Rowsdower AFB
Northern Cascadia
4 FEB AC432
23:00 Hours
The yawn of a young woman echoed among the towers of supply boxes sat in one of the three warehouses of Rowsdower. The Air Force Base belonged, formerly, to the Cascadian Air Force and then, the Federation Military presence in the northernmost areas of Cascadian territory. The North-Western American country had spawned out of the Calamity, just like about everything else did those four hundred years ago. And the Calamity itself, a big damn apocalypse caused by mass eruptions of Supervolcanoes across the Ring of Fire, plus a few other select places in the world.
The yawn repeated. Sat at her desk, hey eyes sunken in and black bags under them, a disheveled young woman wrote up requisition forms and reports, a cup of steaming hot coffee to her immediate right, courtesy of the Cascadian Independence Force's own quartermasters. The CIF was not a force to scoff at, being the rebelling military of a nation that was formally 'part' of the Pacific Federation, which meant they got Fed training and equipment. And the Feds? Biggest military Post-Calamity and the biggest 'nation', too, an association of so many Post-Calamity states, one may as well have called it an Empire...
The woman sat at the desk scratched the top of her head, feeling the loose strands of hair through her gloves. She hadn't had a shower in a couple days, since they'd first entered Cascadia, but that didn't matter. She blinked, her vision slightly blurry, then took a swig of the steaming-hot black liquid that acted as a supposed provider of energy. She'd gotten the most caffeinated fucking thing out of all of them. Some brand that predated the Big Fuck, she recalled. Death Wish.
Part of her would've snickered at the name if she wasn't so fucking tired. Running on a seven-hour-a-week sleep schedule really fucked with one's perception, but, such was life as the sole Logistician of the Mercenary Corps SICARIO, a mix of misfits, weirdoes, insane people and actual, proper and proficient soldiers and pilots. The girl that wrote the reports currently, name:Clarissa McClaire, called 'Legion' by most of Sicario's Merc Corps, was the only one who could apparently make sure that their elite SOF didn't fuck around too much and cost them the money they'd need to actually be able to outfit themselves properly.
She rubbed her right eye with the palm of her hand, the blue ink pen still between her index and middle fingers as she did so. Damn Ronin to hell, those Special Forces guys were really something when it came to equipment usage. She sighed, then stood up, choosing to walk a little to make the Caffeine travel throughout her system so she'd be more awake.
She marched toward the ammo stowage, looking over the items inside. Forty-Five ACP, the good Lord's caliber, of course. One of the fuckers was running a modded-out SMG firing the stuff. And it wasn't anything modern, either. It was apparently pre-pre-Calamity type shit, something he pulled out of a museum. Hell, a lot of them used similar kit, but at least some of the ammunition was more common, like 9mm Parabellum.
She sighed, then closed the ammunition box before walking around and making sure the warehouse was secured, shut and that no Feddie fuck was hiding in the place. Snugly sat in the holster on her thigh was a 9mm pistol with which she'd air out the bastard if he or she even existed. Though, according to the dumbasses in Ronin, the enemy had fled relatively quickly from the place.
Scurried like rats away from airdropped tanks and Monarch, the best damn pilot Sicario had, bombing the everloving shit out of them. If there was two people she could tolerate in this entire mess of a fucking Merc company, it was HITMAN-1, both the pilot and the Weapons Station Officer. Monarch and Prez, respectively. They at least tried to keep their gear intact and not leave it, damaged, somewhere else, though she figured that was mostly because it was a god damn plane and that shit was still pretty expensive.
She blinked again, then chugged a quarter of the remaining coffee and continued walking. She felt a small rumble as she marched down the corridor made by a bunch of the stacked-up ammunition boxes and other various stuff like dry foods and non-perishables. Whoever the fuck decided to stock those in the same place had just given her another few hours' work tonight.
As the clock struck twelve o'clock in the night, meaning the next day had openly come, a massive rumble rocked the base, sending stuff tipping over. Clarissa ran as fast as she could and ducked underneath a table made of actual, genuine wood and metal, meaning it should've been at least a little resistant. Somehow, she had not spilled an ounce of her coffee, either, even as the rumbling around her continued.
She curled up underneath the table, looking around as the lights in the warehouse shook around, before taking a sip of her coffee again. Slowly, she heard and saw the rumbling subside, noting that only a couple of items had fallen off the table above her. A cup made of glass, which meant she may have to crawl through it, and a half-full plastic bottle near her desk.
She grit her teeth, then crawled out from underneath the table, doing her best to avoid the glass, before standing up and exiting through the only open door of the Warehouse, the one that led to the runway. She paused, looking around to see that everything was pretty much in order, including the vics in the Motorpool, as the cold northern air bit at her skin.
She arranged her camouflage BDU shirt, tugged at her collar and murmured, "Swear to fuck, now we gotta deal with Earthquakes... Well, I guess we are near the Appodock fracture, though..." and she looked up and to the right. In the control tower, there were members of Sicario's non-SOF ground elements. Regular troopers, most of them armed with updated firearms that they'd also bought with company cash. She also saw one of them staring up at the sky, mouth agape, and called out to him, "The fuck's going on, Xiong?! Was that an earthquake?"
He looked at her, stunned, then pointed up at the sky. She wanted to ask what he meant as she followed the direction to which he was pointing. Then, her heart almost completely stopped. Still gripping her mug, the young woman looked up at what seemed to be the night sky, at first, to the naked eye. The stars, however, were obscured by something and the lights? The lights above weren't stars. They looked man-made and too perfectly aligned. Plus, some of them had actual colors instead of just the pure white light.
She swallowed, looking up at what looked like a two-kilometer long leviathan hovering above them, the dull hum of its engines thundering far away. It had a strange bow, a really strange one, as well as what looked like wing-like armor plates protruding from the front. She could see, faintly, the outline of heavy weaponry on it, which included missile tubes.
And before she could say anything, she saw that an aircraft had already touched down in front of her, a four-engine, heavily-armored transport craft of some kind, from the back of which disgorged a Special Operations-looking unit clad in black, enclosed armors carrying silenced weaponry, as well as a woman clad in a dark-grey uniform. The light of the aircraft's rear troop bay shined behind the grey-haired woman.
Legion looked up again, at the ship above them. Yes, it was a ship that stood at almost 10 times the size of the standard nuclear carrier belonging to the Federation forces and was more armed than one of their damned battleships. She looked down again, directly at the officer type among the boys. The woman approached her calmly, the soldiers keeping their weapons pointed away(with a couple having them trained on the troops in the control tower).
Legion took a sip of her coffee, looked at the mug, then dumped its contents to the side and tried to turn away and leave, thinking this was some sorta dumb fever dream. It'd be the last time she watched any sort of Sci-Fi movie before Death Wish coffee. Normally, her brand was far less exotic and far more 'MRE coffee ration', so she figured she might as well-
"Ahem," The woman, a seeming captain of a naval force, cleared her throat as the logistician was about to turn around and fuck right back off inside.
"Oh, fuck, it's real..." Logi murmured to herself, then slowly turned toward the captain and said, "Y-Yeah...?"
The woman stared at her with a pair of piercing black eyes and stated, "I'm not sure this is the way you treat guests, miss."
Logi was about to reply, but out came a familiar face to her. AWACS Galaxy, also known as Dominic Zaitsev, the man who provided them both the IFF tags and tunes for the battles they undertook, appeared at the door, yawning, scratching his chin as he called out, "The hells all the ruckus, Clarissa?" then approached the woman, eyes locked on her. "Everything alright?"
"Look in front of you, then look up, Zaitsev..." She replied slowly.
"What do you me-" He looked ahead, "... Wha-" and then he looked up, exclaiming rather rapidly with clear fear in his voice, "WhaaaaaaaAAAAAAATHOLYFUCKINGSHIT!" and was stopped short of running away by the captain clearing her throat again. He looked at her, then raised his hands and said, "Listen, I don't know what the hell kind of magical prototype bullshit the Federation pulled for you to appear out here, especially unheard, with that big a ship, but-"
"We're not of the 'Federation'," The woman spoke, her voice mellow, smooth, "Relax."
"Oh..." Both Dominic and Clarissa let out, slightly stunned as they looked at the troupe of soldiers.
"You'd think your radar would've spotted us," She suggested.
"Maintenance phase," Dominic replied, "We have drones flying patrol because of it, but-"
"Noted," She replied calmly, "I'd like to speak to your boss, or bosses. I and my soldiery have a few questions regarding what's going on on this planet," words which suddenly slapped the two members of Sicario back to reality. Dominic was topless, standing in front of an entire group of armored soldiers with no weapon or anything to protect himself and Logi had left her kit back in the warehouse. Both were now faced with what seemed to be a space-age humanity staring them and their security element down with weapons more advanced than theirs.
"Shitfucking Dust Mother, they're from goddamn SPACE... Fuck do we tell them?" Clarissa whispered to him, "Stardust is probably fast asleep at this point..."
"... Well, Kaiser should be out soon..." Dominic quipped, "He's usually drawn to the Weird."
Logi snorted derisively, "You got that shit right..."
And speak of the devil, a middle-aged man walked onto the stage, clad in nothing save for a tank top, cargo pants and combat boots, his dog tags and locket clinking against each-other. He ran a hand through his black hair, before approaching the group and stopping in front of the captain. He hummed, then looked up and said, "Dominic, Clarissa. Get back inside, tell the base not to panic. I'll have a chat with the leadership."
Both the AWACS commander and the logistician looked at their boss with eyes wide as saucers, as if the man had lost his fucking marbles. It was, in fact, a pretty normal reaction of his. Maintaining a certain calm under pressure, even under this kind of pressure of the archetype of diving all the way down to the Mariana Trench while Cordium warheads were going off around you, was a staple for Arnold Frenken, TAC-Name Kaiser, the 'CEO' of SICARIO.
So, instead of arguing with their boss, both members agreed and stepped back toward their respective areas, with Galaxy presumably going off to panic in the middle off his room and Logi-chan considering a lobotomy or actually getting some sleep at the detriment of their equipment being overused by fucking Ronin. Kaiser, meanwhile, simply watched two of the people that helped keep the place running walk off, remarking, "I don't think I've ever seen Galaxy of all people this scared. And Legion seemed actually awake for a change," with a short chuckle.
"Mhm," the woman nodded, "I take it you are the leader of this unit?"
He nodded back, "Aye, ma'am. Kaiser, leader of the Sicario Mercenary Corps. The two you just met behind me were my second-in-command and the squadron AWACS, Galaxy, and our logistician, Legion."
"My name is Captain Eda Rose, UNSC Naval Forces. The ship above you is under my command and she is called the UNSC Liberator. We came here due to a freak accident involving our faster-than-light capabilities and possibly the indictment of some alien fuckers we were fighting, mister Kaiser," She explained calmly, her arms crossed to her chest and hiding the pins and campaign ribbons she had.
"Pleasure to meet you, Captain," Kaiser stated, extending his hand. She gripped and shook rather firmly.
"I didn't know we were dealing with Mercs," She smirked, "Thought your kind mostly dealt with securing embassies and the like."
He shrugged, then replied with a smirk of his own, "I'm gonna hazard a guess you don't know how our world works, ma'am. So I'll explain anything you need to hear as soon as Stardust, our liaison with the people who employed our services, namely the Cascadian Independence Forces, wakes up. Though I doubt that Galaxy didn't just go wake the man up."
"Do you mind if we keep her parked above?" The Captain pointed up at the Liberator. "We came with two escort Frigates, but they're maintaining high orbit and patrolling the area for enemy contacts. Gonna take a hot minute to bring the big girl back into orbit and then come back down in a Pelican for the talks, so I'd like to leave only after we understand just what the fuck happened to Earth."
"I think our fighter squadrons are gonna have an aneurysm, but sure," Kaiser shrugged, "C'mon. It's almost one in the morning. I gotta get myself some coffee to be up for these talks."
The Captain looked back to her men, all of whom shrugged, then she ordered them to stow their guns with one motion of her hand. She and Kaiser walked inside as the men remained to guard the transport aircraft. Two of them kept their weapons out and eyed the soldiers on top of the radar tower. One took his helmet off, revealing his shaven, tattooed head and Zealander heritage in the form of Maori tattoos.
In some other part of Rowsdower, meanwhile, a young, freckled woman with messy hair had fallen asleep on the job, her green overalls stained with black marks courtesy of the oil changes, not to mention some oil spots on her face and hands. Sprawled under the bottom of an F/D-14 fighter jet, one of the oldest known models of fighter in the world, bearing variable-sweep wings and a lot of recently-purchased upgrades, as well as a decent amount of weapon slots for either Phoenix MLAAs, or bombs.
The one to maintain such a beautiful, if ancient beast of a design was none other than the WSO of the airplane. Robin Kuo, TAC-NAME President, lay comfily on the concrete floor, her toolbox a very hard pillow. Blissfully, the concrete angel of Sicario slept away the night so she would be ready and able to finish the maintenance of the Cat above her. She dreamt of calmer times, of green pastures, of a nice wine with her pilot and some... Other things. So much so that she smiled, her freckled cheeks turning red as she snoozed away.
It was part of the reason TAC-Name Monarch, HITMAN-1's pilot, stared at her with some regret. Seeing such bliss on his Wizzo/Mechanic buddy's face was always soothing to the man, probably because he so rarely got to see her like that. However, at this moment, duty, surprise and a little bit of a desire to show her something cool and/or terrifying drove him forth.
He took a knee beside the aircraft, his flight jacket wrapped around his waist kind of like hers, before he put an arm on her shoulder and called out to her in a calm voice, "Prez..." as he shook her to try and wake her up. With no response aside from the snoring of his childhood friend, Monarch sighed and shook her again, a little harder, "Prez, you gotta wake up. Kaiser's called an emergency meeting... And you gotta see why."
Prez whined and turned away from him, then murmured cutely, "... fie moh mikes..." which garnered a short laugh from Monarch.
He leaned forward, under the hull of the aircraft and put a hand on her shoulder again, then said, "C'mon, you know how Kaiser gets if we're late. And this is pretty important... Trust me, I saw it with my own two eyes..." as he gently shook her. She groaned in a barely audible voice and turned toward him, her bright-orange eyes staring him down with a certain blurriness standard of the tired mechanic.
She smiled weakly, then spoke, "G'mornin..."
"Really early morning, but yeah, hey," He nodded, "C'mon. Trust me, you gotta see this."
She yawned, stretched and rubbed the back of her neck, before straightening up and bumping her forehead on the fuselage of the plane. She grunted, then rubbed the injured spot and murmured, "Last time I fall asleep under the Tomcat..." as she crawled out slowly. She shivered as she felt the cold air of the North seep through, then donned the dirty flight jacket she had wrapped around her waist(Which had, until just now, left her in a tank top that exposed the somewhat muscular arms, a given for any engineer). She looked to Monarch and said, "I really hope this is important, man... Was having this really nice dream."
He smirked, extending his hand toward her to help her to her feet. She took the help gracefully, being lifted to her feet. Even so, she stood at almost a head below Monarch in height. He then replied, "Oh, it's pretty important. C'mon..." and he started walking toward the exit from the dome aircraft hangar. Prez followed behind him, wondering how the hell her buff companion and pilot was not freezing his ass off without his jacket.
Then again, she knew him since they were kids, so...
As they walked out onto the tarmac at one o'clock in the morning, Prez first noticed the new aircraft that was landed in front of the radar and communications tower of the Air Force Base. She hummed, then said, "Well, that's an odd new design. Never seen that type of VTOL before," and turned to Monarch. He nodded, then motioned to the aircraft again, where Prez saw figures clad in black. She took pause, then asked, "Special Forces?"
"Seems like it. Though, not Feds, before you ask," Monarch replied calmly, though Prez saw that his hand was hovering near his pistol, just in case. She paused, looking at the soldiers a bit. She squinted at them as she felt ice in her veins, combined with the biting cold of the North. The men carried seemingly futuristic weapons and armor that resembled nothing the military forces of most countries could assemble in their factories.
"Well, they're scary... Any idea what nation they come from if they aren't Feds?" Prez stated, feeling the tension in the air.
"Look up," Monarch replied nonchalantly, keeping an eye on the men.
"Wha-?" Prez furrowed her brows at him, confused.
"Just trust me and look up..." He shot back, then looked up as well. Robin hummed, weirded out. Slowly, she craned her head to the left and up. Her heart started to beat rapidly as she first saw what looked like the bow of something too big to be real. Slowly, her expression also morphed from confusion to fear as she saw more and more of the craft above. The wings with the dropships and guns, the armored sections, the massive engine hold.
By the end, all color had drained from Prez's face. Her voice cracked as she grabbed Monarch by the arm, "M-Monarch...?"
"Mhm..." He nodded.
"T-That's not a normal airship," She observed.
"Nope. Apparently, it's capable of orbital flight..." The man replied, eyeing the machine as well.
"... It's strapped with a shitload of guns, too..." She added, her voice high-pitched, "And missile tubes..."
"Yep," He nodded, "Enough firepower to vaporize an entire battlegroup, from the looks of things... C'mon, Kaiser'll want us there alongside the rest of HITMAN and the others. They're starting a debriefing for the Captain of that ship," He explained, then grabbed the still-shocked Prez by the collar of her jacket and dragged her along, like something out of a comedy show.
Entering the control tower of the base, the group was met by the massed presence of all officers, including GUNSEL's Flight Lead and Stardust himself, who looked haggard as shit thanks to the wakeup. Beside them, at the entrance, was the rest of HITMAN, with Peter Kennedy, TAC-name Diplomat and Evelyn London, TAC-Name Comic, stood, both of them looking disheveled and absolutely fucking scared.
"Oh, shit," Dip started, "Good morning, Monarch, Prez... Guess you guys got the news, too?"
"Yeah," Prez stated, still feeling the chills running up and down her body. They both saw the woman standing beside Kaiser, hands crossed behind her back. She stood, ramrod straight, seemingly calm as she scanned the entire crew of the base. Comic tried to arrange the messy, dirty blonde hair she had as she looked around at the crew, while Ronin's lead, Captain Kelleher, sat beside Kaiser and the others, including Gunsel lead.
"This is fucking nuts..." Comic whispered to herself, then elbowed Dip gently and asked him, "Think she knows we won't try anything, considering they have the battleship above us? And that's why she didn't take her bodyguard unit in... Kaiser did mention they looked far too fucking professional for any normal mercenary or Fed soldier, even. SOF, maybe."
"Probably, yeah," Dip answered.
Ahead of them, the captain and Kaiser spoke to one-another, seemingly coming to some form of understanding. He motioned toward the table between all team leads, to which she approached it, leaned on it and said, "Greetings, Sicario and Cascadians. My name is captain Eda Rose, of the UNSC Phoenix-class combat support vessel Liberator, currently stationed just above your little airbase here at Rowsdower. I and my crew are here because of some sort of fuckup with our equipment that we're working on fixing. Until then, I'd like to be briefed on the situation on this planet and why in the fuck it looks like someone started a seismic chain reaction that screwed the planet over."
"Your leader gave me preliminary details, including information on the conflict at hand..." She stated bluntly, taking a moment with each man and woman and looking them in the eye, "And we will deal with it in one form or another. Until then, I want your unbiased, complete information as to how Earth got this FUBAR and why the conflict even began..."
"I and my crew, as well as our escorts, represent the United Nations Space Command... We are unified humanity's premier military and exploratory force... And we'd like to avoid further human deaths in a pointless conflict such as this. So, answer all my questions as truthfully as possible. Your friends will fill in any gaps you may have left until we have a clear picture of the geopolitical and geological situation of the planet and I and my crew will formulate a plan of action from there," She told them.
"Now," She smirked, "Let's start with the beginning, shall we...?"