Crippled Morals, Forgotten Values [Closed, FT, ATTN CNDRSA]

[Fjorda]

August 28, 2180

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Sergei Trusch sat in the seat, staring at an active, blank terminal in front of him. The logo for Spearhead, the elite division of marines he and his fireteam were a part of was displayed as signal was established. He leaned to the right, looking forward at the four other marines of his team, clad in their black jumpsuits and body armor, with their helmet masks open. He adjusted himself back into his seat as the terminal went from the Spearhead insignia to a picture of Kordova. Trusch realized it was a camera feed from their mother ship, a carrier called “Forever Courageous”, and then a voice entered through his helmet’s internal speakers.

The on-screen voice software quickly labeled it as Fleet Admiral Holley, “Gentlemen, an anonymous tip from a spacer came in. We’re acting on a possible tip, and we don’t know what is going on here, but it’s something of concern and shady. The group operating out of the facility you’re checking is the United Peace Coalition.” The voice stopped for a moment, as if on cue, and the ship lurched forward under sudden acceleration. “You’re going in hot, expect contact but also expect noncombatants. These are scientists or whatever they call themselves, I forget. I’ve allocated a combat walker for support, it might be too much for just civilians, but you can never be too certain, Holley out.”

The screen blacked out and was replaced by a camera feed on the exterior of the craft they were riding in on. Tapping a button on his wrist-mounted display, Sergei felt somewhat claustrophobic as the helmet’s mask came down and sealed itself with an audible hiss, before a green status indicator showed on his arm, signifying the seal. He blinked, and the inside of the display winked to life, showing the IFF tags of the four marines in front of him, the inactive walker, and the three crewmen of the craft they were riding in on. His biological signs monitor was displaying calmly on his PDA as he brought it in front of him again.

A sudden deceleration as the ship hit the atmosphere and switched to air-breathing engines before coming to a gradual stop, hovering in place. Sergei watched as the center of the transport slid away and the walker extended it’s legs before being dropped through the hatch. It quickly closed after the machine had dropped through, and the rear ramp extended and lowered. The marines were out of their acceleration seats and deactivated their magnetic boots before lining up near the front of the bay.

Using the ramp as a slide, Trusch slid down onto the pad from a moderate height, feeling the jolt of pain in his knees and heels despite the armor. Bringing his rifle to bear as he scanned, despite the autonomous death machine standing to his side, the audio enhancers in his suit helped him with this job. Finding nothing to cause him worry, he took comfort in the fact that they had not landed on the TM-100 that rested on the pad, nor had the walker hit it either. A calm, monotonous female voice came across his internal speakers, “Facility map updated. Basic structure, no blueprints, check PDA for information.”

A gruff voice scoffed at the AI, “Yeah, it’ll sure do us a whole lot to find out where they hide the shit if we don’t have a blueprint.” Trusch rolled his eyes, and proceeded to the only thing that remotely resembled an entrance. A different marine beat him to it, Ramirez. “Is this wood,” he inquired, putting his hand on the door and feeling it for any traps. “Man, I haven’t seen wood for a long while, quite a luxury, might have to take it.” The marine tested the knob, a bit unsure on how to open it. “She’s broken, and I don’t see a keypad. What the fuck is wrong with these guys?”
Another marine came up on the side of the knob and hefted his rifle, hand on the pump for the underbarrel shotgun. “Move out of the way, Ramirez, before I blow your freaking hand off.” Ramirez took up position on the opposite side of the door, as well as Trusch, the other two marines in the squad taking up positions behind the stocky marine opposite of Ramirez. Flipping a selector on his rifle, he pulled the trigger on the rifle, having aimed the shotgun at the handle, pumping it and ejecting a shell, he shot again. Ramirez had a grenade in his hand, and tossed the purple-band into the outpost. Almost immediately, a large amount of stun gas filled the room following it. Waiting for four seconds, Trusch tapped Ramirez’s shoulder, and the marine went into the breach…

[Cannidarsa]

August 28, 2180

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As the gas filled the outpost, the UPC staff choked and coughed and stumbled about disoriented and confused. The outpost fire suppression system recognized the gas as smoke and the halon gas system came on, quickly depleting the already thin air inside. Not only were the UPC staff suffering the effects of the gas, they were now unable to breathe. Henri Usarov, a higher-up in the Peace Coalition, was in the control room as it all unfolded. Overcome by the effects of the halon gas and the stun gas, he was clawing at the large button on the wall labeled in english as 'ABORT HALON', but the stun gas had been forced lower to the floor and he couldn't get his bearings to reach any further.

Elsewhere in space, a lone TM-100 was on patrol around Kordova Station. They were rather bored, as many crews became in the emptiness of space, when a voice came over the radio stack. "Hey.. 47, are you alive out there? Those hippies planetside got themselves into some kind of shit. Their fire suppression system is showing active. Drag your asses over there and get a line on it!" The pilot leaned forward, obviously tired, and grabbed his headset. "Yeah, yeah... We're getting to it.."
He tapped the copilot, who was asleep. "Hey.. Put us on an entry intercept to Kordova. It's your turn to fly, I want to sleep.." The copilot was punching in information to the computer and when he finished, he took the controls and began flying on their course to investigate the problem on Kordova.

[Fjorda]

August 28, 2180, Kordova

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With the gas and halon filling the outpost, Ramirez could hardly see a thing as he shone his flashlight in the murky area, with lines of red appearing at times, along with the shrill call of a klaxon. It startled him at first, but then the hours of training in the similar sounds brought him to a state of calm as he picked up the sputtering gas canister with a gloved hand, his other hand holding his rifle up. He deposited the nonlethal container into his backpack, stubbing his booted foot on an unconscious body. "Man, it's like one of those triple X videos in here, y'know with all the stuff," Ramirez said, and an uproar of laughter greeted his joke. Moving towards the rear of the large room, Ramirez found the unconscious body of Henri Usarov, collapsed before the halon abort button, and he punched it with his left hand. Almost immediately, the fire alarm ceased it's lights and noise, and the halon system stopped chugging.

After a few moments, the halon cleared and the room got even darker than when it was under the guzzle of halon. A dozen or so bodies lay on the floor, in varying stages of ability to save. Trusch, being a mathematics expert, did the calculations in his head. "We have only time to save one, and there's only going to be one or two in here worth saving. I'm sure something kicked off an alarm when we breached, so we don't have time to save them all, Ramirez, what's the status on what looks to be the commander of the facility?" Ramirez toed the guy for a moment with his boot before kneeling down and
ran his left hand along the chest and left arm of the unconscious Usarov. His PDA chirped in his helmet and he pulled his left arm up so he could see it. "Biometrics are fading, but he has a strong will to live it seems. He's worth it, Chief." Trusch took it in, before ordering, "Alright, Ramirez, grab that HVT and slap an ox mask on him. Rest of you, grab anything that isn't nailed down and looks important. Maps, memos, bulletins, you name it and just grab it. If you can't pick it up, then you make sure you get a damned well good shot of it for the techies back on the Forever Courageous. Got it? Execute."

The Marines fanned out across the small outpost as Ramirez put an oxygen mask on Usarov, before hefting his unconscious body over his shoulder and took that bag of potatoes out to the Laika dropship, which had now landed. The crew chief ran out on the ramp, an SMG in hand as he helped Ramirez on the ramp and found a spot to lay the high-ranking official down on the floor. "What the fuck, man? Command said no bodies, we can't be traced back to this," shouted the crew chief at him. The Marine pulled out the empty gas canister and handed it to the crew chief before saying, "We didn't shoot, their fire suppression kicked on because of this. It'll look like an accident, or a defect in the system." The crew chief looked at him and shook his head, an almost unnoticeable gesture to those not used to the armor, "Don't know how he'll go on not being missed, but that's him. Go back, I'll strap him down in a spare seat." Ramirez ran off and saw the fireteam running out of the facility, no documents in hand. "Get on the boat, Holley's orders!" Ramirez hesitated, and looked towards the door, making a mad sprint towards it, he slammed into it, knocking it off it's hinges and onto the ground, with him toppling on top of it. "What the fuck is your problem, Ramirez," came from the same gruff marine as before, but now Ramirez had his door he wanted. He picked it up and proudly proclaimed, "I came for the ladies, and got me a rare door! This is worth a few weeks of wages!" He picked it up and ran towards the Laika, where the walker was now boarding it at a half-crouch.

As soon as he had boarded, the ramp closed and he threw his door on the floor before strapping himself in his seat, next to the walker. He disengaged his helmet's seal and looked back towards the team as the mask rose up and out of his view. The rest of the team was looking at him with looks of confusion, with Sergei smiling at him from the back. Ramirez gave a thumbs up and looked over towards the person he had rescued, who sat still unconscious in his seat, all strapped up like a baby. The walker latched onto the crane above the hatch, and the dropship's engines roared in the ears of the men in the cargo bay, as it rocketed off of Kordova and made for the carrier.

August 28, 2180, Teufelshöhle

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Chairman Mark Schlimmer looked out across the lava lake, well he shouldn't say lava lake, considering the whole planet was mostly lava, except for the rocky cliffs that the multiple facilities owned by the large companies of Fjorda, and the military station in orbit. Teufelshöhle was a good source for minerals and research, and that's what Raven Rock had came here to do. He was here for a corporate meeting, and he sat in the state-of-the-art facility's meeting room, which had the corporate entities of Fjorda's second-largest company in one room. They were about to be witnesses to a technology demonstration, one which could challenge the morals and values of even the harshest men.

[Cannidarsa]

28 August, 2180, Area 12, Kordova

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15 Colonial Infantry troops had been on patrol nearby and seen the foreign looking ship arrive, as they crested the hill, the squad leader halted, raised his rifle and began firing at the fleeing craft. He didn't need to say a word, as his troopers had already followed his lead and opened up, filling the indigo sky with green tracers. He pressed his transmit switch to order them. He yelled to be heard over his respirator filters. "USE YOUR ROCKETS!" Almost in unison the soldiers switched their grip to the underbarrel tube and let an almost synchronized volley of 32MM general purpose rockets loose. By then, it was too late, the strange ship was out of range, with the rockets exploding harmlessly after their fuel was expended. Wry pushed his goggles up and yanked his respirator off. "You fucking morons! Shoot where the target will be, not where it is! Didn't they fucking cover that in basic?"
He sighed heavily and scanned the area briefly. "Come on, kids, let's go see what they were up to with the lovely United Peace Coalition..." The troopers cautiously kept their rifles up and scanned the area as they came to the pad. "Their bird is still here. I've got a bad feeling about this one." He glanced to the entrance. "Door is gone.. Vorobei, you take point." Vorobei stepped up to the doorway and peeked inside. "I don't see anything, it's pretty dark in there.." He pulled a small tube out of one his cartridge pouches and pulled a ring from it, tossing it inside. It lit the building up in a blinding flash, and the troopers flipped their helmet mounted tactical displays down. "Yeah, or you could have used your flashlight.." The troopers now had a rough picture rendered of what was inside the building. "Shit, they're all fucking dead!" Wry remarked as he stepped into the building, guided by his 3D rendering. He could feel the occasional body under his boot as he made his way into the control room, which was lit by a single emergency light. He stopped when something on the desk caught his eye. He picked it up and examined it. "Whoever they were, they came for Usarov..." He handed the card to Soloveiko, who was somewhat shorter than the rest of the troopers. "Damnit! How the fuck did they make him...?" Soloveiko's accent wasn't very suited for harsh language, and Wry struggled to hold in a chuckle. "I-I don't know.. We just need to calm down.. Who would want him.. I mean, could it be a UPC setup? Did they know all along?" Soloveiko shoved his tinted goggles up, only to reveal a pair of glasses underneath. "Honestly, I doubt it. I don't think they made him at all. If they knew who he really was, they'd have left him be. Looks like they took lots of documents, and in a hurry too.." He kicked at some scattered papers on the floor.
He adjusted his glasses with a soft sigh. "Fleet will have someone in a sling for this one for sure."
Wry nodded, still looking at the ID card. The rectangular shape of it was something the foreign ship shared. He'd seen it before, but he couldn't quite place exactly where. Something as simple as a rectangle had ignited feelings of woe within him. He passed the card over to Soloveiko again, somewhat distracted from the place he was in. He could hear the faint but familiar sound of TM100 engines, they had a distinct low-pitched rattling whine to them, and he snapped back to reality. "That'll be either Fleet or one of ours.. We gotta get back to the station and get hold of special assigments.. This isn't good. The building shook as the TM100 touched down hard outside, as was usual in Kordova's thinner air. "Come on. Let's get out of here." The whole time they walked out, and the entire ride back to the station, Soloveiko stared at the card, trying to figure out what exactly Wry had seen in it. Their TM100 suddenly shuddered as it neared the station was once again with gravity. It seemed like hours, but the TM100 entered the hangar they disembarked rather quickly. Naval intelligence was already waiting for them at the hangar entrance. Everyone began removing their combat gear and clearing their weapons, preparing for a long debriefing session with the much dreaded SNI sailors.

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OOC: Posted after collaborating with Fjorda to revive this.

[Fjorda]

August 28, 2180, Kordova

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The Laika had zoomed off in the distance when it came under fire by the Colonial Infantry soldiers of the Cannidarsan colony. "Hey those fuckers are scorching our paint job, should we turn them to slag Jenkins?" The crew chief was already inputting the targeting information into his console and executed the fire mission without even confirmation, which brought a less-than-tasteful remark from the pilot and co-pilot. "Hey, if they were friendly they wouldn't have shot us up, and that spacer we got the tip from wouldn't have told us this was a bad place!" A clicking was heard within the hull and the Marines instinctively put their helmets back on and sealed them. "Our target still strapped in and has his mask on, right Ramirez," inquired Trusch through the helmet comms. A green light flashed in Trusch's helmet from Ramirez's icon and Trusch breathed a sigh of relief that was quickly taken away at what happened in the next few moments.

"The turret's jammed, somethin-," the crew chief was interrupted by the sound of metal straining and then a dull thump as the Laika left the atmosphere of the planet. "We've got a problem, boys," came the cool voice of the pilot. "Main engine just shut off and I have hardly any throttle from the maneuvering thrusters. The turret's jammed and we're a sitting duck. I was able to slow us down to a crawl before our main engine went out, hold on, attempting to hail the 'Forever Courageous'." The large marine that had almost shot off now reached forward and slammed the helmet of the marine sitting in front of him into the supporting metal on his left. Andrei, the one being pummeled, first let out an expletive in shock before the shallow breathing of unconsciousness followed, which every single person on the team communications heard.

"What the fuck? Surrender now ass-," the crew chief commanded before being interrupted by a round from the dart gun the traitorous marine held, pinning his hand to the bulkhead, forcing him to drop his gun. "GAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH," came the cries of the wounded crew chief. The traitor stood out of his seat and began advancing on the cockpit before a gunshot rang out in the confines of the spaceship, piercing the lower calf of the marine and causing him to turn at the waist before releasing a shot off from his dart pistol, hitting Trusch directly in the arm and knocking him down onto the deck of the Laika. The traitor limped towards Trusch, whom lay on the floor bleeding from the spike that had punctured his suit and armor. "Did they ever tell you what happened at the start of the Fleet Marines, Senior Chief?" His arm brought up the dart pistol and his finger squeezed within the trigger guard before a great force slammed into the traitor, causing his shot to go wild and hit a computer console.

Trusch looked into the helmet of his savior, Ramirez! He had procured a fire extinguisher off the wall and slammed it into the side of the head of the soldier about to end Trusch's life. Ramirez kicked away the firearm of the turncoat and dropping the fire extinguisher nonchalantly, procured a pair of cuffs and subdued the large man. "His biometrics on his PDA says he's unconscious, Senior Chief. Andrey over there is in the same boat, these helmets can prevent a lot of trauma from hurting us. Now for the crew chief, he's in some nasty shape if you can still hear him, what about you there?" He pointed at the spike protruding out of the left arm of Sergei. "Oh I'm fine. Give an all-clear to the pilots who are undoubtedly shitting themselves up there and tend to the crew chief." Ramirez nodded and went to the impaled crew chief and put his right hand on the man's arm before extracting the spike from the man's hand, eliciting a sharp cry of agony and whimpering from the crewman. Sergei looked to his arm and saw the bloody mess the spike had made out of it, no doubt his suit was compromised and he couldn't do a vacuum extraction should the need arise. With an iron will, Sergei gripped the spike with his right hand and pulled with all his might, gritting his teeth and crying out in pain before falling unconscious.

Senior Chief Sergei Trusch awoke several hours later in the bright white interior of one of the rooms in the hospital onboard the "Forever Courageous", where the slow beeping of medical machinery hooked up to him could be heard. A chime played over the speakers in his room and the door opened, revealing an older man in a sharp white dress uniform and an orderly. Sergei sat up and saluted the staff officer, who shrugged it off with a statement, "You're officially off the books in here, Senior Chief. What goes on in this room cannot be repeated out of it, so you do not have to salute me or treat me with the formalities my rank entitles. Do you understand?" Trusch nodded and spoke an affirmative, "Yes sir." The man waved out the orderly and Trusch's affirmative with his hand before continuing, "Helmet recordings show that the infiltrator in your squad, one Mark Jemen, said something about the start of the Fleet Marines, can you confirm this?" Trusch nodded and Admiral Holley shook his head. "Long story, and we have a while of time, so get comfortable and you'll hear the story."