NSWRPF Archive Halo: TODAY

OOC: My First Post well here goes

IC-John Walker

". . . Get out get out now. . . god they hit Higins, this is . . . pha Company . . . 01st Airborne. Corporal Wlter Black. . . stationed. . . miles outside of Lincon. . . o go go Jansen go(rapid machine gun fire fills radio transmission) reporting enemy size about. . . thousand repeat two thousand requesting immidiate bac- Jansen!!!!!!!!! Oh my god . . . incomi. . ." The radio cuts to static.

"Dang, people got smacked up good down there I hear." A private said

"Cut the chatter Browning." replied John Walker a big city Corpral with an aggresive problem that had no off switch.

"Sir all I mean't was th-" the private was responding when the light on the C-47's drop door lit up red.

The drop commander shouted "Equipment check"

All the paratroopers shouted their all goods just in time for the light to go green and the commander to say"Go go go".

"Time to get bloody messy gents" a comedic trooper said as he leapt from the plane.

John took a deep breath and leapt from the plane and almost died in the air as he saw the wall of plasma that shot towards him. He shut his eyes and prayed to god and was rewarded with the screams of two troopers that had had the misfortune to get 'grazed' which meant a super slow death. John was helpless as he was when the radio shot on and he listen to the shouts of the doomed troops down in Lincon which was where he was going. When he landed he was lucky he landed with all his gear and three friends and only two squads of the small aliens staring right at them.

"Sir?" the private from the plane asked from his hiding place in the shadows.

John made a silencing motion with his hand and point towards the grunts and when he did so an armoured behemoth came walking into view. A huge green blob shot from its huge cannon litterally attached to its arm and the screams of troopers rewarded it with the conformation of a hit or ten John thought as burst fire cut into the aliens from behind and either by luck or skill the armoured alien fell along with five smaller aliens and the rest were dispatched by the three human groups combined fire.

"Bloody good show chaps, why i thought we were in for a smack and Im sure glad to say i was terribly wrong." Private Wallas Scott said as he spit on the huge alien.

John stared at it as he heard a whimper but it wasnt human, one of the tiny aliens was crawling not away but towards them and it wasnt until it was to late that John saw the ignited grenade in its hand.
The Grunt blew away half the men in the group of humans including Private Wallas Scott the best shot John had.

"Noooo" a nervous trooper shouted.

"Into the trees" John whispered "Quickly, quietly remember we have a mission to complete" He whispered to himself as the stalked towards Lincon "Yea, if anyone is still left to complete the mission."

 

IC: Major Joe Olsen, 1st Tank battalion, 1st Marine Division

The fighting had never materialized. Olsen had expected to have to fight his way back out of the city. He?d assumed that the aliens would envelop his forces by pushing towards the river while he?d pushed towards the landing zones inland. Instead, there was no enemy activity at all. Distantly, he could see the curved purple vessels hanging in the sky, but there were no ground troops, nor any of the avionic fighting vehicles.

Upon reaching the Crescent City Connection, the battalion and its ad hoc infantry support saw that to their even greater surprise, the bridge had not been destroyed by the alien plasma artillery. Though great swathes of steel had been vaporized by the bombardment, and intermittent fires were visible on the road itself, the bridge seemed solid enough to support the battalion as it crossed. Olsen glanced around to make sure no Cyan solenoids were crackling through the air, and the spoke into his radio.

?1st and second platoons,g et up there and across. Take it slow and space out the vehicles. We don?t know how well the bridge will hold.?

The crossing went well for about five minutes. Tank after tank puttered onto the bridge and moved across slowly, jinking left and right to avoid clutches of wrecked vehicles. Then a tremendously unholy crackle emanated form the interior of the city. Olsen squinted against a blinding pastel flash. When the blue streamers faded from his cornea, he saw several of the massive alien shieps unleashing plasma beams onto the city. Concrete, metal, wood, flesh and earth simply vanished as they were transformed to clouds of superheated gasses.

?They?re leveling the city.? He whispered, awed by the power. Then he shook off his wonder and screamed into the microphone. ?They?re leveling the city! Everyone across!?
His tank lurched and accelerated on the line. He gesticulated wildly to the other commanders who were standing in the cupolas, watching mesmerized as the plasma beams destroyed a city known worldwide for its beauty. He screamed and waved, trying to get their attention, not knowing if the massive plasma discharges drowned out his radio transmission. The armored column did speed up, and the distances between the vehicles closed. But it was going to be close?

TAG: All

 

GM Approved

Name: Todd Stephen Michelson

Age: 40

Branch of service: United States Marine Corps.

MOS: Airborn Recon/(Special Assignment is to Extract Alien Covenent
Technological Artifacts/Weapons/Power Sources/Drive Systems/Defensive
Force fields, for Back Engineering purposes.

Rank: Major

Command: Marine Air Squadron VMM-268.

Weapons: Main FN P90 LIR, Sidearm Para-Ordinance P-14 45 (1911), In Flight Main Dillon M-134D.

Bio: Todd was never one to accept the given explanations of how things were. So he found out for himself. After he joined the Marines, Todd Entered their Officer Training. His unique way of thinking outside of the box earned him both friends and enemies in the Marine Corps. During the days of preparation for the Covinant invasion He managed to get the ear of his superiors on a wild pitch of snatching and grabbing Covinant Technology for back Engineering purposes by using MV-22B Ospreys.

Education: Phd; Electrodynamics, Phd; Mechanical Engineering, Masters;
Combat Strategy and Tactics.

 

Name: Johnathon Kittering
Age: 25
Service: U.S. Navy, attached to a Marine unit.
Military Occupational Specialty (MOS): Expeditionary Intelligence Analyst, NEC 3912
Rank: Intelligence Specialist Second Class (IS2)
Weapons: FN SCAR-L
Bio: Kittering joined the Navy in 2002, figuring that he would make Master Chief within a year and blow some **** up. Six years later, he's on the verge of making first class, finally has three full rows of ribbons, and wears the Expeditionary Warfare pin. He's satisfied with his job because it makes him good money, but, as has been noted throughout his career, he rarely seems to take pride in what he does.

 

IC: Major Joe Olsen, 1st Tank Battalion, outside of New Orleans, headed North.

The dimness of the smouldering city receded behind them. The tank column moved northwest, having doused all lights and running only on night vision. They were headed out of the state on I-10. Every few minutes Olsen attempted to raise somebody. Anybody. All he was met with was the gurgle static, all transmissions still being drowned by the ionized plasma of the enemy.

The column had managed to get over the crescent city connection before the plasma beams had sliced it up. The whole structure tumbling majestically into the river, the great shrieking of rent metal drowned out by the cacophonous, thousand-lightning-bolt roar of the plasma beams carbonizing a city.

Ten miles on, and in relative safety, Olsen had called a halt to the column and ordered his troops into NBC protective suits. He had no idea of the side-effects of that kind of energy. He knew for sure that the carcinogens in the ash were bad. And the ash was falling like grey snow.

So they rode on, and on through a gray-jacketed landscape, wearing thick chemical smocks and masks. The goggles of the masks were constant fogging up and reducing vision. Sweat and grime induced itchiness that could never be fully relieved.

It was when he stood up in the cupola and looked around briefly to get his bearings, that he saw the orange flicker of fire reflected against the sky. The City of New Orleans was gasping its death rattle.

?To any Units of the United States Armed Forces, this is Redtail, I am at grid reference LK960540. In need of any available assistance or orders. Closing on the city of Cornerview. We need refuel soonest. Over.?

Static.

He?d checked his fuel status with his driver. They would be out in 2 hours if they continued at this rate. His other tanks could not be any better off. He dropped back down into turret and sealed up. He felt a pang of sadness for the poor infantry they were carrying. They had little in the way of NBC protection and sat sulkily on the back deck of his tank, wearing their gas masks, slowly getting covered in grey ash.

?Clamshell 1 to all clamshells. We are going to pull off at our first real opportunity and create a roadblock. Assume defensive positions and dig in. We?ll start sleeping rotations as soon as we can. Company Leaders acknowledge.?

They did and Olsen replaced the radio mic. He was hoping that they would be discovered before long. There had still been occasional bands of refugees that they had passed on 1-10. On foot, bicycle or car, they all waved for help. They were all ignored. But at least there were people still streaming north. Hopefully, it meant that there was still some kind of government left that had told them to do so.

He just hoped that that same government would find his battalion before long.

TAG: anybody

 

IC- John Walker

John looked around the corner of his cover, the grunts were 'sleeping' he guessed. "Alright everyone,sleepers, take 'em out, nice and quietly." John eyed them all six of them. Out of the one hundred who droped, and the thrity eight who landed in the DZ and the ten who made it into the city. The were tired, sad, desperate and nervous. Slowly the attached silencers to there rifles and began the dirty work.

After the gruesome work looked done a blue stream of plasma streaked passed them. Some one Amongst them screamed "Banshe!!!!!"

"Get back, get back" John shouted and everyone hugged the wall. "We got to get to the HQ, everyone fall back." It tooked them three minutes and one private later to getback to the Church they had made an HQ. The Covenant were outside searhing for them.

"Awww man, what now.' an Lance Corpral asked.

"Now, we wait for dark." John said "After that we leave with the three rifles we captured and the sword."

Dusk settled into night, and six shadows left the church, and fled into the woods.

Tag: Anyone

 

OOC:

Time: Twenty minutes before the bombardment of New Orleans.

IN GAME:

Recently assembled, VMM-268 out of North Carolina enroute to New Orleans by way of Hurlburt Field, home of the 8th Special Operations Squadron:

"Valkry Squadron, we have your ETA in 15. You have large objects converging on New Orleans air space, at 10,000 ft. We are assuming at this time that they may be the big guns coming to finish off the city. If you can pull out any US troops, do so. If there are any items on the Christmas List that are visible and if in your opinion you can pull it off, you are cleared to snatch and grab. We'll advise all US Forces engaged in the city to converge to the beach area to the north at the Southern end of the Lake Ponchartrain causeway bridge. Be advised that DOD has dispatched Air Force's 8th SOS in on the Mission to assist. They'll be spliting the load with you and attacking any hostiles trying to interfere with the evac."

"Roger that, Command. Will advise when we're on site."

Sixteen Marine MV-22Bs armed to the teeth raced past the shore of Gulfport, towards New Orleans to retrieve any and all US Forces in need of rescue that they could. They were trailed by sixteen US Air Force CV-22Bs from 8th SOS Blackbirds. The Blackbirds were like wise armed and five minutes behind the Valkries. Major Todd Stephen Michelson was piloting the lead Valkry.

Todd scanned his instrumentation and altimeter. The altimeter showed 250 feet, while the airspeed was at over 240 mph. Two Marine squads were on board each Osprey fully trained in a hook and lift operation. These were accompanied by two Navy Corpmen for the wounded that were anticipated. Todd was scared of what he might be facing in the event of there being any large number of civilians clustered around the causeway out of New Orleans. He knew his mission and would carry it out, but also knew that if there were non combatants insisting on rescue and evac it could get pretty ugly if they were overwhelmed by their shear numbers. He brushed the thought aside and refocused on the mission. The squadron sped towards land. Todd saw I-10's traffic was bumper to bumper and was stopped. The Gulf of Mexico was left behind and VMM-268 sped on. Todd looked back up to scan the horizon and was shocked to see that the sky held huge ships, which hovered above the cityscape. He could see what appeared to be some kind of shuttles traversing up from New Orleans to the ships. The last of the shuttles merged with its target and the flashing started. Explosions began to erupt to the south of the city's center and began to crawl northward. He spotted the causeway and began adjusting wing angle to verticle and approached the designated landing zone. M1A2s were all over the place, including bunches that were on the causeway heading north at speed. VMM-268 pulled up short. He looked closely and recognized them as Marines.

"Command! VMM-268 has reached north side of New Orleans. There's a large contingent of Marine M1A2s. Please advise who's in command of this Batalian."

Static from the plasma blasts answered his call for information. Michelson switched frequencies.

"This is VMM-268 Major Todd Michelson commanding, on rescue and evac mission. Marine Tankers! Please identify! Are you in need of assist? Have you any wounded in need of evac?"

Tag: Deiskrad, Littledawg

 

IC: Major Joe Olsen, 1st marine battalion. Roadblock of I-10

He heard the helicopters long before he heard their ghostly radio transmissions. Distantly, in the grey-flecked black, he saw them hovering about four miles out and a thousand feet up. Olsen had been walking the roadblock, talking with his men and checking up. They were starting to drift into a lesser state of effectiveness due to exhaustion and funk and terror. He heard the choppers and immediately ran to the nearest track and seized the radio.

"VMM-268, this is Callsign Redtail. Good to hear from somebody.

"we've got some damaged tracks and some walking wounded. We are in need of orders, resupply, and ammo, and any word of the enemy's whereabouts. We need Fuel soonest, otherwise we may have to combat-loss the entire unit. Can you get word on any of this? Over."

He clicked back, silently crossing his fingers, awaiting the response.

OOC: Redtail is Olsen's callsign. It should translate to you that it's First Tank battalion.

TAG: Vangarian, anyone

 

In Game:

"VMM-268, this is Callsign Redtail. Good to hear from somebody. We've got some damaged tracks and some walking wounded. We are in need of orders, resupply, and ammo, and any word of the enemy's whereabouts. We need Fuel soonest, otherwise we may have to combat-loss the entire unit. Can you get word on any of this? Over."

He clicked back, silently crossing his fingers, awaiting the response.

Just then a second group of sixteen Ospreys, this one from 8th SOS approached at speed and switched to vertical and hovered.

"Standby, Redtail. We're both going to roost, fuel being expensive and all. If you can point our Corpmen and PJs in the right direction we'll tend to your wounded"

The two Osprey squadrons situated themselves and landed. The rear gangways of both squadrons lowered as Marines, Navy Corpmen and Air Force PJs trotted down with medical equipment. As they looked for those in need of medical attention it wasn't long before small lines were forming to them.

"Redtail this is Valkry. Sorry for the delay. We're reestablishing contact with command. They're trying to locate your supply line. Since the Cuvvys seem to have pulled out, we're able to start locating other ammo and supply units. If they're too far from you we'll be happy to form a bucket brigade and bring you ammo and fuel. In the mean time we're at your service for medical patch up. One more thing. Has your unit come across any downed cuvvy shuttles or other types of equipment they use? Barring that, do you know of any other units that have come across covinant technology? We're also here to snatch and grab if possible for back engineering."

 

"Redtail. This is Valkry. We've reconnected with command. They have been notified of your situation. For now they've got portions of your supply units located at both New Orleans International Airport and New Orleans Lakefront Airport. We're going to form up two bucket brigades to get you guys fuel asap, followed by ammo, then track. We'll see if we can out perform the Blackbirds with a little friendly competition. Keep the NCs and PJs for now. We'll be back soon."

32 Ospreys fired up their turboshafts and lifted off, seperated into two squadrons of 16 and sped away. One west, the other east.

Tag: Any and all!

 

IC: Major Joe Olsen (two minutes prior to Osprey Dustoff)

"Much Obliged Major. Much Obliged." Olsen yelled to him over the din of the 32 helicopters shrieking.

"Wasn't able to recover much. Just some small arms. We... didn't really have any notion of coming out alive. So, we didn't try to gather anything. But some of the infantry have their small-arms and some of their gadgets."

He looked towards his men queuing up for medical help. A collection of bandages and rubbery legs. THey'd all improvised masks out of strips of cloth to keep the ash from getting into their lungs. Olsen wiped the ash away from the goggles on his cowl and continued.

"Most of these guys are just a hodge-podge from a variety of different units. I've got both army and marines, There's also an air force pilot we picked up somewhere. If you can get some of these guys back to their CP's I'd be much obliged. They've been great, but being out here in this ash without NBC gear could put them all in the hospital."

Olsen relaized that in his fatigue he'd forgotten some protocol. he scolded himself and then held out a gloved hand.

"Major Joe Olsen, by the way. 1st tank Battalion." Olsen noticed some of the Ospreys beginning to whine their rotors to a higher pitch, indicating they were preparing for take-off.

"Godspeed Major! And thanks again!"

Olsen saluted and jogged back to his Command track.

Tag: Vangarian

 

IC pryer to the Osprey's dustoff:

"Only too happy to be of help. We'll get you guys up and ready for giving the cuvvy's some pay back."

Michelson shook Olsen's offered hand, stepped back saluted him then turned back to his Osprey at a trot. Soon 32 Ospreys lifted off and split up in two groups for an emergency resupply of America's finest.

 

IC: Major Joe Olsen, w/ 1st Tank Battalion. North of New Orleans.

The optics would almost certainly have to be replaced. Ash had covered them, and although Olsen had remianed vigilant in making sure the optics, vision blocks, thermal and night sensors remained clear, it was obvious that the gritty ash was taking its toll on the sensitive and complicated equipment. Nonetheless, he leaned out of the cupola and used a handkerchief to brush away the cinders from the vision blocks.

As he did so, he contemplated when the Ospreys would return. Even if they didn't, he hoped that they would get the word out and get his supply and support column routed to him, so that he could top off the fuel tanks and get orders and head to wherever the debriefing or the action was.

His eyes almost crossed with fatigue, he realized that he had almost fallen asleep crouched over the turret, despite the uncomfortable position and the cold. He decided that he'd earned some rest. Already many of the men had been sleeping in shifts, and as their CO he'd remained vigilant. Since there'd been no enemy activity in a while, and because if there was he needed to be lucid; he decided to go over to the Command track and sack out for a while.

"Take over. I'm going to get a half-hours sleep." Olsen said, sliding off the tank and walking towards the command track half a mile away.

The Command Track, a modified M113 personnel carrier, was now basically a grey dusted slab in its primary fighting position among some mangrove trees and other vegetation. The modification was primarily that it was stuffed to the gills with communications equipment. He dropped into the track, barely acknowledging his staff, and sacked out on a stack of ration crates. He was asleep in less than fifteen seconds.

TAG: Anyone, Everyone

 

IC as Major Stephon Michelson: (Febuarary 24th 4:23am local time cut to scene with background music Navy Hymm titled 'Eternal Father Strong To Save' from Crimson Tide)

Sixteen Marine MV-22Bs flew on a mission of aid for their own to New Orleans International Airport. New Orleans was a dying inferno that was quickly losing its recognizable features. Valkry Squadron climbed higher to avoid the worst of the ash and soot.

Major Michelson flying by direction from Glass Eye Command and in bound directions from the remaining elements of Marine resupply units and remnents of the Army Corp of Engineers, made final approach to New Orleans International Airport's Military Refueling Area and touched down. Sixteen MV-22B Ospreys kicked up ash as they settled to roost.

"New Orleans International Military Resupply, this is Major Stephon Michelson of VMM-268 Valkry squadron, we're on a rescue and resupply mission for Red Tail. What's your call sign?" miked Michelson.

"Hello Major Michelson of VMM-268 Valkry squadron and welcome to temporary call sign Mother Hen, bellowed a relieved sounding voice over his radio. We're mighty glad to hear something besides static and occasional 'cuvvy' chatter. What can we do for you?"

"Who am I addressing?"

"Master Gunnery sargent Kurt Tyery at your service sir!"

"Well, Gunny it sounds like you got things well in hand," spoke Michelson with a smile growing on his face.

"That we do, sir."

"We're in need of tanker fuel suitable to a whole bunch of thirsty M1A2 'Abrams'. That and Ammo, along with some track too. Think you can whip up some these items in carrier pods for us to ship back to Red Tail?"

"Yes sir that's a big can do, sir!"

"Have you any wounded that need immediate evac?"

"WE have a few bumps and scrapes, but nothing series. We were fortunate to have our underground bunker to dive in when the 2nd. battle of New Orleans was wrapping up."

"Well and good that you did. Do you have any spare ABC protection suitable for combat troops available? We spotted elements of the 82nd Airborne and all they had was gas masks."

"Hold for one, sir. Let me check for spares on that last one."

Ramps were lowering as the Allison turboshafts wound down to idle then stopped. Military fuel trucks approached and began servicing the Ospreys. More trucks pulling flat bed trailers rolled up. Fuel pods, ammo pallets and spare tank track were unloaded by arriving forklifts which squeezed the pods inside the Ospreys cargo holding bays. Major Michelson outside and watching saw as Marines and regular Army troops worked side by side to get the loads in and buckled down. In fifteen minutes the Ospreys were nearly loaded. A Hummer convoy pulled up and a full blow master gunny stepped out walked up to Michelson and saluted. He was taller than Michelson and had a craggy face with a hawkish nose. Topped with short brown hair he made an imposing figure on the scene.

"Sir! We found you a little over 90 ABC suits for those 82nd boys, compliments of Mother Hen"

Stephon smiled then went to full blown grin. "Master Gunnery Sergeant Tyery, you are a gift from God. You're the next best thing to a good cook."

"Not a problem, sir. Any time any where". Tyery took the praise in the spirit it was intended and saluted, then died. A plasma round had pierced his chest from out of Michelson's left. Tyery in his death fell on top of and mostly covered Michelson a last act of protecting a superior officer. Michelson struggled to activate his headset mic as several more rounds were fired his way. "Incoming fire from my left! Any ramp gunners take em out now!"

Three more plasma rounds found a Marine, a Hummer and an ammo pallet left behind on one of the semis. The explosion of the HEAT rounds was deafening. Three Osprey ramp gunners fired their M-134D mini-guns, traced the incoming fire back to its source and saturated two cuvvy recon teams with a hose like stream of 5.56mm rounds. The incoming plasma fire silenced. Michelson crawled out from underneath Tyery's body; rolle

 

OOC: Oops, sorry about that.

Tag: Deiskrad, anyone/everyone.

 

IC: Major Joe Olsen

It felt like a blink. It was probably actually a little more than an hour of sleep, but it felt like no more than a blink. He rose suddenly when the Signals officer in the command track roused him. He thought it was an eney alert.

"Sir, take it easy. We've just got word that our birdie friends were having trouble finding us, They should be here shortly."

Summoning willpower over fatigue, Olsen arched himself off the ration boxes.The aches would be with him for some time, His back in particular did not respond well to the unyielding nature of the crates.

"Repeat our grid reference and inform them that we'll send up flares and red smoke the LZ."

"I've already done so, sir. Just wanted to wake you in case you needed to meet with the squadron commander."

Olsen nodded. This was a conscientious junior officer. Wet behind the ears but independent and competent. He'd probably do well.

If he stayed alive.

"ETA?"

"Five."

Olsen lifted himself into a standing position, and popped the hatch on the command track's fighting compartment. The february cold invested the command track, and the soot immediately dusted the interior. Olsen puleld himself out and shut it behind him, beginning the trek to the LZ. As he got there, he could hear the stuttering of Helicopter blades as helicopters circled nearby. One of his troops popped a red smoke grenade, while another launched a flare. The Choppers began to descend, and Olsen allowed a little bit of relief to trickle into his system.

TAG: Vangarian, others

 

In Game: 8th SOS Blackbirds descended to ground. Rear ramps were lowered and fuel pods were rolled out for distribution amongst the 1st Tank Battalian's Abrams. Five minutes later VMM-268 Valkry Squadron arrived and touched down with its bounty of fuel, ammo and spare track. Michelson disambarked from Valkry 1 and oversaw the unloading of the supplies including over ninety ABC suits for those in need of them from the 82nd Airborne Division. He saw Major Olsen approaching and walked in his direction. He saluted and shook Olsen's hand.

"Major Olsen. It is with great sorrow that I inform you that Master Gunnery Sargent, Kurt Tyrey was killed in action while handing me those ABC suits I requested of him for the 82nd Airborne Division's troops. He had everything well in order at New Orleans International Airport. He saved my life by pushing me down and covering me from Plasma fire when our respective units came under attack from enemy fire teams. Those of my ramp gunners who could spot the source of fire returned fire and eliminated the both fire teams. Master Sargeant Tyrey was a very brave and heroic Marine...The cuvvy's knew who to shoot at for maximum effect. Your resupply unit is relocating to Lake Front Airport to join up with the rest of your resupply group."

Michelson paused, swallowed and continued.

"Just before we departed from New Orleans International, a corperal from regular Army drove up and handed me the biggest man portable cuvvy plasma rifle I've seen to date. He gave me the co-ordinates as to it's initial location and that of a shuttle he shot down with a Stinger. We're going for a snatch and grab of that shuttle. Maybe we'll get lucky for a change and get something useful that we can back engineer. 8th SOS will be finishing up on your supplies from the combined groups at Lake Front. I'll be recalling my men for this extraction. You and your men are in my prayers, Major Olsen. God speed to you and the rest of Red Tail."

Michelson saluted and smiled at Olsen, -though in his heart he was still feeling depressed over Tyrey's death- pumping his hand like he meant it. The last of the supplies having been unloaded, Michelson's men started trotting up the ramps of their respective MC-22Bs for departure. Turbo-Shafts began winding up and Michelson withdrew to his Osprey and trotted up the ramp, as it was raising into the closed position. Five minutes later VMM-268 was airborne heading for the 'Ronny' to acquire mission specific equipment and resupply.

 

IC: Major Joe Olsen

He walked the line. His men worked as quickly as their fatigued bodies woudl allow: changing track, refueling the thirsty Abrams beasts, and in general getting the unit ready to move. They had a stroke of luck. Olsen's signals officer ran up to him telling him that he'd finally gotten through to the logistics end of his unt, and got them moving. Additionally, Theater command had finally gotten through, and issued marching orders for the entire Battalion. Olsen scanned the dot-matrix print-out.

"Withdrawal." Olsen said. His lips twisted.

"Pass it to Top. He'll arrange it. I'll finish walking the line."

"Yes sir."

As he walked, he contemplated the orders. They ordered him to a grid reference outside of Baton Rouge and to hold there untilt eh Supply element linke dup. THen, they would have their tracks loaded onto trains to be taken to Fort Knox, where he and his staff would be debriefed. Fort Knox is an Army base, not a Marine installation. It was indicative of how disorganzied the whole thing was. howeve,r Fort Knox was the location of the Armor School, and the closest place where they could conduct extensive repairs on the battalion. Olsen looked to the sky, and hoped that the aliens weren't looking back. The idea of being blasted into quarks while in transit was far more terrifying than being killed in battle.

He pushed it aside by assuring himself that he'd instead have a chance to talk to his wife and kids.

The thought brought tears to his eyes. Thank god he was wearing his NBC hood.

TAG: Anyone.


IC: Br'tak Hadaspree, Flagship Perennial Lament, Fleet of Joyous Purification

Ostensibly, it was called a council of war. In reality it was basically a boasting session. The Sangheili Zealots sat around the great table, the Prophet of Hope at its head. Hope was nominally the leader of the Fleet of Joyous Purification. But he was really only it's political and spiritual head. Virtually all the military decisions were made by the Sangheili Zealots. Most of the Zealots had come to brag of their accomplishments rather than discuss the next step. And there were accomplishments, to be sure. Many of the landigns had gone quite well. Territory had been taken, and there had been little organized resistance in many places. They boasted of sweeping gains, low casualties, and a successful campaign. Br'tak was considerably more reserved. It was further obvious that he was something of a disgrace, being the only zealot to withdraw his forces from the planet surface. He'd justified it by the incredible number of casualties he'd suffered, and his efforts to strike a psychological blow by leveling the human city.

And casualties there were. Before attending this council of war, he had boarded a hospital ship; the Merciful Supplication, and visited his wouded troops. The bay was filled with the wounded. More than the beds could handle. There were casualties laid out, gurgling and moaning, on the floor, while Sangheili physicians rushed about.

He talked with his elites. One who was lightly wounded-- he was missing a finger-- described fighting militia in structure-to-structure combat. SOme structures would have only unarmed and despairing humans who were quickly despatched. Others had armed humans who fought back. The elite described an encounter where his troops forced a structure, his scout Kig-Yar at the fore. He'd waxed poetic how he and this particular Kig-Yar had been on several campaigns together. But all that ended when a human suddenly popped up from his hiding place, and with an unintelligable battle cry, fired an area-burst weapon right into the Kig-Yar's face. The elite had dispatched the human quickly enough, but his Kig-Yar scout was mortally wounded, and the pellets of the weapon hand turned his face to pulp, so his final words were but gurgles and slurps.

Hadaspree had listened to this and other stories. All attested to the humans fighting spirit, all pointing to the fact that they were emphatically NOT intimidated by the Covenant. He talked to an elite

 

OOC: From 8th SOS Blackbirds & VMM-268 Valkries, Major Stephon Michelson commanding. To all Americans & lurkers: Happy Thanks Giving!

Tag: Anyone.

 

GM approved:

Name: Anthony Ramon Estiphon

Age: 30

Service: Navy

MOS: SEAL Assigned to DEVGRU/SEAL TEAM 6

Rank: Lt. Cmdr. in command of two SEAL Platoons on assignment.

Personal Weapons: HK 417 MK17 20 inch barrel "Sniper" Model 7.62mm x 51mm Starlight/Infra-red scope. High capacity snail magazine 100 rnds., backup magazines 30 rnds. x 8. HK MK23 Mod 0 .45 caliber SOCOM offensive handgun. KA BAR 2000 Combat Knife. Defensive Armor Dragon Scale Body Armor.

Group Weapons Include: HK 417 Mk17 12 inch barrel "Assaulter" w. 100rnd. high capacity snail magazine and 8 backups each, M32 MEI Six Pack Grenade Launcher w. High Explosive rounds, Arial Tactical Imaging rounds, Infra-red night vision and MEI Mercury 40mm Grenade Ammo good for 800 meters range. AS-50 AMR. Also an assortment of several different types of explosives and tech weaponry.

 

IC as LT. Cmdr. Anthony Estiphon:

LT. Cmdr. Anthony Estiphon watched the rear ramp lower to the departure position. The modified MC-130P 'Combat Shadow's' pilot, Air Force Captain Jonathon Reese had given him and his group of 32 Seals the five minute warning. They were at 25,000 feet of altitude and almost to their jump window.

"Get the equipment closer to the ramp," he miked.

Bowie and Mo dragged the equipment pallet closer to the ramp as the cargo master realed it out for the release.

"Four minutes!" He miked again. "Take your positions for jump".

The rest of the them began lining up and Anthony took his position with them. They'd already checked each others equipment as a safety protocal. They were ready. Below was a rare patch of ground not scorched by the 'Cuvvy' bombardment of New Orleans. Within that patch was their target of acquisition, a downed Covinant 'Spirit' Drop Ship. Their job was to secure the surrounding area from any kind of Covinant interference, so that Marines and Sea Bees could snatch and grab the Cuvvy Drop Ship and its contents and deliver both to wright Patterson Air Force Base for study, evaluation and back engineering posibilities.

"Seal Team! You are go for jump!" called the Pilot's voice over their ear pieces.

"Go, Go , Go!" shouted Estiphon.

The cargo master released the cargo pallet and deployed its droge shute. It rolled off the ramp. Bowie and Mo accompanied it out of the MC-130P's darkened cargo hold. Estiphon and the rest of the Seals followed immediately. All were wearing third generation night sight goggles with anti-dazzle circuitry to prevent blindness. At 25,000 feet, the team was using the altitude for the advantage of manuvering their cargo as close to their target as possible. Half way down its main shutes deployed and the rest of them had popped theirs as well.

In Game:

The Covinant hadn't forgotten its lost Drop Shuttle and had sent Recon Teams to sniff around. Two of the Covenant's Recon Teams had been killed in action by human combat elements operating out of the western flying transport station. The lost Drop Ship was shot down with a 'Stinger', a man portable surface to air missle. As a result the Drop Ship had crashed into a building and was partially concealed. It would only be a matter of time before it would be found, whether by Convinant or US Military Forces remained to be seen.

Tag Anyone:

 

In Game:

DEVGRU came down with their package. The area was a vacant field just west of New Orleans International Airport. It was east of a nearby shopping mall. They quickly gathered up they're chutes and buried them.

Estiphon inspected the equipment package they'd brought along. Four inflatable rubber boats with big honking Evinrude outboards. The Mighty Miss was a few dozen yards south of them. What lay north for the balance of the team to acquire in the way of transport was some auto dealerships. First Platoon was assigned the boats Second Platoon was assigned a Hummer dealership that was relatively unscratched, according to intel.

O-3 Sutton led Second Platoon north with their equipment to snatch some transport by land. No city lights were on as the power station was trashed from the cuvvy bombardment. Normally they would have chuted to site but the cuvvy shuttle was spotted by reconasense overflight as having crashed into the administrative building of the Shell-Norco oil refinery to their west. Not a good choice even for a Seal Team to just jump into, hence the discretion.

Thirty minutes later Second Platoon rolled up with four brand new civilian Hummers and a large capacity bus framed RV. They got lucky with the last one as it might come in handy if any wounded needed an alternative for transport away from the site to the pickup zone. With everything up and running both groups parted and took their respective routes to the Shell-Norco crash site. The game plan was to approach the crash site from the Miss and from US 61 by way of Apple St. to County Road 48 west to the crash site. Then came the fun part. Securing it! With that would come the Marines and Sea Bees by Osprey to move that puppy out of there.



OOC: Tag Deiskrad! Come out come out where ever you are! Hope you got a map of Norco City,
LA., because I do.

 

Figuring I was far enough away from the decimation of the fleet, I sat in the shadow of a station wagon, buried my aching head in my hands, and thought.

I wasn't entirely sure what to think, being divided among anger, anguish, and something along the lines of "Holy hell, I just wrestled one of those things and won!" After that, I raced my own ship to the murky depths of Lake Pontchartrain. . .and here I was.

Beat beyond senseless, but still alive.

Now what?

 

IC: Brtak ?Hadaspree, Commander third arm of the fleet of Joyous Purification, aboard Fleet Flagship Perennial Lament

?My actions were in accordance with established military doctrine.? ?Hadaspree stated. This conference had become something of an inquisition. The other military commanders questioned him. The Prophet of hope sat silently in his hover chair, taking it all in, and not speaking.

?The purpose of the campaign is to frighten and cow the populace into surrender. When the initial orbital bombardment and landings failed to do this, I authorized an evacuation to be followed by complete sterilization of the population center. No doubt when the Third Arm lands again, in a time and place of its choosing, resistance will be significantly less than at the first Landing Zone.?

?Hadaspree continued with his presentation and proposal. For the last cycle, he?d endured a pillory of questions and near accusations. Queries that cast doubt on the capability of his troops, of his battle plan, of his particular doctrine.

Not one of them could conceive that maybe the Humans had something to do with his difficulties. That was because few of them had to take on as technologically advanced a region as ?Hadaspree. Most of them were fighting enthusiastic amateurs in warmer regions, or very thinly populated areas in cold regions. Sure, there had been casualties. But they had all been political rather than honest, and underplayed them. Especially the commander of the Sixth Arm. Many of his flyers had overflown a large subcontinent in the larger continental mass. The mission had not been a landing, merely an effort to disrupt that region?s industrial capacity through plasma and fuel rod cannon strikes. The Covenant fliers had encountered fierce resistance from relatively advanced (for humans anyway) avionic weapons in the sky and anti-avionic weapons systems based on the ground. Casualties had been considerable, but the 6th Arm?s commander had boasted instead of the damage caused to the sub-continent?s industrial capacity. ?Hadaspree didn?t doubt that he was exaggerating the claim.

?It is therefore that I am having my staff at this moment draw up plans for planetfall at this location.?

?Hadaspree called up a topographical representation of the less continental mass. The Image zoomed in to an area south of a collection of large inland lakes.

?This nation appears to manage much of it?s transportation via a network of roads carrying hydrocarbon-fueled combustion engine vehicles. One of the largest of such road networks is located at this major population center?? The city in questioned was careted in red. ?We will land outside of this location in force, and capture this city, thus cutting a major portion of their road net, and disrupting the flow of essential goods in the middle of this nation.?

He paused for effect, and let it sink in. He was planning for the long-term to knock out this enemy. More than one sword-slash would be required.

?Further after capturing that population center, it puts us in excellent position to strike further. My analysts have identified this region--? Another area was careted, this one directly along the coast of the inland lakes. ??as the nation?s prime industrial center for military weapons and vehicles. We will move against it and knock this enemy out of the war.?

The hologram faded. His critics said nothing. Finally, the Prophet of Hope spoke for the first time during the entire Council of War.

?When will this operation be carried out??

?It will be carried out within ten rotations of this planet.?

TAG: anyone.

OOC: Ok, for those who need things laid out completely, here is what happened and is happening. The 6th Arm that ?Hadaspree referred to assigned a fairly large portion of its air force to bomb the various nations of Europe. They fought back fairly well and bloodied the Covenant intruders at considerable cost to themselves. Some of their industrial regions suffered though.

?Hadaspree?s plan is for an invasion to capture Indianapolis, the so-called

 

First and Second Platoons both reached the out skirts of Norco City's refinery. There was a tense silence that was only occasionally punctuated by the barking of an abandoned dog from the neighborhood east of the refinery. Estiphon's platoon pulled the rubber boats to shore and secured them.

"That new set of Mercuries all they've been cracked up to be, 'Spooky'?"

A young man of WO-3 rating turned and smiled at Estiphon.

"Even worse than the regular HEAT rounds sir. They've got 800 meters of range plus the bite to back it up."

"How's about swapping out and using an Air video round. We need to see what we've got out there."

Spooky complied and fired a special 40mm round up and over the refinery. It had a chute and a video for them to see what lay beneath and around. As the eye was rotated north they could see Second Platoon's Hummers and RV approaching along Third Street from Apple Street through the Notebook screen carried by Tucker their video electronics specialist.

"Sweep around counter clockwise, Tucker and give us a peek around the hood."

Tucker complied and the view changed. To the west was a distressing scene. There in an open field beyond a spill way leading towards the Miss, was what appeared to be a shuttle exactly the same as the one they'd come to secure and capture for DOD. His breath hissed. The others turned to him.

"We've got company coming from the west gentlemen," he said.

Suddenly they heard the neighborhood watchdog yelp and scream it's last. Out of the corner of his eye, Estiphon saw a flash of green light emminate from the general direction of the now silenced barking dog's last location.

"Make that company from the east too," he stated, matter of factly. His men got their gear together immediately.

"Buyers. Contact second Platoon and tell them our situation. Tell them to get into the administrative building pronto and secure it. We can't let all of our options be revealed just yet until its absolutely necessary."

Estiphon knew that a fire fight in a refinery was suicide. He'd have to use the refinery to his advantage instead.

"All right. We bleed them a little and make it look like their dealing with small time defenders. We draw them into the refinery and catch them in a cross fire. Silencers will be used exclusively for that part. Bowie, Mo you two get those AS 50s and head for high on top of those silos at each end of the refinery. You'll use your Night Sites and Thermalgraphic sites as our high level eyes in case they've got an edge. We save the best for last in case their doing the same. If it looks like we're going to be over run, I'll call in air support and request a 'Spector' or a 'Spooky' to clear us a way out. Ok, let's roll."

They went in as one and worked they're way towards the refinery's southern boundary to prevent a scissors maneuver from the 'Cuvvys'. Within fifteen minutes they had Bowie and Mo on station over watching the area.

"Talk to me Mo. How's it looking west of us?" asked Estiphon.

"The cuvvys have a pair of teams coming this way. Four Squats, three Werewolf types and one Hoof-foot each for each team. Their at about the spill way at this time. Eta about twenty unless they start running, then five."

"Bowie. How's the eastern hood looking?"

"We got two teams coming from the park to the east. Same as described earlier. Four, three and one. Same types of species as described by Mo, sir."

"Voodoo. Xima. Draw them into the my meat grinder," said Estiphon.

"Aye-aye, sir," they replied as one.

"Buyers. Call Glass Eye, tell them we'll need air support preferably a Spector or a Spooky and to go ahead and send in the extraction squadron too."

Tag: Sanctimoniously, Deiskrad, Anybody with a taste for combat!

OOC: OK The party's about to begin. I need some victims.