NationStates Jolt Archive

(OOC: Dammit, haven't done a good story in ages. Gave up with the last one because it became rather poor (you couldn't read the last posts for fear of falling into plot holes). Anyhow, I've got this little gem for interested readers, and I give thanks to Kulikovia for giving me that mental kick I needed. Enjoy!)

A wind whistled through the dark valleys, carved out by millennia of wear and tear upon the harsh mountainous landscape. From Mt Ypr'tam, the guard standing out in the cold noted, as its signature chill coursed through his right arm. The highest peak in the Mountains of Solace, the southerly mountain range of his country. He shivered as he pulled his standard pattern camouflage jacket tighter around him, benefiting from the little warmth it provided. Even though tired, he knew that his 1-hour guard shift would end in a few minutes. To pass the time in this moon-lit paradise, he counted the number of trees he could see in the valley below him. He gave up when he realised there were no trees at this altitude, cursing himself for dreaming about Il'Vi, only a couple tens of kilometres away, but three kilometres lower in altitude. The beautiful beaches, smells of the spice markets, warmth of the tropical sun...

He broke form his reverie as he heard footsteps on the path below him. Grip tightening on the assault rifle hanging from a plastic strap around his shoulder, he flicked off the safety catch and turned on the under-barrel torch. He coughed loudly, before yelling out, voice reverberating down the valley.
"Who's there!"
The light picked out a scrawny figure almost bent double underneath the rifle he was holding. Sighing, he flicked the safety catch back on.
"Come on Sa'soi, you know you should identify yourself before coming out onto the path."
"And you shouldn't be so uptight Je'tan. It isn't as if anyone in their right mind will come trespass: it isn't as if we're at war or anything at the moment. Anyway, the boys inside have got some good cocoa on: the Lieutenant's swot decided to share out his purchases from this morning with us."
"Ha'bjela cocoa? Or is it that cheap Peri'vi stuff?"
"No, it's Ha'bjela. Finest of the fine. So you'd better move that fat arse of yours before it's all gone."

Cursing under his breath, Je'tan began jogging from his vantage point on the ridge, following a narrow, concreted path that wound like some fossilised serpent past the air vents and automated turrets to the South Face entrance. Deciding to go the quick way, he skittered past the metal blast door set into the limestone to a more robust path. Here, large blue lights lit a bright line around the mountainside, red lights atop the RADAR towers flanking either side of the entrance ahead of him. This evening, they'd left the hanger doors open, allowing him quick entrance into the airship hive.

His feet pattered onto concrete as he passed a thick slab of steel, relic of the former days: mounted in a deep trench he leapt over, he could just see the archaic wheels, cables and pistons of the massive engine that drove those doors. Officially, he had been told that the hanger doors were driven on a hydrogen-powered combustion engine, though rumour had it that it was powered on nuclear batteries. Anyhow, he still had yet to see it, the workings concealed by the brotherhood of engineers that resided in this station.

He crossed yellow markings on the floor, taxiways for the beasts this hanger held, but his eyes were not focused on them. Recently, the hanger had played host to the AAS Imperator, last of the AeroBattleships. Whilst officially decommissioned, it had yet to find a buyer or even someone interested in the scrap. Until then, Station Solace IV would be the guardian of this craft. Above him, folds of nylon rippled as crews tended to the behemoth, men crawling over it as inspections were carried out on the outer skin. Whilst illogical, Je'tan had heard some airship company was purchasing it, to be refitted as an AeroFreighter. A rather humiliating end for what had been the terror of the shipping lanes.

He dismissed such sentiments as he pushed open a plastic door set into the rock sides of the hanger itself: when he'd first arrived here, he had dug the guardhouse as part of the platoon, whilst the finished the most recent extension of the hanger. Cut out of the bare rock of the mountainside, it stretched for 4 km into the very bowels of Mt. Sol'tam. The mountain of the sun. Mostly limestone, with hints of radioisotopes from the nuclear devices used in the carving out of this structure, metal supports following as the kilotonnes of debris were carted away.

Inside the troglodyte structure, he paid respects to the statue of the Fego'dei in the corner, before passing the the notice board as he entered his platoon's quarters. He was a member of Section 1, 2nd Platoon, Bravo Company. An Aeromarine by regiment, he was one on 4-month station duty. Consisting of guarding and helping the workers of the hanger alongside refresher training in the Milkavich hanger, it was one of the most boring periods of the year. The one reward though was the leave. And the Cocoa. He shut the door behind him as he moved over to corner of the room, taking a battered mug from the locker by the bed carved into the wall. He then proceeded to the centre table, where a gaggle of men were busy chatting, whilst taking lunges at the simmering cauldron of cocoa in the centre of the metal table. Below it, a stand hissed as gas was fed from a snaking orange pipe, leading to an improvised attachment to the hydrogen pipe in the floor conduit. Heat radiated from the near-invisible flame as he took a cup of the cocoa, relishing its warmth as he took a large gulp. Around him, discussions flew past: of the morning arrival of some bigwigs from high command; on Corperal Jason, who'd been hanging by his heels for the last 8 hours on the roof of the bunk room, by courtesy of Punishment No.22; on new recruit who was currently being briefed in the Lieutenant's room. The conversation blurred around him as he felt the soothing effect of the cocoa on his system, prompting him to take a final swig of the coca for his flask and go get some shut eye. He passed the inverted form of the corperal, engaged in a fight with Yu'sa, before rolling into his bed in the wall. Pulling across a curtain, he buried himself in his bedding before drifting off into deep sleep.

As Je'tan let the waves of tiredness wash over him, the recruit was busy being introduced to the way of life on station duty. Sitting on a chair hammered from scrap Aerluminium alloy off an airship, Yusuf fidgeted nervously as he listened intently to the Lieutenant's drawl, strangely modified by the acoustics the rock chamber the Lieutenant used as his office and bedroom.
"...guard duty, well, you shouldn't have much trouble with that. Just follow the paths and you wont get lost. Try not to get too far off the path, or you may find the sentry turrets will turn you into shreds...AM I BORING YOU PRIVATE?"
Yusuf jumped in his chair as his concentration focused back on the conversation. Whilst listened to what he shouldn't do in the station, he examined the dwelling: behind the officer's metal desk, a large AerFibre curtain acted as a partition between this part of the quarters and the concealed sleeping zone. In the walls of this area, hollows had been carved out to provide shelves for books and ornaments that resided there, added to by each officer who had resided here. Amongst old scrolls in Fegosian script that described the tactics of King Hi'sa, moulded artillery casings and shaped pieces of airship hid, giving the room a strange ambience. Hearing the drone coming to an end, he switched back to officer channel, before standing up. As he turned to leave, the officer spoke again.
"Don't let them know about the AAS Wysteria. I don't think the men will appreciate what you went through then."
"Yes sir."
The man coughed out the words before leaving the room. In the cold corridor, he looked either side to see where his quarters would be. Find who he would be working alongside for potentially the rest of his time in the regiment. A curse from the Lieutenant's office followed by a vitriolic stream of comments reminded him it was on his right as he left the office. He followed the directions that reverberated down the corridor, before he saw the door. Hearing the chatter inside, he took a deep breath, checked it was the right room, then walked in.

Inside, the lights had been turned down, leaving only the green gas flames to illuminate the chamber. Around the central table, 6 men stopped talking as they turned to Yusuf. Silence clamped down, leaving only the hiss of gas and the simmer of the cocoa pot, now severely depleted. A muscular man turned around to look at the newcomer, the part of the table he was on strewn with empty casings, a packet of primers and a large coke bottle filled with a black-grey powder. He held a copper-jacketed bullet between his fingers, and rolled it as he began to speak.
"Welcome to the platoon. I'm Sergeant Ui'lo, and the beggars you see around me both awake and asleep are my platoon. And you'd be?"
"Private Yusuf Ahmed, sir."
"It's sergeant, Private. Do I look like a bleeding officer? Since you're new, you ain't doing sentry duty tonight you lucky bastard. So make the most of it and either come have a chat, or get some shut-eye."
"I'll come sit with you lot then. Sergeant."

Yusuf sat down at the table, seeing what the men were doing. Whilst Ui'lo went back to his ammunition, which he now realised was being hand-loaded, others were busy carrying out more routine tasks. One man had stripped down his AF-07P assault rifle, and was busy with oiling and cleaning. Another had a pot of polish simmering by the gas stove, and was busy shining his boots. Yusuf noticed he was using a cotton bud to polish the tiniest areas, whilst still participating fully in the conversation.
"So I says to Iu'lio 'bout the 6.65 mils you do for me Ui'lo, and he didn't believe me when I told him what one did to the Moriabian I got at 900 metres. Didn't believe I could get a shot from one of these that far and still blow him back to his maker. So I says for him to meet me out in the valley, and I said I'd show him. Sighted it in by the time he turned up, so had fun showin him how accurate you can shoot with this junk. Managed to get a coke can off the top of one of those marker lights, at 800m."
"Shut up Ta'lan: you had an advantage over him."
"What, you call my scope an advantage?"
"You did nick it off that Hervian sniper you bastard, remember? 20x magnification is hardly fair."
"And you're the one who stole all those anti-tank grenades for when we did the tank-busting course, didn't you?"
"Well, stole is rather a harsh word... more like lift?"

Yusuf sat listening to these men: when training, nothing had been like this. The sergeants had all bawled at him almost continuously for the slightest misdemeanours, whilst here it seemed they used non-regulation ammunition. Stole from the dead as well, from what he'd been hearing. He gave a sigh, before standing up.
"I'll be off to have some kip now. Where'll I be sleeping?"
"Look for your bag, kid. And I know what you're thinking. Just remember that most of the rules are more... guidelines. Still, there are some rules: just look at matey up there. He got caught enjoying himself with one of the engineers, though I can't blame him. She's a bit of OK, especially hanging from the ceiling by her ankles. Isn't she, Corporal?"
"Go fuck yourself. Sarge."
"And the same to you to."

Yusuf looked around, until he finally caught sight of what he'd been looking for: his bergan, with the red tag on the shoulder strap. It was rested against the side of the chamber, by a set of rungs that led up to the ceiling. Cut into the rock face were three hollows, two with curtains drawn across. The middle one lay open, bedding visible inside. He grasped the rungs uncertainly, before clambering up with his rucksack on his bag. Halfway up, he grasped at one of the rungs to find it wasn't there. He fell backwards onto the floor, a loud clatter coming from the sack as he hit the floor. He groaned as he pulled himself up, before turning around to expect the awake men chuckling to themselves. Instead, he saw neutral faces.
"Be careful of that rung. Plus you don't really want to take your rucksack up there: just leave it in the locker at the bottom. Leave your gun on the rack by the door, and if you even think you have any live ammunition on you, give it to me. And before you look at me and give me any crap, I'm licensed to make my own ammunition by the government. Since this is my home at the moment, and I can make ammunition in my own home, that is what I am doing."
He saw the look on Yusuf's face, before smiling.
"Go on, have some of these."

He tossed from the table a plastic clip of 15 rounds, each in blackened casings with a copper bullet protruding outwards. Yusuf just caught them, before examining them.
"Those lot are all double-x loads. Be careful to aim low when firing them longer distances, 'cos they don't have as much drop. I added a little bit of teflon to the bullet jackets, so they'll cut through body armour like a hot knife through butter. And if you fire those on automatic, I'll be seeing you on the hospital ward with a broken shoulder. Good night."
He dropped the clip into his patrol sack, before shoving it into the locker. He set the lock, before putting a padlock he had through two holes someone had already drilled. There was a sigh from one of the men sitting at the table, followed by a warning mutter from the sergeant. A few minutes later, and Yusuf was asleep, sinking into the white linen as he thought of his platoon. An odd bunch, definitely, but seemingly more caring than the last place he'd been. He pushed out the screams from his head as he shut his eyes.

That morning, a shadow fell across the mist-filled valley as something approached. Lights blinked above the fog as the sun rose, casting beams of light down the valley to illuminate this craft that was following the lights like a moth. A silvery-white envelope enveloped a hidden network of film, metal and gas, whilst underneath was suspended a sleek aerodynamic capsule, a gondola as it was known properly. On its exterior, two engines throbbed as they voraciously consumed the last of the kerosene carried aboard the craft, props blurring as they spun. Aboard, a gaggle of officials there to inspect the hanger. Official government agents, as denoted by the massive symbol emblazoned across the gondola: of a palm tree, three bars and three stars. Whilst these were the official passengers of the vehicle gliding into land, there were more passengers than met the eye.

Amongst the ripples of silvery film that held the helium gas, a group of 6 men sat huddled for warmth: they had been sitting there for 4 hours, braving the chill of the mountain air as they felt themselves rising and falling, unable to take in the view for fear of being spotted. Whilst many an airship took on a few hitch-hikers, this one had ones of a different intent. Rifles hung on slings around their necks as they sat in silence. They had been told they would die; a death of many types. Most did not care though: fundamentalists could always be found, even in stable societies, and these were of the type that knew no fear. The sort who would carry on charging, even knowing that they would die for their cause. But these knew that the cause they were charging for was much greater than a rucksack bomb. They were going to take it up a few steps.

The noise of the engines suddenly changed tone as the airship passed from the open into the interior, followed by harsh mechanical tones muffled from the outside as machinery clamped, locked and guided the relatively small airship off to a small side-hanger. Finally coming to a standstill, one of the men made to stand up.
"Not yet, my friend. We wait until the time is right. When we can strike." The took out a small lump of what appeared to be plasticine, tossing it idly into the air and catching it as it came down. From the pouch he'd removed it was a small vial filled with purple liquid, a crude chemical timer. When he set it, and cracked the bulb, he'd have anywhere between 2 and 4 minutes to clear the area. Not that he needed that time to escape. But to dish out more of the explosive he idly juggled with.

Outside, ground hands escorted these officers and inspectors from the airship. Black uniforms and orange sashes padded across plastic gantries, to face similarly uniformed officers, sweating. Underlings scuttled off rapidly, to spread the news. Or, as some might call it, the warning. Even the smallest thing out of line would lead to pay cuts. Punishment number 22 from the hanger roof. Or number 3, if something terrible were to happen. Gas hoses were attached in perfect unison, the men following a drill knocked into them in the last 6 hours. Look impressive, and help make all look good. Gas coursed through pipes, into cells, as lifting gas was replenished. Engineers patrolled the exterior of the airship on mobile platforms, performing quick repairs of the outer envelope, fixing holes. The major focus of attention though was the gondola: engines had been revealed by opened casings, interiors of magnesium, aluminium and steel shining through complex systems of pipes, conduits and protrusions. One man was even painting the logo again: just to ensure the maximum effect.

The two officers left the platform, pacing downwards towards the hanger floor, taking a small lift down 200 metres to ground level. Footsteps changed tone as the passed onto the concrete floor, the aroma of oil and gas filling their nostrils. These however were superseded by the sense of sheer inferiority when looking about the illuminated hanger: the ceiling, 350 metres above, towered over them, whilst the lights set into the greyish rock stretched back into what seemed like a massive distance, blotted out by the many airships held inside. Further away, he could just make out the metal exteriors of the air distillation plant, sucking in the atmosphere from outside and tapping off helium. Water vapour flowed to spark chambers, emitting eerie glows as energy poured in to rip the water into hydrogen and oxygen, before moving on into the storage tanks formed of treated rock deeper in the side of the mountain.

Soon, the officers had their eye on the first official inspection, lined up in the middle of the hanger in full uniform with rifles in ceremonial positions on their shoulders.

(OOC: No problem, buddy. By the way, story's turning out just fine, eager to read more)

"Get up you lazy sods! We've got some bigwigs, and they're just pulling up to the outer markers! I expect all kit to be impeccable, and for everything to be there! If any of you lets the platoon down, you'll be joining the corporal. Which reminds me. Your 15 hours are up."

The sergeant climbed atop one of the tables, and produced a small key. He quickly undid the two clamps holding the man up to the ceiling, leaving him to fall down onto the floor cursing. He quickly pulled himself up, before rushing to a small door set in the wall: the communal washroom. Meanwhile, the sergeant who was obviously ready already busied himself with detaching the jack on the gas pipe, rapidly shutting off the gas before folding the piping into a reel and placing it in the conduit. He quickly flicked the lid shut, before tidying the tables again. Within 5 minutes, the room was impeccable.

Meanwhile, Yusuf stood in the washroom rapidly shaving himself. By his side, the rest of the group were busy either showering themselves in the large jets that came from a ceiling pipe, or washing themselves in preparation for the officers. Next to him, he noticed a large man with brown hair and blue eyes busily washing grime from his face.
"So you're the new guy?"
"Yes. Who are you?"
"The name's Je'tan. Lance-corporal for 1st section. Which, as it happens, is the one they've put you in for the purposes of your stay. Have they shown you the loose rungs yet?"
"Didn't you hear? I made enough noise falling off. By the way, my name's Yusuf."
"Not from around here?"
The washroom suddenly fell silent. Yusuf turned to see the men paused in mid-action, waiting for something to happen. All knew Je'tan was a fervent xenophobe. Those could be fighting words. Water continued to rush from the pipes as the atmosphere in the room became more close, and tense.
"I'm from Polinas."
The atmosphere calmed, before the room filled with chatter again.
"Lucky you. Where from in Polinas?"
"Jia'li. It's a small fishing village on the coast. I always wanted to join the Aeromarines since I saw the AAS Imperator over our village as a child, but I never thought I would get through to now."
"Save your life story for the evening: we don't have time."

The two men rushed quickly back to the main room, towelling themselves down as the sergeant continued to bawl at all of them. Some men were busy performing last-minute adjustment to their dress uniform, all superbly pre-ironed in case of such an event. Others were trying to fill in final areas of polish with little cotton buds, leaving shining black surfaces all around.
"You have a dress uniform private?"
"Not one that is ironed sarge."
"Oh dear oh dear... tell you what, for just this once."
The Sergeant turned to his locker, near the door, and took out a set of superbly-ironed uniform, complete with a sash and shoulder tabbard.
"You can use your own sash and that: this should fit you, since this is from my younger days. I keep it as a sort-of reminder."
Yusuf quickly changed into it, putting on his shoulder tabbard once he'd fitted the smooth dark-blue camouflage uniform the men wore as standard. A white sash went from his right shoulder to left hip, adorned with three fabric badges: his regimental badge, batallion insignia and company number. His shoulder tabbard held a few other fabric badges: amongst the basic training badge and platoon number, he also wore an advanced boarding badge and the Airship Wreck Survival ribbon.

As he was pinning on the medal, the sergeant peered over his shoulder.
"Nice work, I must say: you'll have to tell me sometime what you got that for. But haven't you forgotten something?"
"Such as?" Yusuf was confused: he'd checked over his uniform, noticing all creases were in place, all badges were in place, all metal was polished...
"You don't have your beret on. Here you go, from your locker."
He placed on Yusuf's head the light-blue beret, making sure it was moulded to the correct shape, before pinning on the regimental cap badge to the felt fabric. Turning around to look at the man, he nodded.
"Not bad. As I said, the medal looks impressive. You'll be standing at the front of your section."

By now, most people were ready. Only the corporal was still fumbling with his boots, in a perfectly creased uniform. A few curses floated from him, until he was stifled by the arrival of the Lieutenant. The sergeant saluted, before immediately stiffening up.
"Room! Room 'shun!"
There was the similtaneous crash as the 24 men came to attention, followed by the Lieutenant's speech.
"As you all know, we are being visited by some high ranking officials, to check everything to see we are keeping to the rulebook. Corporal."
There was a cough, followed by a mutter under someone's breath.
"And before any of you say anything, you all haven't been 100 percent legitimate. I just hope to god none of you have left anything in your lockers. Sergeant?"
"Don't worry sir: I don't think they'll find it."
"Good. But remember, I have a tolerance level. If they do find anything that ain't legit, you'll be reprimanded. If they find any of the 15, I'll personally be the one to shoot you. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir."
"I said, is that understood?"
"YES SIR!" The shout echoed about the room, soon dying down.
"Right, out to the parade area in the hanger."

The group marched out of the room in a double-file column, soon leaving their dwelling. As each passed the door, the grabbed their rifle and drill magazine from the rack, each fitted with a bayonet that morning. Slung onto their shoulders, they soon all stood out by the open door. Blasted by a cold wind from behind, the men lined up in ranks 2 deep in their respective sections, the sergeant and lieutenant standing in front of each platoon. Soon, all three platoons were out and ready, standing correctly. Right out at front, the Captain and Colour Sergeant stood ready to meet the officers, approaching from the distance.

"Parade! Parade... shun!"
The clatter of boots was deafening, echoing around the hanger. With it came the sound of 76 rifles being drawn into shoulders. The officers approached.

Inspection time. The worst time of a soldier's life. The Captain stiffly saluted, before talking to the group of 8 officials before him. He had always been uncomfortable with any officer above his own rank, and here was being given a full looking-over by some of the most powerful men in the Air Fleet and Government. Silence clamped down as he was inspected by the officers, a time where all were nervous. As the officers nodded, before shaking his hand, the Captain visibly was ecstatic. The officers soon turned away, moving towards the formation in front of them. The colour sergeant coughed, took in a deep breath, and bellowed an order.
"Parade! In open order...march!"

The men in their ranks took either a step forward or backwards, opening space for the officers now to walk in. Beady eyes began to inspect the men standing stock still, first directed on Sergeant Ui'lo. The bluish eyes looked unkindly at his attire, focusing on every micrometre of his shirt, sash, beret and trousers, stares reflected from shining buttons and badges. They then passed down to boots, hours of toil and pain rewarded by nods of the heads reflected in the gleaming footwear. Next, they passed on to Yusuf. A sweat had broken out, though he kept a straight face as they continued the procedure of inspection. One of the officers though had spotted something wrong. Bending down, a tiny loose thread on one of the pocket sides instantly became visible. From here, Yusuf noticed the crossed sword and sheath on the officer's uniform, underneath a large golden star.
"Do you take care of your uniform, Private?"
"Yes sir."
A pause as the officer decided which approach to take, before eventually replying.
"I expect an aeromarine such as you to take more pride in the uniform, and not to let even the tiniest of flaws let you down. 10 press-ups, then back to where you were."
The officer smiled as he moved on.

As Yusuf assumed the prone position, and started the relatively easy pushing up and down of his small body, he heard the same officer behind him. He had just found the corporal, who was now receiving a full-scale bawl.
"Why are these boots still dirty? Look!"
He heard a kicking sound as his arms contracted for a fifth time, followed by a muttered apology.
"Apologies are not good enough corporal! 80 press ups, and once you've finished you'll be confined to the hanger. It looks like your rest period is up for the next month, Corporal."
He dusted off his hands and stood up, hearing the angry mutters behind him as the officer moved on. He looked forward, into the near-endless hanger, and wondered how long he would be here.

15 minutes later, he found himself automatically moving as part of the parade as they marched down towards the interior of the hanger, alongside the officers. The group had started singing the national anthem in time to their march, accompanied by the many hanger hands, engineers and airship crews who were either standing high above on the gantries or on the hanger floor, coming out from accommodation dug deep into the mountain. Above, the chorus echoed from the sides of the AAS Imperator, seemingly endless as it covered nearly a kilometre of the hanger in dim shadow. He continued the repetitive motion of arms and legs moving in time, heels hitting the ground in perfect unison with the rest of the men as they wheeled around, saluting as they left the officers to greet the hanger ground-crew staff who stood on the ground, uncomfortable with solid land under their feet.

He looked up to see a skeleton in a side gallery they passed: a metallic cage, with tatters of fabric hanging from it. This wreck reminded him of training. Of pain, hunger, and peril in the Grand Fegos. He quickly purged the images from his head, closing his eyes before opening them with a new outlook on the area. The wind blew a reminiscent whiff of swamp gas away, a cold breath from the hanger mouth they suddenly were back at. He came to a halt, listening to final orders before dismissal: it seemed it was business as usual now. He had a 6 hour non-essential duty period, before 6 hours essential duty. Sweeping, cooking or cleaning would be the order of the morning. Just to find out what and when.

He followed the rest into his platoon quarters, where a large crowd were gathered around the platoon noticeboard. His section, it appeared, had the task of stripping and repainting the outside of main hanger doors. Wondering how that was possible as he changed into a dark blue-grey jumpsuit, he was answered by a sudden rumble. His whole body shook as men rushed to grab any delicates unsafely perched as dust began pouring from the ceiling. He flicked the uniform back onto a hanger and into the sergeant's locker, before dropping off his rifle and rushing out onto the concrete floor. A deafening screech hit his ears as he saw the hanger doors closing. Even though it seemed the entire mountain was trying to force them closed, they slid together at the speed of continental drift. His awestruck face was met by Je'tan tapping him on the shoulder.
"You'd better get a move on: we need to get the repainting truck out there before they close. We've got 15 minutes tops."
Yusuf stood there stock still.
"Well come on then!"

Outside in the high-altitude sunlight, Yusuf sweated as he heaved the water-blasting hose about on the top of the crane he was on: a precarious vehicle holding this massive hose in a tiny basket atop a thin arm. The entire structure vibrated as he aimed the water blaster at the steel plates, dislodging rust, muck and paint as the powerful jet ripped across the surface. He'd been doing this on the patch of door for the last 15 minutes, slowly raised to his height of 80 metres above the ground as he went over a 20m wide patch right by the edge of the door. On the ground, paint was being carried out to a large tank on another vehicle, where most of his section remained. Je'tan on the other hand was up in the basket with him, moving the jet of spray across the surface as they exposed almost clean metal on the underside.

Talking had ceased when he realised how powerful this spray was, so he had spent the time focusing on what scenery he could when it was time for his 5 minute rest from spraying. Behind him, a massive glacial valley cut down the rocky slopes, now devoid of ice save in the very far distance. From here, all that could be seen was the rubble of glacial moraine, and a tiny stream that didn't seem to fit into the steep-sided valley: a trickle compared to what once had flowed down here. Most of the valley was devoid of vegetation, save near the lower parts of the river. There, a mossy grass surrounded the fast-flowing brook, the occasional shrub poking out amongst the dark green surface.
What took his breath away though was the giant mountain in the distance: towering 4500 metres above sea level, it was covered in snow all year round. And cloud as well: it was the original mountain of Solace, where those who wanted to seek refuge from life could escape to. Nobody who didn't know the secret stairway could have much hope of climbing to the monastery at 3780 metres, still kept relatively hard to find to those not officially visiting. And nobody could get back once arriving, the monks stopping all who entered from ever leaving the paradise at the top.

He turned back to the door as the hose silenced: they'd finished their patch. A sudden shaking later that had Yusuf grab hard to the side rails of the basket, and he found himself moving along the mountainside a bit.
"We'll do our bit up to the edge of this door, then have a break. The next shift'll be painting it."
Yusuf groaned as he grabbed onto the now-shaking hose again. Flicking the catch at the top of it, he was rewarded by a back-breaking blast as the water shot out, the comparatively narrow beam ripping away loose dirt on the surface a few metres away. Even in his waterproofs, it was damp and chilling, the droplets that reflected from the blast site permeating into every nook they could find. Water poured from the basket and the side of the hanger, door, a waterfall making its way downwards to the rocks and concrete below, from there flowing in a torrent down the steep mountainside road from the hanger mouth towards the river, taking all rubble with it. A large pipe snaked from a large hole in the rocks, red paint peeling from the metal surface and control valve at the top, currently being repainted by the ground team. It came from an aquifer deep in the limestone, sucking at the water down there before returning it to the river.

He swore as a jet of water nearly knocked him off his perch: two of the paint strippers working on a wire cage a few hundred metres above him had just directed a burst of water at him, propagating as it fell into a dense shower. He re-aimed the water jet and fired it up, to the result of laughter as the water fell back down to add to the blasting effect.
"Don't worry: they ain't in our platoon. I'll cook them up something a bit later."
The water jet continued. Je'tan cursed, before yelling out at them above.
"Stop it, you bloody foreigner. Yes, I know it's you, Mr Arcuturian. If you don't want to wear that smug grin on the back of your head, then I'd suggest aiming at somewhere else."
The jet stopped suddenly, followed by the just audible realisation by the two above them that they'd hit Je'tan.
"Don't you worry Yusuf: if any foreigner pisses you off, just come to me. I'll have a quiet word with them."

Yusuf continued in silence, considering Je'tan. He reminded him of his Drill Sergeant, the one who had been instructing his platoon for training aboard a converted M-class Aerofrigate. He put the thought out of his head quickly again, but then considered. Perhaps it was good to remember? Images flickered across his retinas, of the tall, blonde man. The one who had dished out so much pain to the recruits who'd thought they could do the job they did, yet to those who made it past the first two weeks had been so gentle. A warm, light-filled gondola had been where it had all started: missile racks cut out in place of supplies and the like, equipment for boarding in mid air. The whole thing had been a fight arena, to allow them to experience first-hand what fighting in mid air was like. Scary, claustrophobic, dark... the memories of the dark, bulging cells that he had pushed through with the fireteam he'd been leading for the purposes of the exercise, moving towards the 'objective' on an external gantry. A strange signal over the radios, followed by a yell. Panic amongst them as they forced through to the light, and out onto a side gantry. At once he'd grasped onto the surface of the gantry as the airship tipped over. Hanging in space, flames had shot out of the engine gondola near the tail end, followed by more explosions. Then blackness had filled his mind as he struggled to survive the wreckage falling from the air, his parachute failing to respond to shaking fingers.

He stopped as Je'tan hit him.
"Now's not the time to daydream. Another minute, and you can do it all you like."
Je'tan smiled as he turned back to the steel plate, the sun now beginning to heat up the shining metal.

A man paced across the plastic gantry that followed a backbone structural beam of the airship he was inside. Blue overalls were stained with oil from work with both plastics and the engines, and now he had been sent to find a leak: supposedly, someone had detected a loss of AerGas from the fuel gas cells that billowed about him, greyish-translucent surfaces letting in little light. As he paced along the gantry, he swung a small torch about, to find where this leak was. A strip of paper was stuck to his torch, an indicator of the current gas levels. As soon as it turned orange, he'd know there was gas in the air. If it was red, the levels would mean he'd have to get out as fast as he could.

He stopped as he heard movement above him. Flicking his light up, it illuminated a ladder passing up to daylight far above. Nobody was up there. Feeling claustrophobic, he pulled out his radio and a pistol, switching to the command channel.
"This is Spanner 7 to Engineering 6: did you send more workers inside the airship?"
"Negative Spanner 7. Why, are you developing paranoia?"
"It would appear so sir." He stood for a moment, listening, but heard nothing. Likely just his imagination playing tricks. As he continued walking along the pipeline, he gradually became aware of a hiss. Shining his torch along the pipeline, he was dismayed to see jets of gas disturbing the surrounding air, disappearing as it warmed up. Looking to the strip of paper, he noticed it change colour before his eyes. From its original pale yellow it was passing through to sunset orange, before continuing past crimson to a deathly dark red. He swore, before running away down the gantry.
"Engineering 6, we have a major leak in the AerGas pipeline. Gas levels are at extremely high levels. Recommend immediate..."
He was cut off as he ran into a piece of wire stretched across the gantry as neck height. His high-velocity body smacked into the wire at high speed, leaving a deep wound in the side of his throat. From it, blood began splashing, forming a stream that cascaded down from the gantry to the cells below, dribbling from there downwards. The body took a final breath as a figure grasped at the pistol in the corpse's hand, easing the fingers from around it. Hands grasped at the radio as it was placed in a belt, before the wire disappeared.

The group of men left behind the innocent man: he had done nothing wrong except being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Clambering up the ladder way towards the top of the airship, the group leader considered the killing. Had it been necessary? It had for their possession of a working radio, and a pistol. Both to better ensure the success of their cause, and of their terror. Remorse filled the eyes of the rugged face, before violent blinks annihilated the precursors of tears. He had been spared the fate of the others, taking the fastest way out. His hand clasped around the top rung of the ladder as he blinked, this time at the light. A quick circumspect of the scene showed that all men on the gantries were headed towards the lower levels, to find the leaking gas pipe that had been reported. Adopting the walk of the average, each pace measured and body posture kept similar to the others, the group paced over to a lift, a small wire box bobbing over a deep shaft. Stepping in casually, and closing the lift doors as if he had been familiar with them for years, the lift motor soon whined as they passed downwards towards the hanger floor. A smile crept over the leader's face as the group changed their path towards the Aero-marine barracks. Here they would find their disguise, and weaponry. After that, the war would begin. The scar that divided that shifted again as the dark face took on a neutral look, green eyes focusing on the closed hanger doors. That would pose the greatest problem to the plot. But still insignificant compared to what they were attempting to do.

OOC: This is some really good writing...

Yusuf appeared out through a small stairwell in the floor. He had just followed a convoluted series of passages underground that made up the entranceway: a labyrinth to confuse any potential invaders, with sideways leading to nowhere or to lesser storage rooms. This was only a small part of the subterranean network that held the organs that powered the body of the station: he knew that the green passage, marked by a dark green stripe along the wall, led to the waste processing and reclamation facility. Here, experimental machines invited for testing from government and civilian labs poured over raw waste from chutes and toilets across the site, breaking it down into useful components to send back to the hanger system: pure water and methane gas that supplemented the on-site methane generators. Even the items left over were sorted by the unfortunates on waste duty, little going to the cavernous storage areas much deeper underground.

Now out in the hanger, he looked for Je'tan, who had followed a different path. Scouring the place for distinctive overalls, his eyes passed over the groups of normally-clothed staff and soon found him. The figure in the distance was sliding down a ladder from the dark ceiling, flipping backwards from the ladder to spin in the air, landing on his feet. Yusuf made move towards the barracks area, his new-found friend making quick chat with an engineer before coming over. After a few greeting nods, both found themselves enjoying a glass of water in the platoon cavern. Both kept quiet: neither knew what to say. Je'tan however soon broke the silence, finishing his second glass.
"Since we got the time, there's a question I'm as desperate as all the others to ask you: what airship did you go down in?"
"It's a long story. I doubt that even 15 minutes is enough." Yusuf automatically started planning ways of diverting conversation, before remembering his earlier promise to himself: should he? He sighed, before speaking.

"I'll start at the end: I spent the last year of my aeromarine training at Ecliptic II, away from the rest of the survivors. After that event, none of us could bare the sight of each other, fear we break down completely. I don't think you'd understand how much it would mean to lose a friend, but I'll ask you to put yourself in the position of me. Imagine the scene 20 months ago: me aboard an airship, fully kitted and ready for training. There's that early morning smell on the air: the cold, light new smell. Below you, the forest is starting to come to life. But what you are interested in are the final orders of your instructor: the one who's kept you motivated since you joined up. The one who you could turn to whenever. That sort of fatherly figure.

Now you know what fighting in mid-air is like: you feel like a god. You are above everything around you, at home with the sky. Yet you spend your time in the darkness of the airship gas cells, swinging above an invisible oblivion. You have no idea of what is happening outside, apart from the rustle of the wind and the cool shade. But finally, you come outside. The beautiful view that stays with you all your life comes in front of your eyes. But then your world is thrown into chaos. The recruits all around you tossed from the airship side whilst you cling on for dear life to the gantry, hearing screams of those trapped inside over the radio network and from your ears. The ground coming up to you. The leap of despair from the side of the airship, in hope of saving yourself, yet knowing that you will not slow down as you move towards the forest below.

What this medal symbolises is what I did. What I saw as I dragged my dead limbs through the undergrowth, to be confronted by the burning remains of the front half of the airship. Seeing the men stilled trapped trying to claw out of the burning material, the ripped cells pouring helium or gas out. Helium is lighter than air though: as it left, the fire intensified.

I went back in when all hope was lost. Men were running away, or trying to drag me away as I continued towards the shattered central gondola. Even from a few hundred metres away, the heat was blistering. The heat of a thousand suns, incinerating those unable to get out of the way. Which is what I tried to help with: moving those sprawled in front of the inferno to safety. I dragged two men out of the wreck, before I collapsed. One survived, and now lives his life in a military rehabilitation centre. For the death of that other man broke him. I don't know how I kept my mind, but I can tell you that precious few survivors preserved that precious thing that is sanity.

Even now, whenever I wear that medal, I see two things. Whilst there is that of the reminder of bravery I showed in that situation, my vision still is filled with the fire of that craft. Of my failed attempts to breath life back into the lungs of that man who had nursed me from inception to then. You could never grasp that. Could you?"

Je'tan slowly shook his head. Like the man in front of him, he was starting to show the glimmer of tears.

"I do know what it feels like to lose someone. My brother was an aeromarine. We joined together, trained together, shared victories together. Until I was put on active service. One night, we were walking across on patrol. This was in Se'los. The nights that never ended there made all our movements against the rebellion even worse, to the point we were driven from there. But this dark night, we were ambushed. I don't know who fired the first shot. All I know is that we suddenly found that the town we were patrolling was a trap. Machineguns opened up on all sides, shredding those who weren't in cover. One of those men was my brother. Before I left the theatre in that shambles of an evacuation, I saw the machine gunner. I knew it was him, because he had taken my brother's helmet to parade it as a macabre souvenir of his success. And though I was punished for it much later, I still remember the glee I got from watching that smug-looking son of a bitch change his look to that of horror when he saw that bullet with his name on coming towards his face. Made the most satisfying noise I've ever heard.
Anyway, away from this: we need to get out of here before the Rupert comes and smacks our arses."

He grabbed his rifle from the rack, tossing Yusuf's over to him.
"You come with me to the ammunition dump: we're out on hanger walk together. You'll need a few magazines, though I think you'll be best with just a pair of drums. Saves on space, and gives you much more time when shooting. Just remember to keep the strap tight."

Six shadows flittered across the ground, fluorescent lights the harsh contrast to these inky pools. The heads looked almost casually from side to side as they passed the rooms, eventually finding one that was empty. Inside, a long rack held many of the AF-07P assault rifles, two gaps near the door. Each was marked in some way: one had green stripes painted up the barrel; another had what appeared to be some form of improvised bayonet on its end. The 6 men quickly removed them from the rack, shouldering them and reminding themselves of what they had been taught. Letting them hang back on their slings, the group left the room to make towards the ammunition dump.

The lead man held his arms akimbo as he passed two aeromarines headed in the opposite direction. A tattooed hand rested upon the seized pistol momentarily, before he relaxed as they passed, footsteps reverberating in the distance. They were unfortunates to the cause. The men who they would greet momentarily in a few minutes would be the lucky ones. Passing an open wire door, stacks of empty boxes walled in the group until they reached a small opening, a man leaning atop the door twiddling a cigarette idly. A few cinders drifted down from the hand towards the floor, becoming dull as they reached the floor. Above, a monologue had started from the custodian of the ammunition. He wanted to know know why they needed ammunition. The words floated up to the ceiling, joining a spider feasting upon moths. The twitches of the prey in the sticky web were exacerbated as the air rippled.

Below, a lump of copper-jacketed steel passed from the stolen pistol of the first saved man, crossing a brief distance to impact into the man. Two more joined the first, leaving exit wounds behind. On the far wall of the dump, dust sprang up to settle with glowing cinders, and viscous blood. It whipped away as the door was kicked in, the dead body thumping as it hit a stack of empty boxes. A bloody gouge cut into the man's head, alongside two in his chest, the mark of a trained soldier. The pistol dropped to the floor after its final shots were fired, leaving a bloody scene. A splinter ammunition box leaked pistol rounds from its cheap plastic casing onto another collapsed body, adding to the chaos of the room. The lead man gestured to a side rack, stuffing the loaded box magazines held on the shelves into any available pockets. One man tossed a grenade from the corner to the leader, who smiled. Just what they had been looking for. He caught a few more as they were spread out, hanging them from his belt. Alongside him, one man was busy adhering a pair of the loaded magazines together with masking tape, rounds glinting evilly from inside.

A klaxon brought the men back to full attention: someone would've heard. In the distance, shouted commands echoed as men raced down the corridor towards them. Silence soon settled as the aeromarines waited outside in anticipation of the next action. A small metal capsule rolled out into the corridor from the boxes, a leaving present as the party of now-armed terrorists made their way through a small shaft in the ceiling, used to lower supplies down from inside the hanger, leading to service pipes. At the juncture, the group split, backs pressed firmly against the sides of the shaft as a shockwave roared out below. The item the enemy had received was a mere flashbang: the characteristic crack brought back memories for the silent head of previous encounters. How did it go? A taste of one's own medicine...

The sound of yells and swearing masked his descent from the light-filled shaft into a hellish environment of steam, gas and dust. This narrow ductway was not ever intended for human usage, only for the materials that fed them. All forms of utilities passed him by as he shimmied down the steep duct, dropping along the sheer rock ever deeper. Each time they passed any service entrances, they slowed in fear of attracted the prying eyes of those out to find them. Each time, all they heard were footsteps rushing past, oblivious of those below them. The transition at each level was noticeable: while at first, they had been in the realms of the mortals, they now inhabited the deeps that only the few dwelled within. Dark red lights illuminated simple tunnels rent in the rock, winding madly past main pipelines and machines whose purpose was only known by the artificer custodians. But even as he rolled out onto the lowest walkway, he knew that he was not deep enough. At 100 metres underground, they had far to go before they reached their final goal.

Je'tan sprinted towards the klaxon as it began to blare. The first thing he'd heard from the hushed chatter was that an engineer had been found murdered. That rumour hung heavy over the entire hanger, shattered only by the alarm. An attack, from the sounds of it in the ammunition storage area, and from the loud yells very severe. Forced into the passageway, he ran alongside Yusuf as he cocked the rifle, finger on the safety catch and trigger. An explosion echoed along the corridor from up ahead, the men diving for cover as firing started. Confusion reigned over the area, deposed as the officer arrived. The gunfire and shouting stopped as the Captain yelled out over the area.
"Cease fire! Make weapons safe!"
The firing stopped, and was replaced by the frantic clicking of rifles being made safe: the rifles were unloaded, the chambers checked for any unfired rounds, and then reloaded with a full magazine. The final action was the checking of safeties.
"Can I have some idea of what the hell has happened here?"

Je'tan picked himself up from the ground, dusting off before looking over into the ammunition dump. The bodies of the staff there lay around, each with a neat hole in their head or chest. From the neatness of the shots, he could tell it wasn't a friendly fire incident. Something much more sinister was going on, of which he was inevitably going to be a part of. At the orders of his sergeant, he quickly moved out towards the entrance. Yusuf, he could see, was white and pallid, a sickly sweat covering his exposed flesh. The flashbang had been much closer to Yusuf than him, so saving him a ringing headache and dizziness.
"Are you alright mate?"
"What does it look like? Just leave me alone."
The hanger air cooled down his sweaty body, heart slowly returning to a calm rest state. The rest of his squad stood in varying degrees of shock, weapons carried in the low port position as they moved to guarding the entrance to the area. After a few minutes of standing stock still, the platoon Lieutenant walked in front of them, followed by his sergeant.
"Platoon! Platoon 'shun!"
The formation stamped to attention in varying times, some still not composed. The Lieutenant looked over them, before speaking.

"As you may be aware, men, we have an intruder or intruders. They have shown that they will not stop to consider killing someone: they will just do it. We do not know what these men are planning, but we can assume it is not going to be good.
As of this moment, the hanger has been raised to Alert Level Red. Sleep periods will be reduced to 4 hours, and food will be served to each shift on waking and sleeping from that period. This will be continued until we find these individuals. Section One, you will be patrolling levels sixty to forty. Section two, thirty-nine to twenty. Section three, you'll be patrolling the rest. Any man required medical attention after that farce will be dismissed once the rest have gone onto duty. Understood?"
"Yes sir!"
"Good. Lethal force has been permitted to use against these bastards, so don't hesitate in flicking off that safety catch."

The Lieutenant left, as his sergeant addressed them.
"You heard the man. Find them, and make sure you give them a piece of your mind. Platoon! Dis...missed!"
The men turned to the right, stamping before marching off three steps. Section One quickly moved back inside, towards one of the staircases. Je'tan pulled up next to Yusuf as they paced down the metal stairs, past long pipelines marked with long series of numbers, symbols and arrows.
"We're going right down to the bottom levels of the station level. I hope you've got a strong stomach: the waste pits are right down there. Don't think you'll be seeing any light for a while."
An engineer rushed past, knocking them to the side as he disappeared down the staircases, following one of the gas pipes.

[OOC: I'll add you to the list of people who's brains I need to take. Very nice indeed, old bean]