New York and Jersey
02-11-2004, 02:15
Charon was waste ball of a moon. On the far edge of the system it was uninhabitable even with advanced terraforming techniques and the only real was to sustain it was in artificial environments like those that housed the research facility Nomad Moon, and the Federal Space Marine Base of Nomad Sentry. It wasn’t a pleasant assignment to be given. Weeks of tedium of patrols on the surface with nothing more to do that walk on the surface, or be under the surface in the rec center. Which was designed for a smaller population that the small town of marines it catered to at the moment. What made matters was that FTL communication was restricted to high priority transmissions. This meant that most of the excitement from this post came from waiting for mail shuttle.
Few marines liked to be stationed to the far-flung region and yet every couple of months a new division was rotated in from either Earth or Mars and deployed to keep the civilian scientists protected and to ensure a rapid reaction. They were primarily the last line of defense on the planets surface and never really expected any kind of problems. The first line of defense was the Federal Stellar Navy’s Charon Defense Fleet, which at the moment had a patrol route that took her far beyond Charon and outside of the Kupier belt. They were nearly two weeks away at full speed patrolling the civil merchant lanes and were already on their way back toward the moon. The second nearest fleet was the 2nd Fleet about a week away in orbit over Mars. While a fleet was normally supposed to be stationed between Mars and Pluto to ensure adequate coverage of civilian merchant vessels budget cuts had meant that the 4th Fleet was currently in mothball reserve near Chimera Fleetyard just out of Earth orbit.
On the surface of the moon the only real artificial land marks which stretched to the sky were the box launchers for the STO-1 Sky Haven and STO-2 Archangel anti-capital ship missiles. Across the planets surface smaller structures dotted the entire planet. For the most part they were empty except for computers, binoculars and on their rooftops large antennae extended skyward as part of Charon’s listen and tracking capabilities of the surrounding space. The tracking station routinely picked up debris in orbit of the planet and on occasion said chunks of metal fell to the surface of the moon. A squad of marines would be sent to investigate and if possible the wreckage would be picked up and transported back to earth for smelting and using in construction in a variety of civil and military projects. For the rare occasion that bodies were recovered intact from the wreckage they were given burial on the surface. A morbid task with a similarly morbid atmosphere as Charon had a small graveyard with dull gray crosses unmarked save for the day, month, and year the body was recovered.
Beneath the surface in Nomad Sentry, marines of the 3rd Squad were gearing up to go on a standard patrol. The fifteen members of the 3rd squad were suiting up in enclosed combat gear heated to keep them protected from the outside elements..or lack there of as Charon had an atmosphere thinner than paper and this was only due to exhaust generated by both underground facilities. As the soldiers boarded the elevator to the top a message clicked in over 2nd lieutenant Lance Nolan’s internal communication set, “Third squad, this is Tracking Station Bravo. We’ve picked up a UO (unidentified object) entering the atmosphere. It’s trajectory puts it landing three kliks to the to the north near FP 17(Field Post). Check it out on you’re routine patrol route. Over.” Nolan let out an audible sigh over the comm. channel and responded with, “Come on now, its wreckage, send someone to pick it up…” The comm. channel went dead with static as the men of the tracking station knew better by now than to be dragged out into a long heated debate with the marines and normally just cut off contact with them the moment the order was given. Switching over to the inter-squad comm. channel Nolan cursed abit under his breath. “Okay marines, we’ve got wreckage to the North, so we gotta hop over to FP-17 and check it out. I want a column formation with about twenty feet distance between you guys. Corporal Rios, take point. It’s a short hop over to FP-17 but you guys know the drill.”
The drill required the squad of fifteen to always be combat ready and on the alert. Although on this planetoid things were more lax than that and so as the unit moved toward the north they didn't really maintain discipline that usually came with the combat units. The squad of fifteen was mostly regular infantry except for instead of having a medic they had a mechanic capable of battlefield repairs and closers of holes to the enclosed combat suits. A puncture in the suit was just as deadly as a bullet out here and thus a medic was practically useless since even then they wouldn’t be able to get to the wound without further removing combat gear. As they moved across the desolate landscape and came upon FP-17 the soldiers moved inside the enclosed environment removing their helmets for the time being. Lieutenant Nolan and sergeant Whitehall moved to the second level of the small structure and peered through specially designed low-light binoculars toward where the wreckage was supposed to be. “That sure don't look like wreckage to me…what about you?” Nolan questioned as he lowered the binoculars down slowly. “Looks to me like an intact space craft LT..” Whitehall lowered his own binoculars and looked over toward his superior officer before looking back over toward the direction of the supposed vessel.
“Right…wonderful…” Changing his gear over toward the base comm. channel he didn't want to radio this in because he knew they would order him to investigate further. “Nomad Sentry, this is third squad, over.” After a few seconds a response came back over the channel. “This is Nomad Sentry; go ahead third squad.” “We’ve got visual on the UO. It’s not wreckage repeat it is not wreckage. It’s an intact spacecraft. Requesting additional orders. Over.” Nearly a minute passed before NS (Nomad Sentry) responded with, “Colonel Delancy wants your squad to check it out. Weapons safe, do not engage unless fired upon. We’ll move the rest of Company A onto alert status should you need it, over.” “Roger that Sentry. Third squad out.” When the channel went dead Nolan clicked it back onto the squad channel and grumbled as he put his helmet back on. “Okay folks, suit up again. We’re gonna go visit the little green men who landed.” Groans could be heard from the soldiers and soon they were leaving the safety of FP-17 and heading the rest of the way toward the landing site.
Back at Nomad Sentry the marines of Company A were being prepared for deployment. It was still to early to put the entire base on alert for just one ship.
Few marines liked to be stationed to the far-flung region and yet every couple of months a new division was rotated in from either Earth or Mars and deployed to keep the civilian scientists protected and to ensure a rapid reaction. They were primarily the last line of defense on the planets surface and never really expected any kind of problems. The first line of defense was the Federal Stellar Navy’s Charon Defense Fleet, which at the moment had a patrol route that took her far beyond Charon and outside of the Kupier belt. They were nearly two weeks away at full speed patrolling the civil merchant lanes and were already on their way back toward the moon. The second nearest fleet was the 2nd Fleet about a week away in orbit over Mars. While a fleet was normally supposed to be stationed between Mars and Pluto to ensure adequate coverage of civilian merchant vessels budget cuts had meant that the 4th Fleet was currently in mothball reserve near Chimera Fleetyard just out of Earth orbit.
On the surface of the moon the only real artificial land marks which stretched to the sky were the box launchers for the STO-1 Sky Haven and STO-2 Archangel anti-capital ship missiles. Across the planets surface smaller structures dotted the entire planet. For the most part they were empty except for computers, binoculars and on their rooftops large antennae extended skyward as part of Charon’s listen and tracking capabilities of the surrounding space. The tracking station routinely picked up debris in orbit of the planet and on occasion said chunks of metal fell to the surface of the moon. A squad of marines would be sent to investigate and if possible the wreckage would be picked up and transported back to earth for smelting and using in construction in a variety of civil and military projects. For the rare occasion that bodies were recovered intact from the wreckage they were given burial on the surface. A morbid task with a similarly morbid atmosphere as Charon had a small graveyard with dull gray crosses unmarked save for the day, month, and year the body was recovered.
Beneath the surface in Nomad Sentry, marines of the 3rd Squad were gearing up to go on a standard patrol. The fifteen members of the 3rd squad were suiting up in enclosed combat gear heated to keep them protected from the outside elements..or lack there of as Charon had an atmosphere thinner than paper and this was only due to exhaust generated by both underground facilities. As the soldiers boarded the elevator to the top a message clicked in over 2nd lieutenant Lance Nolan’s internal communication set, “Third squad, this is Tracking Station Bravo. We’ve picked up a UO (unidentified object) entering the atmosphere. It’s trajectory puts it landing three kliks to the to the north near FP 17(Field Post). Check it out on you’re routine patrol route. Over.” Nolan let out an audible sigh over the comm. channel and responded with, “Come on now, its wreckage, send someone to pick it up…” The comm. channel went dead with static as the men of the tracking station knew better by now than to be dragged out into a long heated debate with the marines and normally just cut off contact with them the moment the order was given. Switching over to the inter-squad comm. channel Nolan cursed abit under his breath. “Okay marines, we’ve got wreckage to the North, so we gotta hop over to FP-17 and check it out. I want a column formation with about twenty feet distance between you guys. Corporal Rios, take point. It’s a short hop over to FP-17 but you guys know the drill.”
The drill required the squad of fifteen to always be combat ready and on the alert. Although on this planetoid things were more lax than that and so as the unit moved toward the north they didn't really maintain discipline that usually came with the combat units. The squad of fifteen was mostly regular infantry except for instead of having a medic they had a mechanic capable of battlefield repairs and closers of holes to the enclosed combat suits. A puncture in the suit was just as deadly as a bullet out here and thus a medic was practically useless since even then they wouldn’t be able to get to the wound without further removing combat gear. As they moved across the desolate landscape and came upon FP-17 the soldiers moved inside the enclosed environment removing their helmets for the time being. Lieutenant Nolan and sergeant Whitehall moved to the second level of the small structure and peered through specially designed low-light binoculars toward where the wreckage was supposed to be. “That sure don't look like wreckage to me…what about you?” Nolan questioned as he lowered the binoculars down slowly. “Looks to me like an intact space craft LT..” Whitehall lowered his own binoculars and looked over toward his superior officer before looking back over toward the direction of the supposed vessel.
“Right…wonderful…” Changing his gear over toward the base comm. channel he didn't want to radio this in because he knew they would order him to investigate further. “Nomad Sentry, this is third squad, over.” After a few seconds a response came back over the channel. “This is Nomad Sentry; go ahead third squad.” “We’ve got visual on the UO. It’s not wreckage repeat it is not wreckage. It’s an intact spacecraft. Requesting additional orders. Over.” Nearly a minute passed before NS (Nomad Sentry) responded with, “Colonel Delancy wants your squad to check it out. Weapons safe, do not engage unless fired upon. We’ll move the rest of Company A onto alert status should you need it, over.” “Roger that Sentry. Third squad out.” When the channel went dead Nolan clicked it back onto the squad channel and grumbled as he put his helmet back on. “Okay folks, suit up again. We’re gonna go visit the little green men who landed.” Groans could be heard from the soldiers and soon they were leaving the safety of FP-17 and heading the rest of the way toward the landing site.
Back at Nomad Sentry the marines of Company A were being prepared for deployment. It was still to early to put the entire base on alert for just one ship.