hair and deep blue eyes- Rick Astelion, the fairly aggressive twin brother of their more calm and collected squadron leader. He was also in a fairly bad mood, which was nothing new to any of the old members of the squadron. He was known amongst the squadron as the team grump, and had a kill record to match his nasty temper.

    "I'm not impressed by anyone who feels the need to recognize themselves as an 'Ace' during introductions." He spat snarkily as he got off his own seat and walked past Monica.

    "Nor do I think very highly of mouthy show-offs, with their fancy prototypes- News flash kid, when the Brass puts you in a prototype, they're expecting you to die in it." he continued as he walked past Aseleon.

    Walking up to White, Rick stared him down for a little while, a nasty glare on his face. "Fucking replacements." Rick spat as eyed down the rookie. "Just because you have that patch on your shoulder doesn't mean you're one of us."
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  9. White relaxed slightly until he noticed the blue-eyed man ascend from his seat and begin to spit out some surprisingly negative comments. This guy can turn anything into a negative, I bet. Seems to be an enormous ass hole. But he's still around which probably means he's damn good... Finally, the brute came to a standstill in front of Logan and proceeded to damn near spit in the dark-skinned man's face as he said, "Fucking replacements. Just because you have that patch on your shoulder doesn't mean you're one of us." Despite the aggression, Logan maintained a stoic face as he took the insult until he wiped a bit of water off his face. Suddenly, he broke out in an enormous smile, "You must be the resident bulldog. Guess I know who to call when something has to die." He thrust his hand out towards the blue-eyed man, inviting him to shake it, "I may not be one of you, yet, but that doesn't mean we can't work together!"

    Logan didn't expect it to make the man like him more, in fact it could do the opposite, but there was always the slight chance that showing kindness to an ass hole is what the jerk probably needs. At the least, it might show him that Logan isn't afraid of brutality and aggression. The last thing he needed was to be seen as having weakness among these special operations pilots.
  10. "Try this then, you get to do it again, but twice as hard and while being shot at from 10 different angles. It sucks, we know. But at this point it's too late to complain."

    'Note to self: don't make jokes.' Constantine noted mentally, doing his best to keep his face as expressionless as possible. It wasn't difficult, in all honesty. During basic training he had to constantly deal with one to two sergeants screaming and yelling in his face from time to time. It was meant to ensure the soldiers would be able to keep their composure and focus, and that was something he was surprisingly good at.

    "Nor do I think very highly of mouthy show-offs, with their fancy prototypes- News flash kid, when the Brass puts you in a prototype, they're expecting you to die in it."

    'Keep your mouth shut, Aseleon. Don't you dare open your fucking mouth. Wait. Why does that even matter? I can't get more screwed than I already am. Though it would probably be simpler if I kept my mouth shut...' He was used to the hotshot types who put any new recruits through the grinder for shits and giggles - he had to deal with it all through Special Training, but this was something different.

    He, like most ground soldiers, generally despised MAS Pilots. During basic training most drill sergeants made it perfectly clear that, in the UEE's eyes, the ground soldiers were infinitely more expendable than MAS Pilots. After all, it is easier and faster to teach someone how to fire a gun than it is to teach them how to competently operate a 40 foot mechanical beast.

    'Seems just like yesterday... Well, Wilson, looks like you were right. MAS Pilots are a bunch of elitist cunts after all. And now I'm one of them. Whoop-de-fucking-do.'

    Turning to Harvey, Constantine inclined his head.

    "I apologize if my words came off as... Flippant or conceited, sir. I suppose I was merely trying to make my introduction light-hearted in an attempt to fit in. Next time, I shall put a little more thought into my words." He spoke with a sincere tone, offering a quick smile to the Ace pilot.

    'I fucking hate every single one of you.' He stated mentally, keeping his true feelings locked safely away inside of his head. He knew exactly what his purpose as a member of the 101st was: assist in missions, collect performance data for the Archangel and die a particularly gruesome death. And, frankly, death was beginning to look pretty comforting in comparison to his current company.

    The young, snake-like admiral smiled, almost maliciously as Commander Reid stood to volunteer his group. Admiral Bishop appeared to want to object, but slowly realized that by throwing his own ship into harms way, Reid was ensuring that the rest of the Fifth Fleet would have time to properly recuperate. Admiral Ardin pressed a button on his holopad, and a series of coordinates, operational information, and information regarding the supposed superweapon appeared on Reid's display.

    "Good," Ardin said, in an almost derisive manner, "Appearing on your datapad is a series of coordinates and information regarding the superweapon. Whether or not you are skeptical of its existence, I firmly believe in myself."

    "Your mission is to locate the weapon and capture-not destroy- it for the UEE. If it is too large for the Lincoln to carry back with it, send out a transmission and defend the weapon until the relief fleet arrives. This weapon will mean turning the course of the war firmly into our favor Commander, failure will be unacceptable. You are to leave immediately, Commander. Dismissed."
    Ardin said, without giving Reid time of day for even questions. Turning back to the assembled officers, they began discussing other topics regarding the overall strategy of the UEE fleets.
  12. Monica lowered her hand when she was told to stand at ease and relaxed her body. Her eyes darted around and began to study those around her until a man cut off the squad leader. She felt her mind swim slightly but didn't move a single muscle. Her face remained as stoic and emotionless as ever. She felt like responding to the man but knew he was just sizing them all up. She didn't care as she wasn't expecting to be in this group for long like many of the others she was in. To her it was just a temporary home in which she would stay alone until they were mostly eradicated and then she was moved.

    She then turned when the man walked past her and smirked. She knew the man was a veteran and most likely like her he had seen many of his friends die. The only part she didn't like was the snarky attitude that he carried with him. A need to force himself up and scare those new. She wasn't phased in the slightest. She lost the ability to fear other humans long ago. The only fear she had now when the end approached. Even then she would stand up and swing at it before going down.

    She decided to open her mouth after all "Like many of the patch's that I have worn in the past.. I do not expect to wear it for long. This is just a temporary home as my last squads have been." She said monotonically. She then turned her back on the man and looked back up at the squad leader. "Is there anything else, Sir?" She asked ready to move past the rest of the squad and towards the barracks to unpack what little she brought with her. Her eyes seemed almost empty and void of all feeling. Out of many people who had the stare she could easily be seen to be looking to what many would call 'Beyond'. She felt her emotional side fluctuate at the thought of a new squad but suppressed it. She couldn't cry here....
  13. Hold it. Jari? That same pilot Adrian always wanted to call 'J' because he never bothered to learn his full name? The man who always imagined himself wearing some gentlemanly hat at all times? That one?

    He tipped his imaginary hat again, and Harvey actually had to sit up now. There shouldn't have been any surprise in concept, really; wounded soldiers went through circulation all the time, and it wasn't so unlikely that they'd eventually find their way back to a former squad. Adrian knew that for himself, stepping fresh out of that incident that canned the 7th's previous team leader (not before refusing the role himself, of course).

    Maybe it was some spark of hope that, indeed, death and ONLY death could separate the bonds of a team. Not that Harvey could be counting on their former leader coming back anytime soon, but still. For as beyond hell as war was, it was nice to at least see some familiar lives again. Misery loves company, as they say.

    "I'm not impressed by anyone who feels the need to recognize themselves as an 'Ace' during introductions."

    Oh, fantastic. Here comes the bull to mill down the fresh meat.

    If Adrian was a stone-hearted soldier, then the Astelion brother was plain heartless altogether. With an ever-burning temper and a distaste to the whole of this stronger than even Harvey could muster, you'd never crack a smile out of this man in your lifetime. And when he talked, you didn't, or so help you god. Rick was flawed, maybe, pained, you could say, but if you gave him any sort of opportunity to be the greatest asshole this side of the galaxy, he'd take it.

    Adrian had to give a mild, resigned sigh as the newcomers started talking back. When it came to the brother, you kinda had to figure it out on their own, with the occasional veteran behinds him desperately doing hand gestures to stop you from attempting anything with the man. But if there was something to be thankful of, it was that Rick's sister was the team leader, and not him.

    The Ace felt his mind drifting to topics he didn't often consider. What were their Fleet Commanders up to?
  14. A retrieval deep within enemy territory of all places... This will be costly. Reid thought as he took his leave of the briefing. He made his way down the long and confusing corridors that the extremely large station had to offer, if it had been his first time on a space dock he may have even missed his shuttle back to the Lincoln, time he would never have gotten back. This however was not the case, Reid was well versed with the twisting and turning corridors and quickly found his way to the hangar that his shuttle was waiting in.

    He walked up alongside the pilots window and gave it a small tap, "Lieutenant Vire, run her up, we make for the Lincoln at the next available window." the young Lieutenant jolted awake and quickly began running through his start-up procedures, he turned to the side and gave a quick salute "Right away sir".

    0639 Hours, December 12th 2899
    Ulysses Space Dock, Hangar 39

    Reid indulged himself in all the info that had been sent to his datapad. The locations for jumps, possible locations of the super-weapon itself, the estimated size and composition of the Coalition force protecting it. Everything was there, every possible detail, the only thing it was missing was real solid proof that the weapon really existed. No one has seen it, only the devastation it has caused...

    The slight jostle of the shuttle making its exit from the Ulysses Hangar caused some unsecured chains to chink together in the passenger cabin, Reid looked up just in time at the sound to watch the transition from the inside of a hangar to space take place through his starboard view port. The Ulysses at first took up all his view, but slowly as the shuttle moved farther and farther away the rest of Cerol and the fleets upon fleets of ships around it came into view. The planet itself, if you were to disregard the masses of war ships and space stations in orbit around it, was quite beautiful, the swirling white clouds over a planet teeming with plant and animal life, nearly 70% of it was covered in a dark blue water that even in space seemed to shimmer.

    Then the shuttle made a gradual bank to the left and suddenly the Lincoln was in sight, tethered to the Ulysses with six massive docking clamps. It's dark purple outer armor shining as the shuttle flew past, he looked in through the many view ports on the Lincoln and was just barely able to make out his crew going about there business through the tiny holes they called windows. To be fair the shuttle was still at a distance of nearly 450m from the hull of the Lincoln itself. Reid could see the red glow of the hangar lights as they came in for their final approach, Lieutenant Vire leaned out of his seat to be visible in the small path leading to the cockpit, his flight helmet painted with a Japanese "Rising Sun" insignia always seemed to amuse the Commander and the faint blue glow of his eyepiece on his face gave him an almost ghostly look. "We're about 30 seconds from landing, the XO welcomes you aboard sir." he said with a thumbs up and a stupid smirk across his face.

    "Roger that LT, tell them to begin readying the 7th MAS for immediate combat drop, I want the Lincoln at full capacity and ready to jump in twenty mikes, clear?"
    "Crystal sir." the young pilot then went about his business of landing the shuttle while his copilot relayed Reid's orders to the XO.

    He stood and walked to the ramp just as the shuttle touched down with a slight clunk. The ramp hissed as it lowered and Reid made his way down into the busy as always hangar, Good, things had better be getting done around here, there won't be time for repairs and restock after we jump. He began making his way across the hangar to the tram that would eventually take him to the CIC. He was nearly there when his XO, Lieutenant Wates came over the PA system, and the hangar suddenly stood silent.

    "Crew of the Lincoln, all hands man battle stations, repair and refit operations will be ceased in 20 mikes, set your watches people." there was a slight pause and the red battle stations lights began flashing throughout the hangar, the mechanics and pilots began scrambling even quicker than previous to finish what they had just been working on. "7th MAS Combat Teams, prepare for immediate combat drop. All pilots on ready-alert. Fighter Wing prepped for combat launch in the next 10 mikes. This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill. We're going back in people."

    Reid synced his watch and hit the button for the tram. He turned around to take one last look at his crew, I wonder how many will be kissing the sweet void of space wrapped in a UEE flag in the coming days. He clenched his fist tight around his wedding ring, as the sound of the tram approaching began to drown out the sounds of the hangar.
  15. Narrowing his eyes when he heard the PA system, Constantine couldn't help but let out a hollow chuckle. Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his hair as he spared his new 'comrades' a quick glance as he backed away before turning on his heel. Practically power-walking, he pushed past the antsy and somewhat anxious maintenance crew that were buzzing like bees in an attempt to hurry up with whatever they were doing. Quickly returning to Archangel, the ex-soldier stepped aboard the platform he descended on, the surface detecting his weight and naturally rising to the catwalk that hung equal to the MAS's entrance.

    Stepping on the surface, Constantine sighed as he stared at the gigantic robot, shaking his head as he stepped forward and the pilot compartment opened. Crawling inside, he took a seat as the door shut in front of him.



    >Welcome back, Operator.

    "Glad to be back, Angel. And for once, I'm not lying. Now, be a dear and run a system check." He ordered to the on-board AI. It wasn't anything special, just a simple program that was implemented into the MAS's mainframe to assist in converting mission performance into data which would be relayed back to Research and Development to speed up the completion of the real Archangel. Constantine had seen the plans for the MAS and he had to admit - they looked nice.

    >Tri-Core Engine: Online.

    >Shield: Online. Current Capacity: 100%.

    >Countermeasure System: Online.

    Reaching into a side compartment, he withdrew two crescent-shaped metal objects. Raising them to his face so they would curve around from his eyebrows to the area beneath his eyes, he pushed them against his skin until he felt them 'clasp'.

    >Please wait. Initializing.

    Sitting back in his seat, he reacquainted himself with the machine's controls as the two metal apparatuses made a 'whirring' noise and he could feel his vision shake slightly. Not long after, a blue holographic screen appeared before his eyes and he could see through Archangel's.


    >Visual Systems: Online.

    >Internal Targeting Suite: Online.

    >All Systems Functional.

    "Yay..." Constantine sighed as he blinked, rubbing a hand over his face.

    >Sarcasm Detected.

    "Goddammit... Let's just get this show on the road."
  16. -(Inserting this post before Jageroux's)-
    Several pilots- including Rick Astelion himself blanched as the rookie responded to his withering statements with an almost unbearable amount of optimism. The response was confusing, Rick's face flared as he prepared to deliver a stinging retort, but paused as he realized he was having difficulty coming up with a retort to the almost blinding positivity of the rookie's response. Rick's chest unpuffed, as he began to lose his momentum. "Why you..! You- ah... wha.. huh..?"

    "Is there anything else, Sir?" Asked one of the new pilots as she prepared to walk away. To which, Sterling shot a finger pointing to somewhere behind her.

    From behind the squad walked a woman distinctly similar to the lanky man who had been mouthing off to the new pilots. Her hair was the same jet black, and her eyes the same deep blue, but where the male's were sharp and hostile, hers were calm and calculating. A technician followed her, clipboard in hand as they discussed some bits of detail regarding the new units that were put into the hanger. As she approached the squad, none of the older pilots made moves to assemble into a formation, Tori was never particularly fond of them.

    Walking up to the pilots, she gave her brother an icy stare. "Playing nice with the new pilots?" she asked him, subtly hinting that he had better stop before he did something he regretted. The brother sulked a bit, but backed off.

    "Just making sure I know who I'm dealing with." The brother replied sullenly.

    "I hand picked each of these new pilots" The squadron leader replied calmly, "Whether or not you are confident in them, I am. Unless you're saying you don't trust me?"

    The brother wisely kept his mouth shut. While the Astelion twins differed vastly in temperament, neither were particularly pleasant when upset. Now that she was in front of her new pilots, she took a deep breath and exhaled, as if she were calming herself. She took a quick look around at the new faces and consulted a datapad she held in her hand. Looking first at Logan White, the greenest pilot of the bunch, she put a finger on her datapad and spoke.

    "Logan White," she said, without asking, "I've heard a lot of good things about you from Colonel Grenning. Its a bit of a gamble taking on a rookie, but you have to get experience sooner or later." Turning around, she pointed at the stoic, older pilot behind her. "That's Harvey, you'll be his wingman. Stick with him, and he'll show you the ropes sooner or later."

    Looking next at Monica, she met the woman's eyes and shrugged. "You already know why you're here, top-notch pilot, rough and tough. You'll be flying with McKnight." she said, pointing at the big man Monica had just been talking to. "Heard you have a habit of flying a bit more... 'dangerously' than others. I think you and McKnight will get along just fine.

    McKnight shot Gerten a wry smile and a wink. "Don't worry about the brother, he's a lot more bark than bite.." he paused, "Well, I mean, his bite is pretty bad...- but there's a lot more bark, really." he added hastily.

    "J," Tori said with a smile, looking at Jari, "Nice to see you back and on your feet, you and Sokolov will be rounding out our heavies as per usual."

    The large russian clapped and let out a guffaw, "I still have that bottle of whiskey we drank before the raid on Haffk" the large pilot said jovially, though he grew somber when Tori shot him a look. "No more drinking before sorties though, very bad, very bad." he said, with feigned seriousness.

    Finally stopping at Aseleon, "You never really hear about soldiers becoming pilots, so I read your file- All of it. Brass is kind of surprised you've survived as long as you have in that suit, but I'm not complaining."

    Tori paused and turned around, as though she was looking for something, or someone. Eventually she found it. It was in fact what appeared to be a girl in her early twenties. No older than 23, this girl was considerably shorter than the rest of the squad, standing somewhere around 5'6", where most of the women were a few inches taller, and the men were typically half a foot taller. Her blonde hair was tied into a neat bun, and she had a round, almost cherub face.

    "This is Sarah Core, has the highest number of kills- short of Harvey, and has only been with us for half as long. The two of you will be our recon wing, so get to know each other."

    Sarah offered Aseleon a small smile, "Rabbit," she said, using her callsign as a way of introducing herself.

    Moments later, the commanding officer came on over the PA ordering the crew to head to battle stations. The team got up off the crates and quickly began going about their business, the sound of machinery quickly enveloped the air as the engineering crews prepped the massive weapons of war for combat.
    #16 Vietmyke, Dec 23, 2014
    Last edited: Dec 23, 2014
  17. "Why you..! You- ah... wha.. huh..?" Replied the brute, to which Logan's smile only widened. He barely stifled a laugh before their interaction was interrupted by the squad leader, a surprisingly attractive yet also intimidating woman. As she handed out the orders he made a mental note that Harvey apparently was the one with the most kills in the squad, Interesting that she put me with their number one Ace... I kind of expected to get shafted. The sudden drawing of his attention to the small blond, How did I not notice her before, was accompanied with an immediate display of shock by White as the squad leader mentioned her shorter yet spectacular service record. What the hell is with these cute, incredibly skilled women and this squad? Damn, even her smile is cute. This is ridiculous. I suppose the sullen one balances them out though, she's... something. His thoughts were interrupted by the blaring of the PA and the order to man battle stations, causing him to give a quick salute to the squad leader and sending him running off to his MAS.

    His MAS.

    Well, maybe not truly his. It was a mass-manufactured, widespread PTX-051 Sentry MkII M. Absolutely nothing special about it from what he could tell as he ran towards it. Still, to him it was a tan beauty as he climbed the catwalk to the cockpit. His flight chief, a scruffy, white-haired man greeted him with a salute, "Morning, sir, she's as ready as she'll ever be. Sorry you don't get anything special like the others, but it's all we had on hand." Logan returned the salute with a smile, "Sir is unnecessary, Logan is fine, Chief. And I think she's a beauty, even if she's one of many." He clambered quickly into the cockpit and took his seat, feeling completely at home. It was almost exactly like the training simulations and the MASs back home.

    The chief spoke to him as the cockpit began to close, "Sorry I didn't have time to get it ready for you specifically." The pilot waved him off and laughed, "It's fine, I'll make the adjustments before we head out! Make sure to load two extra magazines on the sides as well, I know these things can handle the weight!" Before the chief could answer, the cockpit had sealed and locked itself into place, but he still heard the man's reply over the internal radio, "Understood, Logan. And Logan, I'm Chief Wan."

    Logan smiled as he started up the quad-core engine and began the manual systems checks to ensure everything was running properly. The computers shortly spit out that everything was in working order as he took hold of the controls and gave them some slight pushes, feeling the MAS gently respond, "Good... I should have enough time to quickly calibrate it to my specs..." Suddenly, the ammo counter on one of his displays tripled to 750 rounds, indicating the two additional magazines were locked onto the MAS's sides, "Damn, they work fast here... I don't think even the crews back home were this quick. It is Spec Ops..."

    The rookie stiffened his grips on the controls and stretched the muscles in his body, "So what will I call you... How about... Scipio..."
  18. "Angel." Constantine spoke, rousing the AI.

    >Yes, Operator?

    "Connect me with Pilot Sarah Core, Callsign Rabbit." He ordered as he noted several MASs seemed to be starting up and he couldn't help but commend their response time. They definitely weren't slouches, he had to give them that much. Leaning back in his seat, he folded his arms across his chest as he tapped his heel against the floor rapidly.

    'Read my entire file, huh...? Goddammit, those assholes probably gave her my entire history... Tch, whatever. It was bound to happen I suppose... Okay, enough of this, Aseleon. Get your head on straight and try not to have it blown off in the first five minutes. You can do this... Hopefully.' He attempted to encourage himself mentally, though he managed to fail spectacularly.
  19. Jari, #99ccff

    Hearing the call for battlestations, Jari departed with Sokolov, heading towards the two heavy mobile armor suits. Jari could see that other pilot had not changed much and still sported a heavily customized variant of the venerable Centurion.

    "Just one moment Jari," Sokolov said, before returning from the cockpit of his MAS with a bottle of whiskey. "I told you my friend, I've been saving this bottle ever since that mess on Haffk. A vintage 25 year old single malt Scotch, hard to find these days, especially when you aren't admiral."

    "Mmm," Jari replied reminiscing on the ill-fated raid as well as the whiskey. "That was some proper stuff, both the raid and the whiskey, naturally."

    "Yes, nothing like a bit of fire in your throat to get into the mood for battle. Now quick, let us have a drink before Mother Rabbit comes to check on us. I will give you the honor of making the first toast," Sokolov added, passing the bottle to Jari with a conspiratorial haste.

    "Of course, thank you old chap, then let us drink to the the success of our no doubt glorious mission," Jari offered, nodding towards Sokolov before taking a heavy pull from the bottle and coughing slightly from the strength of the liquor he passed it back to the Russian pilot with a large grin.

    "To the success of our mission!" Sokolov replied cheerfully, matching Jari and downing a sizeable amount of whiskey in one go. The two managed to take several long draws each from the ancient looking bottle before they were interrupted by a loud but polite cough from behind them.

    Turning, both men found themselves facing a serious looking woman dressed in a pair of surprisingly clean mechanic overalls. Of average height and build, the woman's blond hair was meticulously tucked back and out of the way and she had an air of grave seriousness that stood in contrast to that of the two pilots. She looked at Jari and spoke with a knowing tone of voice,"Drinking are we now, sir?"

    "Oh, just a bit, you know the drill Sophia," Jari replied without missing a beat.

    "Chief Engineer Sophia Vladimirovna Kuznetsova, 504th TEVU," the prim and proper engineer said in way of introductions, offering only a brief nod in Sokolov's general direction.

    "Ivan Nykytovych Sokolov," the barrel-chested Russian replied with his infamous smile. Taking a moment he looked over Jari's MAS, the Thunderbolt and then the chief engineer before slapping Jari good-naturedly on the shoulder, "Does your luck never cease? They gave you a fancy prototype MAS and a pretty woman to maintain it? What do I have to do get such a treatment from high command? Tell me, friend, who did you bribe for these honors?"

    "It's easy Sokolov, you just have to be mad enough to let them strap you into a walking bomb, armed to the teeth with weapons."

    Laughing loudly Sokolov waved before disappearing into the cockpit of his own MAS with the remainder of the whiskey.

    "Well then, Sophia, let's get ready for a sortie."

    "Of course, sir."

    Moving with well-practiced ease Jari climbed the catwalk that stood beside the lumbering metal machine of state of the art death that he had spent the better part of a year testing and entered the cockpit of the Thunderbolt. A sleek modern designed MAS, the cockpit looked more like that of a fighter jet than of a MAS with smooth, fluid lines giving way to a clean, well-laid out console that offered easy access to a number of displays and switches. Sliding into the seat, Jari lifted the surprisingly light neurohelmet of Thunderbolt and placed it on his head as he flipped through the switches required for a cold start up.

    As the reactor of the mobile armor suit whirred to life, he was greeted by the soft spoken, distinctly female voice of the Thunderbolt's artificial intelligence.

    > Warning user identification required for operation
    > Biometrical and Neural Scan in process

    Placing his feet on the dual pedal system, Jari took hold of the throttle and joystick which were situated at the sides of the pilots seat.

    > Biotmetric data confirmed
    > Brain patterns positively identified

    > Welcome, Pilot Juutilainen

    "Thank you, Ilmatar. Begin start-up procedure."

    > Reactor Online
    > Sensors Online
    > Weapons Online
    > All Systems Nominal

    "Excellent," Jari answered gently testing the controls of the MAS, before keying the push to talk button and broadcasting to the squad, "Top Hat, ready and standing by."

    "Hatchetman, also ready," came the reply from Sokolov's MAS.

    #19 Iben, Dec 24, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Dec 27, 2014
  20. Monica Gerten, Purple
    Monica looked at the 'Squad Leader' As he pointed behind him to the real squad leader. She tilted her head and realized she made a mistake. She couldn't help but laugh slightly and it honestly made me feel much better about herself. With that the Squad Leader Walked over to her and she nodded before looking up at McKnight "I look forward it it." She said to him before turning and leaving what little things she had near where all the pilots were sitting at one point. She nodded to her soon to be Co-Armsman and began to a light spring towards 'Retribution' that stood docked nearby.

    The engineers were finishing up emblazoning the image of the 7th MAS on the shoulder pad and she did not want to disturb them so she chose to climb up the side of the MAS instead of taking the ramp. She jumped up and grabbed a hold of the knee joint before pulling herself up and then jumping up to the waist. She swung herself up to get a footing then made her way towards the Pilots cabin. She opened the side of the hatch and slid inside. The seat was ergonomic and conformed to her body to give for the best seating arrangement she could have in the cramped cabin.

    The hatch shut just as the engineers were finished emblazoning the 7th MAS on the side of the shoulder pad. She took a deep breath as she began to power up the suit. The Engineers pulled back as she looked at all of the screens showing themselves.

    .....//System Boot\\.....
    ....//System Start Complete\\....
    ....//System AI-Templar Program Initialized\\....

    "Hello, Monica Gerten. All systems are reading at full capacity. Awaiting your go ahead" The AI spoke to her.

    Monica nodded as she clicked a button making the seat rise up and into a folding station in the back of the cockpit. She began to laugh as she locked her feet into the clamps to keep her from moving around. A Harness lowered and locked onto her to give her full movement of the MAS's close combat capabilities. She slipped the arm pieces around her wrists and then locked the harness into place. She took a deep breath "Retribution is ready." She said over the Comm system.
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