Federation of Corondum
Hasta-class heavy strike cruiser CGA-0401 Triton
On flyby trajectory past New Castillo, periapsis at 36 kilometers above surface
From the bridge of Triton perched above the magnetic accelerator cannon that constituted a large part of the ship's mass, one could see the small, blue-green dot of New Callisto exponentially enlarging in magnitude. It was a hotspot. Several fleets were in orbit above it, and sending any force there could be a volatile move, endangering the fleet- and reinforcements would be in proximity, but they could not possibly reinforce them in time.
Triton, for the duration of this mission, was on its own.
The heavy cruiser had been selected by the force's commander to undergo an incredibly risky move. After a conventional departure from the orbit of the gas giant a while prior, it had been set upon a trajectory that would have it fly through the atmosphere of New Castillo. From there, it would perform a series of maneuvers to correct its course before putting all of its energy into shielding and propulsion. Doubtless, a ship of this size would be detected, but the hope was that with countermeasures, the four-hour long flyby would have their signatures reduced to a much more trivial amount equivalent to, perhaps, a larger freighter. And if those failed, all the energy required to power the railgun would be put into shields and engines, giving enough time for the engines to get the ship far enough and the jump drive to spool up and depart the system back to the giant with the rest of the fleet.
Yet despite all of this planning, it was all risky. Too many "ifs". Their path would take them over Allancia, the hotspot of fighting on New Castillo, and well within the atmosphere. Their speed would not be slowed by the ship's propulsion- only sped up after their deployment.
In addition to deploying a squadron of Marines for reconnaissance, Triton had deployed probes before entering the system and would deploy them before leaving to gain further knowledge on the status of the planetary system. The goal was intelligence.
Aboard CNS CGA-0401 Triton
74th Combat Reconnaissance Group
Launch Bay
Triton had been selected for the mission because it had enough endurance to get to the system independently and it was capable of performing a drop like this. There was no other way to the surface, and it was a very risky maneuver that also depended on a lot of "ifs".
"..If we don't get shot down.." Blonde-haired Sergeant Marcus Tiare jokingly lamented as he pulled back the slide of his magnum, the mechanism catching a bullet from the magazine and pushing it into the chamber. "If we don't burn up after getting dropped.."
"..If the drag doesn't wreck the grav chute, or the retros don't fire.."
"Oh, for Christ's sake, stow it, Tiare." Another of his squadmates, a voice belonging to Corporal Titania Arvoire, chided him as she passed, an armored elbow nudging him into a wall, much to the amusement of the crew as she passed by, a helmet tucked under her elbow, a rifle in her right hand- which she promptly pushed into place in her drop pod beside the door.
The members of the CRG were eight of ninety total special-operations capable operators currently with the strike force. The CRG itself, however, was a long-endurance, elite reconnaissance force able of acting independently and unsupplied for long periods of time. For certain, they would be dropped with a substantially large amount of supplies, ammunition, food, et cetera, to last them long enough until a proper exfiltration could be performed- which likely involved the theft of a spacecraft.
"All hands, brace for atmospheric entry." The ship's announcement system announced itself with a second-long beep, and immediately following, the half-beep of the PA signified that the launch bay directly was being hailed. "Drop window will be open in T- 240 seconds. Enter your pods." The ship began to shudder as it increasingly ran into a wall of thicker and thicker air, despite the shielding that was active.
"Right, then." The unit's commander, Ashton Lockwood, gave a nod to the other 7. "You know the drill." He slid his helmet upon his head, instantly connecting with his suit and giving a number of readouts, the rest of the squadron doing the same in silence.
"Drop window in T-180 seconds."
The 8 men sat in the pods, two naval officers responsible for "squiring the knights" stepping to each of the seated Marines. Ensuring that the systems were in place one final time, they secured the marines to their crash seats with the harness, ensured their weapons were in place, and finally, pressing a orange, rectangular button on the pod's control box, the door pushed into place as it vacuum sealed itself.
"Drop window in T-100 seconds."
"Final calculations complete. Pod corrective and retrothrusters are primed. All internal pressure readings are stable.
"80 seconds.... 60 seconds."
The squire pressed a green, plastic button on his console, and metal doors slammed shut over the pod's entrances, sealing the launch tubes. Clamps stabilizing the pod released,as the pods swayed spinelessly, lowered to the Triton's launch bay- the eight hatches below the pods sliding into the ship as the launch bay's doors below them lowered and pushed out of the way, a buzzer siren ringing throughout the de-pressurized expanse and permeating into the pods. Four pods to each side could be seen, and below them, stratospheric clouds.
"Lovely day for a drop, gentlemen." One of the Marines sounded off over the communications.
"You seem to forget that there's a lady in your presence."
"I try to forget."
"Can it, lovebirds."
"Pods are on internal comms and countdown. Have a good flight, gentlemen." The shipboard communications ceased as the pods transferred over to the secure radio transmitters between them, as the last non-structural link between the pods and the ships severed.
"You all know the drill." Lockwood repeated, as his voice went through the pod's transmitter and his own helmet. "We'll RV at the supply pod, get what we need and move quickly. Explosives are already set on the pods, they'll think it's space debris from the fleets overhead."
"Let's get this done."
A row of bars illuminated orange on the pod's hud. In quick succession- within 3 seconds, 1 bar, 2 bar, 3 bars of orange depleted downward until the last of the four turned green, and the pod separated from the ship with a thud, each pod firing one after the other. Floating downwards for a second, the pod's engines ignited and rocketed it downwards, where it was quickly caught in the high-velocity winds that strained the limits of what it was rated for, and turned sideways. Stabilization motors fired on the pods, before retromotors fired, de-accelerating the pods quickly to see the six engines of the Triton's stern, the magnetic accelerator batteries mounted on the rear and on the pylons, the close-in weapons systems and the secondary batteries mounted in trenches and to the extreme rear of the ship. Titania, reportedly, could see the personnel from the launch bay looking back at them from the semi-circular rear observation window- but not for long.
The retro-motors quickly took the pods away from the departing ship, the first set of retromotors flaring out as the Triton's engines warmed up, powerful attitude motors firing from the bow of the ship to point it back upwards as the blue glow erupted into a stream of plasma, the cruiser rocketing back up into space.
The communication fell silent as the pod's altimeters read lower and lower measurements every second, the pods falling further and further towards the ground. Another orange light flashed in the cabin, then went blank, signifying that the grav chute had been activated.
"Hey, commander? Why isn't there a notification light for if the grav chute's successfully deployed?" Every one of them had heard such a line by some prospect during drop qualifications. The answer was the same every time- they would know if their grav chute successfully deployed. The pods were either "grav chutes" or "grave suits", joked many drop infantry.
Thankfully for the squadron, a reasurring jerk of the craft notified them that their chutes had opened- and had not snapped off. They continued to plummet for an additional few kilometers before the ground comes into view above them- and the utter chaos that was Allancia.
"Gods above." One noted, looking at the ravaged city as they penetrated the lower cloud layers. "It looks like hell in there. I'd hate to be the 446th if that's where we land."
"There's a reason the brass tries to avoid urban landings. It'd be better to just flatten that city."
"That'd be like flattening New Valence, Lima." The team had transitioned to their callsigns by now, as they neared their landing zone. A proximity display appeared on the pod's HUD screen, reading to 4000 meters and dropping. Another orange light illuminated on the display, and the drag chutes that had been slowing the pods down could no longer efficiently do so. They separated, soaring up into the air relative to the pods, freed of the half-ton weight of the vehicles. The countdown bar re-appeared, and counted down before the final set of retromotors fired, slowing the pods down as their speeds dropped from above 120 m/s to a mere 13 over the rest of the descent before slamming into the ground abruptly, burying head-first.
The operators sat in their pods for a second, their harnesses releasing. A hiss was heard from each pod as it vented its air out into the atmosphere. It ceased, and a second later, a riveting thud launched the door off of the pod. Many traveled a few feet before stopping. Titania's launched slightly upwards and impacted against a tree, cracking the plexiglass. Grabbing hold of the handles, the armored marines assisted themselves out of the pods, and began to make their way to the rendezvous point.
