NationStates Jolt Archive

0700Z, Thursday, July 22:

Jax Weather and Geological Bureau (JWGB) office:

Bureau Chief Barry Peters peers intensely at the satellite image on his computer screen. Peters, having been alerted to unusual seismographic activity in the area approximately two thousand miles east of the Cubicle Mountains Region, ordered JWGB’s weather bird to scan the area in fifteen-minute increments. Without removing his eyes from the computer screen, Peters reaches across his desk and lifts up the telephone handset mounted there.

“This is Peters. Issue a marine warning for the sector surrounding the area where the Geological boys are monitoring the seismographic activity.” Peters paused, listening for a moment to the voice on the other end of the telephone line. “No, I don’t think we need to issue any coastal warnings yet. It will be awhile before the effects, if any, would be felt along our beaches,” Peters said, concluding by hanging up the handset.

0710Z, Thursday, July 22:

Aboard the Jax-flagged tanker, “Cleopatra”:

“Captain Anders, we’ve received a marine warning for the area where we’re sailing,” First Mate Peacock announced over the 1MC from his post on the bridge. Anders reached up from his stateroom rack and flicked the transmit button on the 1MC mounted over his head. “I’m heading up, Mr. Peacock. I can’t get much rest with all this jostling about the rough seas is giving us anyway.”

Anders reached down to remove his covers, when suddenly the “Cleopatra” gave off a deafening groan and rolled violently to its right, continuing until the massive tanker capsized, the surge of the action pulling the vast majority of the ship below the stormy seas.

*Tag*

1009Z, Thursday, July 22:

The lapping of water and brightness of the sun were the first things Anders noticed as he struggled back to consciousness. Shortly thereafter, sharp pains in his left leg jolted him to full consciousness. “Aargh!” Anders screamed. He reached down and felt the stickiness of his left pant leg. Suppressing the pain for the moment, Anders glanced around to see several others near him lying in the prone position. A look to his right revealed a few others struggling to get to an upright position. Noticing the tall blonde hair Viking who served as his first mate, Anders called him over.

“Mr. Peacock, we need to get these men in the shade and regroup,” Anders told him. “Aye, aye, Captain,” Peacock replied.

1100Z, Thursday, July 22:

Anders, Peacock, and several of the shipwrecked crew of the “Cleopatra” sat in a small circle. “Where are we, Captain?” Bancroft, one of the engineers asked. “By Jove, I don’t know, Bancroft.” “This place,” Anders continued, “wasn’t on any charts. It appears to have just sprung up before us.”

“You think it has something to do with that earthquake we were warned about,” Peacock questioned. “I do, Mr. Peacock, I do,” Anders replied. “We need to get better situated and do some exploring, but I think we’ve landed on a newly-born island.”

Liquidus awoke with a groan. Getting up, he rubbed his eyes, and then started to search for his Stealth Hovercraft. To his dismay, he couldn't find it, and so, he sat down. Then he realised he had all his supplies strapped to him, some tied tight, some loosely tied, as if they had been tied in a hurry. He searched his mind, trying to remember why he was here, but all that came to him was the word 'earthquake'. Grunting, Liquidus got up, and noticed he also had his trusty Desert Eagle in it's holster. Smiling, he looked around.
"Well, time for some recon..." he said, and with that, he walked deeper into the island...

Chelsea gradually came to. She joined the other crew members in the circle long enough to hear, "newly born island."

2200Z Thursday, July 22:

Combat Information Center (Maritime Operations), Jax Military Authority:

After spending several hours to sort out the maritime distress calls received from shipping caught up in the violent upheaval that occurred in the Southwest Pacific, review the satellite reconnaissance information, and the various rumors circulating throughout the command, the Maritime Operations brass has gathered in CIC to discuss a proposed course of action to take to Samuel Winfield, the governor of the Jingoistic States of Jovial Jumping Jax.

Admiral Bull Halsey, a direct descendant of the fabled American naval officer, walks into the room amidst the cry of “Attention on Deck!”

“As you were gentlemen, and ladies,” Bull says nodding to the men and women gathered at the round table situated in the center of CIC. “Let’s get on with this.”

Vice-Admiral Jean Paul Jones (no known connection to the perhaps even more famous early American naval hero) clears his throat and addresses the group. “First off, we have reports of some casualties, both Jaxpeople and other nationalities. The area affected is some distance away from the normal shipping lanes, so we expect losses to be minimal.”

As the group nods their heads, Jones continues, “Our satellite’s usefulness at night is somewhat diminished due to some sort of technical glitch. I don’t know the details and don’t know if I would know what they meant if I did. Suffice it to say that we will lose our surveillance capability for the most part when the sun sets in another hour or so.”

“To accommodate for that,” Jones carries on, “We do have the Trident, one of our two subs in the vicinity and it should be on-station shortly after sunset. At dawn tomorrow, two SR-71s will fly out at staggered times to shoot some film. We’ll be diverting the satellite back to its normal orbit, with deviations to make regular passes over the Southwest Pacific.”

“We did receive reports of the capsizing of one of our smaller tankers. It was mostly computer-operated, with a crew of about a dozen. No reports on their fate as of yet, but it appears that the new tri-hull safety device installed in the tanker has served its purpose, as there are no reports of any oil spill. We do have the usual flotsam in the area, diesel fuel and that type of stuff.”

“Admiral, what other forces do we have in the area,” Halsey interrupted.

“Not many, sir,” Jones answered. “The closest force, except for the sub, is the one associated with the evacuation of our colony in Greater Nova York. They have about a quarter of the colony’s residents with them, but I have ordered the flotilla to make its way to the Southwest Pacific to search for survivors.”

“Excuse me, Admiral,” Vice-Admiral Perry Walker, chief of Maritime Intelligence said. “As you know, we have those unconfirmed rumors of some type of landmass being forced above sea level due to the force of the ‘quake.”

Walker turns to Halsey. “With your permission, sir, I would like to fly out a team of our operatives to land on the carrier escorting the colonial convoy.”

“That’s the Giza, isn’t it, Jones,” Halsey asked.

“Yes, sir, it is.”

“OK,” Halsey said. “Round up a COD to ferry the MI boys out to the Giza.” “I know,” Halsey continues as Jones begins to speak, “It will mean aerial refueling, but we train for that, right.”

“Aye, sir.” Jones replied.

“Now, if you’ll give me a copy of your preliminary report, I’m off to see the Governor,” Halsey says as he rises.

*Tag*

0700Z, Friday, July 23:

Uncharted Land Mass somewhere in the Southwest Pacific:

Anders awoke from a fitful night’s sleep on the hard earth to find the six men and two women remaining from his crew scurrying about. “Good morning, Captain,” First Mate Peacock greeted him.

“Good morning, Peacock, I see you have things organized.”

“Aye, Captain,” Peacock responded. “We’ve prepared some of the rations from the one life raft that somehow managed to find its way ashore.”

“Great! I don’t suppose there was any coffee among those rations.”

“Sorry, Captain, no coffee. This barren land doesn’t have any substitute to offer either.”

“Well, lack of coffee is the least of our worries,” Anders said, looking around at the barren, inhospitable land that seemed to stretch well into the distance. “Let’s get something to eat. Then, you, I and a few of the crew will stretch our legs before the sun gets too high.”

“Aye, Captain. I’ll have the others try to fashion some type of shelter a little farther inland.”

“Excellent idea, Peacock. Shall we,” Anders said, gesturing toward the gathered crew.

The four Islandian strike planes of Kitsune Flight roared over the skies of the South Pacific, quickly splitting off into wingpairs.

The leader, a 12 year veteran of the Naval Air Service, frowned as he noticed something on the sea below.

An island. And an uncharted one at that.

"What do you say boys?" he asked. "Finding an island in the middle of our target range."

"Damned coincidence if you ask me," his wingman replied. "Still, mayb the scientists are right when they say islands are made of volcanic explosions and whatnot."

"Sounds like a load of crap to me," the leader replied. "Whatever. WE're suppsed to be practicing, so practice away."

The planes leveled off and quickly dived, sending their munitions, five thousand pound bombs, plunging into nearby orange target markers.

"BDA," the leader ordered, and the planes made a pass to see what they had hit.

As they swooped over teh sea, one of the pilots, a novice straight out of the Air Force's Strike School, noticed a large ship resting on its laurels on the landmass.

"Is that a ship?" she asked incredulously. In response, the leader and his wingman banked and took a pass over what she had noticed.

"Damn," the leader said. "What are the chances?"

"Slim as hell," his wingman replied. "I'm going to call command and recommend that they cease target practice. A few of the orange markers are on the island."

"Kitsune 3 and 4, return to base," the leader ordered. "I'll drop a marker, and the two of us will be joining you shortly."

"Hai."

********
Battle Group 35

"Island?" Captain Au asked, incredulous. "There are no islands here; thats why we built some floating mockups and orange markers for target practice."

"Not so surea bout that, Captain," Admiral Quei replied. "We have reports of volcanic activity in the area. Perhaps one formed."

"Overnight?" Au asked.

"We will discuss the island later, with the geologists," the Admiral decided. "For now, dispatch a helicopter and see what was on the island."

Within minutes, a Z9 helo was dispatched fromt he deck of the carrier Wu Island. Aboard were two medics, two armed rescuemen, and plenty of space.

0745Z, Friday, July 23:

First Mate Peacock finished giving instructions to the crew members designated to stay behind and construct shelter. Four men and one woman would remain behind to accomplish that task with Engineering Officer Rip Bancroft overseeing their efforts.

As Peacock approached Captain Anders and the other members of the exploration team, the rumble of low-flying jet planes shook the ground. A few moments later, ear-shattering explosions tore the air around the Cleopatra castaways. In unison, the crew dove to the ground, those with military experience assuming the cowering and cover position, face down with hands and arms protecting the head.

When the violent explosions ceased, Anders slowly raised his head, peering over the distant horizon. Suddenly another jet thundered by. Anders’ eyes followed the plane’s path. Anders observed a small speck descending from the jet. As he watched, the objects parachute billowed outward. Anders continued to watch as the object grew bigger, slowly he recognized the marker below the ‘chute.

0746Z, Friday, July 23:

Combat Information Center (CIC), Aboard the JSN Giza:

“Commander,” Petty Officer Williamson called out. “Looks like two of the bandits are bingoing back to home base; the other one is circling back towards the landmass.”

Commander Billy Bob Horton reached for the 1MC. “Bridge, CIC,” he said into the microphone. “Bridge, go ahead CIC,” came the reply.

“Two of the bandits heading back to land; one making another pass at the island or whatever it is out there.”

“Roger, CIC.” After a pause, “Mr. Horton, this is the Captain speaking. Keep monitoring the birds and let me know if they head our way.”

0747Z, Friday, July 23:

Combat Information Center (CIC), Aboard the JSN Giza:

“Bridge, CIC, the third bird is heading back toward the nest.” Horton said into the 1MC.

“Roger, CIC.”

Bridge, Aboard the JSN Giza:

Captain Tom Eagleton looked toward Admiral James Watts. “Launch the landing party, Admiral,” he asked.

“Affirmative,” said the Admiral. Watts turned toward the man standing next to him, “General Christmas send two platoons of your marines to get a sitrep on what we have out there.”

“Aye, aye sir,” Brigadier General Lee Christmas said, simultaneously turning to his executive officer, Colonel Tank Bigelow. “XO, give the necessary orders.”

Bigelow reached over for the field radio on the desk at his side. “Red Eagle 6, this is White Eagle.”

“Red Eagle 6 actual, proceed, sir,” came the scratchy reply.

“Get those two platoons of yours aloft.”

#tagged... This is actually pretty good...

"Argh!" Liquidus shouted. He awoke to see his left leg ripped to shreads thanks to the shrapnel of the . Enduring the pain, as he was ordered to, Liquidus got up. Seeing a straight piece of metal, he put it against his leg, and wrapped it with bandages, making a semi-effective splint. Grunting, liquidus limped on...

After a few minutes, he saw a group of people near the shore. He decided to greet them, until he saw they originated from Jovial Jumping Jax, Outer Heaven's most d Nation (only for this RP). Grunting, he yanked his Desert Eagle. He ran along quietly, making sure no-one could hear him, then, he sprung and grabbed a woman, holding his gun to her head.
"Nobody move, or she's !" he yelled...

0815Z, Friday, July 23:

Anders and Peacock were amazed to see some demented looking creature heading toward the Cleopatra crewmembers. Before they could react, the man – they could see now that he was a bloodied military person of some sort – reached out and grabbed Juanita, the cook’s helper.

“Nobody move!” the man shouted.

“No problem, mister,” Anders said. “We’re in trouble here just like you are. We’re unarmed crewmembers of a civilian tanker that went down in yesterday’s turmoil.”

“That’s right,” Peacock added. “I can see you’re hurt. You’re probably hungry, too. We have some food, but unfortunately our medic was one of those that didn’t make it ashore as far as we can tell.”

"Pfft, you Jovial Jumping Jaxian scum, you'd probably try and kill me! Those ers just now were meant for me weren't they!?! They were meant to kill me, so I couldn't complete my mission!" Liquidus shouted. His eyes burned with the anger of a wounded bear, and his finger tightened on the trigger.
"Now, I want you all to sit together where that...shelter is! And if any of you try anything funny, this WILL die!" he screamed.

He could feel the woman's fear, and he liked that, to know that he inspired into the Jovial Jumping Jaxian scum he held hostage...

0815Z, Friday, July 23:

Presidential Briefing Room, Governor’s Mansion, Jaxville, Jingoistic States of the Jovial Jumping Jax

Vice-Admiral Perry Walker, chief of Maritime Intelligence, stood before the Joint Commanders, Governor, and his top aides. “Briefly, gentlemen and Madame Secretary,” Walker said, with a nod toward Secretary of State Betty Lou Bishop. “The overflights have identified a newly-emerged land mass over approximately 5.7 million square kilometers. That’s about three-fourths the size of Australia.

“The loss of life in yesterday’s earthquake and eruption appears to be minimal. There were some shipping losses. As you know, our country lost at least one small tanker.

“The Trident is tailing the Islandian task force in the area. Apparently they were there conducting training for some of their newer flight crews. That would explain the release of bombs on the new ‘island.’ The Giza flotilla is closing in on the area. Admiral Watts has sent two platoons of marines in to reconnoiter. We anticipate their landing within the hour.

“Other nations,” Walker continued, “have ships in the area. There’s really no coordination of the rescue operations, but no incidents have been reported as of yet.

“Excuse me, Admiral,” Governor Jackson August interrupted. “This is an uncharted – or unknown – land.”

“Yes, Governor, that’s correct.”

“Do I understand correctly that we have colonists from Greater Nova York aboard the Giza flotilla?” Governor August asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“OK, continue to have Maritime Operations monitor the situation,” the Governor said. “Betty Lou,” he continued, “I want to use those colonists to set up a presence on that island.

“Once that is accomplished, we will contact the United Nations with a request that the island be named a protectorate of our country, until the United Nations can establish rules for colonization.”

“Admiral, what forces are accompanying the colonists?”

“Governor, there is a light infantry division of the Colonial Security Forces attached to this group of colonists. Three more divisions of CSF are still with the remainder of the colony on Greater Nova York.”

August looked around the room before continuing. “Those colonists have their prefab buildings and goods with them don’t they.”

“Yes, sir,” Secretary Bishop responded. “Each element is traveling fully equipped.”

“Good, let’s get them ashore with their Security Forces.” Governor August then turned to Walker. “Have the Giza provide air cover and supporting troops. Give Admiral Watts overall command, with General Christmas in charge of the ground forces.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Walker said, before executing an about face and leaving the room.

“There’s an opportunity here, Betty Lou,” August said almost gleefully to his secretary of state. “One that we cannot squander.”

0830Z, Friday, July 23:

Uncharted Land Mass somewhere in the Southwest Pacific:

Anders and his nine remaining crewmembers sat huddled under the primitive shelter that had been constructed just moments before the interloper entered the camp. Although unable to communicate because of the nearness of the demented man, Peacock and Anders had served enough years together to effectively anticipate each other’s thoughts. Peacock nodded as Anders looked his way. “Yes,” the nod said, “If he turns violent, we will strike in unison.”

Anders’ mind began to consider their situation. They had enough food for a day or so more. Water hasn’t really a problem, as they had set up the portable desalinization kit contained among their emergency provisions. The one difficulty on that score was the shortage of containers to hold the purified water. Anders looked skyward, viewing the sun as it climbed steadily higher. “Yes, heat too would be an enemy,”Anders thought to himself. No vegetation of any significance could be found on this “newly-born island.”

0830Z, Friday, July 23:

Admiral’s Flagroom, JSN Giza:

Admiral James Watts, commander of the newly-named “Newborn Island Task Force”, Vice-Admiral Peter Boyington, task force executive officer, Brigadier General Lee Christmas, Colonel Tank Bigelow, Christmas’ XO, and Captain Thomas Eagleton, captain of the Giza, sat sipping coffee at the Admiral’s table.

“So, we are all clear on what the next steps are?” Watts asked. Seeing his subordinates nod their heads, he continued, “Good, just to make sure I have it right in my mind, I’m going to sum it up. Any objections?”

Watts seeing none (not that he had expected to), surged onward. “General, you are to have the platoons already inbound secure a perimeter. One platoon is then to conduct a recon patrol a couple of clicks outward.”

Turning toward Bigelow, Watts continued, “Colonel, you will take the remainder of the company’s platoons, reinforce the beach forces and set up a command tent.”

Shifting his attention to Eagleton, he added, “Captain, the MI team will be landing shortly. You need to allow them to set up a shop here and then send some of their men to the beach. Understand?”

“Aye, sir,” Eagleton said, nodding agreement.

Watts now turned his attention to Boyington. “XO,” he said. “I want you to coordinate with the captain, here, and whoever else you need to, but I want those colonists ready to go ashore at first light tomorrow morning.”

“That’s all, gentlemen,” Watts said rising. The others hurriedly arose, remaining standing until the Admiral left the flagroom

0901Z, Friday, July 23:

Uncharted Land Mass somewhere in the Southwest Pacific:

Captain John Wayne Massey looked at the seemingly unending sea racing past him below the open door of the chopper he rode in. Suddenly, he heard a voice in his headset, “Get ready, Captain,” said the chopper pilot. “Land-ho!”

Massey tried to swivel his head to get a glimpse, but was unable to. Looking below, he saw the blue-green sea gradually shift color. Soon solid ground was beneath him. The choppers made a quick circle before zipping downward to discharge their human cargo.

Two platoons of combat-ready marines quickly exited the choppers, fanning out into a protective perimeter. As the choppers, returned airborne and headed back out to sea, Massey looked around him.

“What a wasteland,” was his first thought. Then the years of drill kicked in. He quickly assembled the two platoon leaders, both first lieutenants and experienced men. Lt. Black and Lt. Brown – Massey chuckled at the simplicity of their names – looked at him expectantly.

“Black, take the first platoon about half a click inland and set up an arc perimeter,” Massey ordered. “Brown, take the second platoon and we’ll all take a little hike.”

Both officers scurried off to carry out their orders.

Chelsea remained in the temporary shelter.

Fish. If we run out of food, we can eat fish.

Scurvy? What if we get scurvy? There's no vegetation around.

Well, we can ration our remaining food by alternating it with fish.

But what about that madman?

He can't stay there forever. Sooner or later he'll get dehydrated or starve or something.

1039Z, Friday, July 23:

Uncharted Land Mass somewhere in the Southwest Pacific:

Captain John Wayne Massey raised the “binocs” to his eyes. Massey, Lt. Brown, and members of the second platoon of Bravo Company, First Marine Regiment, First Marine Division of the Jax Military Authority, crouched in a crevice about two kilometers east of the beach landing zone. Massey scanned the horizon, and then lowered the glasses.

“Nothing out there, Brown,” he said, returning the binoculars to their protective case. “Just more rocky crevices like this,” Massey said, picking up a handful of coral pieces. “Reminds me of the old movies I used to watch about the island-hopping the United States Marines did during World War II.”

“That it does, Captain,” Brown agreed. “Particularly the one about Wake Island.”

“Yeah, you right,” Massey said, resurrecting an old phrase he had often heard his parents use. Massey parents had been born and raised in the Ninth Ward district of the city of New Orleans back when the United States was still a powerhouse country. Massey couldn’t remember far enough back to recall a time when the United States wasn’t a divided land.

Massey shook away his random thoughts. “All right, Lieutenant, let’s get the men up and head back to the LZ.”

As the marines trudged back to the beach. Massey gave further instructions to Brown. “We’ll need to establish two listening posts about 150 yards out from the bivouac area when we return. Second Platoon can man one. I’ll have First Platoon man the second one. You and Black can split up the perimeter into two sections.”

1039Z, Friday, July 23:

Uncharted Land Mass somewhere in the Southwest Pacific:

Anders, Peacock and the other crewmembers continued to seek shade in the primitive shelter. Noticing their demented captor edging ever closer to the rim of the shade cast by the shelter, Anders glanced over at Peacock. Soon the man would be in striking distance. Just a little more patience, Anders told himself before nodding at Peacock. With an almost imperceptible wink, Peacock acknowledged the silent instructions received from his captain.

1300Z, Friday, July 23:

Uncharted Land Mass somewhere in the Southwest Pacific:

Captain Massey and second platoon slipped past the outposts manned by first platoon, located about half a click east of the beach landing zone. Having been alerted to the arrival of reinforcements on the walk back in, Massey was not surprised to see the beach area full of activity. Several tents with portable cooling systems had been erected. Above one flew a regulation size flag symbolizing the fact that the Jingoistic States of the Jovial Jumping Jax was now firmly in control of this portion of Newborn Island.

Massey entered the command tent. He stopped before the company adjutant, Second Lieutenant Peter Best. “I understand Colonel Bigelow is awaiting my report,” Massey said.

“Yes, sir, he is,” Best motioned to one of the canvas chairs set near the tent’s wall. “If you’ll just have a seat, Captain, the colonel will be back in a moment.” Best nodded in the direction of the tent’s front flap. “He’s just gone to check on the setup of the water buffalos,” Best said, referring to the portable water sources employed by forces in the field.

Both men looked upward as the tent was suddenly filled with the sound of a helicopter passing overhead. “Must be the Huey headed back out,” Massey stated. “Yes, gone to pick up another load of supplies, I imagine, sir,” Best said. “We’re due to get a few Apaches and Cobras as well,” he continued. “They will be arriving from the carrier soon I imagine.”

The conversation was interrupted by the rustle of the tent’s flap. Colonel Tank Bigelow’s fireplug figure filled the flap area. “Good to see you’re here, Captain,” Bigelow said to Massey.

“Well, sir, there’s not much to report,” Massey replied. “We came across some debris from ships. Some of it looked old; some a little newer. The terrain is mostly barren and covered with coral, as I’m sure you’ve discovered by now,” Massey said with a slight grin.

“That I have, Massey.”

“For defensive purposes there are several crevices that offer cover from direct fire. I don’t imagine they would offer a lot of protection from HE rounds. It’s most likely we will need some serious machinery to dig emplacements of any type.”

“Any good news, Captain,” Bigelow asked.

“Well, except for crabs of some type, we didn’t see any signs of active life on our little stroll.”

“OK, Massey, I’m going to have the third and fourth platoons erect a perimeter, with a minimal amount of protective measures. Why don’t you and the second platoon stand down for a few hours, then I’ll let you get back to the business of running your company while I get ready for the onslaught of colonists that will be here at first light tomorrow.”

'Damn, they're going to strike at me aren't they! I just know they will! Well, I'm going to put them in an even worse situation!' Liquidus thought. Sadly, the ing had driven Liquidus insane, recalling bittersweet memories and days when he was on the frontline. But, this heightened his instincts, and made him smarter. And so, he removed the weapon from the woman's temple, and shoved her into the shelter.

"I know you're going to strike at me sometime, but I wouldn't advise it. I've been a soldier since I was ten, fighting on the frontlines, but now, I'm a Commando. Even if you aren't the 'civilians' you claim to be, I can take most of you out with this Desert Eagle. And then, I can easily take you all down, thanks to my HtHC training. So sit there, shut up, and play nice, and I just might spare you all..." Liquidus said. And with that, he opened a pouch on his trousers, and pulled out a flask. He took a quick swig, and then replaced the flask. He held up his Desert Eagle at the shelter, and then started to stare at the captives, his eyes burning with hatred and insanity...

It was at that precise moment that Anders and Peacock struck in unison, with Engineering Officer Bancroft striking just a second later. The remaining crewmembers, except for poor Juanita, who remained prostrate on the ground where she was thrown, quickly rose up.

"S**t!" Liquidus swore. 'Eigh bullets in the clip Liquidus, use them wisely...' he thought. He waited until they were close enough, and then Liquidus fired off twelve bullets from his Desert Eagle, all travelling towards their chosen targets...

Anders felt a searing pain in his left shoulder and then looked onward with horror as blood spurted from three places on Peacock's chest. Anders felt the cloth of their demented tormentor's sleeve. Anders pulled downward with all of his might as he fell to the ground, deafened by the noise of the captor's weapon discharging its lethal cargo into Anders' defenseless crewmembers.

As Liquidus fired off the twelve rounds he felt one of the 'civilians' pull down on his sleeve. 'You can use this to your advantage! Roll over him and fire off a few more shots! That'll catch them by surprise!' he thought.

And so he let himself fall. As he did, he brought his elbow to bear, and as it hit the 'civilian's' face, he rolled hard, making his elbow go deeper into the 'Civilian's' face. As he did this, he heard a sickly 'CRACK!' from the mans face. Liquidus didn't have time to see what he did, but some part of him hoped he didn't kill him, for whatever reason that might be. As he finished rolling, he stuck out his left knee, steadied himself in a crouched posistion, and fired four more shots...

Blinding pain -- literally and figuratively -- dragged Anders down into unconsciousness. Before his eyes closed, he saw the carnage around him and knew that not one of his brave crewmembers had escaped unscathed.