QCS Interval 1: Thunderhead

[United human countries]

Colonel Lawrence noted the two men. "Soldier, we don't shake hands we salute. Sylvonian, wait a bit."

[Sylvonia]

Tobias clicked his feet together and stood ever so slightly straighter, saluting politely and then returning to his patient waiting. I wonder just what they think of having a Sylvonian on board. It's probably a first for our countries to be working together, even to such a minimal degree. He mused. Tobias knew oh so well of the enmity between their countries, but he couldn't turn down people in need, no matter how much he didn't like them.

[Ruthless Slaughter]

Hawkins regarded the two men, "Captain Michael Hawkins, at your service. I'm familiar with Sylvonian military dress, but I am unfamiliar with your nation, soldier. The Currousian Armed Forces you say?"

[United human countries]

Quarantine zone - Rotstadt

The city was in varying degrees of ruin. One might turn the corner and find bullet scars in the wall, the next, and an entire storefront simply ending in bricked ruin. Through these sad remains of city, two survivors picked there way through the rubble> "Miss, come on, you have to hurry, I don't know how long that general evac is in effect for. Hell, I don't even know if it's still active. But, it's our only hope."

[Mereshka]

Quarantine zone - Rotstadt

The city was in varying degrees of ruin. One might turn the corner and find bullet scars in the wall, the next, and an entire storefront simply ending in bricked ruin. Through these sad remains of city, two survivors picked there way through the rubble> "Miss, come on, you have to hurry, I don't know how long that general evac is in effect for. Hell, I don't even know if it's still active. But, it's our only hope."

"I'm coming," The small, vaguely asian looking girl snapped. Even when angry, her speech had a litling, musical accent, that, again, sounded only vaguely asian. The only visible weapon she carried, oddly enough, was a Japanese looking katana, that showed signs of heavy use, and she herself was spattered in blood, most of it that of the infected, though she was bleeding from a few spots as well. She had neglected to pick up any of the various firearms she had come across, though she was beggining to regret that. Not that she'd ever admit such of course. She picked up her pace to such a degree that she began to outstrip the man, grumbling to herself all the while. As she passed him, it would become apparent that her irises were of a startilingly deep red shade. "Just make sure you can keep up." She growled. Well, as much as a small woman with a high voice can growl.

[United human countries]

"Me? Catch up? You're the one lagging behind, Miss, what with that fancy katana of yours. Why it hasn't chipped or snap, I'll never know."

[Mereshka]

She snorted, and muttering something uncomplimentary in he rnative language, which matched her accent perfectly. "My people are the best at our craft." She told him, still speeding up and pulling ahead farther. "We have been making these for generation upon generation. Our weapons do not break, no matter the stress put upon them. They may dull, and I'm sure this will need sharpening once we get out of here, but they will never break." She gave another snort, and hugged her sheathed weapon closer. Silly barbarians... She grumbled in her mind, They don't recognize excellent workmanship when they see it... Of course, she also wasn't about to tell them that, technically, women in her lands weren't supposed to use them...and in fact, she was no more than an average swordsman...well, had been average at least. Now...she just didn't know...didn't know many things in fact, and that scared her more than the infected ever had.

[United human countries]

"Well, if you want to go ahead and use that pig sticker, fine by me. But slow down a bit. If we get lost, chances are, we're gonna get eaten." The soldier sighed. "I just had to come home to visit mom and dad.."

[Mereshka]

"Well, if you want to go ahead and use that pig sticker, fine by me. But slow down a bit. If we get lost, chances are, we're gonna get eaten." The soldier sighed. "I just had to come home to visit mom and dad.."

With a sigh, the girl slowed to a more reasonable rate, coming out even with the man. Speaking of which...they were to fight together, and one must always know the names of their battle-brothers...Or sister, in his case. "Fine.' She told him, and she didn't seem quite so angry now. Indeed, the corner of her mouth twitched upwards in what might have been a smile. It also seemed that her eyes were fading form the dark red, to a soft brown. "If you just can't keep up, I'll slow down a bit...by the way...what is your name? I can't just keep thinking of you as 'the man'."

[United human countries]

"Patrick Harker. Late Corporal of the Union Army, currently a member of the Arkheim Knights, on leave. Some leave, hm?" For a brief second, anger twisted his features. "And yours?"



On board ship

"Yes, you've got it right. As for your, Sylvonian, name, rank, service branch."

[Sylvonia]

Tobias straightened what little he could. "First Lieutenant Tobias Schulz. I'm part of the Sylvonian Army, the experimental and classified task force to be specific." He hoped that would be enough information, though he figured if more was required, they'd ask.

[United human countries]

"Well, first, pull that stick out of your ass. Second, you prepared to kill unarmed civilians?"

[Sylvonia]

Tobais blinked for a moment. He was just trying to be formal and polite, something he'd been raised to believe wasn't bad. "Assuming there's not an alternate solution available, yes."

[Ruthless Slaughter]

Mick crossed his arms and leaned against a wall, "But wait, Lieutenant, it gets better. The Colonel hasn't told you what's so special about these civilians that they deserve the delicate touch our bullets have to offer."

[Segronovina]

Laurent Chappell was a man who undeniably looked strong at first-glance. He wasn't overly muscular, no, but it was obvious that if he punched you in the face then you would most definitely feel it. It all came from his years with the EJBOC commandos. Scaling fences and walls, practicing room clearing, simulating jungle combat, swimming for miles off the coast of his homeland, and doing all sorts of other things that undeniably built a man's strength up and made him a notable asset in a fight. Laurent's government had "brought him out of retirement" so to speak, as in that he volunteered for the service, and since nobody was deemed 'suitable' he was the one sent. The government wanted to save it's active-serving soldiers for larger conflicts. So Laurent had been given an M4, various pieces of equipment for modification, a FiveseveN handgun and a few 'accesories' for that, enough ammo to last him for a few days, and a few other tid-bits of equipment.

However, the thing that had struck him was the fact that he was given no armor.

He assumed it would be provided once he arrived.

Laurent had boarded a plane to the UHC, had gotten on a helicopter, and had been flown out to the ship. Then he had touched down on the deck of the ship. From there Laurent had descended below-decks. He hated boats, even as an EJBOC commando, and the idea of being out on the top deck of one in something as light as simple rain was somewhat uneasy. He had descended below decks and had recieved orders from the nearest sailor to where it was that he was supposed to be. After giving the sailor his thanks Laurent headed for the appropriate room where he then slipped in the door quietly: another side-effect of his jungle training with EJBOC. Waiting silently at the back of the room in fatigues, bush cap, and his packs over one shoulder, Laurent had watched the group converse silently before stepping silently forward from the corner and performing a swift salute to the aged military-man sitting at the desk.

"Laurent Chappel, former Staff Sergeant with the EJBOC commando operating under Her Majesty's order: Segronovina." He said, his French accent obvious as he spoke.

[Sylvonia]

Tobias raised an eyebrow at Mick. "Because I heard about this, I'm assuming it's something out of the ordinary. Something the general public shouldn't ever hear about. Something that shouldn't have happened in the first place."

[United human countries]

Colonel Lawrence sketched a salute back. "As you were Chappell. As for you Sylovonian, it's a choice between having a conscience, and not being eaten." He cleared his throat. "But, now that we're all assembled, let the briefing begin. Seats, please."

[Segronovina]

Laurent did as was requested of him with military-like precision of his days in the service. He took a seat almost immediately. He took off his bush hat at the same time and set it on top of his bags which he had placed beside his booted feet. Then he sat on the chair: not slouching and seeming to only use the edge of it's entire seating area. He held his hands together with his lower arms resting on his legs as he leaned forward and waited for the Colonel to speak.

[Ruthless Slaughter]

Mick casually left his comfortable spot on the wall and made his way to one of the seats near the end of the table. Unslinging his rifle, he leaned it against the table next to him and produced a small spiral notebook with a pen tucked into the spirals from a jacket pocket. Leaning back in the chair, he prepared to jot down the key points of what his new commanding officer was about clue him in on.

[United human countries]

"Thank you, gentlemen." A button was pressed and the room dimmed. "Now, I don't have any fancy displays for you, just a projector and a city map. We're heading to Rotstadt, it's one of the largest technological and biological facilities in the Union. Completely severed from the outside world. Surrounded by mountains. The only way in or our is via air or the metro tunnel, meaning that the outbreak is contained, however," The projector clicked as a map glimmered into dim life on a blank board, showing the city plans with a bright red circle. "The outbreak has been in full swing for a month now. Our job is to go in, grab the survivors assembled at the evac zone before the place is firebombed. Most of the survivors are members of Civil Protection's Rapid Response Teams, same thing as SWAT in the United States, and their equivalents abroad. The rest are emergency personal or armed civilians. They've managed to gold out this long, they can hold out for another couple of hours. So, simple crash and grab. We've got twelve hours left, eight by the time we reach the city. Armory is downstairs, suit up, and good luck."

OOC: Leaving for a bit. Be back in an hour or so.

[Heaven Hieghts]

Florian waved his hand dismissively. "Forgiven me, things are different back home."

[Sylvonia]

Tobias did as requested and took a seat not too far, but not too near the Union officer. He watched intently, memorizing the map and producing a small recorder to tape what was said. "Alright, I can work with that." ÉRDR having issues? Damn, what is this thing? He thought to himself as he clambered to his feet, taking this as his cue to head to said armory. He made a pit stop in his quarters and grabbed his bag before leaving for his destination. After a moment of searching, he found a suit designed for a slightly height challenged man. Less than ten minutes later, his bag and dress uniform were stashed carefully away in his room and he had a combat rifle, another handgun, and spare ammo picked out. Curious of the accent he heard earlier, he turned to Laurant once he too was finished and inquired "So do you actually speak French, or is it just an accent leftover where you come from?"

[Ruthless Slaughter]

Mick hadn't even jotted down a word on his pad, "That's it? Seems simple enough. At least most of the objectives are trained professionals. Now let's see what goodies you have in store for us downstairs."

With that he stowed the notebook and made his way into the corridor. Following the signs, he found the stairwell and walked down to the armory. Ignoring the myriad weapons and ammunition, some he was relieved to find, was appropriate for his weapons, he went straight for the armor. He opened up one of the lockers and pulled out the suit issued to all QCS personnel and looked it over dubiously,

"This is what we're wearing? It's a kevlar body suit with thick padding on the limbs and a ceramic chest and back plate. Ah well, it's a little less sophisticated than what I'm used to, but it looks appropriate for what we're doing. I sure hope the public funding passes though..."

With that he tossed his duffel onto a bench and began changing into the armor. It took a little longer than normal as figured out exactly how to get it on and adjust it to fit. Once that was done, he secured his tactical vest on over it and hooked a one-point sling onto his DM-33. Carefully folding his fatigues and packing them into his bag, he stuffed it into the locker in place of the armor and closed it. He was about to head topside to find the helipad when he stopped suddenly, as if remembering something he shouldn't have forgotten. Jogging back to the locker he had claimed, he opened the door and reached into a side pocket of his duffel. What he pulled out was a small silver flask with a black nylon sleeve over it. Smiling, he shook it gently and listened to the satisfying sound of liquid within. He tucked it into an empty vest pouch and began checking over his gear one final time.

[Segronovina]

Laurent had moved to the armory almost the moment their new commanding officer had finished speaking. When he arrived he had set his bag down and removed his weapons and supplies which he had been carrying. He had carefully removed pieces of his fatigues one-by-one and had folded them away in to his bag. At that moment the Sylvonian approached him while he stowed away his normal uniform and asked him what had seemed like a rather random question. What did it matter if he actually did speak French? Of course, Laurent was willing to chalk it up to the fact that the man most likely just wanted to make small conversation with his new partners. So Laurent would be happy to oblige the man.

"Of couse, it's one of the primary languages of my country." He said "My mother said that no son of hers wasn't going to be at least bi-lingual: well I speak three."

As he spoke he didn't make eye-contact wit hthe Sylvonian, rather opting to simply continuing preparing. He dawned the suit he had been assigned like the others and made sure that the armor was properly secured before he started stashing his gear. He made sure that the canteen he carried was full and secure, that his knife was sheathed and ready to access, that his ammo was properly stored, that his pistol was holstered in an easy-to-reach area, and that his rifle was ready to go. He had attatched a simple 2x scope behind a red-dot sight further down the barrel and a foregrip on the underside of the barrel, and then a flashlight upon the side near the back of the rails along the barrel. He was keeping a few other attachments and the means to equip them on his person...just in case: another remnant of his EJBOC days.

He looked to the Sylvonian.

"My name is Laurent Chappel: I don't believe I heard yours." He said, letting his rifle hang by it's sling.

[United human countries]

"It's what we're alloted," The gunnery sergeant said to Mick. "It's light, it's cheap, and you're not getting shot out. But, if we had some CA-9's..." He whistled, and flipped a computer screen to face him, displaying a full suit of ceramic and kevlar armor. "Ceramic is packed with Ballistic gel. Spec are exactly classified, but, it's being phased in to replace the old CA-7's for front line infantry."