War Pigs: Origins, II

Joeyray's Bar
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---[Natalie Ross]---

Natalie smiled to herself. She liked Rob. A cheerful convict was hard to find and he always had a way of lightening the situation.

"I just ran the Silico far past her limits. I need help with a full systems check and then I was hoping you could clear the blockade and jump to Tarsonis for me. I need a moment to breathe."

The pilot treated Rob's missing pinky as if she had already known about it for years. In reality, she was too stressed to process the missing limb, even after he said something.

---[Steve Svenson]---

For a moment, Steve actually thought he could come up with a reasonable answer. Her countdown began to prove otherwise. Someone's utterance of "rebel filth" only threw him off further as he fought impulses to turn around.

"O-okay, I see your point..." He finally said in surrender.

---[Brock Tailor]---

The Captain shakes his head before heading over to the sink to wash his face.

Who would have thought leading a team of convicts through hell was a good idea?

OOC: This post is finalized.
Rob gives a half-smile.

"Past her limits, eh? Sounds like something I would have done when I still flew a space fighter."

Rob flops down into the co-pilot seat, and begins to observe the various panels and adjusts some of the controls.

"You know Natalie," Rob continues, flipping a couple switches, "You should consider switching to Wraith piloting. Much less stressful than flying an oldie like this full of people whose lives you're responsible for."

Rob chuckles.

"Anyway, yeah I can do that, easy. All I need to do is jump to warp space as soon as we near the blockade right?"
Alison states, walking in silence the rest of the way to the mess hall. Grabbing a well-sized platter and throws a couple of sandwiches on;

"You hungry?"
She asks Steve, gesturing around the mess hall;
"Feel free to grab something to eat. I'm heading up to the cockpit as a hungry pilot is a bad thing. I trust that you'll stay out of trouble?"
Alison says, a dispassionate face and arched eyebrow reinforcing her earlier threat.

If you want to get into the bit between Natalie & Alison more (bot of page 4 through top of page 6), Natalie is going to have to bring it up because Alison meant what she said about leaving Natalie's past alone.
War: Yeah, I'm not sure how exactly to rehash that. I have confidence that Natalie will open up to Alison if she proves that she cares besides just saying so, and she opens up to her first. We'll see how it pans out. Good communication, though.

There's some nice interactions going on :3

---[Steve Svenson]---

Svenson's head shakes. "No, believe me, I have no appetite. Not yet, anyways."

The reinforced threat pushes Steven even farther.

"Look, I get it. You don't trust me. And I don't blame you. But seriously, cut me some slack. My whole family lived on Korhal. Now it's a smoldering piece of ash, as bad as char! Just because I was raised with different values and motivations than the Confederacy, doesn't mean I'm foolish enough to attack my only chance at waking up tomorrow.

"And I know... I can't hold any individual responsible for what's been done to my homeworld..."

The man paused with a sigh. He knew he couldn't hold any confederate soldier personally responsible. They were doing the same thing he signed up to do. Defend his homeland, reap vengeance on the enemy. Only his brother alone, a full blooded Confederate, could have given him this point of view.

"Besides... I haven't fired my handgun since basic training and my hand-to-hand is about the level of a bar brawler. I'm a siege tank driver, remember? I'm used to having duel 80mm PPG-7 plasma cannons and two hundred yards of distance between my enemy and I. This would be way too close and personal for my likings and I won't provoke anything."

Satisfied with his long explanation, Steven took another deep breath and watched Alison for a reaction.

---[Natalie Ross]---

Flipping a large horizontal switch, Natalie's side of the dashboard dimmed and Rob's brightened.

"Co-pilots craft." A computerized voice announced. The common transfer didn't disturb the pilot's conversation.

Natalie smiled at Rob's reference to the Silico as "oldie"

"She might be old, but she's gold. I'll take her over a fighter any day. Too frail. Not enough firepower...." Natalie paused a minute to admire the cockpit panels of intricate controls and nobs. "And she can go past her manufactured limits..."

"Anyways, yeah, just clear the blockade, then punch in the coordinates on the navi-computer." Her fingers gestured towards the large holographic monitor between the two pilots.

Suddenly, an automated signal appeared on the co-pilot central monitor.

  • Friendly targets are locked-on.
  • Five projectiles on intercept course!
  • Projectiles identified: Hurricane Missiles.

  • The number of projectiles doubled, then tripled, as the Silico naturally drew closer.
    Finishing putting on my pants and putting everything in order, I head for the washroom to start on cleaning my boots and knife, starting with the latter first. Pulling the slightly curved blade out of it's sheath, I retrieve a special rag from my locker and set to wiping the blade, taking care to not push too hard and cut through the fabric into my hand. That's just what I need, I think, one more reason for the new medic to yell at me.

    Pushing the thought to the side, I focus on getting the blade clean, only stopping when there was no detectable hint of red on blade or hilt. Resheathing it, I ponder a moment on if I should sharpen it before shaking my head no. The blade was already extremely sharp. Too much sharpening of it was bad for the blade. Placing the kukri back on my waist, I pull up the boots and polish, setting about to cleaning the outside. The inside was dry after I'd left them under the heater while I showered and got dressed, but it would probably be a good idea to wash the inside out eventually. Or just get a new pair.

    After a few minutes, I sigh, having finished the first boot in decent time and started on the second boot. What Carah had said about the miners wouldn't leave me alone and I finally gave in. {Captain, if you've got a moment, could you come down to the washroom?}

    OOC: The message to Brock came right as the co-pilot thing popped up.
    Hurricane missiles?!? Don't Battlecruisers fire those?

    "Well then, it looks like I'm going to be doing a lot more than just jumping past blockades!"

    {Ladies and gentleman, you may experience some turbulence as your pilot attempts to outmaneuver incoming missiles. Thank you for your understanding and enjoy your flight.}

    Rob grips the controls of the ship, lurching to the left in an attempt to dodge the cloud of death. The ship didn't have handling that he was used to, but the tactics remained the same. He also maxes out the reverse thrusters to buy the ship a little more time before impact.

    "Natalie! What else does this thing have that stops incoming missiles?"

    OOC: SP i'm a little rusty on what wanderer-class vessels can do since all I know about them is from the wiki. So it's definitely armed but does it have stuff like the defense matrix or ...?
    "Fair enough. That works for me."
    Alison says with a nod, heading for the cockpit. As Rob's comm goes out, Alison stifles a curse and braces herself against a bulkhead somehow preventing the food from flying in all directions;
    "Bloody hell..."
    She mutters.
    OOC: Use your imagination! Wanderer-class vessels are on the smaller side. Basic armaments and the like. It does have a defense matrix, however, it has been overloaded due to Natalie's recklessness.

    Hearing Hank's call, The Captain heaved a deep breath and began his trek to the washing room. He was interrupted by Rob over the intercom and before he knew it, the wall had slapped his body and he lay on the floor. He managed a groan before scrambling to his feet and rushing for the cockpit, stumbling over Alison.

    Are you holding... Sandwiches?

    He chuckles in his head at the sight before opening the door to the cockpit just in time to hear Natalie swear and power up her terminal. The left half of the dash illuminated and Natalie began frantically speaking into the transmitter.

    "Abort! Abort! This is the Confederate vessel Silico under Captain Brock Tailor!"

    The cry did little and Natalie began firing the projectiles down with the duel fifty-caliber turret.
    The first lurch sent me sprawling into a wall, my still untied boot flying off my foot and hitting me in the head with it's steel toe. Groaning and grumbling under my breath, I grab the boot and put it back on, tying it a little faster in case Rob decided to make us lurch again. What does he mean we're under fire? We're tagged with a Confederate ID. Aren't we? Frowning to myself, I high tail it to the armory, finding my beat up suit of armor and sighing at the sight.

    "Well, it'll work for now." Climbing in, albeit a little trickily, I power up the armor and grab my pistols and rifle, holstering the former and keeping the latter in my hands. From there, I head to the cockpit, with only one question in mind. Upon arrival, I find the .50 caliber turret firing endlessly at a wave of missiles and the captain staring at the blockade. I grimace and turn to Brock. "Sir, would now be a bad time for I told you so?"
    Carefully making her way into the cockpit, Alison sizes up the situation with a scowl;
    "You know what? !@#$ the Confederacy. At this point, I don't care where we go so long as it's not a confederate port."
    Grumbling I strap James down before making sure that there weren't any stray equipment that could further injure or kill either of us.

    I would like to point out again that the proper term in the Starcraft universe is fekk no fuc! ... since we technically are trying to stick more or less to SC lore in this.
    Actually, they use both if you look at the short stories.
    Rob takes a second to look back at the mess caused by the evasive maneuvers.

    Maybe it would have been smarter to turn the gravity off before I turned the ship sideways..... Nahhhhh.

    Finally the ship begins to get some momentum in a direction away from the cloud of missiles. The turret fire also starts to take down a significant number as well.

    Nice! The way Hurricane missiles work we're still probably getting hit with a couple, but nothing the defense matrix can't handle.

    "Okay fellas don't worry, we clear a couple missiles and we're home free. Man, flying big ships is EZ!"

    Rob grabs the controls again and quickly stabilizes the ship, then slams his hand down confidently on the button that activates the defense matrix.

      Defense Matrix overloaded


    A look of panic comes over Rob, as his eyes dart around searching for an answer to the hailstorm of death coming at them.

    OK OK we're not dead yet what we got... Speed, missiles, oxygen levels, navigation, docking controls, warp, fuel level, life supp- wait a minute.

    Robs eyes return to the large red handle designated to initiating a warp. His left hand slowly wraps around it while his right begins to punch in some hasty coordinates.

    "Guys uh.... you may want to hold on to something. Again."
    Muttering obscenities under her breath, Alison braces herself against the doorway, a foul look on her face.
    Looking at the position Rob had his hand, I let slip a few small curses and grab the back of his chair, my CMC strengthened grip helping me stay put. "I swear, Rob. If you get us all killed, I'll kill you."
    The warp would have to be perfect. One number too many and they could end up lost in the vastness of space, one too little would mean warping into a cloud of death. Worse still was entering in the wrong number, the consequences of which haunted the nightmares of warp core scientists across the galaxy. In this second, Rob's actions were responsible for the well-being of every one of his crew members.

    Years of piloting wraiths gave him the skills he needed to pull off the stunt, but it was his nerves forged in his battles as a War Pig grunt that kept him from jerking the handle back just to get the damn thing over with.

    It's as a blinding explosion of yellow highlights the cockpit when Rob initiates the warp. For a terrifying ten seconds or so, Rob feels the familiar sensation of his insides shifting during a warp, but sees nothing. Then, a second later, feels nothing.

    Did I screw up? Are we dead?

    Rob stopped believing in miracles or that anything other than himself could hear his thoughts the day he was informed it was his piloting that caused the deaths of dozens of innocent people, but in this moment of desperation he couldn't stop himself from asking.

    Not like this.... Please.

    Slowly, Rob's vision returns and he can just make out the green blur that was the co-pilot central monitor.

    No red to be seen.

    "Damn... straight."

    The warp had been timed perfectly to the milisecond and had dodged the oncoming explosion of the first Hurricane missile.

    Rob lets his arms fall to his sides, completely exhausted. Yet another time he had almost died. He raises his head slightly to take in the view in front of him.

    "Take a look at that, guys. Nothing. Beautiful empty nothing. No hurricane missiles flying at us, or aliens things trying to eat us, or a blockade of marines, it's just open space and the stars."

    Rob squints.

    "Oh... and a Confederate blockade I guess."
    Natalie scoffed in disappointment and flipped the primary control back to her. The computerized voice announced the change and she punched the warp-drive into overload, sending them light years away from the Confederate blockade.

    "Nice goin', Rob." She says condescendingly with a nod. It was only then when Natalie took notice of half the crew in the small room.

    A deathly silence ensued.

    "Everyone in the livingroom. We need to talk." Captain Tailor finally said before leading the way out of the cockpit and into the living quarters.
    I look up and nod at the Captain as he enters the living quarters. "Anyone get the plates off that Battlecruiser?"

    I unstrap James since we seemed to have come to a halt with the warping. {Can someone explain what the hell just happened?}
    Following the captain, I overhear Carah's message and sigh before replying, several smart @ss remarks coming to mind. {Just come to the living room, James too. The Captain will explain.} This was all wrong. Sure we were expendable, it's why they'd sent us in, but to the point of killing us with the blockade? That had to be Makins' work, and it was time the Reaper came a calling on his home.

    Stepping into the living room just after the captain, I catch Bianca's comment and chuckle to myself. Walking over to a chair before realizing I was still in my CMC armor from when Rob had called out that we were under attack. "I'll be back." Heading for the armory, I absentmindedly rub the bullet holes where the red head had shot me, feeling the rough edges of the holes rub against the neo-steel armor of the fingers. How am I not dead...
    OOC: Just to make it clear, Rob MEANT to make a short jump instead of escaping the blockade entirely. Long warp jumps in a short amount of time are incredibly risky, and his primary goal at the moment was not to escape but to save everyone.

    Him sitting there staring out into space and seeing the blockade was him being so focused on saving everyone at the moment that he forgot he still had to escape the blockade. Just realized I didn't make that clear enough.

    Exasperated, Rob lifts a finger ready to give a Natalie and the rest a long lecture on the risks of warping and that if he could redo that moment a million times he can guarantee that there could not have been a more perfect warp.

    However, Rob suddenly realizes he is far too exhausted to fight this battle. There was simply too many things to deal with today. When he gave up miracles that time so long ago, he had also left his pride. Just knowing that his teammates and him are alive is more than enough.

    Rob gives a nod to Natalie and exits the cockpit, following after Hank and the Captain to the living room.

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