Space. It has been called the final frontier for humanity, a place
where lives are started and ended. Within its cold void, salvation or
destruction can be found by those willing to look for it. A never-ending
darkness that can make or break men's dreams.
For Brig. Gen. William Clark, space was just something in the way of fighting real wars, not in space, but on the ground. Both his father and brother fought during most of the Guild Wars, and both died before he reached the age of 18. Will joined the Marines after hearing the news about his brother's death, and by the time his training was complete, the conflict was all but over. The young 2nd Lieutenant took part in a few minor skirmishes with Combine forces before the Treaty of Tyrandor IX was signed, ending the hostilities between the Terran Confederacy and the Kel- Morian Combine.
Never given the chance to prove his true military intellect, Clark was delegated to backwater outposts, until a unique opportunity presented itself to the now 27 year old Marine Captain; political unrest on a near-by mining planetoid had caused the ousting of the local governor, and threatened to put a dent into the military budget from the lose of important minerals required for new "projects." As Clark was the closest Confed officer, he was given the job of "restoring order" to the small planet.
While the media was kept hush hushed by the state, Clark took his small garrison and, landing them just outside the main mining complex, took on a militia of 10,000 angry miners with only a fifth of that number of Marines in a do-or-die battle. Clark drew upon his limited experiences and training and defeated the overwhelmingly numerical miners. Higher-ups, glade to be done with the "rebellion" so quickly and quietly, rewarded the previously unheard-of Captain, and Clark began receiving more "prestigious" assignments.
Now a man of 46 years, Clark was feeling bored these days. The political climate had been calm for the last 17 years; reports of pirate activity had quieted down; the desk job was finally getting to his head, and now he was given the "honor" of escort duties. Mr. Pollock, a Confederate Prospector heading for the Planet 12-1555 in the Copulas System, suddenly needed protection for his operation. Though sometimes the local animal life could be dangerous, it rarely, if ever, required a full Marine division and an entire flotilla of combat ships.
He was in his quarters finishing off the shot of whiskey when the orderly came inside in a rather loud manner. "Sir, your presence is requested on the bridge." Clark slowly got up from the soft chair, cracking his back as he turned to face the message boy.
"Next time, son, It would be polite if you do not come barging into an officer's quarters without knocking." Though with a strict face, the aging man got his kicks once in awhile by making under-officers sweat.
"Oh, excuse me, sir, I-"
"It's quiet alright son," Clark said with a slight smile. "This time." He changed back into the grimacing old fart, as the obviously new orderly gulped rather loudly.
"Yes sir, general sir." The young man exited as quickly as he entered, feeling a need to put distance between himself and the "grumpy" old officer. Though he was not around to see the smile on Clark's face, as old memories of hard-ass CO's came to mind, and wonder how many times they were having a little fun behind that grim mask.
Making his way through the winding passageways of the ship, Clark came finally entered the Bridge of the CSS Winona. Just hot off the assembly line, she was the second of the Behemoth-class Battlecrusier line, a new capital ship class exceeding the now-outdated Colossal-class Battleship in firepower, speed, and armor. It was said that if she was running at top speed, the rest of the armada would burn their engines into a heap of hot goo trying to keep up with her. Not usually interested in these "flyboys" and their toys, it was an impressive ship no less.
Standing in front of the command chair, Commodore Rosenberg and Mr. Pollock were staring out the giant view port in front of them, and were discussing something when the Commodore turned to face Clark. "Ah, glad you are here, General Clark. I wanted to tell you that we are approaching the planet, and it will be in viewing range very shortly."
"I'm glad to hear that, sir," reported Clark, as Rosenberg was given full command for this mission, and one cannot show disrespect to his commander. "The quicker we're done with this tea and crumpet mission, the sooner my men and I can get back to real work, sir."
"I do hope, General Clark, that you do not put such little value in such an important mission," spoke Pollock, who look ordinary in his business suit, compared to the uniforms of the two other members of this triumvirate.
"With all due respect, Mr. Pollock, the worse I have seen on one of these "prospecting" missions are a few very noise wild beasts. Nothing that would require an entire Division of Marines, Mr. Pollock." Clark's disposition to the mission range loud and clear in that statement, as silence fell on the group.
"Commodore, sir, we are in range of the planet," spoke up the Helmsman, breaking the uneasy moment between the three men. "Dropping out of hyperspace. Now."
It was like someone had slammed on the breaks, as the Winona and the rest of the task force exited hyperspace. Radio silence was broken as each ship reported in. 2 Cruisers, the Ajax and the Invincible, came up along side the Battlecrusier, one on each flank. Bringing up the rear was the supply ship Ulysses and the construction ship Folkestone, as a screen of Destroyers, Frigates, and Gunboats formed in a sphere formation centered on Winona.
Floating in the nothingness that is space before the fleet is the Planet 12-1555, seemingly just another ball of rocks, dust and mud in the universe. The surface of the planet is 75% land, with seas, great lakes and rivers placed almost as randomly as if they were dropped from the heavens and allowed to float around like confetti before landing. There are few forested areas, as much of the land is rolling hills or flat plains, and several mountain ranges.
All of this did not matter to the three men on the bridge of the Winona, though. They only thing that did matter to them was getting the new mining facility up and running, as quick and painless as possible. "Sir, we are entering orbit around the planet," declared the Helmsman, awaiting the order that was to come.
Commodore Rosenberg glanced over to Clark, before turning towards his first officer. "Give the order, Commander."
"All right, you dumb inbred sonsofbitchs, this is it. I want a nice clean landing, and I'll have all your asses if anyone screws it up." The lieutenant was being his hard-ass self again, as the Dropship's fuel tanks were tipped off. As if we're actually going into combat thought Mark Williams, just another cog in the fighting force known as the Confederate Marine Corp.
Corporal Williams, D Company, 1st Battalion, 5th Infantry Regiment, 110th Marine Brigade of the 6th Marine Division had been a part of the Corp for most of his life. He grew up in a family with a proud military heritage, and had hoped for an officer position when he joined at 18. His low grades and scores on his IQ test, however, forced him to join the rest of the grunts in Boot Camp. Now a young man of 21, the only action he's seen was the occasional war games or "demonstrations." This would also be his first time on an "alien" planet.
The ship's engines could be heard roaring to life, as the restraints lowered on the 16 Marines sitting in the main hold. The pilot and copilot went through the checklist, a task that lasted 2 minuets before bringing the thrusters to 100%. The bracing locks could barely hold the Dropship in before the go signal was given, as the locks gave way and the ship burst out into the lifeless space.
With it were near hundreds of other Dropships as they roared out of the Winona, like parasites jumping from one body to another. That other body they would infect was Planet 12-1555, the focus of this mighty armada of the Confederacy for being here. Months of planning had gone into this endeavor, and its supporters would not be happy until a profit came of this venture.
As the Dropships were off on their short-lived trip, the bulbous hull of the Folkestone opened itself to the cold nothingness. Within its superstructure was the very heart of the mining expedition, the Command Center. A domed building, it would serve as the main point of communication, transportation, mining and living on the surface of Planet 12-1555. As the CC came to life, it activated its own thrusters, and pushed itself free from the insides of the Folkestone, following close behind the Dropships towards the LZ.
The Landing Zone was at the base of a mountain chain in the Southern hemisphere which formed the shape of a crescent. It was determined to be the most concentration of minerals, and believed to be the location of a large Vespine geyser, a newly discovered gas offering improvements over current fuel cells, and slated to power all ships in the next few years.
"ETA 30 seconds!" The pilot's voice could barely be heard over the roar created as the Dropship burned through the atmosphere. From the ground, observers would dismiss the hundreds of little "shooting stars" as a meteor shower. Until, that is, they realized that they were not chunks of rocks from space, as "meteors" began slowing down and taking shape.
"10 seconds!" The Dropship was slowing down rapidly, but the troopers inside hadn't slowed down as fast as their transport, and were "pulling up" against their restraints. Indeed, it felt like the entire ship was about to break apart, as suddenly the back ramp to the main hold fell down as the locks that held it up let go. The Dropship had finally slowed to a hover, and was ready to discharge its cargo.
"Go, go, go!" The Lieutenant's order was quickly obeyed, as the platoon of Marines filled off the ramp and dropped ten feet onto the planet's surface. They were in a field of what was seemingly tall grass about waist height, which stretched for miles in a rolling plain. Behind them about several miles was the mountain range, though it seemed almost timid to some of the mountains back on Tarsonis. In front of them about a hundred meters was a gathering of some dense foliage, a mixing of what could be called bushes and trees, though they were of a smaller variety then usual.
What was most noticeable was the clear sky above that had a rather purplish hue to it. The mountains also had some purple to it, every leaves on the plants were a mix of indigo, and even the blades of grass had a visible tint of violet.
All around scenes of similar landings were being performed, as each platoon was dropped in a half-circle several clicks wide around the Command Center's landing spot. As the last man on William's transport hopped off, the Dropship raised its ramp, and began ascending back to the heavens, to transport more cargo onto the alien planet.
One thing Mark was surprised at was how light he felt. They had been briefed that the planet would have slightly less gravity then normal, but it felt like he could jump several meters up without the help of his Combat Power Suit. They had also been briefed that 12-1555 had just the right mixture of gases to allow a normal human to walk around and breathe without a suit on, but Intel had been wrong in the past. No one was in a hurry to expose themselves to the elements just yet.
"Alright you apes, we didn't come here to look at the sights, spread out and take defensive positions," barked the Lieutenant. Defensive positions against what, asked Williams to himself. Killer alien bunny rabbits? But the grunts did what they were told, as they fanned out and kneeled in the tall grass, expecting absolutely nothing. Each just wanted the CC to land as soon as possible, wave good-bye to the unlucky souls that will be trapped here with "garrison duty", and get back to meaningful work.
And that's why it came as a total surprise as two small children came barreling out of the flora in front of them, chasing each other towards the Marines. They were only meters apart when the children noticed the strange beings staring at them out of their cold, metallic exoskeletons. They looked like a boy and a girl, each wearing brownish-tan garments from shoulder to ankle. Their face was humanoid, with dirty-red hair covering the top of their head, but two thin lines of barely visible light purple seemed to spill down from each side of their head onto their shoulders and down behind their clothing. There was also a darkish purple line that extended from their bangs out to their noses where it stopped, like some freakish example of a Widow's Peak.
The Marines were too stupefied to move a muscle, much less try to mutter something from their jaw-dropped mouths. Even the hard-ass Lieutenant was silence by this small but gigantic shock to the system. The two parties just stood their and stared at each other, to surprised to do anything worthy of a "first contact" experience.
That's when the ear piercing screeching broke lose upon the hapless Marines. It was the little "girl" who let out the unpleasant parody of a Siren's song, as she ran headlong into the bushes, followed behind by her companion. The screaming continued on as it became distant and finally stopped, to the thankfulness of the miserable troopers, especially when their Combat suits intensified sound vibrations, designed to hear sneaking enemies.
As the group came to their senses, not a single word was uttered over the intercom. They all just stared at one another, almost unable to comprehend what had happened, and hoping someone in the platoon would come up with a clear answer to this ground-shattering experience. Instead they just stood there, as the single most important event in this planet's history began slipping away with each minuet...
For Brig. Gen. William Clark, space was just something in the way of fighting real wars, not in space, but on the ground. Both his father and brother fought during most of the Guild Wars, and both died before he reached the age of 18. Will joined the Marines after hearing the news about his brother's death, and by the time his training was complete, the conflict was all but over. The young 2nd Lieutenant took part in a few minor skirmishes with Combine forces before the Treaty of Tyrandor IX was signed, ending the hostilities between the Terran Confederacy and the Kel- Morian Combine.
Never given the chance to prove his true military intellect, Clark was delegated to backwater outposts, until a unique opportunity presented itself to the now 27 year old Marine Captain; political unrest on a near-by mining planetoid had caused the ousting of the local governor, and threatened to put a dent into the military budget from the lose of important minerals required for new "projects." As Clark was the closest Confed officer, he was given the job of "restoring order" to the small planet.
While the media was kept hush hushed by the state, Clark took his small garrison and, landing them just outside the main mining complex, took on a militia of 10,000 angry miners with only a fifth of that number of Marines in a do-or-die battle. Clark drew upon his limited experiences and training and defeated the overwhelmingly numerical miners. Higher-ups, glade to be done with the "rebellion" so quickly and quietly, rewarded the previously unheard-of Captain, and Clark began receiving more "prestigious" assignments.
Now a man of 46 years, Clark was feeling bored these days. The political climate had been calm for the last 17 years; reports of pirate activity had quieted down; the desk job was finally getting to his head, and now he was given the "honor" of escort duties. Mr. Pollock, a Confederate Prospector heading for the Planet 12-1555 in the Copulas System, suddenly needed protection for his operation. Though sometimes the local animal life could be dangerous, it rarely, if ever, required a full Marine division and an entire flotilla of combat ships.
He was in his quarters finishing off the shot of whiskey when the orderly came inside in a rather loud manner. "Sir, your presence is requested on the bridge." Clark slowly got up from the soft chair, cracking his back as he turned to face the message boy.
"Next time, son, It would be polite if you do not come barging into an officer's quarters without knocking." Though with a strict face, the aging man got his kicks once in awhile by making under-officers sweat.
"Oh, excuse me, sir, I-"
"It's quiet alright son," Clark said with a slight smile. "This time." He changed back into the grimacing old fart, as the obviously new orderly gulped rather loudly.
"Yes sir, general sir." The young man exited as quickly as he entered, feeling a need to put distance between himself and the "grumpy" old officer. Though he was not around to see the smile on Clark's face, as old memories of hard-ass CO's came to mind, and wonder how many times they were having a little fun behind that grim mask.
Making his way through the winding passageways of the ship, Clark came finally entered the Bridge of the CSS Winona. Just hot off the assembly line, she was the second of the Behemoth-class Battlecrusier line, a new capital ship class exceeding the now-outdated Colossal-class Battleship in firepower, speed, and armor. It was said that if she was running at top speed, the rest of the armada would burn their engines into a heap of hot goo trying to keep up with her. Not usually interested in these "flyboys" and their toys, it was an impressive ship no less.
Standing in front of the command chair, Commodore Rosenberg and Mr. Pollock were staring out the giant view port in front of them, and were discussing something when the Commodore turned to face Clark. "Ah, glad you are here, General Clark. I wanted to tell you that we are approaching the planet, and it will be in viewing range very shortly."
"I'm glad to hear that, sir," reported Clark, as Rosenberg was given full command for this mission, and one cannot show disrespect to his commander. "The quicker we're done with this tea and crumpet mission, the sooner my men and I can get back to real work, sir."
"I do hope, General Clark, that you do not put such little value in such an important mission," spoke Pollock, who look ordinary in his business suit, compared to the uniforms of the two other members of this triumvirate.
"With all due respect, Mr. Pollock, the worse I have seen on one of these "prospecting" missions are a few very noise wild beasts. Nothing that would require an entire Division of Marines, Mr. Pollock." Clark's disposition to the mission range loud and clear in that statement, as silence fell on the group.
"Commodore, sir, we are in range of the planet," spoke up the Helmsman, breaking the uneasy moment between the three men. "Dropping out of hyperspace. Now."
It was like someone had slammed on the breaks, as the Winona and the rest of the task force exited hyperspace. Radio silence was broken as each ship reported in. 2 Cruisers, the Ajax and the Invincible, came up along side the Battlecrusier, one on each flank. Bringing up the rear was the supply ship Ulysses and the construction ship Folkestone, as a screen of Destroyers, Frigates, and Gunboats formed in a sphere formation centered on Winona.
Floating in the nothingness that is space before the fleet is the Planet 12-1555, seemingly just another ball of rocks, dust and mud in the universe. The surface of the planet is 75% land, with seas, great lakes and rivers placed almost as randomly as if they were dropped from the heavens and allowed to float around like confetti before landing. There are few forested areas, as much of the land is rolling hills or flat plains, and several mountain ranges.
All of this did not matter to the three men on the bridge of the Winona, though. They only thing that did matter to them was getting the new mining facility up and running, as quick and painless as possible. "Sir, we are entering orbit around the planet," declared the Helmsman, awaiting the order that was to come.
Commodore Rosenberg glanced over to Clark, before turning towards his first officer. "Give the order, Commander."
"All right, you dumb inbred sonsofbitchs, this is it. I want a nice clean landing, and I'll have all your asses if anyone screws it up." The lieutenant was being his hard-ass self again, as the Dropship's fuel tanks were tipped off. As if we're actually going into combat thought Mark Williams, just another cog in the fighting force known as the Confederate Marine Corp.
Corporal Williams, D Company, 1st Battalion, 5th Infantry Regiment, 110th Marine Brigade of the 6th Marine Division had been a part of the Corp for most of his life. He grew up in a family with a proud military heritage, and had hoped for an officer position when he joined at 18. His low grades and scores on his IQ test, however, forced him to join the rest of the grunts in Boot Camp. Now a young man of 21, the only action he's seen was the occasional war games or "demonstrations." This would also be his first time on an "alien" planet.
The ship's engines could be heard roaring to life, as the restraints lowered on the 16 Marines sitting in the main hold. The pilot and copilot went through the checklist, a task that lasted 2 minuets before bringing the thrusters to 100%. The bracing locks could barely hold the Dropship in before the go signal was given, as the locks gave way and the ship burst out into the lifeless space.
With it were near hundreds of other Dropships as they roared out of the Winona, like parasites jumping from one body to another. That other body they would infect was Planet 12-1555, the focus of this mighty armada of the Confederacy for being here. Months of planning had gone into this endeavor, and its supporters would not be happy until a profit came of this venture.
As the Dropships were off on their short-lived trip, the bulbous hull of the Folkestone opened itself to the cold nothingness. Within its superstructure was the very heart of the mining expedition, the Command Center. A domed building, it would serve as the main point of communication, transportation, mining and living on the surface of Planet 12-1555. As the CC came to life, it activated its own thrusters, and pushed itself free from the insides of the Folkestone, following close behind the Dropships towards the LZ.
The Landing Zone was at the base of a mountain chain in the Southern hemisphere which formed the shape of a crescent. It was determined to be the most concentration of minerals, and believed to be the location of a large Vespine geyser, a newly discovered gas offering improvements over current fuel cells, and slated to power all ships in the next few years.
"ETA 30 seconds!" The pilot's voice could barely be heard over the roar created as the Dropship burned through the atmosphere. From the ground, observers would dismiss the hundreds of little "shooting stars" as a meteor shower. Until, that is, they realized that they were not chunks of rocks from space, as "meteors" began slowing down and taking shape.
"10 seconds!" The Dropship was slowing down rapidly, but the troopers inside hadn't slowed down as fast as their transport, and were "pulling up" against their restraints. Indeed, it felt like the entire ship was about to break apart, as suddenly the back ramp to the main hold fell down as the locks that held it up let go. The Dropship had finally slowed to a hover, and was ready to discharge its cargo.
"Go, go, go!" The Lieutenant's order was quickly obeyed, as the platoon of Marines filled off the ramp and dropped ten feet onto the planet's surface. They were in a field of what was seemingly tall grass about waist height, which stretched for miles in a rolling plain. Behind them about several miles was the mountain range, though it seemed almost timid to some of the mountains back on Tarsonis. In front of them about a hundred meters was a gathering of some dense foliage, a mixing of what could be called bushes and trees, though they were of a smaller variety then usual.
What was most noticeable was the clear sky above that had a rather purplish hue to it. The mountains also had some purple to it, every leaves on the plants were a mix of indigo, and even the blades of grass had a visible tint of violet.
All around scenes of similar landings were being performed, as each platoon was dropped in a half-circle several clicks wide around the Command Center's landing spot. As the last man on William's transport hopped off, the Dropship raised its ramp, and began ascending back to the heavens, to transport more cargo onto the alien planet.
One thing Mark was surprised at was how light he felt. They had been briefed that the planet would have slightly less gravity then normal, but it felt like he could jump several meters up without the help of his Combat Power Suit. They had also been briefed that 12-1555 had just the right mixture of gases to allow a normal human to walk around and breathe without a suit on, but Intel had been wrong in the past. No one was in a hurry to expose themselves to the elements just yet.
"Alright you apes, we didn't come here to look at the sights, spread out and take defensive positions," barked the Lieutenant. Defensive positions against what, asked Williams to himself. Killer alien bunny rabbits? But the grunts did what they were told, as they fanned out and kneeled in the tall grass, expecting absolutely nothing. Each just wanted the CC to land as soon as possible, wave good-bye to the unlucky souls that will be trapped here with "garrison duty", and get back to meaningful work.
And that's why it came as a total surprise as two small children came barreling out of the flora in front of them, chasing each other towards the Marines. They were only meters apart when the children noticed the strange beings staring at them out of their cold, metallic exoskeletons. They looked like a boy and a girl, each wearing brownish-tan garments from shoulder to ankle. Their face was humanoid, with dirty-red hair covering the top of their head, but two thin lines of barely visible light purple seemed to spill down from each side of their head onto their shoulders and down behind their clothing. There was also a darkish purple line that extended from their bangs out to their noses where it stopped, like some freakish example of a Widow's Peak.
The Marines were too stupefied to move a muscle, much less try to mutter something from their jaw-dropped mouths. Even the hard-ass Lieutenant was silence by this small but gigantic shock to the system. The two parties just stood their and stared at each other, to surprised to do anything worthy of a "first contact" experience.
That's when the ear piercing screeching broke lose upon the hapless Marines. It was the little "girl" who let out the unpleasant parody of a Siren's song, as she ran headlong into the bushes, followed behind by her companion. The screaming continued on as it became distant and finally stopped, to the thankfulness of the miserable troopers, especially when their Combat suits intensified sound vibrations, designed to hear sneaking enemies.
As the group came to their senses, not a single word was uttered over the intercom. They all just stared at one another, almost unable to comprehend what had happened, and hoping someone in the platoon would come up with a clear answer to this ground-shattering experience. Instead they just stood there, as the single most important event in this planet's history began slipping away with each minuet...