“And so they fought." Beyond the Veil: A GATE-Inspired Roleplay The tale of Strike Group Essex Parts from Bentus' Unto The Breach with permission. Inspired by the anime Gate and other media. |
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United States Navy
Maritime Patrol Squadron VP-16 "War Eagles"
Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean
9JUN19 0200 ZULU
"The multinational search and rescue effort for the lost 'Strike Group Essex' is entering its fifth day. The lost strike group is the single largest group of vessels to go missing in recorded human history, with many thousands of sailors and marines unaccounted for. So far the United States Navy has reported 'no trace' of the large formation lost about 200 miles south of the nearest landmass. Joining me now is US Navy Rear Admiral Thomas Wellenber..
Rays of sunlight cascaded from the azure sky above to the endless Pacific beneath, sending a gleam off of the waves and into the small windows aboard the P-8 cruising above it. This aircraft was one of hundreds currently scouring the seas to the south of Okinawa in an effort to find the strike group. The Navy had panicked after 14 hours of zero contact and zero clues. Every available asset capable of assisting with the search, including a multitude of Air Force Reserve squadrons, international partners, even civilian craft had been requisitioned to tear over every inch of the search area.
From one of the TV mounts aboard the Poseidon, a CNN interview with a Navy admiral spoke the same tune that had been spoken the past few days. The Navy was 'exhausting every effort' to find the lost strike group, and that the case was 'bizarre' and 'unprecedented'. The issue had captured widespread national and international tension- politicians had used it as a springboard to lament everything from US Navy policy to wider critiques of US geopolitical strategy; civilians had held vigils in their cities praying for the Strike Group.
And so the search continued. The President had sworn that the military 'would spend every waking moment' searching until something was found. But no one knew that with this singular, stirring event, the threads of fate had wove this world and another together- for good or ill.
United States Navy
Strike Group Essex, 13th Marine Expeditionary Unit
Naval Station Horizon, Corlean Trust Territory
9JUN19 0400 LOCAL- Exodus +5
Naval Station Horizon was a home away from home- Earth's foothold in a brave new world. While it certainly wasn't as austere as Plymouth or Jamestown was, the situation was no less fantastical- highly advanced wayfarers landing upon unknown soils. Perhaps it was an ironic twist of fate that Americans- who had such an experience occur on their own continent- would go on to do the same to a new world.
Under strict mandate from the MEU's Commanding Officer, the Marines of the Strike Group were limited on what they could be doing. Beyond helping to set up the base, gathering food and establishing logstics, the current standing order was not to leave the base without orders. Although occasionally a platoon would depart and patrol the nearby town of Trisondil, the rest of the MEU's Marines passed time as best they could in the early morning- most did this by sleeping in at this hour.
In the dusk of the morning, however, the four Marines standing sentry at the west gate batted their eyes as a LAV pulled to their barricade, the headlight beams dazing the fatigue-racked men at their posts for a second. The rumbling of the engine died down, as the LAV's crew of three popped the hatches into the cold and humid early morning air. A light fog, blown inland from the seas, drifted lazily among the grass as it collected on the brims of their helmets, on the steel of the LAV, on the blades of grass.
Behind this LAV, a set of wheeled vehicles- two HMMWVs and two MTVRS were quickly parked. A group of Marines started to hover around the growing convoy as a second LAV arrived, parking at the rear. The fatigue-clad men hauled boxes of MREs, medical supplies, ammunition, rocket launchers, camping and survival equipment into the trucks. Atop one of the Humvees, a Mk19 grenade launcher was bolted into place, a box full of 40mm grenades placed in next to it.
As the base's generators warmed up, a pair of floodlights illuminating the convoy, First Lieutenant Graff finished off the remnants of a strawberry Poptart, wiping the crumbs from his platecarrier and shouldering his rucksack. Today was stepoff day for the 1st Composite Recon Platoon into the wild yonder, and Graff couldn't exactly say he was ready. Checking the mag of the rifle slung around his check idly, he pushed off from the Hesco barrier and into the rear LAV, where himself and the command team of the CRP would be situated- for now, simply himself, the Platoon Sergeant, and the radio operator, leaving the other seats for their gear and equipment. Propping open the rear door, he tossed his own ruck into the right corner of the LAV's crew bay, leaving him rather unburdened.
As the logistics company finished loading the supplies for the convoy, the now-assembled group- that of the 1st CRP- stood off to the side in a loose formation. These men and women had received notices from their command throughout yesterday- some at lunch, some at dinner and some just before bed- but it mattered not. They had a mission- and they needed to get moving. Graff nodded, glanced back as the Marines cleared from the convoy, towards his platoon. Letting his rifle hang at his shoulders, he approached the group, waiting for about a few seconds, as the talking quieted, before starting.
"..Ladies and gentlemen. I will make this brief, we have a mission to get onto. Welcome to the 1st Composite Reconnaissance Platoon. I am your platoon commander, 1st Lieutenant Micheal Graff, United States Marines. Welcome aboard. For my Marines, you know how we conduct things here. But for everyone else, we'll be going over it again. In this platoon, I make the shots. If you have an issue with how I call them, you talk to me afterwards. I expect nothing short of your unreserved willingness to comply, and motivation to complete any task I give properly. You can expect of me to be fair and firm in all my dealings with you, and to expect that I will never give you an order I would not carry out myself." He gave a brief pause, and then continued.
"This is an important job. It is imperative that we keep our weapons safe and stick to the plan at all times. Our navigation is limited to that of compass and very rudimentary maps, so do not expect our navigation to be accurate." Pacing back and forth slightly, he stops before the convoy and regards the group. "..Call all your contacts, do not engage unless fired upon or cleared to do so. Report anything you find or see, so on."
"..As for our mission- the time now is 0400 hours. At 0415, we will be stepping off. We will be following a road known as the 'Branch Road' that runs to our north and performing reconnaissance. We expect to encounter a small village sometime past noon, and we will be gathering information from the locals. We will receive updates as needed from headquarters here at Horizon, but do not expect to be returning here for some time. If you left something behind and want to fetch it before you go, now is the time." Waving a hand, he stepped away from the formation with a nod. "Dismissed. Get your things ready and mount up. If you're not mounted by 15 past, you're getting left behind."