NationStates Jolt Archive

It was midnight. Or, at least, that's what Sergeant Jack Barnes' clock suggested. His patrol shift aboard the HSV Predator, one of the fleet's finest Grav-Battleships, started in one hour.

He tapped on an odd symbol on the desk nearby, and a projection of a view of space appeared in mid-air. He had no true interest in the stars, as he was quite sick of them by now, having been on tour for just over a year. From the view from Earth, to the view from Sigma IV, it was all the same.

He almost walked out of his quarters wearing nothing but lip-print boxers, but quickly stopped himself after noticing his hairy legs. Slipping on his almost-standard-issue jumpsuit, he found it safe to open the door. He walked along a row of doors in his squad's section, pounding on the cold metal, and waiting for an "Aye."

He heard no Ayes, no "Five more minutes", no yawning. Just down the hall he heard the pounding of boots, and the clicks of closing breaches. Familiar faces emerged as fully-armored marines turned the corner. Barnes folded his arms over his chest.

"Well, looks like you're buying, Sarge."

mode=data;
source=logged;
format=electronic mail;

[i]scan;
"omfgz lol u wanna play sum cs? dude i found this realy kool map itz got like soooo many campin spotz!!1"
threat=0;
forward=0;
resume=1;



mode=data;
source=undetectable; [initiate priority protocol; resume scan]
format=transmission;

[i]scan;
"Freebird, this is Griffin. We have 400 liters of Nitric Oxide en route. Steer clear of any major entry lanes. Big brother is all over. Strike swift, strike hard."
alert phrases=nitric oxide;
threat=1;
forward=1;
resume=0;
[message transfer ceased];
[forwarding to HSV Predator];

An articulated alarm brought Abby Thompson, Echelon technician for the HSV Predator, swiveling in her chair over to a large data readout screen. On it appeared a message, with key phrases highlighted.

"Freebird, this is Griffin. We have 400 liters of Nitric Oxide en route. Steer clear of any major entry lanes. Big brother is all over. Strike swift, strike hard."

She read the Echelon logs. Somehow, she couldn't shake thinking that it was just a practical joke, a quick laugh sought by a couple of desk-newbs in the Defense Department. She checked the orgin of the alert...


trace alert IDD-QD-977N;

Origin Readouts
[Message Intercepted] 12:51AM NST NOV 15
[Source] Undetectable
[Intercepted By] ECHELON-D24


This is not good...

She swiveled in her chair to face another screen and another keyboard. With a tap of a key, the screens folded back, into the ceiling of her workstation. She sprinted for the bridge.

She knew that Admiral Thompson - her brother - would jump out of his skin at something like this. 400 liters of Nitric Oxide was pretty much a shopping list for disaster.

"Admiral! Sir, please look at this message that Echelon recently intercepted..."

She pulled out her digital assistant - PDA for short - and snapped it into the AI console. The readout scrolled onto the bridge screen. "Admiral, this is a serious issue. The terrorist attack on Theta IX was comprised of only 98 liters of nitric oxide."

Admiral Thompson turned to Abby, saying "Don't be so tense. And stop calling me Admiral. You know me by name, so call me by name. This isn't Beta II, after all."

"Hey! You assured me that no one would speak of that!"

"So be it. So, an undetectable source for a terrorist transmission. Sounds tricky." The Admiral scratched his chin.

"Various data collected on the signal strength and relay packets shows that they- the transmitter - are in space, positioned somewhere between Planet Nordlund and the Yakov Smirnoff Memorial Asteroid Field."

Admiral Thompson did not hesitate. "You heard the woman, Ops. Deploy interceptors accordingly. Nav, activate all active and passive scanning systems. I want full tracking of any vessel within the noted range."

The appropriate stations sounded off.
"Aye, sir!"

Commander Tyler Pierce sat engulfed in electronics, inside the dark cockpit of an Interceptor. He watched as bulkheads zipped by, as his Interceptor squadron descended into the launch bay of the Predator.

As the light of the lift bay died, his Interceptor powered up, his readout screens flickering to life. He keyed the communications relay. "114th online. Comm active. Passive scanning online. Active on standby. Weapons system engaged, shields online. We're checked out, boys."

The two plain steel bulkheads seperating them from the vacuum of space rumbled as they unlocked, and the bay filled with a hissing sound as air was sucked from the bay through the gap between the parting bulkheads.

With a silent roar of the engines, and a slight vibration, the automatic launch procedure initated, propelling Pierce and his squadron into the black void.

Are you... the same foe hammer i remember?

Are you... the same foe hammer i remember?
Same guy, different (and much, much more advanced) form of government and military.

Pierce checked his scanners.

Still nothing.

The 114th Interceptor squadron had been on duty for the last two hours. Allying with the fleet's Gunboats, the 114th executed pinpoint jumps to various locations around Planet Nordlund.

Commander Pierce sighed, rolling his eyes after another scanner check. You always had too much firepower, and not enough targets.

A shrill beep brought Pierce back to the real world. He checked his scanners.

One cargo freighter. Tracking chip shows four-hundred unidentified canisters onboard... Bingo!

The commander keyed his comm system. "Predator, I am reading one cargo freighter on my scanners. Onboard AI has 400 unidentified canisters registered. Engage?"

Sergeant Barnes winced as a loud voice came over the earpiece in his helmet.

"Marine Infantry squads Delta Four through Nine report to aft Dropship bay immediately in full EVSC equipment."

Barnes cursed. "Damnit! Why can't this wait an hour?" Barnes checked his watch. It was Oh-Five-Hundred hours NST, and his squad's shift ended in an hour.

"You heard the shrill, terrorizing voice, boys. Strap up and head down."

The Sarge walked his squad to the Armory. He slapped his palm onto a blue scanner fixed into the wall, with a row of large pods beside it. The pods opened simultaneously, and out extended full space-combat suits. On the backplate of each uniform was the greek symbol for Omega - An emblem usually reserved for Special Forces units. Unfortunately, lack of willing suppliers forced the Hammerian Marine Corps to purchase a limited number of extremely versatile suits mainly for special forces soldiers. They might as well be peace pipes, passed around a circle, because of their use in almost every situation.

Barnes couldn't help but think of himself as an ass-kicking machine wearing one of these suits. Artificial muscle fibers provide a tenfold increase in strength. Recoil equalizer systems ensure that you don't accelerate into an endless backwards motion when unloading on a hostile target. Zero-G compensation systems allow the user to attach to a vessel via magnetized soles in the boots. Many other advanced systems such as enhanced digital zoom, HUD-based targeting, helmet-mounted flashlights and even an oxygen scrubber make floating in space alot more comfortable.

The Sarge broke from his trance and donned his EVSC suit.
(OOC: Imagine the Master Chief from Halo 2. Yes, I'm that cheesy. What did you expect the guy to wear, his birthday suit? Hold your horses, I'm DoGAing my own suits right now.)

"Sarge, what are we carrying?"

Barnes picked up his BR-9. "Battle Rifles. Keep your sidearms on standby. Doc, you've got Med duty."

----

Dropship conversations were never interesting, nor were they meant to be. Jokes should never be transmitted via suit comm-systems.

The Sarge took a minute to brief his squad. "Alright. We've got a Cargo freighter hauling 400 - that's four-zero-zero - containers of what we believe to be nitric oxide. Once inside the vessel, you are not to disengage your EP systems. If they know we're coming, they're most likely not afraid to pop open a few bottles for us. This is no sweeper mission. Think twice, shoot once."

The Dropship's pilot cut in. "Sergeant, one minute to deployment."

Barnes stood, approaching a panel beside the rear loading door. He slammed the button clearly labeled "Open".

The compartment filled with a hissing sound as it depressurized. The rear door rumbled as it unlocked, and dropped to form a ramp. Barnes keyed his comm system. "Alright, now. Once deployed, engage your EVTs and form up around me. We've temporarily disabled thier engines, and it's only a matter of time before they're operational again. Deploy."

Barnes checked behind him as he faced into the compartment. He faced forward once more, and kicked himself off of the ramp. He counted the seconds.

One... two... three... EVT check... five... engage.

He thumbed the buttons on the EVT's control sticks, forcing a blast of propellant from the reservior, slowing the Sergeant to a more manageable velocity. Another click of a button spun him to face the freighter. He read the distance warnings on his HUD.

150... 110... 70... 50... 30...

He enabled the Zero-G Assist, magnetizing his boots, practically dropping him onto the vessel's hull. He detached the EVT unit, which, while useful, was very bulky, and luckily, disposable.

He scanned for the rest of his squad. Thompson landed behind him, followed by Rodgers, and the rest.

"Alright. You're all here. Good. Knoell, get us inside the airlock."

"My pleasure, Sarge!" Knoell removed a ball from a pouch. Inside the ball was a putty-like explosive substance. The ball popped open, and he floated over to the airlock, gently placed it on the corners of the airlock's outter door. Knoell glided back to the group, holding a detonator.

"Fire in the hole."

The blast sent a rumble through the hull of the vessel, and most likely alerted the terrorists to their presence. Barnes approached the airlock and stepped inside. Amazingly, the door did not get blown off, but rather, just blown open. Once his squad was inside, the room was sealed, and the Sarge punched a panel on the wall, causing compression, and pressurization.

Sarge signaled to move, as he popped open the thick door to the crew section. Knoell followed behind him, securing the area to the right.

The entire squad followed, securing the large compartment that resembled an equipment room. Sarge approached a flimsy door, and with a swift kick, multiplied tenfold by his armor, it flew open. Three soldiers flooded into the room with him, where they spotted a muscular man, who charged at the Sarge.

Barnes tossed his rifle aside, where it was caught by the Marine behind him. He elbowed the man in the face, put him in a half-nelson, and cuffed his hands. Sarge took back his rifle and escorted the muscle-bound dumbass into the large room. Half of his squad emerged from another compartment, shoving in front of them two more men.

"Caught these two handling a few containers."

A series of shots emitted from the cargo compartment, followed by vulgar screams of shock.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT!"