Turn 1: The Tide of Fate

[Corporal Hicks]

Date: December 25, 2189
Time: 1700 hours
Location: UA Military Headquarters, Summit, Micor System

After the marginally successful mission on Utica, the Marines returned to cryosleep until they could reach the nearest settled planet. This happened to be Summit, a relatively small colony in the Micor System. The Marines had been promised shore leave on the scenic and popular world of Micor, but as usual, they would be disappointed. Once arriving at the colony, the civilian survivors could be shuttled off to their destinations via public transport. And here, the Corps would sacrifice two weeks of productivity to allow the Marines a chance to recuperate.

The United Americas military headquarters were located in the primary colony on Summit, a pretty backwoods place to most visitors. Not far outside the city could be seen wide stretches of brush and naturally grown trees. On the west side of the colony was a broad coastline with a view unpolluted by the usual wind turbines and other installations found on a place like earth. The wide ocean seemed infinite to anyone who looked out over it. There was not much entertainment in the colony, mostly just a few local bars and a pitifully small strip of nightclubs in the center of town. For anyone who enjoyed unspoiled nature, there was plenty to keep them occupied for the two weeks of shore leave.

As they all half suspected, the two weeks ended up being less than two weeks. On their twelfth day, anyone who was outside could see what appeared to be a ball of flame shooting across the sky from east to west. It descended behind the edge of the western horizon, presumably into the ocean. A few minutes later came the sound, a dull roar followed by a faint crash. After more time went by, a series of large tidal waves were detected and beachgoers were pulled back to avoid any injuries from the unusual tide. These waves splashed over the beach and even over the floodwalls, causing cars to go off the road and damage to coastal structures.

As the Devil Dawgs expected, they soon received a call back to base. Shore leave was over two days early. They mingled while they waited for instructions in their temporary barracks, at the gym, or in the cafeteria. The whole base sported cheesy decorations saying "Merry Christmas" and "Happy Holidays."

(OOC: Post about your character's time on shore leave or anything left over from the previous campaign.)

[LT_Chun]

Henniger had exited cryosleep satisfied at surviving another operation with the Dawgs. The termination of the last Op didn't phase him. Sometimes there just wasn't anything left to save and they pulled you out.
He spent his time between running and hanging out at the beach. He tagged along with his mate Paulson a few times to one of the overcrowded but reasonably inexpensive, and obviously wall-to-wall military, bars in town. Even throwing grease in his short hair for a club night.
He wanted to spot Morse off duty and buy him a drink or two and pick his brain on a few things, and make sure the Sarge knew that shit with the kid didn't matter. He'd felt it at the time and he felt it now, shit happened in a combat sit. You were no good as a warrior if you couldn't learn and move on.
He was wearing the crossed rifles of a lance corporal under his chevrons now. His first four years he'd made it no further than private, then a year with the Dawgs and he'd jumped twice. But that happened in high-attrition outfits. It was normal to stay a buck private on your first term in the Colonial Marines, he'd met a very young corporal once at Gateway a few years back. Guy was getting a vat grown set of limbs made for him. He and a synthetic were the only survivors of a colony meltdown. USCM gave him corporals chevrons so he could help rebuild the platoon.
Plus, this was Force Recon. He'd been proud to be a parachutist in his old outfit, that archaic practice hadn't changed in three hundred years. But this was big time. He noticed the new MOS was tacked onto his promotion orders. 0321 had replaced his usual 0311.

By the twelfth day he was laying on the beach soaking up the mild local star when the flames shot across the sky.

[LT_Chun]

When Henniger arrived on-post and reported to the platoon commander and was counted as accounted for, he looked at his data slate and studied the Marines who had been assigned to him.
Carlson, Kelly, and Williams. He read over their SRB jackets and assigned them to two fire teams. He sent their assignments to their slates. He'd take Carlson and his smartgun in 1st FT as base of fire, and Kelly would take Williams in 2nd as the maneuver element. He added a brief message telling them to report to him after they checked in upon arrival in their marshaling area.

He sought out the sergeant major to get any intel he could.
<tag 1st Squad>
<tag Sykes>

[maxvale76]

Sam had enjoyed her time on the beach, loving the ocean breeze and warm sun as she always had. It was a major disappointment to have her R&R cut short, but that was frequently the price of being a Colonial Marine.

Returning to base, she made sure her people were accounted for and reported in,

“What’s de situation?”, she asked the LT and “Top Kick”.

[Morse]

War was hell, and war was eternal. So if their existence was a consistent state of war, were they not also denizens of hell?

These thoughts had come and gone from Morse's mind many years ago. By virtue of staying in the Colonial Marine Corps you were signing up for a life of misery. The conditions and strain on your body of hopping in and out of a hypersleep tube just from one situation of extreme stress was more than most would ever be willing to suffer. That misery was through actions committed against them, deaths of friends, witness to mass atrocity, and exposure to fiery hazards that would scar ones flesh forever. That misery was through actions committed by them. Leaving people to their deaths, destroying facilities and livehoods of thousands.... collateral damage that left innocents dead.

Whether committed by or against Marines, their lives were traumatic to say the least. But if you kept on going there was a certain adaptation that came with it. It couldn't be measured on a scan or noticed physically. But it was the understanding of a universe that the average person could not understand. And it was the fact that "Shit happened." Things that were beyond wondering what could have been done differently, or how it could be prevented in the future. It often was horrific and spawned even new miseries.

But even the most tranquil forest was a battleground of organisms trying to each other, from the algae to the insects, everything was just trying to keep going as far as they could.

These concepts had brought Morse back to drinking, but also had kept him sound in his judgement. There were orders, there was the mission, and there was the aftermath. The actions in between meant almost nothing. There's was a profession of war, and war was hell. Whether they were living it or bringing it, hell was eternal.

R&R has the basic pleasures that were always a nice break, but Morse was coming to the point where just being able to decompress his spine on a soft chair was pleasure enough. He'd spent most of the time going between drunk, rambling, and being hungover. Whether he was inside or outside, his stockpile of cash was more than enough to keep that going. And when it was cut short, Morse was alright with it. Idle hands were the devils play thing, and idle hands mixed with a drunk mind had gotten Morse into a great deal of trouble over the years.

He had spent a good amount of time with his friend, Sam, doing his best to avoid any topic of morality as he and Sam had always had very opposed views to what happened... but his drinking let that slip up quite often.

He had also spent time around Henniger, which in his mind might have done the Lance Corporal more good then it had done Morse. Morse was not looking for forgiveness for anything, but perhaps he was serving as a good example of what Henniger could become if he continued down a certain road. Whether that was a good thing had yet to be seen. All Morse really knew was the he remembered when he was a Lance Corporal many years ago, and was of a similar mind.

< Tag Anyone

[eyeball]

Morse could drink expertly, paulson and Henniger had tried to keep up one day and it had been a full day session starting with shots at breakfast, they had made it till mid afternoon, taken a break, and rejoined him in the evening. the next day had been a rough one for them! Morse had seemed unaffected the next day yeah he had been drunk but not no the floor as any normal human should have been.

the rest of the two weeks Paulson had kept up a reasonable running practice as well as some time in a range didn't want those skills dropping off while you where taking R&R.he had been at the furthest point on one such run when the sky lit up, the call that vacation was over came through before he was even half way back. Paulson grabbed anything that he had taken off ship to the small beach shack he had rented and returned straight to the barracks from there he assumed they would be given orders.
<tag anyone>

[LT_Chun]

OOC meant to tag 3rd Squad not 1st, old habit!

[Corporal Hicks]

Sergeant Major Danny Sykes spent most of his R&R just reveling in doing nothing. The previous mission had come after months of shore leave during which he had quit his years old habit of taking morphine. Ever since then he seemed to feel weary all the time, like sleep was pulling at his eyelids. Now he basked in the calm of the small city. Days spent on the beach or in the woods alone were satisfying but they flew by all the same.

Now it seemed they would be needed again. He puffed at a cigar in the briefing room while he waited for more information from the top. Already Hall and Henniger were pressing him for details about the upcoming assignment. He puffed a smoke ring and told them what he knew. "Captain Palmer told me that fire in the sky was a ship entering the atmosphere like a meteor. I guess nobody was at the steering wheel. The ship is called the Quantum Herald and it was letting off a repeating distress beacon. It crashed somewhere in the ocean. I don't think there's any threat, sounds like a rescue mission. Not sure why they called us in here."
<Tag Hall/Henniger/Anyone>

Hall and Morse were the old reliable squad leaders. Sykes could rely on them both without really even watching what they did. They both had more service time than him and had invested their whole lives in their jobs. The wisdom of this may be more questionable, but the point was that they were good, reliable Marines. Henniger was the new fish in the squad leader role. Sykes had taken a chance on two new squad leaders during the Polaris Campaign. Some people held authority and made decisions with ease. Others simply didn't fit the role. McKenna had asked to be returned to his role as armorer and Sykes had not objected. Sokolova had simply not worked out. Both were good Marines but leadership was not for everyone. The good thing from Sykes' point of view was that he could give Henniger an opportunity.
(OOC: Not criticizing the players, just an in character explanation for the leadership being shaken up lol)

[LT_Chun]

Henniger nodded and found a chair. "Roger Sergeant major."

[lordstrand]

Davros sat in front of a computer terminal, lit cigarette dangling from his mouth, trying to write his mission report and medical interventions performed. He ashed his cigarette and rubbed his eyes trying to help organize his thoughts. He leaned back in his chair folding his hands behind his head and taking a long drag of his smoke, trying to figure out what to put for the end of action report before he sent it off to Sykes for review. He thought back to the end of the mission trying to remember exactly what happened.

Chaos exploded as the black monstrosities crashed into the marines from all around the room. The marines were temporarily caught by surprise but regrouped quickly. Thanks to their training and quick reactions they had only lost a few. Davroa had run to check on the fallen marines to see if there was anything he could do to save them or at the very least ease their passing. He slid up to McMagnus trying to see if there was anything he could do for the poor marine. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to get the sight of that man’s head out of his mind. There were jaw and teeth marks on both sides of his face, which was now way thinner then it should have been. Blood mixed with clear spinal fluid was leaking out of his ears and nose, and his body was convulsing randomly. Just looking at him you could see his skull was fractured beyond repair and who knows about the brain inside it. Davros dug in his medic bag for some pain relieving drugs, at this point anything strong would do. He fumbled around and his hand finally grasped one of the little plastic vials of clear liquid. Quickly he pushed the drug and watched as Mcmagnus’s body relaxed. He was still taking shallow breaths and had a thready pulse, but that was just the small part of his brain that would keep him alive, if not functional. Wondering if he would even make the transport to the APC Davro decided to ease his passing into the next world with a little more meds.

Probably shouldn’t put that last part in his report. Davros sat back up, put out the last little bit of his smoke and lit another one, took a sip of coffee and typed up some of the report. He glanced around as he saw what he could have sworn was a bouncing ball thump along and roll out of the room. Sitting in the chair across the way was a little boy, feet dangling just off the floor, big gaping holes still oozing his last life’s blood. His skin was pale, almost gray a stark contrast to the giant flecks of red spattered all over his body. He had a very sad disturbing look on his face as he stared into Davros’s eyes. He blinked a few times and looked again. The chair was empty. Davros swiftly shook his head as if to clear it. “Don’t worry I won’t forget about you” he said to no one. The whole scene reminded him of one of those cheesy twentieth century movies, you know the one with the werewolf traveling through England. He finished typing the rest of the report and sent it along.

Sighing as he stood up to get himself another cup of coffee. Pouring some of the black tar that passed for coffee he thought back to the debriefing. The only thing that really stuck in his head was “Kid didn’t make it.” over and over again. On his walk back to the computer terminal he stopped in the hall staring at the door that held the black goo that caused all this bull shit. Walking back into the room Davros saw Mcmagnus bent at the waist, hands in his pockets, looking at the computer terminal. Sliding the chair back Mcmagnus stepped back, giving him room to sit. Davros nodded at him, noting the dried blood trickle crusting the side of his now warped head. He sighed again, taking a sip of burning hot coffee and putting his cigarette out. “Guess that you settle it for me.” Davros pulled up Fensby’s file on the terminal, taking note of his birthday, mother’s name, “girlfriend’s” name. He pulled up Fensby’s login on the terminal and started taking a few guesses to log in to the computer. After a few tries he was down to one more attempt. “So it wasn’t his birthday, or his mother’s name.” he mumbled to himself “Should I attempt his current girlfriend’s name?? Fuck it, last try and he’s not the brightest.” He typed in the word PASSWORD, and hit enter. The screen sprang to life. “Guess it was that simple. Let’s see about taking care of the cameras. Then we just gotta get that door open.” Davros set it up so he would have about a twenty minute window just before everyone went on ice for the trip.

Davros walked into the room that housed all the cryopods. He had fatigues that could have passed for his in his hand and one glass of what could pass for water. Pouring the liquid on the clothes he dropped them and the glass into the laundry receptacle. The chemical concoction would melt away any biological evidence left on the fatigues that he borrowed from one of the now deceased marines. If all went well the black goo wouldn’t be here anymore after he woke up. The bots were helping a few of the marines get ready for their sleep cycle, so Davros took one last opportunity to smoke. Lighting the smoke he pictured the smoldering fire that would happen in transit. Nothing big enough to cause any lasting damage to the ship but just enough to fool the sensors into thinking something really bad was happening. He peeled off the sticky part of the pad that would monitor his vitals, picturing the hazardous storage pod peeling away from the ship. He took one last hard pull on his smoke, watching the embers flare, as he pictured the pod days later detonating in space. “There’s no smoking in this part of the ship Private Davros.” Knight said as he walked up to help Davros into his pod. Davros pinched the smoke out. “Sorry about that.” He hopped his but up onto the cryopod. Knight gave him a once over checking Davros’s work. “Make sure you seal me up tight, don’t want any freezer burn on my nuggets.” Davros chuckled as he laid down in the pod. He felt the sleep of the pod start to kick in, and hoped that everything went off without a hitch.

Davros heard what sounded like water dripping onto glass somewhere far away. Slowly the sound got closer. The thump, thump, thump echoed just in front of his face. His eyes fluttered for a minute as he struggled to open them. The little ice crystals on his eyelids crackled as he opened them. Slowly things started to focus again. “What was that dam dripping sound?” he thought. There was a face looking at him through the glass of the cryo pod. Knight must be looking in on him. Then he realized that the dripping sound was right in front of him. As his eyes finally finished defrosting they focused on the face in front of him. It was Mcmagnus with brain juice dripping onto the glass in front of him. Davros bolted upright in his cryo pod wacking his face off the glass. He blinked a few times and the face was gone. Knight hurried over and let him out of the pod. Shining a bright light into Davros’s eye he asked if Davros knew where he was. “I’m aboard the Nautilus, we're here to help Nemo liberate the sea from mankind.” Knight replied “Humor again, at least that bones intact.” Davros crinkled his eyebrows “Did you just make a joke Knight? Might be hope for you yet.” Knight gave him a pass on the assessment, and moved on to check the other marines. Davros got up from his pod and dressed for shoreleave.

On the ground Davros disembarked with the other marines and took a look around at the local life. He stopped in a local store and grabbed himself a tent, camping equipment, a few surf rods, some tackle and bait. “Ill be on the beach most of the week if anyone needs to find me.” He mentioned to no one in particular. On his way past the bar he grabbed a few six packs of the local “stout” winked at the girl behind the bar, and loaded them in the cooler. He lit a smoke and made his way down to the beach to set up his camp. He wandered up every other day to get showered and check to see what everyone was up to. He noted a few marines trying to keep up with each other's drinking habits. Shaking his head he lit another smoke and sat down on his beach chair. He grabbed another beer and waved to some local girls as he checked his fishing line. As the rod bent over Davro grabbed it and started reeling in something that felt larger than life. After about a half hour of fighting a fish the sky lit up with a giant fireball streaking across the sky. “Figures” He said as he cut the line and let the fish go. Grabbing his stuff he ran to the barracks to find out what was going on.

[Oliver Grisham]

Oliver Grisham sat quietly in the cafeteria, in front of him a plate of baked beans and hash browns with plenty of ketchup. He ate very slowly and with a constant pace. Like a grazing cow.

It was telling of Grisham’s life, that he considered his two stints in hospital to be “good times”. He’d been shot in neck, shattering his collarbone and enjoyed a long, restful time in hospital. He’d spent his days lying in bed enjoying the view of the courtyard from his window and trying in vain to flirt with the nurses. He was spared inevitable rejection (while good natured, he was quite intolerably ugly) by the fact that they understood very little of what he said. His obscure dialect was a relic of a bygone age. On one occasion, a smiling nurse had asked him why he was always so cheerful and he had replied
“All’s I needs is food in me belly and a roof over thee ‘ead and I’ll want for nuthin’ tha’s fer true” and it was. All Grisham required to achieve a blissful state of contentment was to be left in a situation where he was not being actively harmed. Now sitting in the cafeteria he savored these last moments of peace, grimly resigned to return to the horrors of combat

[Medic Guy]

The air was hot and humid, and his uniform was damp and clinging to his skin. A wind blew down the corridor, adding more oppressive heat, making it difficult to breathe. Black liquid dripped from the grates above him and the other marines in the hallway. Bennett was holding point up ahead with the smartgun balanced ahead of him. Sokolova was off to his left and behind, Mills was flanking behind and to the right. McGreggor was bringing up the tail of the formation. The thunderous volley of rounds from a sentry turret from further in the complex gave Clint pause. The black drops coming from the ceiling formed into creatures with large tear drop shaped heads. Several of the creatures rushed Bennett, biting him in the head and torso. He heard McGreggor scream behind him and watched the large man lifted up and run through the abdomen with a black bony tail as large veiny hands held his hands and his feet kicked about spasmodically. Clint Fired into the dark hallway, the only light seeming to be by way of muzzle flashes. More creatures moved at the edges of what he could see, it was like seeing thing with a strobe light and dark skinned monstrosities approached from the walls, ceiling, and floor. He glanced down to see 00 across the ammo counter. Clawed hands grabbed onto his body, he started to feel like he was being pulled in several directions, pain he couldn’t describe coursed throughout his nerves. Opening his eyes, he realized it was just a cryobay again, condensation dripped from the clear coffin above him and he ran through the post cryo checkup with Knight. Great, more horror fuel to add in with the other crazy shit he’d seen and been through.


He had detail stripped and cleaned all of the platoon’s weapons, later taking each to the range to test fire for proper reassembly and function. Clint spent several days at the range after the platoon had been dropped off on Summit and sent a lot of rounds down range, eating through the stress and guilt of losing squad mates and still being here. He sent a request to Sykes and asked to be removed from a squad leader position, hoping there would be no need for follow up questions and answers. Losing his team or a good portion of them, was just weighing on his mind and conscious. After hearing back that his request had been approved, Clint spent a lot of the rest of his shore leave jogging, scuba diving along a living reef off the coast and browsing more weapons technical manuals. At the time of the crashing starship, he had been enjoying some scuba diving off shore again, examining the myriad of oceanic creatures flourishing around the reef. Fortunately he had been on the shore side of the reef as the force of the crashed starship forced the water towards shore, missing running into a lot of sharp coral. His watch indicated the call to base shortly afterwards.

[JuanPerez]

Once more the Devil Dawgs pulled off a mission successfully, securing a dangerous xenomorph biological agent and clearing out an xeno infestation. What should feel like another "kerb in the boot on the way up the career ladder" it felt slightly different for Daniela Harper, to put it mildely. It was not the fact, that her superiors put on a lot of preassure to "let the agent disappear" through inofficial channels. She was used to that kind of shit by now.

Luckily, the android executive officer Knight showed "potential" to fix these kind of problems, so they came up with a plan, a half-way reasonable one. The USS Chimera was a prototype ship on its maiden cruise, so "glitches in the system" can occur, unfortunately, and by coincidence a small fire broke out in the hazardous material storage compartment while in transit, and, unfortunately, automatic safety procedures blew the whole compartment out into space.
These kind of political baliho was not a problem anymore. She had learned pretty fast how to play these kind of games and how to survive them.

It was the casualities. Was the mission realy a success ? She had lost many men, good men, and what was worse, civilian casualities could not have been avoided. Every single KIA report felt like a thorn in her flesh, every box she had to fill and seal with the deceaseds possessions like a punch in the stomach. She never got used to it, because she did value life and saw not only the serial numbers of her subordinates, but the person.

So, shore leave was appreciated, as was the assault on Summits liquor stock, excessive training sessions in the gym and finalizing the break-up with her boyfriend remote.