Turn 3: Where Eagles Fly

The fifth mission.
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Corporal Hicks
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Re: Turn 3: Where Eagles Fly

Post by Corporal Hicks » Sat Dec 27, 2014 9:50 am

Eric Roberts lay in his bunk. He had worked out for an hour or two, then took a shower and laid down. He was staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. He decided to get up make himself busy. He walked down to the armory and turned in a requisition form to the officer on duty. He had requested a tear-gas grenade. Once the Corps sorted it out, he would be notified about whether he would get it.

Roberts walked back to the bunk-room and plopped back on his bed. He lay face down on the pillow for a minute before bothering to roll over. He kept thinking about reading his Bible to pass the time, but he didn't get it out.
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Quinn
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Re: Turn 3: Where Eagles Fly

Post by Quinn » Sun Dec 28, 2014 3:23 pm

Normal prisons are dangerous enough. Put a bunch of people who don’t care for the rules of society and instead follow the rule of Darwin into a closely confined space. Make sure that they’re bored as hell and have a lot of time on their hands. Make sure you have a bunch of different ethnicities that don’t get along, some people who are from different gangs who are at war with one another and make them all share a single room. Add in prison guards who don’t get paid enough to give a shit, and you have one hell of a ticking time bomb on your hands.

Now, add in the training a government can provide on the best ways to kill a person with or without weapons. And give this skill set to the inmates. This is what makes military prisons especially dangerous to be in. However, since the inmates are indoctrinated to accept order in some way (although some of them didn’t take, hence their presence within such a facility) means that riots and violence are mercifully few. But when they happen, the fecal matter hits the air oscillation device at high speed.

Now, that’s a military prison for you. But the Brig aboard a starship or military base is equivalent to your local county jail. It’s a bit more lax in security, but the guards are all combat veterans. Quality over quantity if you will. But there’s also less amenities. No books, no electronic entertainment. This means it’s a whole lot more boring. And for one CWO 5th (a goddamn rarity in the Corps as it was), it was four months of boring. It was welcome, since the alternative would have been a stint in Leavenworth Prison on Earth.

Sixtus spent most of the time working himself physically to exhaustion. He’d run around the yard when he was allowed outside, do push ups, sit ups and other calisthenics when he was inside. This got him into incredible shape. He stayed inside his cell for the most part, refusing to mix with the other prisoners. Bright side was that there weren’t many other prisoners in the Brig, so Quinn had a cell all to himself. This earned him a few jibes tossed his way and one attempted fight. The guards separated the two before it could be settled. Luckily, this was in the last week of Quinn’s stay. At the end of the week, Sixtus left and exchanged his orange jumpsuit for his uniform. The gold bars were missing, replaced by the silver bar with red stripe of a Chief Warrant Officer 5th Class. Quinn was now fairly certain he was one of the very few Marines who had been an Enlisted man, and Officer and now a Warrant Officer.

Without much time to ponder on this, he adjusted his hat and met with the Master Chief outside. He was escorted to a briefing room, which seemed overly large for the handful of people within. Sixtus saluted Burns as was appropriate, but once again had his beard, not having been allowed to shave for the past week. It grated on him, but he resolved to make the best of the situation. He nodded and exchanged grips with Dirk, then turned and listened to Burns.

”Thank you sir.” was his only reply. His voice was cold and a touch gravelly, his eyes containing a fire within. Of course he was angry, although more angry at a Marine Corps that would sacrifice one of their own’s career for the sake of politics. So in the spirit of keeping the meeting civil, Sixtus kept to as few words as possible.

He patiently listened to the Colonel’s briefing, his eyes taking in the map as he listened. He didn't interrupt, assuming that the few questions he had would be answered somewhere in the brief.

As it happened, Dirk’s question answered a very pertinent question. Was this an infiltration mission or an assault? The answer made it a mix of the two. It was a raid. Likely they would have to slog in on foot and be damned quiet about the entire thing, without vehicles since there were cave systems. He could hear Morse bitching already.

”Yes sir, one question. Can we get recent infrared scans of the sector where the base is believed to be?”

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Re: Turn 3: Where Eagles Fly

Post by Pale Rider » Mon Dec 29, 2014 11:26 pm

Colonel McGehee nodded an affirmative before speaking, "We will have a satellite passing within range three hours before insertion. As soon as we get it I will upload the information. I will also be present to oversee the mission. If there are no further questions you are dismissed!"

<Tag Quinn and Dirk>
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Re: Turn 3: Where Eagles Fly

Post by Quicksilver » Tue Dec 30, 2014 8:17 pm

It was a strange four months for Mark, primarily because it was the first large block of relatively normal time he'd had since joining the Eights. Like many of his fellow marines, he started in the gym, but sore muscles quickly gave way to more interesting pursuits in books and fiddling with electronics. There was something about fiddling with wires, circuits and solder that was relaxing to him.

Sam has also keep them busy – kept them working as a squad so they'd be ready when the politically-demoted Quinn returned. Although there was no official rule on the subject, everything pointed to that being what they were waiting for. The whole unit was serving a four month sentence of a kind, even if Quinn was the only one serving it in the brig.
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Re: Turn 3: Where Eagles Fly

Post by taimdala » Tue Dec 30, 2014 10:47 pm

(I'm finally playing a Marine alongside y'all! Fresh New Meat, coming up! LOL!)

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Then
Planet: Goliath
Location: CSC Space
Date: August 7, 2186
Time: 0600, Local


"Behave yourself."

"Behave?" Prepped for surgery and stomach down on the table, Dmitri struggled to stay awake against the drugs they'd given him. Oksana leaned over him, her face hidden behind a surgical mask but her eyes were crinkling in that way they tended to when she smiled. She squeezed his hand and he hated the glove separating her from him. He would rather have his last impression be the warmth of her skin instead of the latex on his fingers.

"I've seen you flirting with that nurse," Oksana said, her tone more amused than admonishing. "Remember who you arrived with, yes?"

"Save the last … dance for you … Promise …" Dmitri squeezed her hand as the drugs took him down and the world fell away.


Date: August 7, 2186
Time: 1930, Local


Dmitri blinked awake in a bed in the recovery ward. The beep and hum from the machines and monitors greeted him. Tubes and lines snaked under the sheets. A chair and a small cart with a glass and water carafe stood at bedside. Privacy curtains were drawn all around.

Oksana wasn't there.

Frowning, he blinked hard to clear his vision and looked around again. He was alone. There was no sign of Oksana having been there at all. No jacket on the chair suggesting she'd momentarily stepped away. No blanket or pillow that had once marked her bivouac at his side. He listened past the curtains. Her voice was nowhere within earshot, a sharp contrast to her constant dialogue with the surgeons in charge of his procedure.

Where was she?

He swept the cubicle again and spied the envelope lying on the cart. He stirred and felt a distant tingle from his toes. Ignoring the sensation, he grabbed the envelope and saw it was addressed to him. Inside was a letter. It was short.

Dmitri,

I cannot take it anymore, the fighting, your anger, the bitterness between us. I am leaving you …



Dmitri had no memory of bolting out of bed and ripping the curtains aside.. He only knew that the Universe had gone suddenly, stunningly wrong, his heart screaming denial even as he screamed her name. It took two orderlies to wrestle him down. He felt one man's nose give way under his fist before he felt a sting in his neck … and then felt nothing at all.




Now
Planet: Goliath
Location: CSC Space
Date: January 1, 2187
Mission Time: 00:0
0


Dmitri had just arrived on the last transport to find the Marines of the Easy Eights scattered about on their various tasks. There was no one to greet him, but he didn't think it odd. He hadn't messaged ahead that he'd be coming. And truth to tell, he preferred a little time alone to adjust to the new reality before having to explain it to the others.

Reality was he'd regained the use of his legs but he'd lost his wife. In a sickening reversal of the Universe, he was now the bereaved party suffering the absence of a beloved spouse and yet … he felt the letter in his breast pocket, a constant talisman of everything wrong.

It had been addressed to him, the writing was in a woman's hand, but Dmitri did not believe Oksana had written it any more than he believed in the Easter Bunny. The writing, though womanly, wasn't his woman's. The language was English, not Russian, which he and she used in all the notes they left for each other since the beginning of their courtship and beyond.

Her leaving him was completely out of character. She'd refused to believe he was dead, had waited two months for him despite overwhelming evidence that he'd gone down with his ship. She'd braved punishing seas and ungodly creatures to bring him home. She'd saved his life after he'd been impregnated. She'd stayed by his side while he'd put them both through hell afterward.

No. That letter had not been written by the woman who'd done all those things, the woman he loved and married. Dmitri believed with everything he had that Oksana had not willingly left him. The letter had to be a fake. Someone else had written it to explain her absence.

Where had she gone—or more to the point, where had she been taken? By whom? Why?

All through his rapid recovery after he'd woken up alone, to the amazement of the doctors who had scarce hoped for so favorable an outcome from their experimental procedure, Dmitri had pushed himself to the utmost to regain his legs. He would need them to carry out his mission: Find Oksana. Make the bastards who took her from him pay.

Bloodthirsty, perhaps, but Dmitri wasn't the sort who took obstacles lying down. Neither, he knew, was his wife. She was out there somewhere, trying to get back to him. He was out here, where it all began. With God's blessing, they'd find each other again.

Which explained why he wore the Marine uniform: as soon as he could get free of the hospital, he enlisted and got himself through boot camp as hard and fast as he could go. When the time came for his first posting, he requested and was granted assignment to the Eights. It took some doing, but his first hand experience with the Xenos—up close and personal, survived at high cost—and his skills from his prior career had been leverage he'd had no compunctions against using. So now he was back where he could finally get underway.

Dmitri found the barracks, stowed his gear in an unclaimed locker, and struck off to find someone from the Eights he knew. He had to report for duty.

He'd caught word that Quinn had been court martialled on bullshit charges over the Snakefighter, and therefore wasn't sure who would be in command of the Eights. Dirk, he thought, or Sam. He strode the halls with a military snap and at a fast clip, his carriage upright and his body fit. One would be hard pressed to believe he'd spent months as a cripple.

He found Sam in the mess hall, grabbing what appeared to be a cup of tea. He remembered she preferred it over coffee, though she didn't take it the proper (Russian) way. He noted all this in a second and closed the distance between them, stopping short and smartly coming to attention.

"Private Dmitri Mikailovich Barayev, reporting for duty, ma'am."

<TAG: Sam>
<TAG: anybody else in mess hall>

((OOC: Apologies for the length. I had a lot of ground to cover.))
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Re: Turn 3: Where Eagles Fly

Post by maxvale76 » Fri Jan 02, 2015 8:35 pm

Sam was enjoying a few blissful moments of not having to think or worry about anything in the mess hall; just sipping a cup of tea when a new PVT walked over and reported for duty to her. She almost spit out the tea when she heard and saw who it was.

"Dmitri?....What....where....why...how...."; Samantha sputtered in confusion; realized she was sounding like a complete idiot; and took a breath to start over. "At ease Dmitri; have a seat. You should probably go check in with Dirk...Sergeant Pitt that is; or Lieute-...I mean Warrant Officer Quinn in a minute; but enjoy a bite to eat first if you want. I'm sorry to ramble like this; I just was never expecting to see you out here with the Eights....not like this anyway"; she said with a wry smile. "What brought you into the Corps and how's Oksana doing?"

<Tag Dmitri>
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Re: Turn 3: Where Eagles Fly

Post by taimdala » Fri Jan 02, 2015 9:02 pm

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Dmitri relaxed as ordered and at the last, he clamped his jaw shut on a pained outburst. Sam had no reason to know why he was here and he wasn't going to rip into her for that.

Besides, she outranked him.

He also recalled the Sergeant and Oksana had been friends, at least as much as their careers and circumstances allowed, and it was entirely natural for Sgt. Hall to inquire after her.

Unable to stop himself from waving Sam to a chair first, Dmitri waited until she was settled before sitting down.

"Sana is ... She is gone." Dmitri had to stop, swallowing against a sudden hoarseness. He took a deep breath and continued.

"This," he said, pulling the letter from his breast pocket and handing it to Sam. "This is evidence that she has left me but I do not believe it. She may be gone, yes, but not of her own free will. She disappeared here, on Goliath. If she has been taken, if she is still alive, nothing short of the Marines will get her out of wherever she is being held. If the people who took her die when I get her back ..." Dmitri allowed himself a quick nasty grin before wiping his expression clean again. "I won't cry over it."

He held up a hand, forestalling comment.

"And yes, I know that I cannot choose where I go from here. I am a Marine and I must go where I am sent. But out here, on the move, I have a better chance of finding her and I have options I would not as a simple civilian, yes?"

<TAG: Sam>

((OOC: Hi Sam! Hope your New Year was shiny!))
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Re: Turn 3: Where Eagles Fly

Post by Dirk Pitt » Wed Jan 07, 2015 11:31 pm

Dirk saluted crisply while saying "Yes sir" Then taking two steps back he did a quick about face and walked out of the office. The progression from dismissal to walking out the door was highly ritualized, but none the less necessary.

Moving down the corridors Dirk lit a cigarette. He wasn't sure if the smoking lamp was lit, and he really didn't care. If the brass hammered Quinn for making sure that the enemy didn't get their hands on the Snakefighter then he was sure that they would find something to get him for.

Coming to the mess hall Dirk crushed out his cigarette and walked in, still trailing a cloud of smoke. The first thing he saw was Sam talking to a Marine he didn't recognize right off the bat.

"What do you got there Sam? A new face?
<Tag Sam>
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Re: Turn 3: Where Eagles Fly

Post by EVSA » Thu Jan 08, 2015 3:16 pm

”Coleslaw.” Morse immediately referred to Colson by what Morse considered his name to be. ”This here’s… uh, I don’t remember his name. Bluegrass fits him fars’ I’m concerned, given he’s new as shit n’s commin’ from some way out Colony I’m sure’s got enough radiation what’d turn it all em plants funky colors. Just the latest rifle on the line. Aint seen him shoot nothin’, just hopin’ that its semi straight.”
The new face took the nickname in stride. Bluegrass wasn't all that offensive, given Morse's apparent level of comfort with vulgarity. Sounded better than Coleslaw anyways...

"Semi strait, Aye aye. I can pull that off boss." Bell was hoping to finish is work on the trucks and get into the gym before trafic hour, plus he realized there was no point in expressing any for of objections to Morse's assesment of him.
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Re: Turn 3: Where Eagles Fly

Post by Corporal Hicks » Fri Jan 09, 2015 4:34 am

Roberts got bored laying in bed and decided to go to the mess hall. Upon entering, he noticed the new marine. He poured a cup of coffee and sat down across from the others. As he took a sip, he thought he recognized the marine. "Wait, I know you, don't I?" he asked. "You look familiar."

<Tag Dmitri>
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Re: Turn 3: Where Eagles Fly

Post by MarcusOTerra » Fri Jan 09, 2015 2:24 pm

Sal ran through his daily maintenance routine of his equipment. Technically it was all Marine property and issue but he checked out his rifle and side arm and cleaned them himself. He measured the firing pins and made sure everything was in working kit.

Just another thing to do. No new updates for Medic Marines: Supplies were present and arriving as scheduled. No shortages, no recalls, no improvements. Same old Same old.

After he'd finished with his weapons and checked them back in with the quartermaster, he sought out a means to cure his boredom. Not far off, in the maintenance bay, Sal could see the familiar frame of Morse and Colson.

Sal took off at a pace most would refer to as a 'mosey', a book of matches in his hand. He'd strike one, let it burn till he felt the tips of his fingers twitch, then toss it into a puddle of mud. He kept that up, eyes of the fire. It wasn't a Flamer, not even a little. Not even a BIT.

He had the matchbook burning in his hand when he reached the bay, and dropped it in a barrel of rain water meant for dousing fires.

"Morse," Sal trudged forward, "You running a betting pool on when they're gonna drag us out of this Sol-Less pit and go back to killing shit?" Sal had taken to some of Morse's anti colonial slurs. 'Sol-less' being one of them.
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Re: Turn 3: Where Eagles Fly

Post by taimdala » Fri Jan 09, 2015 3:22 pm

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Dirk Pitt wrote: Coming to the mess hall Dirk crushed out his cigarette and walked in, still trailing a cloud of smoke. The first thing he saw was Sam talking to a Marine he didn't recognize right off the bat.

"What do you got there Sam? A new face?
<Tag Sam>
Dmitri looked around at a familiar voice and seeing Dirk, he rose and acknowledged the Sergeant. "Sir," Dmitri said. "Private Dmitri Mikhailovich Barayev. Just got in. It's good to see you."

It was, really. Military life was a hard adjustment for Dmitri. Subordinating his nature to the strictures of military culture wasn't easy. He'd always been profoundly confident in his own mind, methods, and manner. Boot camp, grueling though it was, couldn't entirely scrub those aspects away. Aware that it might not quite follow protocol between a lowly private and a sergeant, Dmitri offered his hand for a shake anyway.

"How are you, sir?"
Corporal Dwayne C. Hicks wrote:Roberts got bored laying in bed and decided to go to the mess hall. Upon entering, he noticed the new marine. He poured a cup of coffee and sat down across from the others. As he took a sip, he thought he recognized the marine. "Wait, I know you, don't I?" he asked. "You look familiar."

<Tag Dmitri>
"Sir. Dmitri Barayev." Dmitri offered his hand for a shake in turn. Seeing the Lance Corporal needed a hint, he added, "Oksana Barayeva's husband."

Husband. Not Widower. Never that. Not until he held her body in his arms and confirmed her death, at any rate.

<TAG: Dirk>
<TAG: Roberts>
<TAG: Sam>
ImageCpl. Dmitri Mikhailovich Barayev
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Re: Turn 3: Where Eagles Fly

Post by maxvale76 » Fri Jan 09, 2015 3:27 pm

Samantha read the letter that Dmitri had handed her and she had to agree; that it certainly was NOT the kind of letter the Oksana that she knew would write. Her eyes held sympathy for what Dmitri was going through, as well as anger and worry over her friend's fate; but any comments she might have made to the new Marine were cut off by first Dirk's arrival and then Roberts.

She had been about to make introductions, but Dmitri deftly handled that himself. Wanting to try and steer the conversation away from Oksana's fate; for Dmitri's sake; she handed the letter back to the new Private and then turned to Dirk and quickly asked; "So Sarge; any word on where we're going or when and what the mission might be?" She made a subtle motion with her eyes to the letter and shook her head slightly; trying to convey a simple Don't ask message to Pitt without uttering anything about it.

<Tag Dirk, Roberts and Dmitri>

OOC: Hey there Taimdala; I had a fine New Year's....nothing super exciting, but it was nice. How was yours?
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Re: Turn 3: Where Eagles Fly

Post by taimdala » Fri Jan 09, 2015 3:51 pm

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Dmitri noticed Sam's smooth deflection off the painful topic of his wife and grateful for it. Not that he could do anything right that second to thank her for it. There was a time and a place for everything. Instead, he took the letter back without comment. He'd handled it so many times that the paper didn't need much guidance from his fingers to fold into that familiar square, neither did he have to look to find the pocket. The letter was simply there and then it was out of sight.

But not out of mind. Though only four months issued, his uniform already bore a faint outline of the letter, worn in by his touch, a ghost to remind him of what he'd lost and for whom he searched.

Dmitri touched his pocket again without looking or thinking, felt the crinkle of the letter, and paid attention to the present again. News, even if it wasn't about Oksana, was welcome.

<TAG: Sam, Dirk, Roberts>

((OOC: Busy! Two family birthdays bracketing Christmas and then New Years with the in-laws. Fun!))
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Re: Turn 3: Where Eagles Fly

Post by Corporal Hicks » Sat Jan 10, 2015 2:41 am

taimdala wrote:"Sir. Dmitri Barayev." Dmitri offered his hand for a shake in turn. Seeing the Lance Corporal needed a hint, he added, "Oksana Barayeva's husband."
Eric shook his hand as his brain took a few seconds to recall the names. "Ohhh, alright! I remember you. Good to see you." He was about to ask how Oksana was doing, but he wanted to hear Dirk's answer to Sam's question. He sipped his coffee.
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