Week 12 Summary (August 26 - September 2, 2002)

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"How did you know about that?" Cyan asked, setting down her VR helmet. "I was under the impression that everything was supposed to be hush-hush."

"It sure as hell is!" Poulo exclaimed. "All I know is that we're sending a pilot to the sled once the marines have it under control, which makes sense, and that it's you they're sending, which doesn't make sense. You're a rank amateur! Why do you get to go?"

"Lieutenant McGregor asked if I would accompany her team," Cyan answered, not bothering to hide any of the defensive tone in her voice. "And, maybe I am a rank amateur, but I seemed to be the only pilot onboard who was able to get the engines running again after the nuke. Including you.. sir."

"Including... what?!" Officer Poulo sputtered. "I wasn't on the bridge at the time, Private, he added with emphasis and no small amount of venom. "Don't you dare compare your skills to mine -- you've got a lot to learn, Cyan, about piloting, and about proper conduct to your superiors." He stabbed a finger at the young woman. "You're going to screw up, and screw up big. And when you do, guess who's going to be there to laugh and tell the captain, 'I told you so'?"

Before Arianna could answer, Poulo gestured at the exit. "Get out of here, Cyan. Your time in the simulator is over. Good luck on the sled," he sneered.

"Thank you, Officer," Arianna replied. After hitting the proper keys to erase her current program, Arianna smiled broadly at Poulo and made her way out of the simulator.

The landing had been routine, the Lancer coming to rest onto the pad and then lowered into the hangar. Gunther had to admit to himself that he had expected some sort of opposition during the flybys of the Hanson Sled, but there was nothing, not a single aggressive action. Nevertheless, he felt weary. McGregor was fine enough but a really tough case all the same. Does she ever let her hair down, Gunther thought to himself. And then there's Miss Young. Damn, there's something sexy about a shy woman. A smile creased his face as he thought of Miss Wickter. Of course, there's something sexy about a strong and intelligent woman too. He sighed. Too many women, only one of me.

Gunther unbuckled his harness as the cockpit canopy hissed and slid open. Standing up, he surveyed the hangar bay for any sign of Young, but she was nowhere to be found. McGregor was being assisted out of her access hatch along the port side of the Bigeye AMTP. "It looks like it's really claustrophobic in there," the pilot called down, still smiling. "You getting used to it?"

"Yep," McGregor replied curtly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a date with at least two squads of marines and I don't have a thing to wear. This is the last time I post my high school prom queen photo to the dating networks. Sigh." She dashed off, pausing only to add, "Good flying out there today, Gunther. Thanks."

As McGregor hurried out of the hangar, Gunther called after her. "Yeah, well, you have date with the Marines and I have that... I know I have something to do." He paused, looking down at Corporal Balaraj who was staring up at him. "What?"

"If you could excuse me, Lieutenant," Balaraj stated politely, "I need to inspect and report on Swallow One before my shift ends." Gunther stared back, unmoved. Balaraj just closed the Bigeye's port hatch and looked back down to his Masao Pad and began inputting his report, slowly disappearing behind the Lancers thrusters and whisker arrays.

Gunther hmmmed, a bit bemused. He liked Balaraj, but the corporal was a bit too serious at times. Gunther climbed down and turned to look back at his Lancer resting on the hangar floor, running his hand across her Bigeye belly. Other than Balaraj working, the hangar was quiet. Only the gentle rumble of the ship's systems contested Balaraj's quiet shuffling.

"Easy... easy... just breathe... just breathe," Dr. Gilmour soothed, holding Lieutenant Vice Valkurie supportively as he threw up yet more greenish slime onto the medical bay floor. His vision blurred, the exo pilot smiled weakly at the pretty doctor, spattered and smeared as she was in the gel that he'd been immersed in until moments ago.

Dr. Zelios, standing nearby, wasn't as supportive as the younger doctor. "Let me know when he's done barfing the re-gel, would you?" he said to Gilmour. "Until then, I've got other patients that need tending."

Gilmour nodded and helped her patient to a low bed. His legs were weak, but Valkurie was able to support himself well enough as he rolled onto his back. He felt numb and light-headed, and his breaths were coming in short, sharp rasps. The cellular regeneration gel had gone a long way towards already healing his radiation burns, but its side-effects were nothing to be trifled with. As a line of thick drool ran from his mouth, Vice managed to fight off another urge to void the contents of his now-empty stomach.

"There now," Gilmour said, cleaning the man's face with a sterile wipe. Moving to his chest, where his burns had been the worst, she delicately cleaned away the gel that still adhered to his skin with a bottle that sprayed a mild cleansing fluid. "I think the worst is over, Lieutenant," she said with a smile. "You're going to live."

Vice coughed again. There was still a little of the gel in his throat that refused to leave. "I guess that's good news. And I was just getting used to livi... <cough> ...living in gel. I was popular there for a brief moment. Like a... <cough> ...like a sideshow. Come down to Medbay and see that jellied exo-pilot. I guess popularity is indeed a fickle... <cough> ...fickle mis... <cough> ...mistre... <cough, cough>..." The pilot started to cough hard and finally managed to dislodge the last bit of gel for his throat, which he then promptly spat into a tissue. "A fickle mistressOW!" A quick shot of pain ran up Vice's chest from where Dr. Gilmour was wiping away the gel.

"Sorry," Gilmour said mildly.

"Okay. I am convinced that I am not completely healed," Vice winced. "So when do I return for my next session?"

Gilmour smiled crookedly. "That's why we hauled you out of there, Lieutenant, to see how you're doing. Even if we decide to keep you out for the time being, I'm afraid you're still going to be stuck in the med bay for the next few days. It's just that the gel can be hard on a person, as you now know, so we don't want to overdo it."

Vice took a moment to analyze his body's sensations now that he was out of the gel. He was too busy vacating the gel from his lungs when he was pulled out to concentrate on anything else. Now that his body was slowly getting back to normal, he could see just how well his healing had been coming along. "Well I'm feeling a lot better now. There is still some pain when I move." Vice raised his arm out to one side and winced as the pain limited its motion. "Ngh. I guess the price for heroics is always a few weeks in medbay."

Gilmour finished cleaning the swath of skin on the man's chest and raised her eyebrows behind her glasses when she prodded the area tenderly with her fingers. "Looks like you're coming right along -- this is good progress. I think we'll probably-"

"Let me see," Dr. Zelios said, appearing at Gilmour's side, nearly bumping her out of the way. His touch was considerably less gentle as he investigated Vice's injuries.

As Dr. Zelios prodded, Vice grunted and winced in response to the pain. He rather preferred Dr. Gilmour's ministrations.

"Ghrm," Zelios grunted, ignoring the pilot. "I agree, it looks like he's coming right along."

Gilmour nodded. "Yes. I suggest that-"

"Let's keep him out for the next six hours and re-evaluate at that time. He definitely needs more time in the tank, but I want to see how he fares without the re-gel."

Gilmour nodded again, a little frustration on her face. "Yes, Dr. Zelios. I was about to suggest something similar."

Zelios was already moving away to his other patients. "Six hours," he said over his shoulder.

"He's in a lovely mood today," the young doctor said to Valkurie. "Now lets get you up on your feet again, Lieutenant. A quick dip in the cleansing tank should clean you right up."

"I'm getting dunked again?" Vice said as he slowly drew himself to his feet. "Much more of this and I will be growing gills."

"It's the easiest way to clean you up," Dr. Gilmour explained, helping the man glide over to the now empty tank. "Or at least the gentlest. Believe me, we could clean you right up with sonics, but it wouldn't feel good at all."

"I'm all for that good feeling." the pilot replied.

Valkurie moved inside and let the doctor help him put on the breathing apparatus. A few moments later, she closed it up and began the filling procedure. Mostly water, the cleansing fluid felt good as it washed over the pilot's skin. In the microgravity, tiny silvery bubbles filled the air around the man, spinning and colliding to become larger and larger bubbles until finally he was totally immersed.

"This'll just take a moment," Gilmour spoke into the intercom.

Vice started to say something but the breathing apparatus popped out of his mouth instead. He fit it back in his mouth and resigned himself to being unable to respond with anything more than a thumbs up. As the solution began its work, Vice could not help but marvel at the bubbly liquid. It was certainly different from the healing gel that he had spent the better half of a day submerged in. The healing gel was a thick and static substance. There was no motion inside of it other than what the patient created with their body movements. This cleaning solution was light and lively in comparison. Bubbles created by the solution leaped and danced about in energetic patterns. He could feel them racing up his back, his legs and arms, seeking out those substances that should not be residing on the exo-pilots skin. They almost tickled.

Just as Vice was getting to enjoy the bubbly feeling of the cleaning solution, the process slowly died down and the tank drained. "Whatever was in that," Vice said as he stepped out of the tank -- he was feeling a lot better after it -- "I'll take a double." He clenched a fist and felt the muscles in his forearm tense up without as much pain as he was experiencing before. He raised his arm up and flexed his bicep. Again the pain was lessened. "Definitely take a double dose of that," he marveled.

"If you are through posing," Dr Gilmour said as she threw a towel at Vice, hitting him in the side of the head, "Maybe you would like to cover up. There's a hospital gown over there."

Vice slowly pulled the towel from his head and grinned back. "A good point. There may still be a few female squadron members who haven't seen me in the buff yet."

Dr. Gilmour chuckled and left the area to check up on someone else. Vice wiped his hair dry and then dried off his arms. He was surprised at how good he was feeling. Half a day ago his every move resulted in intense pain. Vice rolled his shoulders and stretched out. He still hurt a little but not near as much as before. Parts of his body were still tender, including a couple spots on his chest but there was a great overall improvement.

Vice turned around and noticed a figure standing in the entrance to the critical care ward. A little embarrassed, he slowly reached for the hospital gown and held it just below his waist. "Babette," he addressed the figure. "What a pleasant surprise. Ho... How long have you been standing there?"

There wasn't a hint of blush in Moore's cheeks as she smiled at the mostly naked man. "Oh, you know," she said, "long enough. Think of it as payback for our little encounter all those years ago. It was a pretty compromising moment for me, if you remember." Moving into the room, she added, "Looks like you're doing a lot better already. How're you feeling? I brought you a cookie from the mess."

"I guess we are even now. If you had given me a little notice I could have put on a better show for you," Vice said with a grin. He couldn't forget their first encounter all those many years ago. Of course Booger and Loogie would probably come after him with a sledgehammer if they found out what the two had done. He slid on the hospital gown with little concern for modesty. "I'm doing and feeling a lot better, thanks for asking. That healing gel, although it tastes horrible, really does wonders. The Docs say that I still have a few more sessions ahead of me before I am fully healed. It is a little annoying because I am anxious to get back to duty."

Babette smiled contagiously, and Valkurie felt the thrill that Dee Dee had mentioned. He'd never quite pinpointed or quantified it before, but something truly seemed to be in the air around the woman. "Enjoy," she said simply, holding the oatmeal cookie aloft.

Vice took the offered cookie with some trepidation. After spending several minutes heaving the gel out of his lungs, he was not certain if his stomach was ready to accept solid food yet. Gingerly he took a bite and swallowed. His stomach grumbled in response, slowly realizing that much needed solid food was now available. He took another bite. "Ah. Ambrosia," he crooned. "You never really appreciate solid food until you have been away from it for some time." He finished off the cookie and bowed deeply before Private Moore. "My thanks for the treat milady. I am in your debt. Are you going on shift or coming off?"

"I'm just heading to the flight deck now," Moore answered, "I'm on at midnight." More seriously, she added, "The marines made their way over to the sled, you know. It shouldn't be long before we have control, or at least a better idea of what we're up against."

Valkurie's mood became more serious. All of a sudden it hit him that he was not going to be part of any action for some time. His injuries and the damage to his exo-armor had forced him onto the sidelines and it bothered him. He yearned to be out there with the others, to be out in his Retaliator. Gunther was probably out on the mission as well, the Bigeye pod slung under his Lancer, and this thought made him jealous. Vice took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He calmed himself. There was no need to feel the way that he was. He had done his duty and was injured through no fault of his.

"Have we any news of the mission?" Vice asked trying to keep his voice sounding distant.

Private Moore shook her head. "Not that I've heard, and it's not like we'll hear anything before it's all over if Captain Delacroix is calling the shots." Coming closer, the attractive mechanic inspected the skin on Valkurie's neck and face. "You are looking a lot better than you were when you crawled out of your exo -- that's for sure."

Vice's sense of smell had all but shut down since he'd been injured. The melted plastic / cooked flesh stench he'd endured in his crippled exo was thankfully but a memory, but the regeneration tank hadn't exactly reintroduced the man to the world of blissful scents. Moore did that now. When she'd moved in closer, a sweet fragrance, some smell Valkurie couldn't identify, filled his lungs. Even in his injured state, it was an exciting, intoxicating experience.

She gently wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, her naked body brushing up against his. Vice tried to say something but her very scent quickly and quietly quelled any protests he might have made. Her power overwhelmed him and his own hands traced the soft flesh of her back as she gently kissed his neck. He had to have this siren.

Babette leaned back and turned to go. "Well... I don't want to be late for my shift. Just wanted to check in on you..."

Vice stumbled a step forward and fought against the stupefied look on his face. He shook away the last traces of the flashback, annoyed and embarrassed at its vividness. He found his own arms wanted to reach out to her and pull her to him, just as they had those years ago. "Uh... thanks... I... uh... Ma..." he stammered. Pull it together man, he thought to himself.

"Maybe after your shift is over, we could meet for a coffee?" Vice asked.

Babette nodded. "I'd really like that, Vice, if they'll let you out. I'll check in once I get off-duty."

Sergeant Manuel Rodriguez nodded approvingly as his student successfully crossed the bay, performed a timed dexterity test on a touch-panel and then glided back over to her starting position. The Fierce had cut acceleration, and was now gliding along, steadily gaining on the wayward sled. That meant that the ship was in microgravity, and when Cyan touched back down to the deck she did so a little awkwardly.

Rodriguez, the ship's EVA specialist, had just finished giving the young woman a refresher on such activities, and indeed a primer on the use of an armored Hercules spacesuit. Cyan had plenty of experience with spacesuits and microgravity, but the bulk of the Hercules suit was unfamiliar to her.

"Good," Rodriguez commended the helmsman over their private channel. "I think you'll be fine over there, Private. Just remember to take things a little slower with the Herc suit until you really feel comfortable in it."

"Ummm, okay," Cyan replied, floating across the shuttle bay. She grinned a little, finding the exercise to be a lot of fun, but as she came to the other side of the bay, and had to stop, the struggle took her smile away as she was reminded about how much work it was moving around in the Herc. "Thanks for you help, Sergeant Rodriguez."

Rodriguez shrugged inside his suit and smiled his easy smile. "Not a problem, Private. It's my job, after all."

She pushed again, trying to repeat her previous exercise, not to make a better time, or to try to impress Rodriguez, but to make sure she got it and felt comfortable in the suit.

"Who else is going over with me?" she radioed over to her instructor. "Are you going to escort me?"

"No," the EVA specialist replied. "I think the marines are going to do that. You're not going over until they've secured the sled, as far as I know. The Herc suit is just a precaution. Just think of it as a little insurance."

"Insurance," Cyan mumbled. "Great."

She tried another maneuver that Rodriguez had taught her, making sure she felt completely comfortable in the suit. She didn't want to get caught on the sled, unprepared. She'd hear about it from Poulo for weeks if she screwed up.

"So, after the marines secure the sled, they're coming back here to get me?" she asked.

Rodriguez glided along beside Cyan, observing and wordlessly correcting her form with gestures and motions. "I don't think the marines themselves will come back. I think the Grouse'll come back for you, and you'll be met by the marines over there. By then the shuttle should be able to dock normally, so you should be able to just walk onto the sled. No space-walking necessary."

Cyan nodded in her heavy, combat-ready spacesuit, signaling that she heard and understood the ship's EVA specialist. She was concentrating too much on her movements to form any decent reply to his statements, so the small gesture would have to be enough.

"So, what am I supposed to do until they send for me?" she asked finally. "Just hang out?"

"If you want," Rodriguez replied, "but if I were you I'd just relax and limber up before the call comes. You've got an hour or two, at least, I think, so you've got plenty of time. If you want, you can stay here in the bay and keep up with some training, but I think you'll see enough time in that suit once you're actually over on the sled."

"I'm thinking about getting a bite to eat," Cyan radioed over. "I haven't had much time to catch any meals the last couple of days. Will that be okay?"

"Absolutely," Rodriguez replied. Smiling behind his clear faceplate, he added, "Just don't eat anything that'll upset your stomach, or you'll pay for it."

Warrant Officer Jon Duran, suited up in his Falconer exo-suit, surveyed his assembled troops with a watchful eye. Fourteen other heavily armed and armored marines stood ready in the shuttle bay, preparing to board the shuttle that would take them over to the sled. Private Collins, the Grouse's pilot, also stood at attention, and the group was joined by one other figure, one who'd caused quite a stir when it became known that she'd be accompanying the marines on the assault.

"Are we all set, troops?" Duran barked, riling the men and women of the Fierce's marine complement by raising his rifle.

"Sir, yes sir!" more than a dozen amplified voices answered in unison.

"Bridge, this is Duran," the marine commander said after opening a channel. "Your marines are good to go, Captain Delacroix. Just say the word."

"Board the shuttle and stand by," Delacroix's voice came back in his helmet. "We're almost in position."

Duran motioned to the back of the shuttle where a wide ramp extended down to the floor of the bay. "Move out! Two at a time, people, let's load 'er up!"

"Yes sir!" the group returned again, falling into step and heading for the back of the shuttle.

Coming to stand near Lieutenant McGregor as the marines tromped off and Collins made her way into the cockpit of the Grouse, Duran opened a private link with the JAFI officer. "You ready to go, Lieutenant? It's very likely this is going to be hot, and even though we're assigning resources to safeguard you, you'll need to be sharp, and you need to listen to my marines -- even if you outrank each and every one of them. You do as you're told until your assignment comes up. Understood?"

"I certainly do, Duran," McGregor replied. "In the field, experience is a hell of a lot more valuable than rank -- especially when my rank is all about Intelligence and not actual combat. You guys lead, I follow." She patted her hip, where her sidearm was holstered. A fully charged Jovian Optics Pulsar-Alpha laser pistol, the weapon was immaculately
clean. "I won't even draw this unless one of your people tells me to."

Duran nodded, or rather his immense Falconer suit did. "Good. That's exactly what I wanted to hear." Gesturing for the Hercules suit-wearing woman to go first, he waved her towards the rear of the shuttle where the last of the marines were climbing aboard. "Let's move."

After McGregor and Duran boarded the Grouse and took their positions among the rest of the troopers, the ramp whined and lifted as the back doors of the shuttle closed. Alarms rang out when the doors had sealed, and the bay's atmosphere was evacuated.

Sitting among the huge, faceless, metal- and polymer-suited marines, McGregor seemed awkwardly out of place in her own comparatively small Hercules suit. All three squads bristled with weapons, and several marines anxiously worked their suits' servos, bouncing their knees and otherwise bleeding nervous energy. Despite this, she maintained the calm composure of a JAFI intelligence officer.

"Don't worry," Corporal La Rue's voice sounded over the all-marine channel (which McGregor was also listening to), "We're gonna take care of you and kick 64000 shades of ass at the same time."

"Oh, I'm not worried, La Rue," McGregor replied, stifling a yawn, which was a tough trick to pull off in her suit. "If we were CEGA, god forbid, then I'd be worried. But we're the Confederation, and the Confederation's got the best god damned marines in the system." She punched La Rue's suit on the shoulder, straining slightly to reach it.

"Fuckin' A," La Rue returned with a raised gauntlet.

"Stand by," Collins' voice sounded. "We've just gotten clearance for take off."

The massive shuttle bay doors opened, and Collins gently applied thrust enough to take the ship up and out of the bay. The occupants in the rear of the Grouse rocked with each gentle movement, then shook and vibrated as the pilot lit the main burners and peeled off for the sled.

"Flight control, we're clear of the Fierce and are on target. ETA twenty one minutes," Collins voice came again.

Private Lockerby, one of the Decker-suited marines in Tucker's squad, gestured towards the pilot's compartment. "You guys ever seen CT out of her flight suit? She's fucking hot."

"Shut it, dickless," La Rue scolded. "We've got work to do, and it doesn't involve you sticking your--"

"Ease up, people," Duran warned. "We've got a guest along, remember, and I want this coming off without a hitch. Get focused. That means you, Lockerby."

"Yes sir."

Corporal Edward Kwame, perhaps the most capable marine on the ship, watched the others silently, his Falconer's head swiveling this way and that from time to time to take it all in.

Private Ng, also calm and quiet, as was typically the case, opened a squad-only channel for his team. "So Sergeant, who's on babysitting detail? We've got to take care of McGregor, right?"

McGregor, on the squad-only channel, cleared her throat. "Whoever it is had better remember to use baby powder when changing baby's diapers," she said dryly. Tapping her helmet, she added, "In order to function with your squad, Ng, I'm tuned to your squad's channel. Just FYI."

"Uh... yeah," Ng responded. "No offense intended. We're just not used to having non-combatants along for this part of the ride."

McGregor nodded. "None taken, I assure you. For your peace of mind, I'm not quite fresh out of the Academy. I served as a gunner's mate aboard the Marathon during the CEGA attack back in '10. Granted, I was a reservist, and also granted, the Marathon was at Vanguard Mountain at the time, but we were under steam and headed for Elyseé within 24 hours of the attack." McGregor paused for a few moments. "Okay, come to think of it, I might as well be fresh out of the Academy. Anyway, the best way for you to worry about me is for you not to worry about me at all."

Harry's voice broke in on the speaker in Ng's suit. "Ng, if you want to talk to the squad without the lieutenant here collecting evidence for your court martial, slave the person to person channels together. In response to your question, since you're so concerned, you're it. Brinks can take over if I need you elsewhere. Any questions?"

"No sir, no questions," Ng answered over the private line, shifting this gaze from McGregor to Mandrake.

"Sergeants, Lieutenant McGregor, talk to me," Duran said over the command channel. "Any final details we need to hit before we do this?"

"Yes sir," replied Harry. "I was thinking it might be better if your squad held on to Lieutenant McGregor while we do our initial entry, keep her out of harm's way during the most dangerous part of the operation. Then, if the entry point is free of hostiles she can link up with us and we can then proceed to the command center."

"I have no problems with that," McGregor replied.

"That'll depend on whether they've prepared a reception for us outside the sled or not. We might have our hands full providing covering fire for you and Tucker to move into position. If it's clear, though, that makes good sense."

"Okay, we'll play it by ear then." agreed Harry.

Tucker brought up a schematic of the sled, complete with an overlay of the Bigeye's deep scan findings, in her HUD. A press of one of the tongue-toggles in her helmet sent the image to everyone else on the channel. "Do we know any more about what this is?" she asked, highlighting the largest of the fuzzy anomalies in the sled's many corridors. "I think my squad is going to have to go right through it to get to the command center."

McGregor nodded. "Well, it might be a Tanuki. World's biggest exo-suit to some, smallest exo-armor to others. Grenade launchers and autocannon standard, plus plasma lances. Venusians use them to block movement in boarding and defending actions. Anti-armor rounds would be good if we've got them. The sled's no shuttle, so heavy weapons fire in the corridors, while damaging, won't incapacitate the ship."

"Could be some sort of barricade they were moving into position," suggested Harry. "Either way, I'd want to be careful with heavy weapons when there's the possibility of noncombatants being nearby. A miss or over-penetration runs the risk of causing casualties or decompression."

"Roger that," Tucker agreed, "but if it is a Tanuki, we'll need the heavier firepower."

"The sled isn't exactly a shuttle," McGregor noted. "It's more of a mobile space station. Decompression isn't much of a risk at all, with multiple bulkheads between habitable areas and the stars. The exception would be a catastrophic explosion within the ship. Anti-armor rounds should be relatively safe, though as you noted, Mandrake, we don't want unnecessary casualties, and we don't want any casualties amongst the hostages."

A few minutes later, the occupants of the shuttle had quieted down. Harry ran a careful eye over his squad, reassuring himself everything was in order. Brinks and La Rue, who carried 30 mm armor guns, seemed eager to get to the action. In contrast, Ng, equipped with a demolition kit and a 10mm assault rifle, sat quietly while Ellis had slung her assault rifle over her shoulder and was fiddling with the auxiliary sensor pod mounted on the left shoulder of her exo-suit, possibly to cover her nervousness. Harry himself was armed with an assault rifle and a grenade launcher with a mix of armor piercing, smoke and night glue grenades. Additionally, each member of the squad carried stun baton for subduing unarmored foes and a Jovian Optics Pulsar-Delta laser rifle in an armored case on their backs as a backup in the event they had to abandon their Pouncer suits. Satisfied, Harry examined his own emotional state and found himself calmer than he expected. "Everything okay there?" he asked Ellis over a private channel.

Ellis' armored head swiveled to look at her sergeant. "Yes sir," she replied with a nod. "I'm ready, sir."

"Good." nodded Harry. "Any problems with the sensor pod? You'll be on point once we're inside, so let me know now if there is."

Ellis shook her head. "No problems, sir. I was just running a diagnostic, it's all green."

Outside the shuttle, the sled loomed larger and larger.

Private Cyan floated slowly towards the galley of the Fierce, her stomach rumbling the entire way. The sensation of being outside of her Herc made her suddenly feel like she was even more than weightless. It was like the kids back on Earth that would roller-skate for hours, then when they tried to walk afterwards, still felt their momentum flinging them forward.

She was getting used to the glares from her shipmates by now, so the long trip from the shuttle hanger to the galley didn't hold many surprises. A few slings were still in place, a couple of black eyes, but her shipmates didn't look any worse for the wear even as banged up as they were.

Next time we have a nav burn, they'll strap down, Arianna thought to herself.

It was tough to suppress her smile.

The galley, even in weightlessness, was the same as it always was. There were various crew collected at tables, held in place with small belts, talking passionately about their critical role in the ship, usually boasting about how without them, nothing would get done. There were the squadron pilots off in the corner, the engineers and damage control crew collected around a couple of tables, and even a few scattered weapon techs, medical staff, and support personnel, here and there.

Arianna spotted the third shift navigator, Corporal Orr, and waved at him a little, before drifting over to collect a small dinner. Orr waved back.

The meal packets weren't any different than usual, since the ship should always be ready for micro-gravity, but they looked especially unappetizing today. Maybe it was the weightlessness or maybe it was her nerves. She couldn't tell, but she grabbed a few packs as she made her way through the line and looked for a place to sit.

Suddenly, Cyan was struck abruptly. Fortunately, it wasn't abrupt enough to send her careening wildly, but a strong hand grabbed her arm to help steady her.

"Oh sorry about that," a man's voice apologized. The man let go of Cyan's arm. He wore a pilot's uniform. "I guess I should look where I am going," he confessed, smiling down at the helmsman. "I don't think we've met. I'm Lieutenant Gunther," he introduced, looking the woman up and down, "and, judging by your uniform you must be bridge crew. You are?"

"Cyan," the helmsman answered. Instinctually jerking her arm from the pilot's grasp, she flailed around a bit to catch herself in the microgravity, continuing her graceless maneuvers while she tried to keep from tossing her meal in all directions. "Arianna Cyan, sir. I'm one of the ship's pilots."

"Ah, yes," Gunther acknowledged, shifting himself using a nearby railing. "So, you're that new pilot that the crew seems to have a death pool running on right now."

"Probably," Cyan grumbled. "You're Lieutenant Gunther? I'm sorry, but I've never heard of you. You're a pilot? Not a... lancer... pilot?"

Cyan wrinkled her nose as she said "lancer." Obviously the very notion of piloting such a vehicle was distasteful to her, abhorrent even. Why would a pilot of any skill settle for one of those little toy ships, when they could be at the helm of one of the JAF's mighty capital ships?

"Yes," Gunther admitted, "on both counts; I am." There was a small bit of bliss in knowing that she hadn't heard of him. He had stumbled on a clean slate to impress. "I lead Swallow Flight." His eyebrows flexed, depicting a perplexed and annoyed feeling. "Well, what's left of it. We lost Swallow Two in the firefight with the Venusians. I've been flying the experimental Bigeye with Lieutenant McGregor. You know her?"

"Lieutenant McGregor?" Cyan started to say. She looked like she was about to unload, really lay her opinion down on the line, but then she stopped herself, shutting her mouth before speaking. After a brief pause, she said, "Yes, I know her."

Looking at Gunther suspiciously, maybe eyeing the flight designation on his uniform, she asked, "The pilot of Swallow Two... is he okay?"

"Dee Dee?" Gunther exclaimed. "Oh yes, she's one tough little girl. I was hoping to spot her here," Gunther confessed, looking around the room, "but I don't see her." He then dropped an eyebrow, looking very serious. "Taking a step back in the conversation," the pilot explained, clearly trying to change the subject, "you looked positively perturbed at the mention of McGregor's name. You had a tussle with her too, huh?"

"Not a tussle, exactly," Cyan replied. "I just don't understand her. Everything is classified and everyone is suspect. It just seems too... inefficient. We're all on the same side here. We wouldn't be in the JAF if that weren't true."

She scanned the room for a moment as well, partially to see if Gunther had noticed his wingman, and partially to make sure that Lana Epsilon wasn't anywhere nearby, witnessing her conversation with yet another squadron pilot.

Gunther chuckled at her statement. "Too true. You and I seem to think a lot alike. I'm fortunate that I bumped into you, Private."

Cyan didn't take the bait. "I'm glad your friend is doing okay."

"Thanks," Gunther answered, smiling genuinely down at the Private. Definitely a cutie, Gunther thought to himself, and a bit of spunk too. Nice combination. He smiled inside while continuing the conversation with Cyan. "I'll pass that along when I see Dee Dee next. I'll have to introduce you two sometime. I'm sure you'd like each other." The pilot looked down at her food tray and then back up into Cyan's gaze, making eye contact. "Perhaps, we should sit down before our food gets cold. Mind if I join you?"

"Ummm, I guess that would be okay," Cyan answered. It was difficult for the lancer pilot to make sense of the expression worn on the private's face, a combination of bemusement, blushing, and her usual expression of annoyance.

Again, she looked for Epsilon, and became noticeably more comfortable when she saw that she wasn't in the galley.

"Great," Gunther exclaimed. "I see some table space over there." He nodded over to near where Orr was sitting. "...or if you had another place in mind?" he continued, looking around the mess before looking back at Cyan. "Just lead the way, I'll follow," he smiled.

"Orr? He's okay," Cyan said pushing herself towards the tables that Gunther pointed out. While crossing the distance, it occurred to Arianna that Gunther's "... another place in mind" comment may have meant something more than just an innocent statement. By the time the two lashed themselves into place at one of the tables, her expression was even more annoyed and distrustful than before.

"Orr, hmm?" Gunther asked as he stuck a straw into his dinner pouch. He looked up at Cyan, taking note of the annoyed look on her face. "I'm guessing that you work with him. What's he do?" Gunther sipped on the straw.

"He's the third shift navigator," Cyan responded. "A little conservative, but he knows his stuff, for the most part."

Talking managed to ease some of the discomfort Cyan normally felt talking with a Lancer pilot, especially one like Gunther. She even managed, for the time being, to ignore the sinking suspicion that he has hitting on her, but even as she found herself surprised by the ease at which she talked to him, she knew it was only a matter of time before he said something that would make her regret not joining Orr for dinner.

"I take it though that you and he don't exactly get along?" Gunther asked plainly, taking his drink bulb to mouth and squeezing.

"Orr is okay," Arianna repeated, also taking a quick but satisfying sip of her supper. She continued, asking, "You haven't had much experience with the bridge crew, have you?"

"Actually, no," Gunther confessed. "Most of my interaction with the bridge goes through flight control. Although, I do talk with Captain Delacroix on occasion. Particularly during non-standard patrols." He continued to swallow down some of his supper. He winced as if he had swallowed something sour. "I am guessing that you haven't had much interaction with the flight crew or squadron either. You seemed somewhat surprised when I asked to join you."

"Not really surprised," Cyan replied, then seemed to bite her tongue. "I guess... I guess I just can't understand why anyone would want to be a lancer pilot. Not when there are capital ships in the fleet. It seems like such a waste."

Gunther nearly spit his supper through his nose as he let out a startled laugh. Pulling a napkin to his face, he tried to recover his dignity, coughing to clear his throat. Finally, he spoke up. "Wow, that was quite a leap," Gunther expressed. "Moving from why you seemed surprised about me wanting to sit with you to piloting a lancer being a waste?" Gunther looked stunned. "Now this is an argument that I've gotta hear." He straightened up and placed his hands behind his head, looking Cyan square in the eyes. "Explain how flying a capital ship is better then flying a lanc... no, a space fighter."

"One minute to the target," Private Collins called back to the marines. In the middle of her viewscreen, the massive sled hung as though motionless, though the brightly burning thrusters belied that illusion.

Duran and the rest of his Falconer squad had gathered at the back of the shuttle, and as the rear doors silently yawned open, they performed a last-minute comm check. Behind them, the two other squads also stood ready. Mandrake's squad was to be covered by the Falconers; Tucker's by Lieutenant Spencer and Corporal Montreal.

"Zebra squad, mark!" Collins cried out, and a split-second later, Duran's team members were leaping two-by-two from the back of the Grouse.

"Hyena squad, mark!" the pilot called again, and when Mandrake lead his squad out into space, they were immediately greeted with a massive artificial landscape that stretched out in all directions beneath them -- the sled. As the shuttle moved silently away, heading for the third drop point, Harry's team reached the hull of the sled. After checking to see that everyone was accounted for, including McGregor, the sergeant was about to check in with his commander when the space above his head suddenly lit up with laser fire. The sled's many point-defense batteries had leapt to life, sending sizzling laser streams this was and that, cris-crossing overhead.

Duran's Falconers opened up as well, and within a few seconds a full-on battle was raging. "Take cover!" Duran commanded, "We'll try to disable the PDS!"

"Sir!" Private Ellis called out on the squad channel, "we've got trouble!" Looking to where the private was gesturing, Mandrake saw that one of the PDS turrets was taking aim at his team.

"Hit the deck!" commanded Harry to his squad. Not waiting to observe their response, he dropped prone against the hull of the sled and took aim with the designator built into the left arm of his suit. "Zebra, fire on my target," he called.

As Mandrake's squad scattered and he lit up the base of the boom-mounted PDS cannon, the weapon flashed several times in succession, emitting bright beams of scorching light at the marines. McGregor clung tightly to the deck, prone and waiting for orders. Beside her, sparks flew off of Ng's armor as he was struck by one of the beams. Grunting into his mic, the demo expert stumbled and toppled over.

"I've got it," Corporal Kwame declared from inside his Falconer exo-suit, swooping through a barrage of laser fire to hone in on Harry's target. As the turret peppered and scorched the deck all around Mandrake's marines, Kwame launched a missile from one of his shoulder mounts and stayed on course until he saw the projectile impact, destroying the PDS cannon in a brief but bright burst of flame and debris. Pulling up and away, he radioed, "there's one on your left that'll be a problem, too. When we take it down, you should have a clear run to the cargo container."

On the other side of the sled, the Grouse shuddered from weapon impacts as Tucker's marines leapt out into space. As they descended to the hull, Tucker was on the radio. "We're taking heavy fire on this side -- where are those exos?!"

"Right here," Lieutenant Spencer replied from his command variant Pathfinder. "Everyone stay cool -- we're ready for this scenario. We didn't want to have to do this, but now we've no choice. Marines, keep your heads down. Grackle Two, Oriole One, target the PDS mounts and fire at will."

The exos moved in, racing across the surface of the sled, blasting away at its PDS with particle cannons and light missiles. The PDS mounts had been pre-targeted and didn't last long against the three exos. Explosions erupted all over the surface of the sled, and within a minute most of the vessel's defenses had been silenced.

Duran's squad was similarly efficient -- after Kwame had knocked out the first battery, several more were been blown to pieces in short order. When he asked his squad to report in, however, Duran realized that one of his marines wasn't accounted for.

"Hellenburg, report in!" Duran commanded again, wheeling his exo-suit around to better cover Mandrake and his team, who were no longer pinned down. "Shit," Duran growled to himself when his sensors picked up the remains of the young marine and his exo-suit. At least he hadn't felt anything. "Mandrake, you are a go. Move out!" Duran barked on the command channel.

"Tucker," Lieutenant Spencer added, "you're clear as well."

"Roger, give us three minutes and we'll be in," Tucker replied.

Surprised at quick and how violent the episode had been, McGregor followed along with the marines. "You okay, Ng?" she asked.

"Fine. The suit absorbed the blast," he replied.

"Better your suit than mine. Frankly, I could stand that change of diapers we talked about earlier."

"Good you're okay Ng, but what about the suit?" cut in Harry.

Ng worked the actuators and ran a quick diagnostic. "Looks like all the systems are fine, Sergeant."

"Right, let's move!" said, Harry, leading his squad towards the cargo module that would be their entry point. "Ng, make us a doorway. The rest of you, I want a rapid entry once Ng blows the charges. Just like we trained, Ellis on point, backed up by Brinks. I'll follow, then Ng and Lieutenant McGregor. La Rue is on rear guard."

Ng signaled that he had the explosives in place. "This is it. Remember, we've got an unknown number of hostiles inside, but there are civilians as well. Check your targets and don't let your guard down. Ng, hit it." Harry watched as the shaped charges went off, his visor darkening automatically, and felt the force of explosion as it was conducted through the hull and his suit. The instant the way was clear the squad poured through the breach and into the unknown interior.

The cargo hold was dark, and after a sweep with light-amplification gear turned up nothing, Brinks and Ellis switched on their spotlights. "Clear!" Ellis declared after they'd scanned the module. When the whole team was safely inside, Mandrake reported in as Ng set another charge. Hoping the schematics were correct and he was about to create an entry into a wide service corridor, Ng motioned for this teammates to move back.

"This is a big one, so keep your heads down." When the rest of the squad complied, Ng dryly added, "Fire in the hold," before triggering the detonator. The hull vibrated again as the charges went off, and Mandrake's team went into action without needing to be prompted. Ellis and Brinks slipped through the jagged opening and found themselves in a wide, poorly-lit corridor of some kind. Checking each direction for a short distance, both marines declared, "Clear," and took up defensive positions as the rest of Hyena squad moved through the makeshift opening. Every marine had a schematic of the sled up in the corner of their HUD, and a colored line traced the route they were supposed to take. They were farther from the command center then Tucker's squad -- who had just reported that they were in -- but were expected to be first to the target because of their unorthodox entry point.

Ellis extended her sensor boom and took point, scanning the area of ahead with a variety of sensors. The entire team switched on their magnetic boots to fight the mild acceleration of the affixed thruster arrays. The sled's decks, aligned parallel to the long axis of the vessel, were more awkward to move on than the team had anticipated because of the added thrust.

La Rue took rear guard, her finger hovering over the trigger of her 30mm Richter armor gun. "Come on," she said quietly to herself, wishing several tangos would simply jump into her sights so she could extract a little revenge for everything these bastards had done.

"I think we're good to the first intersection," Ellis said, looking back over her shoulder at her sergeant for a split-second. Pointing, she added, "30 meters, straight ahead."

"Well, let's not hang around," Harry urged his squad forward. Except for the emergency lighting the corridor was featureless and gave no clue as to what had occurred onboard the sled. In no time the squad had reached the intersection and Ellis stopped to carefully scan each of the branches. "Ahead and right are clear, got movement to the left." she reported "I'll try to get a better reading."

Ellis tweaked a number of settings and checked her readouts. "Looks like there's definitely a couple of people down that corridor. Maybe an exo-suit, as well. The other ways are still clear."

"What about range and heading?" asked Harry, hoping they weren't going to get bogged down in a firefight so soon.

"Thirty to fifty meters, looks like they're coming this way," Ellis returned quickly.

Private Brinks moved up into position right behind Ellis. "Which way, Sarge?" he called over the line, waving his armor gun in the air.

"Straight ahead. Our priority is still to take control of the command center ASAP," said Harry, indicating the corridor in from of them. Giving a quick check over his shoulder, he continued "La Rue, keep an eye out. If they try to close in behind us give them something to make them keep their heads down but keep moving. We don't have time to stop and engage." Despite his words the situation gave a Harry a bad feeling, it reminded him too much of the VR exercise were his squad had been surrounded and destroyed. Trying to fight off his sense of doom he followed Brinks down the passage way.

La Rue took up the rear with a nod as the squad moved out. "You got it, Sarge," she said, turning to walking backwards behind her teammates.

Ng opened a private channel to McGregor as the team swiftly moved along the corridor. McGregor was no rookie in microgravitic situations, but the mild acceleration of the sled and the speed at which the marines were moving were making it tough for her to stay with them. "You doing okay?" Ng asked the woman.

"Thanks, Ng," McGregor replied. "I'm fine. It's just like bar-crawling in downtown Vanguard Mountain, you know."

As Mandrake's team reached another intersection, Brinks knelt and watched over Ellis as she extended her sensor booms around each corner. "Clear," she declared, then turned left to head down a narrower corridor, this one running perpendicular to the long-axis of the sled.

Tucker's voice suddenly sounded in everyone's helmet. "This is Jackal squad, we've got hostiles. We're taking fire from two directions, and are going to fall back for a flanking maneuver."

Duran's voice sounded next. "We seem to have things in hand out here -- the PDS system is completely down. Mandrake, what's your status?"

Before Harry could answer, light flashed behind him as La Rue loosed several rounds from her armor gun. Sparks showered down over the marine as slugs from incoming fire sprayed all around, and a light laser beam silently scorched the bulkhead behind her. "We've got company!" she shouted, firing again.

Ellis added to the good news, her eyes narrowing as she interpreted the results of her latest scan. "I think this corridor might be mined up ahead, Sergeant..."

"Back up!" ordered Harry, retreating back towards the intersection. "Brinks, help out La Rue." Harry made a quick analysis of the situation, they could make a detour past the mined corridor, but no doubt other surprises awaited them on the alternate route. He outlined a new plan of action punctuated by the reports of the armor guns. "Ng, check Ellis' data and see if you can do anything about those mines. Ellis, check those other corridors again, I don't want anyone creeping up on us. Lieutenant, stick with me."

"Like glue, Sergeant." McGregor carefully moved apace with him, keeping her eyes peeled for surprises.

The marines moved with purpose, Brinks falling in beside La Rue, his weapon also jolting with each pull of the trigger, Ng moving down the narrow corridor and Ellis sweeping the other passages behind them.

Harry switched to the command channel. "Hyena squad. We're taking fire from the rear and our route to the command center is mined. Checking if we can get past them now."

"We're holding them off of our flank and are pushing them back towards the command center," Tucker radioed in. "Looks mostly like they've got armored space suits and small arms. We've seen one exo-suit on our flank, a Bulldog, I think. We couldn't identify it's weaponry, and it's stayed mostly out of sight."

"Sergeant," Ng reported in on the squad channel from a dozen meters down the narrow passage, "it's mined all right. They look like standard AP mines, and shouldn't breach anything if they detonate. I can clear them out one at a time, which will take maybe thirty seconds per mine, or I can blast them out with a couple of explosive charges."

"These two passages are still clear," Ellis tacked on, pointing to the corridors Mandrake wanted her to check. "And my readings were showing maybe a dozen mines down there..."

La Rue and Brinks ceased firing but maintained a steady vigil. "We've driven them off," La Rue said. "They've fallen back out of sight."

"Good work," replied Harry "Did you get an ID on what was attacking us?"

"Looked like battle suits -- not Hercs, but something like that. Mostly slugthrowers from the looks of it, and one with a laser rifle," La Rue responded while scanning down the corridor. "They were mostly firing from cover, around corners. I don't think we tagged any of them."

"Ng, how big are these charges we're talking about? Are they likely to cause much damage themselves?" asked Harry as he checked the sled schematic to see what was above, below and either side of the corridor.

"No," Ng answered. "They're meant to be used in pretty close quarters to detonate other explosives -- there's a fair bit of concussion when there's an atmosphere, and lots of small, plastic fragments. Harmless against any kind of armor." He produced a grenade in his hand. "You want me to take care of them?"

"Do it" Harry nodded and moved out of the way to let the demolitions specialist do his work.

End Week 12 Summary (August 26 - September 2, 2002)

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Except where noted, all original content is copyright 2002 John Guilfoyle, Alistair Gillies, Chris Schaller, Robb Neumann, Dennis Kirkpatrick and Bryan Lee. Page last updated on September 30th, 2002.