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Berliner's tracker is beeping off the scale. He and Morrison grab
either side of the cargo door hatch and yank.
White-hot fire glares in McKenzie's infrared display. There's a lot
of movement in there, fire dripping from the ceiling. Otherwise it's
dark, and full of ungodly squealing noises. McKenzie's nearest target
is a humanoid form, almost forty meters distant, with others behind.
An explosion rocks the room, lifting a marine off his feet --
McKenzie recognizes it as Booths, as he lands hard near a high stack
of shelves. Other shapes are caught in the mixed detonations of frag
and white phosphorous. Through the smoke and white burning petroleum,
hulking black skeletal figures withdraw, dragging their fragmented
dead with them.
The mixed squads move into the cargo bay, almost too stunned to
accept what they're seeing. As some of the overgrown bugs take away
the remains of their dead, a new wave of the things advances along
the floor, walls, ceiling. Some leap over crates or simply cling to
the walls as they effortlessly move out of the darkness and into the
glow of several small fires halfway between the crew decks and the
APC's parking spot.
Deafened by the nearby explosions, but physically not too worse off
for it, Booths spots the half-dozen lamps of the remaining squad
members dispersing and heading his way. He tries to call for
Brimstone on his comset, hearing his own voice distant and muffled,
before realizing he's lost his comset altogether. Booths can't spot
her anywhere among the horrible shapes... and this room is absolutely
crawling.
Disoriented but doing his duty, Booths manages to cram in two shotgun
shells before he spots a pair of aliens moving around the side of the
container he's using for cover. The closest of the two hisses,
stretching its jaws as it lunges toward him.
PFC BOOTHS posted by Asmodean 1.6.00
Booths has time to mentally use every swear word in his vocabulary.
He's beginning to feel the cold again. Shock. And it's setting in
fast. The power of adrenaline is slowly leaving his battered body.
The rictus of anger and rage on his face is enough to rival the cold
pangs of fear of the two monsters popping around the crate.
He pumps the slide, forces himself up with a step forward, extending
his right arm, shoving the barrel of the Mossberg at the leering
monstrosity's fanged maw. He squeezes the trigger...
GM: ...and watches the muzzle flash and knee-jerk reaction as the
alien's face splits and begins to pour that awful acid. The second
alien moves around the first, propelling itself along by grabbing the
wrecked mass.
Booths' right hand moves crosswise to his holstered sidearm, drawing
the 9mm in a short sharp motion, awkwardly clearing the holster.
Snapping it up and pointing it right at the other creature before
depressing the trigger, repeatedly, testing the automatic action.
GM: Booths' bullets seem to bounce off the armored carapace, sparking
or flashing. The thing continues to move in toward him, three meters
away when the pistol flashes. Now two meters away, undaunted,
unaffected, as if bullet-proof.
And Booths is quite the opposite. His side screams in pain, and his
hands feel stiff and sore. What a marine has to go through to get
some R and R!
PFC PATWARDHAN posted by Max 1.6.00
Knowing that she can't do much in her position, Patwardhan falls into
her rear-guard role, scanning behind and to either side. She stays
low, ready to move into position if one of her squad mates need help,
but otherwise she holds her fire. She knows that in close quarters
like this, her shotgun is just as dangerous to her friends as it is
to her enemies.
PVT MCKENZIE posted by Jody 1.6.00
McKenzie breaks the silence that has descended over the squad in the
sight of unknown horrors. "Let's rock!" he screams, squeezing down on
the smartgun's trigger. The characteristic high-pitched report of the
weapon echoes throughout the cavernous cargo bay. He's firing full-
auto, arching smoothly from right to left across his field of vision.
Normally, he wouldn't dare let loose with such a barrage of leaden
death. He has heart "short controlled bursts" so many times it's
practically a religious dogma. But this siutation is obviously
exceptional, and it's cover fire he's after. His instructor taught
him that the only time to let go with a long full-auto stream is
against an advancing army. McKenzie isn't sure if these things
exactly qualify as an army. More like a goddamned swarm, he thinks.
McKenzie's shots cut across the first line of the things, like
turning on a lawnmower, noisy and precise. Intermittant tracer shots
lance straight into the smoking, misty battlefield, where the alien
ranks creep. The first target to line up in his reticle is too fast,
dodging behind some sturdy cover. The next one slithers near to the
ground-- toast! Limbs and head parts crush inward and spill out
volumes of yellow liquid, steaming on the deck. Another alien caught
in the swath, blasted to pieces. That fourth one, he's a fucker, too
fast, almost like he dodged the bullets, saw them coming. A fifth
alien, taking a shot in one leg, pulling itself up onto shelving as
it retreats. Mac follows that one, puts a cluster of shots into the
thing's back. The alien finally loses its grip, tumbles to the floor,
arms flailing. Right behind it, a sixth one, getting a spray of 10mm
explosive shells to the neck and brain. The thing explodes, splashing
that bizarre, steaming blood. The smartgun's roar finally subsides.
"Fuck semantics," McKenzie mutters, finally letting off the trigger.
He toggles the weapon to burst fire and screams to Morrison, "To my
left! Move to my left!" He himselft fades to the right side,
crouching low and praying he can clear Morrison's line of sight
before he opens up with that flamethrower. McKenzie begins to snap
off short bursts while moving toward Booths.
The aliens also continue to move forward. McKenzie can clearly
see Booths, in close combat with a couple of the critters. The
smartgunner knows he needs to get closer to help, and that means
getting closer to the things. He finds that they're fast, and that
they don't seem to like crawling on the floor too much. Most are
moving laterally on the walls, and unbelievably, the cieling is
carpeted with them...
He hears the hideous screeching from the creatures ahead, and even
his extensive vocabulary of profanity begins to fail him. A low,
gutteral growl escapes his throat as his lips peel back in a rictus
grin that is a queer combination of fear, anger and joy. McKenzie
lets the battle rage take over him.
Mac discovers that it takes about two bursts to put them down. He
gets off four, four-round bursts, and manages to take down about one
and a half of the aliens. Each one of these is replaced almost
immediately, as another one crawls out of the shadows beyond the
fires.
PFC BERLINER posted by Khan 1.7.00
"Let's get those fuckers!" Berliner screams. He moves into an open
spot on the firing line and begins to dispense short sprays from his
pulse rifle. Before he knows it, he's down half a clip and checking
to make sure everyone's around him. Then he goes to the tracker to
make sure nothing's coming from behind.
PFC PATWARDHAN posted by Max 1.7.00
"Booths, pull back to the group!" Aishwarya screams into her comset,
seeing that her wounded team mate probably won't last long on his
own. She moves to the right and drops to a crouch, still scanning for
a clear shot that won't catch one of her team mates. She spots a dead
alien out of the corner of her eye, and reflexively turns, and nearly
lets loose before she realizes it's not going to be getting up any
time soon.
Or is it? Just as Doc turns to spot what Berliner's shooting at,
she snaps back around again, catching sight of one of the things,
live and less than three meters distant, jumping over the body of the
one she had just seen. Long spindly arms outstretched, a mouthful of
glistening teeth, grinning at it moves toward her as steady as a
freight train.
SGT MOORE posted by Marton 1.7.00
Sarge doesn't waste time: he starts taking control by
shouting. "Smartgun and incinerators give cover! Rifle teams, follow
me! We'll grab Booths and head back to the crew decks." Moore
launches a grenade, sending it high over the mob and landing about
fifteen meters behind. He's hoping to prevents a third wave of the
things. He sets his rifle for autofire before moving ahead. It's his
job to lead this company, and somebody's gotta go first. He breaks
into a double-quick jog, spraying into the fray, adding his rifle's
beat to the percussion.
The grenade explodes against a crate somewhere in the distance,
sending burning debris everywhere. The room rumbles, everybody's
firing, the noise is terrifying. Moore moves forward a few meters,
sporadically opening fire at the group. One of the aliens crumbles
with his well-placed bursts.
PFC PATWARDHAN posted by Max 1.7.00
Patwardhan drops to one knee from her crouching position and pumps
two loads of shot into the onrushing alien.
Doc's first blast goes off into the darkness, strobing the
advance of the alien. She pumps the rifle, fires again, but the thing
has grabbed onto the barrel of the rifle and pushed it away. She
rushes backward, pointing she shotgun away from her and pulling the
trigger -- and the weapon jams.
PVT VITELLI posted by Nino 1.7.00
Vitelli has been staying bck. He's watched McKenzie move forward to
fight the aliens head-on.
He can see Morrison crouching for some reason, not laying down a
suppressive wall of fire with the incinerator. Vitelli wasn't
expecting this, nothing this big, and not so many of them. There's
smoke and fire up in the middle of the cargo bay. To the right of him
is Booths, far up ahead, facing a scary situation.
In his mind, he's screaming, but nothing comes out of his mouth, not
even a yelp. Vitelli locks the butt of his pulse rifle into his
shoulder and fire bursts at the huge critters.
He fires an aimed burst at the alien that's moving in toward
Booths, a long shot. He blasts the back-spines or whatever they are
off the thing's back before sending a few shots directly into where
you'd think a spine would be. The alien twists and crumbles, and is
immediately replaced, but Vitelli has already turned his head and
just noticed the thing that's snagging Patwardhan by the throat.
Knee-jerk reaction, he fires a spray at the thing, blasting it in the
back with two fine bursts. It topples over, but still has its
clutches around Doc, ripping her helmet off and scraping her
shoulders with razor-sharp claws. Patwardhan's almost completely
disoriented, overcome by fear. She kicks, screams, feels incredible
pain on her right wrist, a splash of acid cutting through layers of
flesh. Almost instantly, the fingers in her right hand go numb, but
she thrashes against the alien, both of them prone, one of them
intent on dragging her away...
PFC MORRISON posted by Eamon 1.8.00
Morrison yells, "Grab Booths and fall back!" This sounds like
simple logic to everybody, but Morrison has something special in
mind. While the rest of the team has been moving into position to
spray at the oncoming horde, he's been quick to attach leads to a
chunk of explosives. Never does let that stuff get far away from him.
He figures a fistful, thrown into the group, would probably take care
of their advance nicely. He just needs a few more seconds to get the
thing rigged and he'll be ready to go.
PFC BOOTHS posted by Asmodean 1.7.00
For Booths, there are two things that go against the law of nature.
One is marine patrol cafeteria food. The other is messing with a
tired, wounded, angry, mean, and probably now psychotic marine.
He's just watched one of the things evaporate with a merciful
supporting shot from someone else in the squad. A gold star for that
guy. Booths doesn't have time to rejoice or get far. As he attempts
to get back with the squad, moving back toward the crew section, he's
cut off. One of the things stands monstrously tall between him and
McKenzie.
Using his body's rapidly dwindling reserves of strength and
determination, Booths surged forward, grabbing the shotgun like a
fighting staff and ramming the stock at the creature's head.
GM: This attack proves useless, as the alien simply grabs him tightly
about the hips and waist, pulling him up off his feet. Booths fires a
shot into the thing's chest, a tight in shot and dangerous for the
both of them.
The two bodies, human and alien, split apart in an explosive fury.
The alien rolls onto its stomach, hissing and pouring out that deadly
boiling acid. Booths is covered with little drops of the stuff, just
enough to sting the skin and smoke on his armor, but it's starting to
dawn on him that there's an incredibly painful burning in his foot.
His boot is half-sizzled off, and olive drab socks are exposed,
bubbling and disappearing. Naked flesh beneath, burning away bloody
and pink in his lamp's light.
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