Bridge of System Alliance Stealth Frigate 'Ain Jalut ' ( " Giant's Eye " )

August 5th

Omega Nebula

Amada System

Approaching orbit of planet snow planet Alchera

" Sir ?! Sir, we've lost the signal...! "

Perfectly synced with the concerned-sounding report from the Jalut's head SI officer, the flickering, glimmering burnt orange icon on the System Map display that marked the exact location of the distress beacon on the surface of the planet below...

Some of the less-than-familiar with military protocol might've pointed out that it was redundant for you to call out what you knew the person you were talking to could already see, but...that was the longest living tenet of the armed forces of any species: Over-communicate. Redundancy. Double down on exchanging messages and orders, especially important ones..

Such as...how the beacon signal was completely gone now.

Vanished. As if it hadn't ever existed, that is.

Overseeing it all from his raised platform at the rear of the CIC ( the signature feature of the Normandy-class of frigates ), and without uncrossing his arms from behind his back, Captain Alsain Hunan nodded curtly by way of response to Lt. Roberta Elase's exclamation.

" Understood !

" Get me a full-channel scan, ASAP ! ", he then ordered,without taking his gaze off the holo-display,. " Repeat if necessary. "

" Aye aye, sir ! ", the Lt. acknowledged.

"Helm ! ". On a dime, the Captain shifted his attention. " Maintain heading and speed..!"

His orders, decisively and crisply issued though his shipboard comms unit, were rapidly and equally crisply acknowledged by a strong , Irish ( Dublin ) accent , owned by the short, stout, and carrot-topped woman known as Lt. Terrecia O'Valum.

" Aye aye, sir ! On it, sir ! "

" 10 mikes till deceleration to enter orbit, sir ! ", the Irishwoman responsible for steering the vessel added- right as the corresponding numbers of that appeared on Hunan's Omni-Tool.

Perfect sync, yet again. O'Valum may have been a rowdy piece of work while off the clock, prone to provoking others to volatile arguments ( or, on rare occasions, even fisticuffs ), but she was good at her job, and got results for them all again and again.

Especially, when the stakes were as high as they were right now. That bit of her track record was what was actually getting banked on here...

Hunam hadn't stopped thinking about, either. The demands of orchestrating a rapid orbital decent were high, but...the reason for it all was still weighing on him, and still lured him to dwell on it, despite his responsibilities. That wasn't a bad thing, though.

How could it be ?

It wasn't wrong to spare some thoughts for those down there- the ones he was coming to save. Even at this very moment, the image of the planet of Alchera, their destination, glowed ice-blue- minus that emergency beacon signal that'd been, till just a moment ago, pinging like a clown's nose on a salt pile. That beacon, which had represented only one thing: The presence of Alliance forces down below, who had found themselves caught between a rock and a hard place so badly, that calling for help to whoever would listen had become their only option..

Or, there wasn't anything wrong with expressing gratitude to the Creator that the Ain-Jalut's patrol route through this sector of Alliance-frontier space had taken them within range of this beacon's signal strength...at least...before it'd cut and vanished. But, even considering that, it could've been much, much worse. After all, what if they'd only found it a day after it'd died ? Or a week ?!

Or...well, the rest spoke for itself. Bottom line: As much as it had gone dead, it'd been only moments ago.

There was still hope...

There was. Or, so it all appeared..

Letting his subconscious's positivity speak its mind for a few blessed moments, Hunam's more professional side took over again. Fortunately, it'd only been...a millisecond or so, and there hadn't been anything to happen that'd pulled him out of it- 0 reports, crisis, etc. Some might say that such a short stretch didn't matter...but, anyone who knew anything about the hectic pace of starship life ( especially during combat ) knew that milliseconds could feel like minutes, under the right circumstances..

Having fought through the Skillian Blitz, Husam had all the firsthand experience he needed on that.

Back to the present, though...he still had more to do. The list of preparation wasn't done whatsoever, and he had to keep running it down so that they'd be fully ready when they finally deployed their Kodiaks. Given everything, having that level of readiness couldn't have been more paramount. Without it, they could lose whole minutes, and that could mean a Marine dying for nothing.

Unacceptable.

" Sir ! Message from Sahara Squad. They're boarding their shuttle as we speak, sir ! "

If the sheer familiarity of the voice that'd just spoken at his right elbow hadn't gotten Hunam's attention, the strong-as-steel South African accent absolutely did.

His XO- Gilian Juikara. Here, the 2nd highest ranking officer aboard an Alliance Frigate, all the way from Johannesburg itself, and with an accent that sounded strong enough like it came right out of 1888. She even looked like it, too: red hair, bright green eyes, a dusting of freckles, and a thicc, athletic physique. Aside from that, she also had a known habit among the ship's officer corps for collecting 19th Century memorabilia, and scattering bits of Afrikaans among her speech, which only enhanced her quirky reputation.

On the other side of the coin, though, she was as competent an officer as Human could ask for- which was icing on the cake. By all accounts, it seemed to run with the family- her sister, Mazik Juikara, also had a bit of a rep as a good ( if a tad on the tough side ) leader as well. It wouldn't be a shocker, down the road, if she also made Officer herself one day..

Though, speaking of days, it was on them to ensure she'd have one. She was down there, after all...

Down where an emergency beacon , emanating from her exact location...had just winked out.

Gilian knew that, obviously. She deserved a medal for hiding it, but...its the emotions that leak through that hit the hardest- and the ones that can't be ignored the most as well. The subtle biting of her lower lip, and the way her fingertips were clenching around the edges of her datapad..

Her own subconscious was operating under overdrive mode, was the sum total of all the signs visible here. Having had her on his command staff this long, Husam had finally sorted which ones signaled what, and these were unmistakable.

She was worried. Worried, concerned, and anxious. And yet...still wasn't showing it. Openly, at least..

Again: Medal worthy. Truly commendable. It was that kind of mental resilience that'd carried her through the Battle of Torfan...and the Skillian Blitz that preceded it. If there had been any doubts that she didn't share her sister's capacity for competence ( and if there had been , Husam hadn't heard of them ), her standout performance had quashed them all.

But...now, as the CIC buzzed and beeped with the activity of all its stations, and as the drive core sped them closer and closer through space toward yet another crisis zone, the harsh truth that Gillian's own family was likely one of those that might be desperately needing help was...well it was a new kind of enemy that she'd yet to face.

Yet she was facing it, and doing so with great and visible courage.

Husman's admiration for that might even had showed from the nod he gave her after that. " They are fully equipped for SAR ( Search and Rescue ) ? "

" Whole 9 yards, sir. Made a point to bring their mountaineering gear as well. They'll need it down there- that world is just bloody ( blawdy ) cold death, and that's all. "

There was...a tremble ? A tremor, with how she said " bloody cold death " ? Yes, there was...and it'd happened before. As soon as she'd found out that it was the Normandy's beacon they were tracking ( as opposed to...well, any other Alliance-crewed vessel ), they'd begun to appear, and they hadn't gone away. She had to know that, though...which was why she was fighting so hard to hide them.

Women were emotional. That was alright, though. That was alright- emotions were good. They gave you a reason to live...long as they were tempered with discipline.

Which they were...for now.

" True. But, we're on station..."

Pausing for a second, Hunam spared a glance at his OT's readout, who's numbers now showed a clear and distinct:

3:00

3 minutes to contact...

Ok...excellent..

Hardly a wait at all...but best I don't outright say that with so many words

"...We will be, on station, after less than 5 minutes. The ground team is ready to deploy at a moment's notice, and its been less than an hour from when we lost the beacon ", Hunam outlined the facts of the situation , choosing such an approach rather than a ( seemingly better ) appeal to calm Gilian's nerves. That, wasn't what she needed right now, even if it might've seemed so. She was still an Alliance Officer , and she still had a job to do. Her emotions were clashing with that enough without someone adding fuel to it...so, rather than bother, Hunamn went for what would do her the most actual good:

Stay focused. Stay on task. If they could get it done, if they could get results...then...

The rest would take of itself...though, whether that was going to go smoothly was a whole 'nother ball game.

Pace yourself.

That goes for both of us...

" We're the first responders here- emphasis on first ", he stressed. " And we are their best hope right now. We won't fail them. "

That might ( even he was prepared to admit ) be more than necessary when it came to " balancing professional with kind ", but...better overkill than underkill.

Besides...

Optimism was always better than pessimism.

Any day of the week.

" Good Lord ! Did someone bury a freighter full of grenades, and set 'em all off at once ?! "

The sheer astonishment, and bafflement carried by the exclamation from the Louisiana-born Corporal Dixon wasn't lost on anyone on the squad freq.

Mostly because...they were all feeling the same thing. Also looking at the same thing as well, which was where it was all coming from...

Namely, that giant gaping freaking hole that was yawing right at the exact spot on the surface of Alchera where the beacon's signal had originated from ! And, this wasn't even some ballpark estimate they were operating under, either...

They knew it was here ! This, right here, was where the pod was supposed to have landed...!

Right here...!

But...

" Hey, Sarge...there some kinda mistake ? You sure these are the right grid co-ords ? "

He turned around, gesturing confusedly toward the yawing maw of the hole, as the aforementioned Sergeant-a tall ( 5'9, which was tall...for most women ) , slender Frenchwoman named Mariete with piercing blue eyes and a razor-thin scar across her left cheekbone, came his way, leaving a trail of deep bootprints behind her with a steady set of crnch, crnch, crnch noises, and with a glaringly bright sun Halo filling the sky just above her head.

An icy breeze had revved itself, adding a wbbbrpp, wbbbrrppp rustling-rumble that filled the Corporal's ears, as the NCO stopped, her Omni-Tool activated. Its apricot hue stood out like a lighthouse shrouded by a fogbank against the equally choking shroud of the snow flurries that were all around them..

" One moment..! ", she told him, while consulting the OT's readings, synced live to the Ain-Jalut's systems.

" Yes...yes we are . This is the location ! "

Between that yogurt-y French accent, and the echoes of the dying-but-still-strong storm, Dixon had to actually strain a bit to figure that all out- but it got it about a second later...which didn't really help his state of confusion any more. Actually...it'd just worsened it.

Compelled by it, he looked over at the hole yet again for another second or so...but the dots just didn't connect ! There had to have been a mistake...

Unless it wasn't. That was the rub...after all.

Just-

" Ok...squad ! "

...And, perhaps that was a disguised blessing, actually. Even Dixon own consciousness had known exactly where that thought train was going, and he hadn't liked it. But...it'd just seemed so dang logical, that he couldn't help but go there anyway- it was the only thing that made sense.

That being, namely...

...That the pod had dropped to its death. That'd gone...maybe a thousand feet down ? Or something like that.

Basically, completely un-survivable. Escape pods were sure built tough ( if what he'd seen on the training vids was anything to believe, that is..)...but getting dropped like this ?!

...You couldn't live through that. Assuming it was that deep, anyway. You'd be a corpse by then.

Was that what they were doing here ? , he asked himself, as he began to slowly march through the shin-deep snow ( crnch-ing and crumpl-ing around his armored legs ) , to join the rest of the unit as they gathered around their leader.

Just...retrieving corpses ?

Burial detail ? This was what they were doing now...?

Maybe it wasn't...but it sure looked the other way.

Bad signs...that's for dang sure.

" Squad !", Mariete shouted again, circling one finger lasso-style over her, bringing the unit close around her. " Perimeter, but listen close ! "

Who the heck is gonna jump us here...?!

..Batarians, maybe...but-

..Ah, screw it. Procedure is procedure.

Low likelihood of getting attacked on such a nastily remote ice cube of a planet aside, the Marines did as they were told, and everyone knew their place. Everyone knew what to do, with Dixon thus heading to his pre-assigned spot at the center. He unlimbered his Lancer rifle as he did, with the sleek, streamlined rifle unfolding itself from its locked position with its comforting , trademark series of clcks.

It took just a moment to double-check that it was chambered with Anti-Personnel rounds, before-

" Ok...we need to commence this rescue now, before the storm gets worse again !", briefed the NCO with a palpable sense of urgency. " Dixon ! Jaken ! You know what to do: Sort out your climbing gear, and prepare to descend ! "

She accompanied these orders with vigorous hand gestures, Italian-style, to drive it home...and she wasn't even done with them, either: " The Captain needs to know if there are any survivors...because otherwise...he will flag this operation as salvage for heavy retrieval of lost materiel...and as retrieval of their remains for burial . Its on us to figure out for sure either way ! If our brothers and sisters are alive, we're gonna get them out of there ! You get me ?! "

A chill shot along the length of Dixon's spine...which still would've happened had this whole thing been going down amid the sand dunes of the Rub-Al Khali desert of Earth herself. Just...the word salvage on its own...when they were talking about an escape pod that could be packed with fellow Alliance Marines !

The thought of them-a whole squad's worth..a whole squad- lying...lying wasted there. All cold as a meat locker's contents, just frozen solid-

Screw that noise.

Screw it.

It was so repulsive, and so abhorrent, that his mind just shut it down . He wasn't gonna go there. He wouldn't.

Only if he had to..

Which...was right about now, as he responded to the issued commands with a loud " Understood, Sergeant ! ", before unslinging his pack laden with gear, and setting it with a crump against the snow-smothered ground.

Jaken did the same, and they set about pulling out the contents, and properly rigging the lines and anchor points that would feed down through the depths of the gaping crevice, punching deep through the layers of this miserable world...

This...miserable, frigid, icy, chilling world. A whole universe removed from the warmth of Puerto Rico, and its lovely beaches, balmy climate, and waving, raggedy palms towering over the beaches...

Its still there, though...

It still waiting for me, Dixon knew he had to remember.

Still...as pleasant as it was to remember, the here and now couldn't wait.

He shot a look at where he was headed- the gaping maw of the crevice was still visible through the fading white mist. Through his helmet's faceplate, its way of sucking down all available light ( like all crevices did ) against the sheer whiteness of the snow left it resembling a seam of coal...or the fold of a blanket. Around its edges loomed the teeth of sheared off ice...plainly marking where the pod had once lain before it'd gotten its unwanted ride.

" Velam ! ", Maritte called to their Engineer. " Velam ! Send your drone ! Map the crevice...and scan for life signs ! "

I can handle any terrain...

...so, just give me one sign.

Please...please. God, I just need one...

"...On it, Sergeant ..! ", acknowledged the Peruvian man. As Dixon continued to fish out and arrange his gear, he heard the telltale hrummmmMMmMMM of the drone coming online, followed by more of the same approaching him as it set off toward its destination.

It'd always been a funny-sounding thing...and between the gnawing chill of the atmosphere of Alchera attacking his armor like the acid rain from Tarith , and the equally gnawing threat of finding a tomb down there rather than some survivors...any distraction from that was welcome.

Well...as long it wasn't too much of a distraction. He still had a job to do. The SAMC drilled its members that well enough, at least.

So...he followed what he'd been molded to do. Hands went through the process of checking carbiner clips, diamond-reinforced cables and body rigs. This, was what training was for, after all- letting you to operate autonomously ( mostly ), while giving you some mind-space left to think...

Some. Less than all of it...but that wasn't always a bad thing.

Like...now.

HrummMMmmmmmm...

The drone's whine began to fade, as it moved out of range. Headed down through the depths of the crevice...however deep that was.

Which, needless to say, was the money question. They needed those numbers if they were going to pull this off-exact length of cable, after all. That, and the contours of the walls, so they might know the quickest and lowest-risk route to enter and exit.

Especially...if they were hauling wounded.

Well...at least he'd done this before, Dixon's memories reminded him, as he glanced over to check that Jaken was keeping pace.

It was more reflex than anything else, and one even he kind of agreed was dumb. Jaken was an old hand at this kind of thing- he had more than twice as many Ops like this under his belt than Dixon did, and probably was just treating this as an extremely realistic training exercise...minus the guarantee that there were actual SAMC personnel facing real danger that they couldn't get out of on their own.

The illusion was dead, basically...but better it than them like this.

For the next several minutes, they hammered away without a word, burying their anchors through the snow to the ice layers beneath, then linking them to lengths of cable. All around them, literal snowflakes fell, while millions more already on the ground emitted loud crnch, crnch sounds as the rest of the unit walked through them while patrolling back and forth. They chatted back and forth among themselves, but it was the usual shtick that the enlisted ranks swapped around on the regular everywhere, so nothing new there.

Still felt like an essential component of any Op, though. Always happened ( or close enough, at least ) , on all of them..

Things went on an such for a few minutes, until-

"....Hey...hey ! Everyone ! "

Velam was yelling again - easily overriding the thankfully-subsiding flurry of the storm around them, as well as over their helmet comms. Judging from the sound and tone alone...

...he had found something.

Or...maybe even someone.

That would be better. They weren't treasure hunters, after all, looking for stuff. They were search and rescue.

Liquid nitrogen ran through Dixon's blood, and he knew it was on now.

" Sergeant ?! I got...I got life signs down there ! Reading multiple positive life signs from the pod ! "

" Repeat: Multiple life signs detected ! "

The trickle of adrenaline for Dixon became a torrent, just from that alone.

Survivors ?! Heck, that was some good news right there...and at long last as well. It was half the reason to serve with SAR- for every mass grave you found, you'd find some lost souls that would've been sent to a grave otherwise...

" Ok...Dixon ! Jaken ?! Transmitting the outlay to your OTs..now ! "

There was a momentary pause, before a salvo of red lights blinked near the leading edge of Dixon's Omni-Tool- the signal that it'd received a data packet. Glancing down at it, he quickly accessed it, and a few seconds later a 3D Diagram of a deep-reaching crevice appeared before him.

" Alright...got it ! ", Jaken exclaimed . " Got it...!"

" All set over here...!"

" Dito ! ", Dixon added, without removing his attention from the...well, from the flipped-iceberg that the crevice's outline was appearing as on his display. " Outlay received..having a look-see now..."

" Roger that, Corporal ! ", Mariette boomed.

As flecks and chunks of airborne ice whipped by, kicked around by the dying throes of the storm, Dixon steadied his arm over one knee, as he examined the display his OT was projecting.

The drone had done well, expertly scanning the full breadth of the crevice down to the last fold and crease of its walls from the top edges, all the way down to its base. From the numbers getting displayed, it appeared the full and total depth of the crevice was...at least 100 ft.

101 ft, exactly, if the numbers shown were correct.

Dixon stared at the numbers, ignoring the flying snowflakes.

100 ft ?!

100 ?!

It wasn't the outside chill that sent a flicker along his spine. 100 ft...that was a heck of a drop, even for a military-grade starship escape pod. The concussive forces alone could do fatal damage to anyone aboard, let alone the risk of the pod's hull crumpling under the impact shock. There was even the chance at a fragment of said hull- and/or shards of ice from the glacier around them- piercing the hull, and anyone behind it !

Like the Op on Tarith..

Just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to what a cluster that was...

Packing that disaster away again as quickly as it'd appeared, Dixon channeled his focus, and kept scrutinizing the display. There was more to get from it- such as how, roughly halfway down, there was a-

" Hey...". Jaken must've seen it at the same exact moment. " Hey, Greg ? There's a shelf of ice at the 50-percent point. Right where we are now..."

" I see it ", confirmed Dixon. " Roger that. We'll have to displace...about 20 feet right. "

" Good news , though. That seems like the only real terrain obstacle down there. Everything else looks pretty routine, decent wise. "

"...Yeah...I concur. ". Jaken was thinking alike here, as per usual. " All we need to do is displace to a clear lane, then take it from there via protocol.."

" Sounds like you're all set over there ! "

Listening to all that they had to say over the Squad freq, it didn't really come as a surprise that Mariette chose that exact moment to have something to say. Honestly...it was the kind of thing Dixon would've probably done had he been the one running this Op.

It wasn't the worst

The squad will hold the perimeter- commence your descent ! We need this rescue underway yesterday, understand ?! "

" On it, Sergeant ! ", both SAR Marines responded.

Pretty much what the crevice here would've been, had things done different...

But, they hadn't, he reminded himself. There were life signs down there ! And, he was going down there after them...!

Didn't matter how steep the sides were, or how sharp the blades of ice that lined the way down...

Didn't matter that he was running the risk of losing his grip, hold, or anchor point-thus falling to his own death, or at best, a ghastly set of wounds that could even run all the way to the level of getting crippled. A severed leg or arm, most likely.

That was just par for the course for a SAR Operator, though. This is what they did.

This is what they lived for. Why should they care, either, how that might sound to someone cynically-minded: They'd be calling and crying for help the same as everyone else if/when they found themselves hurt, trapped, alone, and unable to do a thing about it except pray and call for aid.

They would. They'd also get everything that the SAR could throw at them, because that's what they did.

It wasn't a job. Had always been that way.

Always.

clnk...! clnk !

clnk ! Clnk !

Boots - all 4 of them - struck the hull of the pod, as Dixon and Jaken's decent came to an end.

Stretching high above them, wobbling and rippling slightly from the momentum of two full grown men sliding down them, were the cables. The dangled there, two long and whip-thin ( by appearance only, obviously- each was rated for over 500 pounds ) conduits back to the ( relative ) safety of the crevice's top..

They would have to remain that way, because without them, this would become a " rescue the rescuers " scenario, which was needlessly complicated as a general rule, and the last thing anyone remotely close to all this needed- least of which the rescuers, or who they'd been sent for.

But, that was all background to them. Just subconscious- enough so they were aware, but it wasn't enough to throw them off track. They were here to get something done, and that's exactly what they were gonna do.

Something that actually mattered, dang it.

"...And...we're down. Send again- we're on the pod ! ", called Jaken over the squad freq, bracing his boots against the pod's convex-shaped hull plating hard enough for their mag-locks to activate.

"..Roger that. We're down. Down, on the X, and prepping to enter ". Dixon paused afterwards, checking that his cable wasn't tangled or caught on anything and scanning his surroundings. The walls of the crevice soared over him-gleaming surfaces of pale blue ice that seemed to...somehow trap and yet also funnel light ( what scant light there was, given the bad weather ) all the way down here. There was just enough left ( barely ) to provide enough illumination to see where they were going...barely.

Fortunately, that's what their helmet's NVG setting was for. As they both activated it, Mariette' voice burst over the Comms net, clear as day despite everything: " Copy that. We're here...and ready to relay what you find. "

" Read you loud and clear, Sergeant.

Who we find...

Who.

It was so, dang, tempting, to actually say that. It burned like saltwater on the edge of Dixon's tongue to say it...but he didn't. There wasn't reason to.

The Sarge was right- and knew they knew as well. This was how Ops like this went- you had see for yourself, to know how many were coming home.

Because...there might only be some.

Or perhaps that'd be the opposite, Dixon also knew, as he began to step carefully across the hull underneath him, with a series of heavy clum, clum, clum of metal on metal. They still had to actually open it..

That would require locating the hatch, needless to say, and according to the schematics of the standard-issue Alliance escape pods, it was around...

" Closing on the Shipboard end...", Dixon announced, which was just ahead of him. Only a few yards, exactly...

" Right about...yeah, there it is ! ", exclaimed Jaken, gesturing.

He was right- just beyond 3 feet away from them, the pod...ended. Just dropped off , with the ethereal beauty of the base of the icewall beyond.

Dixon's pulse began to race, and he knew there was nothing he could do, but he kept things professional. They were close now- extremely close. Actually, needless to say, they already were ! Less than a yard beneath them, that is, except there wasn't a way to get through short of violently breaching here...

But, that's what the hatch was for.

Most likely, however, it would be shut tighter than an Illium bank vault, either from the automatic procedure from launching, or by its occupants if they'd left the pod for any reason at all after landing( crashing ) here. Then again...

...They'd come ready for such a thing.

" Let's get the Blazers ready...", stated Jaken , referring to the torches used by SAR to carve through solid materials ( rock, metal, hardwood, etc ). " I want to double check 'em..."

"...Roger that ", Dixon agreed.

His fellow SAR had a point- they were going to need the cutters to have any chance of opening the pod, given that the whole thing had landed on one end, and that was the end with the hatch ! Definitely counted as the proverbial wrench thrown , so to speak.

But, again...they'd prepared for this. That's what the T-100B was for, aka " The Blazer ". High-powered, handheld plasma cutting torches that could do exactly what they needed done now- carve through the plating of an Alliance escape pod like it was a Thanksgiving turkey, so they could reach those who were trapped. They set about the task, pulling the required devices out of their packs, performing last-minute checks on them, before powering them on with the signature low-gear vbrmmmm noise they always kicked out.

Powered themselves by the ever-present sense of urgency, they jammed the Blazers' tips- already a vibrant shade of grape-purple from the plasma running through the conduits- against the hull, leaned their weight against it, and began to slice away. Solid, space-grade metal just...melted like a marshmallow speared on a stick held over the heat of a fire...only to rapidly cool as the -40 cold hit it with all the force of an avalanche.

A bizarre, borderline surreal orchestra of groaning and creaking sounds emanated from the hull, as the metal was superheated to over 1,000 degrees, then cooled just as fast. It continued to give way, though, yielding more and more against the wrath of the cutter. As the hull was chewed away, more and more, the SAR operators momentarily paused- just long enough to affix anchoring cables to the section of the hull they were carving, to prevent it from falling onto the heads of anyone that was below...

Those unfortunate sods had been through enough. They didn't need any more unnecessary pain...least of which from those who'd gotten sent to save them.

With that bit of precaution out of the way, they resumed attacking the problem...and a few seconds later...

Hrsssssss-SSss !

The hissing of the plasma burst to a spike, as it hit only air.

...The hull was cut through.

" We're through ! ". Dixon didn't bother to hide his exuberance, as he shouted over the comms. " Sargent, we're though...! "

It'd been breached like the SEALs breaching Bin Laden's compound, and the torches had done their job beautifully- relatively clean cuts all the way around. The cables, as well, were doing what they were supposed to- ably keeping that still-pretty-jagged fragment from falling. It was all primed and ready to get just pried away and tossed aside like an expended soda can...which it promptly was. The SAR operators practically yeeted it away, sending it hurtling to the snow with a palpable sense of disdain.

Before it'd even landed...

Dixon, crouched on all fours against the sadistically-cold metal of the pod, was already leaning through the freshly-opened gap. He'd already activated his helmet's forward-aligned lamps ( courtesy of some quick blinking ) , and as the twin beams of sheer white, searing light stabbed down through the hole-

" How's it look...? ", asked the other Marine by his side, with every syllable a mix of professionalism and raw anticipation. " What're we dealing with here...?"

"...Drone said we had life-signs.."

Sure doesn't look like much life at all down there...

That- pretty much to a T- described the sight that greeted Dixon.

Why he didn't respond...yet.

Mostly because...there hadn't been a response from the pod.

As soon as the light from his lamps peeled away the darkness, and exposed the pod's passenger bay ( albiet, only as wide as the beams could reach from side to side without turning his helmet ), he'd immediately found something else.

Actually, more than one " something ".

Bodies.

A lot of...a lot of bodies. Half a dozen, at least, and all of them that he could spot from his current spot bolted down tight by their accelerator-chair restraints. Said restraints were still rock-solid, and as still as a statue...but the sailors, and the Marines they were cradling weren't.

Heads were lolling. Arms and legs were crooked and dangling at all kinds of angles...some of which were painfully ( literally ) hinting of fractures. All that was missing was..

Ignoring the sense of ominous doom that literally seemed to emanate from the pod's depths, Dixon panned his gaze around. Yes...more personnel on the other side of the pod, and all also bolted to their seats-

...Wait.

..What the-?!

...Right there, at the absolute back ( bottom ? ) of the pod...

He'd spotted something, against the shadowy gloom of the unlit pod. Or- wait. Someone ! Several someones, actually, who weren't seated like the others...

Despite the choking shadows , and the distance, he could finally begin getting a handle on the scene:

Two armored bodies- probably female, given their more slender forms, though one was clearly thicc-er than the other- lay comatose, with the huskier one beneath. The one atop her was facedown, and had a....a piece of metal sticking out from out through her back. Offset from her spine, judging from the angle, and surrounded by a halo of burgundy, sticky-looking liquid... The other woman wasn't moving either ( as was everyone else ), and even more blood was coating her own armor...and the deck she was lying on. Her helmet was sealed, and the gap of her visor showed a face that could be dead for all appearances..

A thoroughly violent scene, for sure even for this line of a career. Dixon didn't have the luxury of dwelling on it, though- that was a lesson he'd been taught hard, long ago, and often, both during training, and over the first few Ops like this he'd been on. It didn't care about your feelings- all you could do was act.

Still...

....Preserve them..

God, that's rough.

Metal creaked, and out the corner of his field of view, Dixon watched as Jaken crouch-walked over, and leaned over the edge of the gap to stare down through it.

"..Jumala vajrelkoon meita ( Finnish for " God preserve us " ) ", was his observation.

Dixon nodded, and again, said nothing more for the moment.

There wasn't anything worth saying, anyway...

Action was the priority now.

Action, was what would save their lives.

" Roger that. " , he finally spoke.

" ...Alright...entering now. Asses the personnel closest to you- I'll go for the ones at the base. Check my lines. "

" You got it...! Alright...let's get a handle on this."

All just...they weren't even lying there. The restraints ( or , for some, what was left of them ) were just...holding them there..

And it didn't look especially stable- even if SOP was to avoid putting undue stress on what could easily give away...so that alone ruled out using any of the tops of the accelerator chairs as footholds to climb. Besides, most of them were still occupied, and the last thing any of them needed was someone kicking them across the head...!

Slowly, but deliberately, he made his way down, paying out the cable length bit by bit while adjusting the position of both feet so they wouldn't deliver a hit to someone's cranium. He already so close- so close- to where those two Marine at the back ( the base ) lay...so close.

Just a few yards, at most. The pod was narrowly built, and most of what clear space there was had the knees, helmets, and other extremities of everyone that was just lying there motionless, so it wasn't a quick or easy trip. But, that didn't matter.

Getting them all out- even if any of them hadn't made it- did.

First, though...

"...Ok...Ok..."

" Down at the base of the pod...checking for vitals . "

He said it so calmly, even to his own ears, and truth be told, it was actually real. He had done this before, after all. It certainly helped..

...for when things turned ugly. On a job like this, that wasn't a case of " if ", much as he might wish it was.

But, it might be otherwise here..

Maybe.

Reaching over, he quickly located the access port on the chest of the Marine that was buried beneath the one on top...complete with a plug for getting a read off their armor's medical data-steam. It was standard across all Alliance Marine armored hardsuits, and had proven itself to have saved the life of many a jarhead over the years from when it'd been implemented..

Experienced fingers pried it open, and Dixon quickly fixed a length of wiring from his own diagnostic scanner to it with a solid clck. He held the datapad tightly, studying its pale-red numbered readouts..

And, ignoring his own racing pulse. Was that concern ? More anticipation ? Or some blend of both ?

...He already knew the answer. It was both.

Always had been. He'd done this long enough, and on each and every Op, regardless of how it ended...this volatile mixture always found its way through his veins. Over and over...but, it wasn't a problem. Hadn't ever been, for it gave clarity, and sharpened focus.

He'd experienced it on so many worlds- jungle worlds, desert worlds, worlds with Pandora-esque unbreatheable atmosphere, worlds riddled with endless mountains, and obviously...on ice worlds. Klensal, for one, and Antibaar, for another. Any of them had been the same kind of feeling, though, despite how different the worlds were...or even the exact Ops themselves. After all, aside from how many wounded he was dealing with, or how hard they'd been hit, the sense of "what's waiting for me ? " that came with it, good or bad, remained the same.

Like it was now, as the readings on the diagnostic came more and more-

What the...?!

Oh..

Abruptly, adrenaline was a major component of his blood again, as the readings on the diagnostic tool came back all the way. They glimmered brightly, and they didn't leave any room for doubt as to what he was dealing with here...

Whether he wanted to or otherwise...and he did.

Why wouldn't he !?

..She was alive !

She was still alive...!

Barely, though. Barely. Her name, specifically, was...Ashley Williams, a Gunnery Sergeant,and she'd been speared, clean through ! Some big shard of metal had gone all the way through the woman beneath her, and Ashley ! All her vitals had gone to the red zone, especially her core body temperature , which was down to 95 degrees ! As if that wasn't bad enough ( and it was ), her skin had a purplish-white, clammy look to it-suffering from the twin demons of hypothermia...and heavy hemorrhaging. Several quarts worth, actually...!

Good lord...

Good lord, this is bad. She's doesn't have much life left..!

And, if that's her condition...then..

Reflexes took hold, as if they had a mind of their own- which they kind of did. He lunged forward a tad, and leaned forward a tad to get an angle to access the other Marine's armor. The chest area was blocked ( needless to say ), but Alliance hardsuits were designed with multiple ports, and he quickly located one of the ones on the flank, which he swiftly opened and linked to.

Ok...

okk...here we..

Again, the diagnostic readings soon came scrolling down...and again, they were ominous. Actually...they were worse.

The Marine's name was...Master Sergeant Mazik Juikara. All across the board, her vitals were outright awful. They were, frankly, as close to death as one could get without actually dying ! And even then...even then, they were just so weak, that Dixon found himself genuinely concerned she might die while getting extracted ! And it wasn't even a 100 feet to go...

Hardly at all- we gotta move, and now !

Urgency, raw and powerful, came rushing back, though discipline and professionalism prevented it from becoming an obstacle. Rather, it acted as a booster for him, as he activated his comms and spoke quickly:

" Hey...hey, Mike ! "

". Reading you- send it ! How is she ? Still checking heads at the top...I got 4 unconscious here, all suffering from hypothermia..."

" So do I- but she's still alive ! I send again...she's alive ! She's a priority casualty now. Get me a Blazer- we gotta cut this thing off of them ! "

" Let's go ! "