(IC) The Long and Winding Road... Ends. - Chapter 5 Finale - IMPORTANT!May 5 2002 at 12:02 PM
|Nathan Carver |
from IP address 220.127.116.11
This post contains a log that is meant to set the tone for the finale conflict in chapter 5. With the crash of the Intruder mothership in Brazil, the Earth seems victorious. However, Zi Kaenon and his fellow survivors are still hell-bent on exterminating humanity. After gathering a sizable force in the North American mid-west, a united group of formed of soldiers, Templars, mercenaries, and other volunteers now move southward, to face Kaenon's awakening fleet before it can come to full strength.
It is an engagement that will no doubt go down in the history of the After Colony era, shaping the future of both races for generations to come.
Feel free to show us your own character's role in this conflict. If you cannot make it into the chat for the action itself, supply the details via a message board post. Thanks!
(Please note that the following was made from an mIRC log, and may seem a bit disjointed)
Allard's warning is given, with immediate results. Across the encampment, hundreds of able soldiers and volunteers cut short their good-byes, and move to their assigned posts. Columns of steam rise throughout the city as different ships begin their pre-flight sequences. Mobile suits emerge from bunkers and paddocks, readying their weapons.
Throughout it all, the human story seems almost lost. A chorus of machinery drowns out the impression of who is behind them. Yet, it does not eclipse the spirit of what they are fighting for.>
Moments seem to drag on as tension extends its time to hours. More and more, troops move into place. Hatches seal, vessels close. Weapon mounts stand to attention, bristling and swiveling into place. Long lines of sensor eyes flare to life.>
[Garret] <He stands onboard the Victory-class carrier "Titan." Given the knowledge of his true deeds, held by such troublemakers as Yuji, he moves into battle under deception. He will reveal his presence in the heat of things. His role will be that of a true hero. It is all planned that way.>
<Nathan_Carver> [Garret] Launch. <His ship begins to lift off. Nearby, the first vessels in its attack wing follow. Mentally, he also sends his 'trigger' to the central core that nurtures his mind. The Swarm becomes aware, and sets its plans in motion. Now, to respond to their unwitting "avatar," Stockton.>
<Nathan_Carver> <He moves up the ramp of the Marquis, slight anxiety starting to grow. Pushing it down into his gut, he looks at the activity around him. Profound silence in a hive of activity. Lining up near a set of lockers, he retrieves a flight uniform, and looks to the mobile suit he had requested. Heather's own Silhouette, still serviced and ready for combat, waits.>
<Nathan_Carver> <Settling into the cockpit, he waits. It could be moments, or hours before the shooting starts. But, he will be ready. The Marquis begins to lift off.>
In Brazil's jungles, Vionhal stands high. Mist begins to pour out of the cavern opening in mothership as vessels emerge from the interior hanger. Dozens, possibly a hundred ships of various shapes and sizes. His own grand army, or what remains of it.
As the jungle sun shines down on his perched mobile suit, Kaenon turns the sensor head towards the north. A psychic command is given, a metal arm is raised. Standing upon the deck of a gunship, Vionhal gives its battlecry, and issues the charge.
A swirl of psilver seems to seep out of the ground near Colby Stockton's mobile suit. One of many that resides in underground resevoirs all over the planet. Bat-winged and insect-like creatures begin to form from it, slowly taking shape.
Other macabre creatures shamble out of other pools. Some stand as large as Colby's mobile suit, others even larger. They resemble the horrors fought years before, though tempered in their looks to seem less terrible. This effort does not help, though.
The Marquis, as the fastest of the vessels, takes the forefront of the line. Its comm systems send out the general order over and over, hoping to gain more support from any stragglers about.
Others follow it. Noah's Einzauber banks, and turns about. As the ship comes dangerously close to it, he reconfigures, and lands in a sheltered crevice on its hull.
(IC) And So It Begins...
|May 5 2002, 1:12 PM |
<Heather_Niall> <On the Marquis, suits started moving out of launch bays and off the catapult, a mixture of Dancers, Fury's, and some older models. All gathering in front of the Marquis, the leader in the assault against Kaenon and his forces.>
<Intruder_Forces> <The sheer possibility of their numbers is staggering, as the form of several dozen ships loom in the horizion, closing in. The bell of combat is ringing out it's final toll, as the forms of hundreds of suits swarm around their respective transport. They itch for battle.>
<Heather_Niall> <Rifles, cannons, and other weaponry are brought online as the UAAF and its allies move over the midwest of America, facing the horde that looms on the horizon. Sensor readings go off the scale as reports start coming in, the radar picking up on all of the signatures.>
<Colby_Stockton> <The Seraphim halts, hovering in the air. Beside and behind him lay the army of Swarm troops. Assortments of various clawed and winged psilver creatures make their stand>
<Heather_Niall> <Kaenon, in the rear of the Intruder forces, watches as the first line of offense and defense collide, members on both sides falling into twisted hunks of metal and bio-metal remains.>
<Intruder_Forces> <The ships pause just out of range of the UAAF fleet, as if waiting for something. More suits take the opportunity to launch from the now visible suit transports, creating their own line of force in the bright noon sky. They are to be the catalyst in the destruction of the human race, though some among their number are not so sure. The first wave advances, crashing into the UAAF's first line of defenders. Or are they the the agressors?>
<Colby_Stockton> <The aged suit raises it's right hand and sword high in the air while the left lay lowered. He was waiting for the right moment. Almost like hearld and field commander, he would tell the troops to attack>
<Colby_Stockton> <With a quick lowered motion of the right arm and sword, the Swarm creatures all fly in and attack. This is where the true ferocity will be taking place. And with them following in the mass is the Seraphim. Jumping into the fray, it begins to hack and slash at anything alien 'cept the Swarm of course>
<Heather_Niall> <Suits with the UAAF emblem, Reaver ties, and custom paint jobs collide with with the first wave, a deep sense of protecting that which was the cradle of humanity urging them on to do their best, to wipe out the ones that threatened not only themselves but everything they held dear.>
<Intruder_Forces> <The first wave begins to falter, but just as the human forces believe they have a chance, the second wave rolls into the battle, with the force and fury of a thunderstorm. They will be the monsoon that will cleanse the planet of the mistake that is the human race. Death is their sword, and virtue their shield.>
<Heather_Niall> <The first wave falters, breaking under the second wave of Intruders, some falling back, others making a brief last stand, taking out as many as they can before they themselves were wiped from existence.>
(OOC) And then a server split occurred, RPing came to a screeching halt, and since I dislike to god-mode as much as the next person, that's where it ended.
(IC) Of Promises Made and Broken
|May 6 2002, 7:59 PM |
Above, in the skies above southern Texas, over what was called the Hill Country, stood a force of some fifty mobile suits. The air was alive with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Anticipation for the upcoming battle, at the sight of so many Intruder mechs' breaking through the first and second lines of defense. Dread at that same sight, since most likely some of them wouldnt live to see the sun set on the end of this day.
A dark blue Dancer-S with white trim stood at the front, hovering on its thrusters, Jensen rifle held at a ready position, I-field up and running. It was a rule, in one of the books used by both the UAAF forces and the MI that if there werent an officer around to lead, then the next available substitute would be used. So the task fell to her, as the agent in the area, to assume her rarely used authority and assume the position of commander of the forces that Allard had sent back here, as one of the last lines of defense.
Truly, she wished she were a hundred miles south, near where the major battle was occurring, but Allard had decreed that which was true: the Dancer-S wasnt made for extended battles. So shed been sent back to the rear, in front of the ships readied to take in survivors, if any, and had medical staffs on the standby. To take care of any mechs that got past the first two waves.
And here they came.
Heather watched the panoramic screens as the specks on the horizon slowly grew larger, each taking on their respective form, the computer tagging each one. Adons, Helios, and Shrikes, among the others. A widespread variety, each intent on their victory.
And victory they would achieve. There was to be no quarter given, and none taken in return. This battle was to be bloody, but final. There would be no 'second chance.' The first of the front line suits crash against the inferior human defenders.
She made her choice, deciding on one that seemed to be a leader, a Helios with distinctive markings, much like the one Dias had piloted at one time. Raising the rifle, she fired upon the suit, the other arm bringing up the shield to ward off any fire.
The Helios seems to mock her, taking the incoming fire and brushing them off, like the bullets were mere flies. Like a blazing inferno, the suit charges into the Dancer-S, its Burst Field rapidly melting away shield armor, and it's Zorin blade posed to strike.
Falling backwards towards the pine forest below, thrusters engaged at the last moment, veering off and upwards, the rifle stowed away onto its back holder, one rapier brought out for use, clashing with the Zorin blade. Inside the cockpit, Heather grimaced, being jostled around.
Disengaging the Burst Field, as it was only good for a short amount of time anyway, the second Zorin blade comes online as well. And, by the look of the incoming Helios, the pilot is well skilled in handling both blades simultaneously. Striking first with the left blade, at the torso, the second follows through with a slash aimed at the sensor head, to scar the 'eyes'.
Damnit! Using the beam shield to ward off one blade, she brought the rapier coming up to engage the other one again, wincing at the blows. She only prayed that the shield would hold out and that she could do some damage. She feinted low, then struck high, near the cockpit. Around her, others met their fates, both human and Intruder, mechs falling towards the ground in graceful plummets of twisted metal and shattered remains.
Pivoting, with slight thruster help, the right blade easily sweeps the rapier aside, quickly raising both above it's own head in an 'X' formation. Gaining up its strength, it sweeps the blades down in a viscous arc, aimed to slice the suit into quarters.
Heather brought the shield up again, rapier also blocking, crouching then lashing out with the right leg, catching the Helios in the middle, sending it backwards, first by her actions, and then of its own accord. A cannon replaces a Zorin blade, as the incoming shells hurtle at Heather with profound speed.
The Dancer-S ducked and rolled out of the way, spinning about on verniers, the armor and I-field on the back taking the last few shells, jolting her forward, one screen popping up to display the damage done to the systems. She completed the roll, the shoulder mounted Vulcans firing rapidly at the suit.
The shots were insignificant, as it had reactivated it's Burst Field while the Dancer had been doing its evasive maneuvers, following it carefully, and fast. Seemingly absorbing the fire, taking little damage, it tries to barrel into the Dancer, and utterly shoulder-ram it into the forest below.
She engaged thrusters again, this time to the maximum level, not wanting to be part of the landscape just yet, if ever. I...won't let you.... The Dancer-S grappled with the Helios, using its momentum to send it towards the ground in her place.
Even as it falls, doubtlessly trying to correct it's descent, it fires off shot after shot from it's cannon. However, as it disappears into the foliage, a sickening 'crack' is heard. Heather brought the Dancer-S over towards the site, looking down for a brief moment, making sure that the Helios was out of commission. A brief explosion is heard, and then seen, as the pine groves erupt into flame. Nodding to herself, the first one taken care of, then turns her attention to the others, picking out her targets.
A moment passed, then the radar and sensors screamed warnings as from the fiery blaze comes the ever-determined Helios, holding the sensor head of a fellow Dancer in it's only surviving hand. She turned, startled, bringing up the wavering beam shield at the last moment, firing off rounds from the Jensen. Holy-!
Over the communications link comes a watery, but nonetheless malicious laugh, full of confidence and hatred. Like a baseball, it hurls the now defunct head at Heather, looping away from her reactive fire.
Verniers fire, veering away from the MS head, letting it hurtle past. Damnit... She watched the Helios, listening over the communication channel as others won and lost their battles. Coming back around from a full loop, it squares off with Heather, the remaining Zorin blade coming online. A duel, perhaps?
Heather paused a moment, then stows the rifle again to its rack on the back of the suit, activating both rapier blades, letting the beam shield power down, yet ready to bring it back up at a moments notice. Okay...I took out Dias...I can take you on.
A raspy voice, still watery, came over the channel. No you cannot. As if on cue, two Hellion whips latch onto her suit's arms at the wrist, easily prohibiting movement. There is no honor in war.
Damn you...She stared down at the trap for a brief moment, then activated systems. The Dancer's hands pivoted, blades circling around, starting to cut through the Hellion whips.
Again, that voice over the communications channel
Damn me all you wish...we'll meet again...in what you humans call "Hell." So saying, the Helios darted in at Heather, blade aimed straight for the center of the cockpit.
Feeding more power to the rapiers, desperately watching, as the Helios grew larger on the screens with one eye, the other one trained on the progress of the cutting. Finally, at the last moment, the whips broke free...>
The blade struck home, starting to cleave into the cockpit armor. However, the now-free rapier has its own plans, as the suit is nearly split in two; the Blast Field had badly damaged the suit's structural integrity. In a last ditch effort, she plunged both rapiers into the waist of the Helios, seeking and finding the containment bottle that powered the suit. Energy rippled out, sending the battered remains of the Dancer-S towards the ground, splintering trees and kicking up a dust cloud before settling around the silent machine.
Inside the cockpit, warning sirens blared the pilot awake, wincing at the cacophony. Reaching up, she shut down systems then triggered the hatch, letting warm air flood in. Crawling out painfully, feeling each bruise, each cut, she slid down the side of the suit, she came to a rest near one of the trees that had broken her fall. Far above her, fights continued, explosions far-off and muffled by distance.
I made it
she muttered, coughing. Bringing up her left arm, she looked at the special wrist guard that was on her flight suit, the hard plastic covering the small vials beneath. Activating the small computer on the arm below it, she selected one of icons, feeling the tiny prick, then the cold sensation as painkillers were administered. The effect was instantaneous and welcomed as her aches faded away into darkness.
Agent Heather Niall, of the MI, rested against the trees near the remains of her suit, a small smile on her face, as the sun slowly lowered towards the horizon.
One last flight...
|May 7 2002, 4:14 PM |
Turner left Nathan and walked back to the open cargo door of his ship. Crews hurridly unloaded the cargo from Luxembourg, one man breaking off from the group and walking over to Turner as he approached the Penance.
"Captain Weyland?" The man asked. Turner stopped and turned to face the man.
"Sergeant Wilson, sir" The man continued,"I'll be leading the tech crew you're carrying in."
"Ah," Turner sighed,"Right. My passengers."
"We're almost finished loading," Wilson said,"we'll be ready to go whenever you are."
"Right," Turner said simply,"I'll get the engines warmed back up and we'll be out."
Turner walked on to the Penance, climbing in through the side cargo hatch and made his way to the bridge. One by one, he went to each console, running through the normal pre-flight check. Checks completed, he returned to the pilot's seat to await the launch order. On a console near his right hand, a small red light sat blinking. He tapped the relay next to it, resetting the system. The light went dark.
"One more trip," Turner whispered,"Hold together for one more trip."
"Penance, this is flight control, you are cleared. Have a good trip"
Turner jumped slightly as the voice crackled through his headset. He took a minute to compose himself.
"Flight control, this is Penance," Turner replied,"Message acknowledged. See you soon."
Turner fired the lift thrusters, bringing the large cargo ship off the landing field. Once airborne, he waited for the navigation systems to compensate for the additional weight. Green lights flashed on the nav console and the ship's ascent seemed to smooth out. Turner eased the main throttles forward, firing the ship's main engines. Again, the now-familiar groan sounded through the ship as it strained under the weight of the retro-fitted armor. This time however, the Penance seemed to shudder slightly.
"Damn it," Turner hissed," I've got other people on board. Just let me get them there safely."
The main engines fired again, pushing the ship further skyward. The ship cleard the outer marker of the landing field and turned in the direction of the crash site. Once more, Turner pushed the throttle forward and the ship lept forward and away from the base.
The immense wreckage of the alien ship lay like a twisted black scar on the face of the Earth. Turner brought the Penance in fast. Hostilities had been reported. Amazingly enough, something had survived that crash and still wanted to fight. By the time the Penance was cleared from its holding pattern, the fighting was mostly over. Turner keyed the ship-board com system.
"Alright, we've arrived," He announced, "but the reports are that the landing zone is still hot. I'm going in fast, dropping you off and pulling out. Be ready."
Behind Turner, through the open hatchway, the tech crew moved out into the passageway toward the cargo bay. The big cargo bay door began to open as the men assembled their gear for a quick exit. Turner dropped altitude quickly, pulling the Penance a short distance away from the huge alien craft. Just above the ground, he fired the landing thrusters wide open. System indicators flashed red all over the bridge. The ship groaned and a massive shudder passed down its length. Next to Turner, the little red light began flashing again. He punched the relay, but this time the light kept blinking. He stared at it for a moment.
"Go!" Turner yelled into the ship-board com, "I have to get clear. Go now!"
The tech crew rushed out of the open cargo door onto the ruined ground near the alien craft. Once down, they split off into smaller groups assessing damage to mobile suits and other vehicles.
Turner pushed the landing thrusters to the limit once more, pushing the ship up and away from the wreckage. Almost immediately, warning siren began to sound on the bridge. The few indicators that had remained green after the descent began to flash red.
"That damn armor..."Turner spat.
With a sudden jolt, one of the landing thrusters blew itself apart in a ball of flame. The ship pitched forward, nosing down toward the ruins of the alien ship.
"No, no, no", Turner repeated as he pulled back on the control lever and fired the main engines to compensate for the drift. The nose of the ship slowly began to pull up and the Penance began to limp forward away from the landing zone.
Another landing thruster burned itself out in a shower of sparks and metal debris.
The Penance rolled to port. On the bridge, Turner fought the controls in an attempt to right the craft. Another tremor rocked the ship and one by one, the system indicators began to go dark. The control stick locked. The main engines and the two remaining landing thrusters shut down. Emergency failsafes activated. Turner released the control stick and grabbed his crash harness with both hands. He ducked his head down onto his chest as the the view through the front viewscreen darkened just before impact.
Two members of the tech crew that had just landed watched in amazement as the Penance met its demise. They dropped their equipment, and with a few other soldiers that were already on the ground, ran to the smoking wreck. Two men pulled the side cargo hatch open and climbed inside. They slid down the now-inverted ceiling of the main passageway to the remains of the bridge. One man dropped inside.
Turner hung upside-down from the pilot's seat, the crash harness holding him somewhat awkwardly in the chair. Blood ran from unseen wounds on his body, pooling on the ceiling below. The man carefully made his way over. He reached out tenatively, pressing his fingers to the side of Turner's neck. The man recoiled in shock.
"Hey!" He called out,"Get a medic! He's alive!"
From outside the ship, word was passed through the approaching group. A medic hurriedly made his way to the ship and crawled inside. Time passed as the men worked to extricate Turner from the twisted remains of his ship. Finally, a stretcher bearing Turner was rushed onto another nearby transport that had been tasked with taking survivors out of the combat zone. The medic accompanied the stretcher on board.
"We need to go now," He called, "This one isn't going to last much longer."
Nurses and other medical personnel moved through the transport, attending to the wounded. A few found their way to the stretcher where Turner lay, unconscious.
In the cockpit, the pilot of the transport powered up the engines and took off. The transport turned away from the damaged, smoking wreck burned into the Earth and climbed skyward.