[15-I] Choroba Homeworld

Go down

[15-I] Choroba Homeworld Empty [15-I] Choroba Homeworld

Post by Ducky on Mon Jan 21, 2013 5:06 am

Masayyed dryplains, very far northwest of the asteroid destroyer at Bolla Fortress

Here rides a battle group who bear the blue and light gray insignia of the Antansean Republic Defense Forces. The great star Paragon washes out any hint of darkness in the flatland that stretches from the horizon ahead to the one behind. The vehicles are arranged in a circular way and in the center a very temporary outpost has been set up with improvised benches and tables. A main battle tank is escorted by two armored personnel carriers and four scout gun-buggies driving along in a loose formation in front of the more bulky vehicles. For how quickly they were traveling, there wasn't much dust being kicked up at all.

One of the hatches pops open, dragging a soldier with a padded cap along with it. He draws a long take of the desert air and rubs at his eyes. The crackling of a megaphone hardly alerts him; he calmly rubs at the beard covering his jaw while surveying the featureless land ahead. They had been traveling southeast for hours, trying to reach Bolla, their home fortress. But not him. He had been sleeping. It was big news to finally be going back after a six month long recon mission out in the middle of absolutely nowhere, but what wasn't big news was this awful travel time.

"Captain, close that hatch. The cold is getting in." Common, both for the crewmen to say and for him to hear. No mind was paid to that suggestion. Captain Gregory preferred his post-nap stretches in the cold, much to the dismay of his roadmates. But, eventually, he decided to heed their advice and drops back in with a sullen shake of his head, the hatch clanking shut after him. The last thing he wanted to see when he turned out was open desert. Couldn't they just be home already?

Inside, his coffee has been poured by the automaton. The weapons loader greets him with a shake of the hand and a sloppy salute after so, speaking with his usually hopeful tone of energetic youth. "It's almost noon, sir, no signs of life at all, let alone the bad guys." The chipped white mug is brought over to the Captain by his travel buddy and a nod is returned before he takes his first few sips to gauge the drink's temperature. "We're expected back some time tomorrow morning. That's another eighteen projected hours of travel. You're not going to be awake for that long, are you?"

The Captain raised a brow. It was clearly intentional. "No way. They're going to want to talk to me and I'm going to want to sleep." He was a little more comfortable with how hot his coffee was now, this is what his loader figured by the longer swigs he was taking.

"Gotcha. Just wanted to make sure." The loader spun around in his chair.

"Who was asking?" Captain Gregory sat the mug down next to the automaton and leaned back into his seat, speaking through a yawn.

"Me. Who else?"

"It was that idiot from the other tank, wasn't it? Wants to play cards with me again so he can take even more of my retirement money away?"

"You're like, twenty five, dude. Lighten up."

The Captain was already reaching over to the megaphone controls, budging the loader out of the way. Then, he shouted into the microphone. "Lieutenant Pace!" Silence followed. "You want my money, you can take it in a fair game! Cards are all luck, show me how well you can drive!" He moved to reach forward, gruffly patting the driver's shoulder to give him directions. "Ram him off the road."

Asks the driver, "Road, sir? There is no road."

The Captain grabs onto the wheel and spins it all the way to one side, having no time for this funny business. The front of their APC veers over towards the other APC and slams into the side near the back. "Yeah!" the Captain's voice belts out over the loudspeaker. "That'll show you to mess with my future!"

Weapons loader Cardenas reasons through laughter that they will probably not be pulling into the base's armory eighteen hours from now.


Last edited by Ducky on Tue Jan 29, 2013 6:13 am; edited 2 times in total

_________________
[15-I] Choroba Homeworld 2COcIra
Ducky
Ducky

Posts : 515
Join date : 2013-01-21
Location : Scaffold

Back to top Go down

[15-I] Choroba Homeworld Empty Re: [15-I] Choroba Homeworld

Post by Ducky on Mon Jan 21, 2013 5:06 am

Masayyed dryplains, just northwest of the asteroid destroyer at Bolla Fortress

Bolla Fortress is seen from afar, the watchtowers first with double the height of the rest of the intimidating and mysterious superstructure. The tanks rolled on, and here the sand was kicked up even more. Despite it all, the hatches of the armored vehicles are open, from front to back in the sloppy excuse for a formation. The commanders are turned out, their upper bodies exposed despite the choice of a roomy and protective interior awaiting just below them.

Rock music blasts from inside of a morning-groggy Captain Gregory's vehicle, energetic tunes filling the air and providing a soothing and very familiar soundtrack for the returning soldiers' journey. It was loud enough that inside of their workstations, they wore top of the line hearing protection, but still they heard it perfectly at the intended volume.

Twenty six hours later they are breaking visible range with their home base. Certainly not the eighteen hours that were projected, mostly to do with a stop for minor repairs after a game of bumper tanks. The scout buggies ride closer to the armored cars now so that their drives can listen to the music over the roar of their engines, catching airtime over the dunes in almost perfect harmony with the rhythm.

"We're almost there, chief," weapons loader Cardenas shouts up to Captain Gregory.

"What?" calls the Captain from above, sinking into the hatch again and turning the music down to a more reasonable level after leaning in front of the driver to do so.

The loader repeats himself, removing his earmuffs. "We're almost back to Bolla."

"Yeah, I can see that." The Captain rubs at his eyes as he speaks.

"There's a transmission for you from Bolla too. They just sent it. I'm guessing they waited 'til it was relevant, with us coming home and all."

"What's it say?" Gregory skips past the details, his interest piqued.

Weapons loader Cardenas says nothing and reaches over to the radio, turning off the music in the player and turning on a recorded transmission, a man with a gravelly voice speaking with some static in the background. "Bolla Control to Captain Gregory, speaking freely. A civilian visiting from abroad has arrived and is patiently waiting for your audience. They were directed to the building your dormitory is in."

A dispirited look crosses Gregory's face. "Oh."

"What?" Cardenas asks, perplexed at his response.

"I was hoping they'd tell me it was my time to retire."

"...you're like, twenty five, dude. Lighten up."

_________________
[15-I] Choroba Homeworld 2COcIra
Ducky
Ducky

Posts : 515
Join date : 2013-01-21
Location : Scaffold

Back to top Go down

[15-I] Choroba Homeworld Empty Re: [15-I] Choroba Homeworld

Post by Hades on Sat Jan 26, 2013 3:03 am

A distant light appeared over the horizon of space.

It could hardly be called a light, even; more like a flash. The left-overs of a jump.

It didn't take long for the new signature to appear on RADAR, displaying an object of massive size. It assumed a position over the largest continent, and judging by the heavily radioactive signature, it was preparing nuclear weapons.
Hades
Hades
ACCESS: CERBERUS

Posts : 427
Join date : 2013-01-21

http://generalroleplay.forumotion.eu

Back to top Go down

[15-I] Choroba Homeworld Empty Re: [15-I] Choroba Homeworld

Post by Ducky on Tue Jan 29, 2013 5:26 am

Masayyed dryplains, the asteroid destroyer at Bolla Fortress

Bolla Fortress. One of the many wonders of the Chorobid homeworld. It wasn't built a long time ago but it had the same intrigue as any ancient superstructure. It belonged to Antansea and her people, although it was not connected to the mainland. Surrounded by miles and miles of unsettled desert expanse, Bolla Fortress had never encountered an attack by a ground force before. It was threatened only by the asteroids that crossed the planet's path three times yearly on average.

Bolla was something of a gift from another nation, that of Tunsibania. In a war many years ago, the fortress was captured by a separatist force and Bolla saw fit to re-capture it before the superweapon could be used, as Tunsibania was in no shape to retake their lost territories after terrorist bombings. As part of the reparation talks, Tunsibania offered to let them keep the fortress; a sign of good will.

Since then they have been allies. Militarily, this was for the most part unspoken, but when it came to commerce, trade between them thrived. Their economies boomed as a result of the cultural intertwining. Between the two nations, they had three asteroid destroyers. Two belonged to Antansea, the one on their mainland, and the one in the desert at Bolla, and the third was deep within Tunsibanian mainland. As the two largest nations on the planet, they often supposed that they were the keepers of worldwide justice and peace after a long-standing era of war which had finally, for the most part, been put to an end.

The same couldn't be said when Tunsibanian submarines first fired on Antansean undersea shuttles. No one knows what caused the critical failure that sunk the Tunsibanian sub; they still, to this day, refuse to admit that it wasn't shot down by their present day allies. Despite this, they still gave the gift of a fortress and support a healthy relationship just as well as their counterpart.

Bolla Fortress, the courtyard and the armory

Bolla's great outer walls are easily a hundred and twenty feet tall clear at its lowest point, the watchtower arranged on either side double that. Tanks roll around on top of what appears to be nothing more than a large, sandy lot.

Captain Gregory's tank enters the courtyard first, the two others in tow making for the armored barracks. It's hard to hear the music blaring from their vehicle now what with the music being played over the loudspeakers of the fortress walls. Stopping in the armory and disembarking their dream rides, the crewmen disperse, leaving the others with salutations that echo over concrete wet with water being sprayed in wide jets over the dirtied vehicles.

Gregory walked with the weapons loader Cardenas and his radio operator Elton. The two junior officers were good friends but of very different temperament. Cardenas was a rookie. He was timid, he always went by the books, and the gray of reality had yet to hit him; although he goes on believing the propaganda that got him to sign up for service in the first place, he was far from cocksure. Elton, on the other hand, had always been the one in the team with the fastest wits. Unfortunately, those wits usually went to use with mocking those higher up on the chain of command than him and, more especially, his team. He was very defensive of them, both from hostile and friendly forces. Cardenas looked up to him as an older brother, and Elton looked down to him as his younger.

"Home sweet home, right Cap?" Cardenas asks in a fading voice, nudging Gregory with his elbow.

"Wha?" his Captain half-heartedly came back. He sure didn't act like he was only twenty five all the time; some figured he was hard of hearing, or that he wasn't paying attention. Truth be told, sometimes he just hoped people would stop asking if he pretended it was either or.

"Nevermind." Mission accomplished.

Elton broke off first with a loud, high-spirited laugh while he fished around in his deep pockets. It caught their attention, enough to make them stop and turn to look. In his hand he held a crumpled up brochure. "Think fast!" he shouted jovially, tossing it like a fastball.

Cardenas caught it, less than willingly. He mirrored the Captain in his infinitely lighter, less experienced voice. "Wha?"

While he fumbled with the brochure, Gregory took it out of his hands and unfolded it so that the two could study it for a few moments, Gregory with his stern look and Cardenas with a very typical wide-eyed pallor. The brochure advertised an island-chain resort not too far from their home continent's mainland, complete with light alcoholic beverages, girls in two piece suits, and hotels with personalized rooms and of varying sizes; big enough for platoon on leave, or small enough for a newlywed couple on a romantic getaway.

"This weekend!" he shouted as he went, pointing back to them encouragingly. "Get your stuff packed!"

"Are you coming with us?" Cardenas yelled back, looking up from the brochure.

"Whaddaya think?" Elton, leaving them speechless, walks on. "Kid'll be there too, you can count on that!"

The tank's driver, Sam, or Kid as she had come to be known, was staring at the rest from afar since Elton first shouted. Cardenas turns to look at her when her name is called out as if suddenly coming to the realization, a reddish hue coming to his face.

Superstructure at Topoleva, White Scythe control room four

Draha's thirteenth day on the job was no more interesting then the twelve before it. After a total of a year and eight months spent training, she expected something more exciting; the only way this occupation was taxing was the fatigue factor. Fourteen hours a day- of course, with two hours allotted for break- she sat in front of a screen, watching graphs, looking through high-powered telescopic views, scanning the nearspace, sometimes through the lenses of satellite observation cameras.

It gave her time to think, at least, about what she would do after this. Two years was mandatory, four years was average, six was exemplary. Any more than that and it was a career. There was no way she'd find herself sitting here in twelve years; her job expectation was something like watching paint dry.

That is, of course, historically speaking. On the thirteenth day, she saw something different.

A great flash on her screen and a nagging kind of beeping greets Draha just as she sits down after lunch. She switches to the recommended viewport and conducts a quick thermal scan, and after three seconds of sitting in lip-biting concern, she concludes aloud, "That's not an asteroid. That's... that's not an asteroid at all."

Then the alarm changes pitch and the room's lights flush red from blue in the blink of an eye. Communications is everything but silent, with phones in the command center next door ringing off their hooks. She reaches down to the radio input and stops just before flipping the switch labelled 'command' in bold face, instead activating the one right next to it, which reads 'Bolla' in red.

Bolla Fortress, Silver Spear command and control center

"Major Randall, sir." Susan stops front and center of the Major's desk, demanding his attention. With a wave of his hand, she breaks her salute and goes on. "We've received a transmission from Topoleva."

"Topoleva?" An unsure look comes across the young Major's face. "That fortress belongs to the Tunsibanians. We haven't heard from them in years."

"Yes sir. They believe they're in immediate danger and have requested we prepare a synchronized attack in case their concerns prove true."

Clearly believing that there's no time to waste, the Major stands from his chair and mats down his uniform vestiments. The two proceed to walk and talk. "What's the threat?"

"Nuclear annihilation." Susan leads the way to the control room, stride strong, words stronger.

The Major gulps. He can hardly hear what she says over the buzz of communication drilling into either of his ears, but he is sure that what he heard needs no question. As he stops in front of her station and she begins to calibrate the weapons systems, a distinct rumbling is felt all around them. On the courtyard overview cameras, the sandy lot in the middle of Bolla parts, revealing six massive cannons. "Establish communications link," he orders.

"Yes sir." With a few taps of the keys, Susan gets Topoleva's White Scythe on the horn.

"White Scythe, this is Silver Spear." The young Major shuts his eyes and lets go of a sigh which builds a pause. "Speaking freely. We're all ears."

The radio speaks back promptly, the dissimilarly accented voice of a foreigner comes out from the speaker. "Received your traffic. We have a nuclear threat currently in orbit. Thorough scans tell us it's radioactive, uh, very much so. It won't be taken down by our force alone, but a synchronized attack between the Silver Spear, the White Scythe, and the Iron Bolt may be sufficient. Do you understand?"

Major Randall trades a tense stare with Susan. She gives him a nod and he looks up to the screen again, inspecting the overview of the asteroid destroyer's systems. All green. "I understand, White Scythe. We'll contact Iron Bolt. Silver Spear out."

"Target acquired," Susan informs Randall right before she flips yet another switch, redirecting their communications towards Iron Bolt's superfortress, one much like their own.

"Iron Bolt, this is Silver Spear. Do you read?"

A voice with an accent comparable to the Major's replies. "This is Iron Bolt, go ahead."

"White Scythe- that is, the Tunsibanians- have detected a major nuclear threat. They've asked for us to-"

"Synchronize an attack?" Iron Bolt's radioman cuts him off.

"Yes."

"We've detected it too and just finished preparing to fire. Give us the go whenever you're ready, Silver Spear."

"Understood, Iron Bolt." Randall drops the input but keeps the long range channel open. "Susan, tell White Scythe we're ready for the call."

Superstructure at Topoleva, White Scythe control room four

A quick, high-pitched set of beeps alerts Draha to incoming radio traffic. She listens intently to the voice of the woman on the other end. "White Scythe, we are waiting for your go."

"Okay, Silver Spear," she says. From there, Draha hesitates for a few moments before opening a new long range communications channel, directing it towards the threat; unknowing of whether or not what appears to be a humongous clump of radioactive space junk houses any intelligent life, she speaks into the microphone if only to confirm she isn't about to conduct the destruction of some peaceful or otherwise helpful body.

???
«
Unknown contact in orbit of the Chorobid homeworld, respond or be shot down. »

_________________
[15-I] Choroba Homeworld 2COcIra
Ducky
Ducky

Posts : 515
Join date : 2013-01-21
Location : Scaffold

Back to top Go down

[15-I] Choroba Homeworld Empty Re: [15-I] Choroba Homeworld

Post by Hades on Tue Jan 29, 2013 6:34 am

There is absolutely no response. The machine continues upon a course towards the system's capital planet, and begins to open its launch tube doors.
Hades
Hades
ACCESS: CERBERUS

Posts : 427
Join date : 2013-01-21

http://generalroleplay.forumotion.eu

Back to top Go down

[15-I] Choroba Homeworld Empty Re: [15-I] Choroba Homeworld

Post by Ducky on Sat Feb 16, 2013 6:12 am

Superstructure at Topoleva, White Scythe control room four

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

A bead of sweat forms on Draha's forehead as she intently listens for any form of response, at least a gathering of garbled communications to assure her that her message has been received and was being responded to. The room had just previously fallen to silence with the rest of the control center crew facing her from their seats as they wait for their orders, and all they can hear now is the clock as it takes account for the passing of time.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

A half-minute passes with no radio chatter. Draha's mind drifts momentarily, wondrous of the possibilities that a peaceful coexistence may be what spawns from this and that not a single weapon will have to be fired, but snaps back to the matter at hand, the unfortunate reality of the situation overcoming her. The thermal scans remind her that she is not daydreaming, but the dark red tint cast over the room by the warning lights trap her in a single moment that feels like forever.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Sixty seconds of dead silence gives the cue. Having waited for long enough, Draha reaches over to the communications again, but her fingers drum along the dash below it for a few more seconds, hesitant to follow through with the fire mission. The rest of the control room crew turn around in their seats, sure of what will happen next. With her hand forced, she proceeds with the call.

"Silver Spear, this is White Scythe. We did not receive any transmissions from the unknown contact. That is now a target. We are going to fire at it." A few buttons on the mechanical interface were pressed and a countdown timer appeared on the screen. "Nineteen seconds."

The reply came almost immediately. "White Scythe, we're ready to fire on your go. We just got a call saying multiple cities are getting long range lock-on warnings. Let's take this thing out."

"Twelve seconds," Draha replied to the allied nation's agreement.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

"Iron Bolt here. Cannons charged and locked on."

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

"Shot," Draha declares boldly.

"Iron Bolt engaging," comes one call.

"Weapons hot!" comes the next.

Chorobid outer-space, dreadnaught ship orbiting the planet

Without further adieu, a trio of great white beams appears, each of them perfectly straight and with a blue outer glow. Its trajectory challenges anything that presents itself as an obstacle to the Alarei dreadnaught craft from their launch points, three places very far from one another and situated on separate landmasses of Chorobid's surface.


Last edited by Ducky on Tue Apr 02, 2013 6:32 am; edited 1 time in total

_________________
[15-I] Choroba Homeworld 2COcIra
Ducky
Ducky

Posts : 515
Join date : 2013-01-21
Location : Scaffold

Back to top Go down

[15-I] Choroba Homeworld Empty Re: [15-I] Choroba Homeworld

Post by Hades on Fri Mar 01, 2013 1:00 am

Boom.

The beams of energy encountered no resistance at first, closing the distance between themselves and the hull of the dreadnought. That changed once they encountered its shields, but their combined force was enough to collapse the barriers in a great show of light and electrical discharges towards the void. The next moment, they cut through the armor like a sharpened knife through butter, and then finally hit the ship's hull itself.

In a disturbingly easy fashion, the weapons tore the ship's power cores apart. Before it even had a chance to fire back, it lost power to all of its systems. Fighters became trapped in their bays. The nuclear detection remained, as the warheads were still exposed to the vacuum of space, dormant.

The battle ended before it had even begun.
Hades
Hades
ACCESS: CERBERUS

Posts : 427
Join date : 2013-01-21

http://generalroleplay.forumotion.eu

Back to top Go down

[15-I] Choroba Homeworld Empty Re: [15-I] Choroba Homeworld

Post by Ducky on Tue Apr 02, 2013 9:51 am

Superstructure at Topoleva, White Scythe control room four

"The shots hit," Draha informs her allies over the radio absent-mindedly. The moment her finger slips away from of the input key, she leans back into her chair and lets go of a sigh, both in relief and in unknowing doubt. The rest of the people in the control room rise from their seats and cheer, more occupied with the joys of victory rather than the pessimistic possibility that intelligent life may have just been extinguished accidentally.

"Silver Spear, confirming," one of her allies calls back. "We can take it from here, White Scythe. Glad to have been of use to a close ally."

"What do you mean when you say, 'take it from here,' Silver Spear?"

"We're going to send a few squadrons up to make sure that rock doesn't have anything alive on it- hostile or friendly."

Despite having none of the necessary authority to make the call, she has all of the will to do so, and without thinking, she hunches over and responds as boldly as she can while keeping her voice down, "We will do it too."

"Solid, White Scythe. That's all. Talk to you later."

"Okay. Goodbye, Silver Spear." The communications fall silent. With the room caught up in the hysteria, Draha makes it to the exit before the first bit of confetti paper hits the floor and moves on for the Topoleva Superstructure's hangars.

Bolla Fortress, the officers' living quarters

Between Captain Gregory's rare visits to his dormitory and even rarer maintenance, it is a fair bit messier than most, especially with no one to look after it; given his rank, he is expected to do that on his own. Fortunately for him, no one has ever been demoted for leaving their laundry hanging from a standing lamp.

He is sitting at the edge of his unmade cot, unwrapping a mail package that was left here for him. Inside, he finds a tape recorder, turns it upside down then right side up in examination, and presses play. A woman's voice then takes the place of a written letter- and evidently, the visitor that Gregory was expecting in the first place.

"Dearest Willas, we are hundreds of thousands of miles apart, but still I felt it necessary to try and keep in touch given the circumstances. A civil war just broke out in the southern region of the legendary proving grounds, Dudny, and my nation is deploying assets to try and quell the resistance there. I'm sure that one day we may find ourselves involved in a joint operation, but since intelligence these days is often late, I thought I might give you a heads up, and wish you good luck. Your money reached us as well, and her doctor got in touch with me saying that she will make a full recovery from her injury very soon. Thank you so much for all your help, and please contact me soon."

The recorder clicks to a finish as the tape reaches its ending point. Gregory contemplates for only a few moments before he is interrupted by a knocking at his door. "What?" he shouts, wrapping the device back up and tucking it under his bed.

"Sortie, sir," Cardenas calls back. "We got fifteen minutes 'til deadline."

"You've gotta be kidding me," he mutters to himself, pushing himself up and heading for the door, swinging it open and then shutting it behind him. "Are you pulling my leg?"

"No sir. They said it's serious."

Gregory stares long at his shorter assistant for a moment before starting down the hall. "Alright, alright, gather up Kid and Elton. We don't wanna be late."

Bolla Fortress, the third hangar

A pair of men in jumpsuits overlook a clipboard, standing with their backs to the nearby line of specialized aircraft. One pulls his mask up and off of his head as he walks away and the other follows suit, and within the next few minutes they have lowered the ladders from all of the crafts' cockpits, just in time for the pilots arriving to be able to make their way over without any detours.

Sam, Elton, Cardenas, and the Captain are among them, carrying their helmets under their arms. Elton exchanges a few quick words with the mechanics who linger nearby, but none of it is audible due to the way the hangar's space warps the words. Either party trades smirks and smiles- the mechanics knowingly, Elton smugly, Sam dispiritedly, and the former leave the hangar through one of the back doors.

The cockpit canopies come down in tandem, the hangar's doors open, and the craft exit one by one. A deep horn blares as Elton's plane, the last to leave, taxis away from the structure, then the doors slide shut. His voice loudly broadcasts over the plane's external loudspeaker, "We haven't been in these babies for forever! I hope you guys didn't forget how to fly."

"Knock it off, Bluebird 3," the Captain unceremoniously replies by the same medium, the craft now approaching the runway.

"My name's Elton, man," he groans back. This time the Captain does not humor him.

The planes take their places on the tarmac and the air controller instructs. "All squadrons, check your planes and prepare for liftoff."

"You know, I just noticed something," Elton pipes up again. "We never got briefed."

"There will be a briefing on the way to the stage, Bluebird 3." the air controller informs. "All squadrons, ready for takeoff. Switch to secure communications. Do Bolla proud."

Before long, the air-and-space craft take off and shoot for a vertical trajectory.

Chorobid space, the scout satellite Moccasin in orbit

The planes arrive in the Moccasin satellite's operational space after a fairly short flight. A team of refueling craft, one for each squadron, are dispatched and match bearing with their formations. Before long, the craft are refueled, and they set off for their primary objective: the unidentified wreckage and debris drifting ever closer to Chorobid's atmosphere.

"So," Elton's voice crackles through the lo-fi transmission. "We have to investigate this space junk they blew up?"

"That's right," the Captain confirms.

Cardenas adds, "There were nuclear weapons on board, so said defensive scanners. If we find them, we have to notify the bomb disposal teams to get rid of them."

"That's it?" Elton asks, underwhelmed. "Wish they'd give us somethin' better to do than scout work."

"At least they're letting us fly."

Another large formation of fighters appear on the IFF with a flurry of beeps, one for each signature that appears. Sam, noticing this first due to her craft housing the local early warning system, alerts her comrades. "Captain, radar shows unidentified craft approaching our operational space at cruise speed."

"Identify them and call me back."

Sam watches in silence, waiting for a cue. In a few seconds' time, the signals turn blue all at once, signifying that they are friendly forces.

"They've identified as friendlies. I'll contact them." Sam then directs her communications at the friendly craft. "Unidentified friendly craft, this is an Antansean investigation flight. Please state your service."

The flight lead returns in his local accent, "Hello! This is Grave Serpents of the Tunsibanian space force. We are also here to investigate that wreckage, and back you up in case it is still armed."

"Tunsibanians, Captain," Sam informs her squadron. "They have the same mission that we do."

"That'll do. Let them help."

"Good call, sir," Elton calls out. "It is pretty lonely up here, with only the distant stars as our company..."

"Cut the chatter, Bluebird 3."

Elton's only response is a snicker into his radio. The Tunsibanian formation joins up with the Antanseans, taking one of their flanks to fly as detail, and now that the flight has doubled in size, they fly together for their objective with more confidence.


Last edited by Ducky on Wed May 29, 2013 4:49 am; edited 1 time in total

_________________
[15-I] Choroba Homeworld 2COcIra
Ducky
Ducky

Posts : 515
Join date : 2013-01-21
Location : Scaffold

Back to top Go down

[15-I] Choroba Homeworld Empty Re: [15-I] Choroba Homeworld

Post by Hades on Thu May 02, 2013 8:32 pm

A massive debris field seemed to have formed around the dreadnought; in fact, it would seem to be actually orbiting it, and there was a moderate gravity field being projected by the machine's gutted drive core. The microsingularity containment chamber that was the basis of FTL travel had suffered a catastrophic breach, and gravity waves were allowed to expand into space, pulling debris on a decaying orbit to the craft; secondary explosions continued to cover the hull, even then, and no signs of life were detected from within. Radiation signatures had spiked significantly, indicating a breach in the nuclear weapon storage hold. It was not a pretty sight, nor a safe one.

The dreadnought, standing at a little under five kilometers in length, had split into several pieces; the engineering section was at its center, its walls collapsing on themselves to form a smaller and smaller sphere every second. The sublight propulsion section had been torn to pieces, with several antimatter annihilation thrusters the size of football fields floating freely in space. The weapons section had been destroyed completely, a result of multiple nuclear detonations triggered inside it; perhaps an auto-destruct mechanism. All that remained of the beast was debris, and nothing could have possibly survived inside. The fighters it had launched seemed inactive, following the same orbital path as the rest of the ship's pieces.
Hades
Hades
ACCESS: CERBERUS

Posts : 427
Join date : 2013-01-21

http://generalroleplay.forumotion.eu

Back to top Go down

[15-I] Choroba Homeworld Empty Re: [15-I] Choroba Homeworld

Post by Ducky on Fri May 03, 2013 5:34 am

Chorobid space, the wreckage of the dreadnaught

"I've never seen anything like it before," Cardenas observes, as fascinated as he is troubled by the sight.

"Well it's definitely not a big rock, that's for sure," Elton suspiciously claims.

Sam interrupts, "Radioactivity levels are high. I don't know if we should be here long."

"The moment we're finished here, we leave and pass the job onto the appropriate division. With a little help from our friends we'll be done in no time. Kid, tell them we'll get a realtime tactical map set up. We can divide it in half from there; we get port side, they get starboard." Captain Gregory gives his orders in an almost routine manner, sounding somewhat monotone over the radio's misrepresentation of his voice.

"Copy that."

As they come closer to the ship's carcass, the fighter formations split up by their national origin and maneuver through the natural entrances provided by the debris. Powerful searchlights mounted on the bow of each ship, the pilots each enjoy detailed, magnified views to examine the interior and exterior of what was once a functional craft.

"It's just totally empty," Elton mourned as his fighter slowly strafes along, illuminating a room-sized area of the ship's main interior at a time.

"How many people do you think were on board?" Cardenas asks.

"I don't even wanna think about it, man."

It's not long before a few of the pilots trickle out from the mission, their craft on the receiving end of some arbitrary damages from the space junk floating around. Between the unpredictable explosions and the difficult to locate debris drifting in the corridors of the fragmented ship, a good quarter of the investigators exit the area before the entirety of the ship's contents have been discovered. Unwilling to risk any sort of hull breach and sacrifice their protection from the radiation, they head towards the Moccasin satellite in waves for a checkup.

Meanwhile, the craft that remain operational continue to scour the ship for sources of life, drifting among the debris at a calculated pace slow enough to be mistaken for bits of the wreckage itself.


Last edited by Ducky on Wed May 29, 2013 4:49 am; edited 1 time in total

_________________
[15-I] Choroba Homeworld 2COcIra
Ducky
Ducky

Posts : 515
Join date : 2013-01-21
Location : Scaffold

Back to top Go down

[15-I] Choroba Homeworld Empty Re: [15-I] Choroba Homeworld

Post by Hades on Tue May 07, 2013 5:19 am

Nothing. All life aboard the dreadnought had been extinguished, destroyed; in fact, the ship would seem to be peculiar in that it did not have life support systems, even before its destruction. The interior was pure vacuum, with no attempt having been made to keep it pressurised; radiation shielding was the only environmental control measure that had been taken, and that was weaker than one would expect out of such an advanced vehicle. The few humanoid figures inside the wreckage displayed no signs of life, and were, in fact, powered exoskeletons.
Hades
Hades
ACCESS: CERBERUS

Posts : 427
Join date : 2013-01-21

http://generalroleplay.forumotion.eu

Back to top Go down

[15-I] Choroba Homeworld Empty Re: [15-I] Choroba Homeworld

Post by Sponsored content


Sponsored content


Back to top Go down

Back to top


 
Permissions in this forum:
You cannot reply to topics in this forum