as written by Azrican
Removed from the congested entrances and courtyards of Station Charlie, a narrow avenue cut through the complex that served as an entry and exit for vehicles and convoys, marine or otherwise. Under armed guard and the heavy hand of the 44th, the few merchants that remained in the city had been convinced to trade and barter here, in one of the few places in the entire city where some semblance of effective law had been restored. While it was an island in a sea of anarchy, threatening to consume it at any time if a sizeable force did decide to confront the 44th, the marines remained stalwart in their mission: bring the city back from the brink, come hell or high water, blood sweat and tears, this planet would know the name of the 44th.
Private Charles Anderson and Franklin Lee were patrolling down the avenue, large concrete structures reaching several stories above them as a marine at the wooden and battlecrete watchtower leaned over the guardrail to shout down at his comrades. “IPC convoy inbound, looks like water trucks!” Specialist Ivelin yelled, signalling the all-clear to the marines before then turning back to face the no-man’s zone constructed out of levelled buildings and artificial cover in the form of overturned sedans or ruined cars.
Rushing back to the rail, Ivelin brought the MG-40B up from rest position, flipping the bipod out and perched it on the rail of the watchtower until he trained the GPMG on the lead vehicle. Slamming the bolt open and gripping at the stock, he settled into a firing position as a fireteam of marines rushed out from the gate to a pair of burned out sedans just ten meters from the chain-link fence that wheeled closed shortly after them.
Anderson and Lee quickly joined Specialist Ivelin in the watchtower, quickly stacking several cases of 10.9mm ammunition for the MG-40B in case this arrival turned into a confrontation. Anderson sat crouched next to a two-way radioset in the watchtower, as using personal and squad comms was decided to leave Charlie Station open to infiltration and observation, two things that could potentially have disastrous effects for the marines stationed here.
“Oscar Actual we’ve got a convoy outside the wire, Installation Delta. Looks like a trade convoy, over.” Anderson reported briefly, holding the receiver by his ear as the marines outside the fence began calling for the convoy to come to a complete halt. Despite the hectic nature of their movements no one refused to fire, though weapons were indeed levelled on the indigenous troops.
“Authenticate yourselves!” A Corporal shouted from his cover at the hood of a rusted sedan, M-18 hanging precariously atop the vehicle as the New Capricans announced themselves and their intention for peaceful trade and barter. The marines chattered amongst themselves, some rumors being tossed here and there between the four men outside the wire.
“Looks like some of the Indie’s from over the walls Oldie,” Specialist Edwards shouted over to Corporal Oldrich, still aiming down the barrel of his SAW-649. The Corporal pulled his assault rifle from the hood of the sedan, and rose a hand in the air for the marines to standby. He stepped out from behind the vehicle, weapon slung at his hip, and trotted forward to meet the New Caprican officer.
“Corporal Radim Oldrich, 1st platoon/Oscar company.” Oldrich said, the words coming fluidly in Common as he offered a handshake. After the formalities were exchanged he turned back to the watchtower and gave a thumbs up to Anderson and Lee operating the radioset. “We’ve got some Indigenous at the trading floor by Section Tango,”
Oldrich stopped as Anderson appeared besides the MG-40B in the watchtower, one hand hanging the receiver out of the barbican as he shouted down to the marines. “PICs Two-Three! Secfor’s on the way!”
Oldrich nodded back to the marines in the watchtower and then pointing Lieutenant Dualla over to the wrought fence. “We’ll need to do a cursory inspection of the convoy. Weapons and equipment will need to be consolidated into one vehicle if you want to take anything besides the water-trucks beyond the line … we can have a translator and armed guard watching the trucks if so requested. Otherwise you’ll be free to move about the Station.”
The groan of an AMV-85 announced the inspection crew arriving from the motor pool of Charlie Station, and quickly drove up to the fence as the back tailgate was thrown open and a fireteam of ABE automated infantry modules and marines stepped out. They carried various sensor equipment, digital sensor poles and magnetic detectors along with a pair of squat cylindrical pieces of machinery. One marine gripped either side of its chassis with two hands, hauling it down from the bed of the 2-ton and giving it a pat on the droid’s cone-shaped head.
The ABEs, displaying an appearance of humanoid shape despite their obvious mechanical construction, carried a tablet device in their three-pronged hands and exited the fence ahead of the marines and smaller Jupiter droids. The droids followed along with a few short beeps and sounds from the internals of their metal body. As the first ABE joined Corporal Oldrich, the automaton's sleek head bowed calmly to the New Caprican. "Welcome to Charlie Station, I am ABX-309/81, in charge of the Security Protocols and Authentication Procedures for the Station."
"This bucket will get your shit checked out and verified for entrance -- otherwise you'd have every droid in this place locking the brakes. Alright you, get it done." Oldrich said, patting the automaton on the shoulder and signalling for the marines on security to go ahead with the inspection. The ABE promptly nodded and reached up to a toggle on the side of it's oblong headpiece, one of the shimmering blue irises turning a soft gold.
Lance Corporal Kermit walked behind the Jupiter droid, inspecting the soft tones and responses it gave off as the device rolled along the choppy ground with a little armature extending from it's chassis and passing the trucks in a quick up-down-left-right pattern. Occasionally the droid's conical head tilted and rotated, then stopped in it's tracks momentarily before continuing on down the line. Meanwhile, on the opposite end of the street, a PFC ran a spherical disk-shaped device mounted on a pole underneath every vehicle. As the two groups of marines and droids met at the end of the convoy, the ABE spent merely a few seconds checking the readouts and information relayed from the devices before extending one thumb up into the air.
"The Terrans check out, just water and HUMAID!"
Removed from the congested entrances and courtyards of Station Charlie, a narrow avenue cut through the complex that served as an entry and exit for vehicles and convoys, marine or otherwise. Under armed guard and the heavy hand of the 44th, the few merchants that remained in the city had been convinced to trade and barter here, in one of the few places in the entire city where some semblance of effective law had been restored. While it was an island in a sea of anarchy, threatening to consume it at any time if a sizeable force did decide to confront the 44th, the marines remained stalwart in their mission: bring the city back from the brink, come hell or high water, blood sweat and tears, this planet would know the name of the 44th.
Private Charles Anderson and Franklin Lee were patrolling down the avenue, large concrete structures reaching several stories above them as a marine at the wooden and battlecrete watchtower leaned over the guardrail to shout down at his comrades. “IPC convoy inbound, looks like water trucks!” Specialist Ivelin yelled, signalling the all-clear to the marines before then turning back to face the no-man’s zone constructed out of levelled buildings and artificial cover in the form of overturned sedans or ruined cars.
Rushing back to the rail, Ivelin brought the MG-40B up from rest position, flipping the bipod out and perched it on the rail of the watchtower until he trained the GPMG on the lead vehicle. Slamming the bolt open and gripping at the stock, he settled into a firing position as a fireteam of marines rushed out from the gate to a pair of burned out sedans just ten meters from the chain-link fence that wheeled closed shortly after them.
Anderson and Lee quickly joined Specialist Ivelin in the watchtower, quickly stacking several cases of 10.9mm ammunition for the MG-40B in case this arrival turned into a confrontation. Anderson sat crouched next to a two-way radioset in the watchtower, as using personal and squad comms was decided to leave Charlie Station open to infiltration and observation, two things that could potentially have disastrous effects for the marines stationed here.
“Oscar Actual we’ve got a convoy outside the wire, Installation Delta. Looks like a trade convoy, over.” Anderson reported briefly, holding the receiver by his ear as the marines outside the fence began calling for the convoy to come to a complete halt. Despite the hectic nature of their movements no one refused to fire, though weapons were indeed levelled on the indigenous troops.
“Authenticate yourselves!” A Corporal shouted from his cover at the hood of a rusted sedan, M-18 hanging precariously atop the vehicle as the New Capricans announced themselves and their intention for peaceful trade and barter. The marines chattered amongst themselves, some rumors being tossed here and there between the four men outside the wire.
“Looks like some of the Indie’s from over the walls Oldie,” Specialist Edwards shouted over to Corporal Oldrich, still aiming down the barrel of his SAW-649. The Corporal pulled his assault rifle from the hood of the sedan, and rose a hand in the air for the marines to standby. He stepped out from behind the vehicle, weapon slung at his hip, and trotted forward to meet the New Caprican officer.
“Corporal Radim Oldrich, 1st platoon/Oscar company.” Oldrich said, the words coming fluidly in Common as he offered a handshake. After the formalities were exchanged he turned back to the watchtower and gave a thumbs up to Anderson and Lee operating the radioset. “We’ve got some Indigenous at the trading floor by Section Tango,”
Oldrich stopped as Anderson appeared besides the MG-40B in the watchtower, one hand hanging the receiver out of the barbican as he shouted down to the marines. “PICs Two-Three! Secfor’s on the way!”
Oldrich nodded back to the marines in the watchtower and then pointing Lieutenant Dualla over to the wrought fence. “We’ll need to do a cursory inspection of the convoy. Weapons and equipment will need to be consolidated into one vehicle if you want to take anything besides the water-trucks beyond the line … we can have a translator and armed guard watching the trucks if so requested. Otherwise you’ll be free to move about the Station.”
The groan of an AMV-85 announced the inspection crew arriving from the motor pool of Charlie Station, and quickly drove up to the fence as the back tailgate was thrown open and a fireteam of ABE automated infantry modules and marines stepped out. They carried various sensor equipment, digital sensor poles and magnetic detectors along with a pair of squat cylindrical pieces of machinery. One marine gripped either side of its chassis with two hands, hauling it down from the bed of the 2-ton and giving it a pat on the droid’s cone-shaped head.
The ABEs, displaying an appearance of humanoid shape despite their obvious mechanical construction, carried a tablet device in their three-pronged hands and exited the fence ahead of the marines and smaller Jupiter droids. The droids followed along with a few short beeps and sounds from the internals of their metal body. As the first ABE joined Corporal Oldrich, the automaton's sleek head bowed calmly to the New Caprican. "Welcome to Charlie Station, I am ABX-309/81, in charge of the Security Protocols and Authentication Procedures for the Station."
"This bucket will get your shit checked out and verified for entrance -- otherwise you'd have every droid in this place locking the brakes. Alright you, get it done." Oldrich said, patting the automaton on the shoulder and signalling for the marines on security to go ahead with the inspection. The ABE promptly nodded and reached up to a toggle on the side of it's oblong headpiece, one of the shimmering blue irises turning a soft gold.
Lance Corporal Kermit walked behind the Jupiter droid, inspecting the soft tones and responses it gave off as the device rolled along the choppy ground with a little armature extending from it's chassis and passing the trucks in a quick up-down-left-right pattern. Occasionally the droid's conical head tilted and rotated, then stopped in it's tracks momentarily before continuing on down the line. Meanwhile, on the opposite end of the street, a PFC ran a spherical disk-shaped device mounted on a pole underneath every vehicle. As the two groups of marines and droids met at the end of the convoy, the ABE spent merely a few seconds checking the readouts and information relayed from the devices before extending one thumb up into the air.
"The Terrans check out, just water and HUMAID!"