[The Soft Rains] Phase 01- The Cradle of Civilization

"I have" a few intermittent words filtered through from outside and he felt the low, dull throb behind his eyes that had started up spike up about five minutes ago (aka when the complete jackass from up above showed up) into actual, acute pain "no idea what you're talking about Private."

Knight in shining armor.

Knight in greyish, kinda dirty armor. Same difference.

Definitely.

"Hold this."

Behold the first of the most sacred mysteries of NCO Fu: the ability to commandeer subordinates for any task with but a look and a word. Or, in this case, a small, well thrown sack which, judging by the odd clinks and rustling as the objects inside shifted, was full of mod kits.

Joshua, meanwhile, was busy digging through the locked gun case he'd brought off the shuttle and looking very, very busy.

The Operations Chief's head seemed to turn an even deeper shade of red, slowly raising a hand at Sinisa as a frustrated Sellers stepped right into his path.

"These are my people, Ops Chief, and you better stand at attention when an officer speaks to you. Now stand down." There was the most fleeting moment where the N7 and the Marine exchanged dagger-glares before the Hemmings kindly stepped in.


"Everyone, this is Rear Admiral Purvis Mayhead. He's the one the government has placed in command over this region, and in light of this morning's entertainment he's already come up with a plan."

Stepping forward now was a man who at first sight screamed Marine Officer. Tall, broad shoulders, chiseled face meant for statuary, and yet also that cold fury which was often far more terrifying than the belligerence of his Senior NCO. His armor was nearly spotless.

"Everyone, I'm going to have to excuse for my Operations Chief here. He's the kind of man who doesn't take to kindly having his morning routine upended by several thousand screaming maniacs attacking his Marines all throughout the Mediterranean coastline. I understand all of you have plenty of questions but right now I want all of you to understand this: we will be striking back at the man responsible for this. I've already put orders out to my Marines in the area; we will be launching an assault on what we understand to be Hamid Zamani's current location, and we will remove his influence from this region." The man sounded more like he was trying to sell his idea to a group of fresh privates than to experience soldiers.

"I've gone ahead and briefed the details to Mr. Hemmings here, and we'll have something uploaded to your OT's shortly. Any questions?"

Hemmings and Sellers exchanged obviously concerned looks at one another.

Freh’ya had to grin when Sinisa talked the Chief down. That was more to her liking. Sometimes you could only just wonder how weird and complex organizations as the Alliance got something done with such personel. This Ops Chief would have a hard time being taken seriously under battle conditions.

Oh, and there came the real Admiral. Freh’ya repeated her salute casually. While she liked what he proposed in general terms – action, initiative – she was a bit concerned about the faces of Hemmings and Sellers.
She checked her omnitool for an update – none yet.

“Sir, are these attackers in their right minds? This mass suicidal behavior is more of what someone would expect from a husk than a sentient being. Any known form of drugs or … other indoctrination we should be aware of?”

To stage the scale of attcak he was describing you'd need thousands of people like that. It seemed possible to get maybe a handfull to let themselves slaughter like this but such masses? Maybe she just did not know human minds enough....

Emma had wisely decided to be quiet throughout the whole affair, she had to admit, Cline's mouthing did make for...interesting theater.

The Admiral though, Emma had heard quite a few stories about Mad Dog Mayhead. How he pushed his troops harder then any of the other Admirals, some joking he'd be perfectly at home in Tuchanka or some Terminus warzone. Figured he was the one assigned to deal with the insurgency in this region.

"Sir, do we have any idea on the insurgents overall strength? If they had enough manpower to launch a human wave attack on our position, it stands to reason Zamani has a significant force at his command."

Rajapaske caught the thrown bag which managed to hit her right in chest. It was a good throw. Her catch-not so much, but she'd been distracted by the actual Rear Admiral stepping in. She'd heard of Hackett's mad dog through scuttlebutt, but she wasn't sure how much of it was actually true. How much she hoped wasn't true.

She glanced into the sack. Mod kits. Ns got the best toys. Recon got better than the average grunt, but still nothing like Special Forces.

She grimaced at the conversation going on outside. Combat in an area you didn't know very well wasn't much fun, particularly for a Recon Marine whose very job came down to information. Particularly since this 'unit' was...well, 'not cohesive' seemed a bit like an understatement.

At Freh'ya's comment she snorted slightly. You got enough people together who were hungry and desperate and mob rule took over. They became one beast that would believe almost anything incendiary sent their way. Who had time for fear when you got swept up in that? Zamani just had to rile them up and point them towards the Alliance.

She'd come to know that well enough in the last year.

There are a couple things you don't do on a deployment; generally out of a sense of self preservation.

If you somehow find yourself in the presence of special forces you do not make an fool out yourself and your shiny bits of tin right in front of said operators because, really, they don't give a fuck that you got yourself shot in the ass twice.

You do not dictate to a fucking Ops Chief (even if he's a jackass). Rank is to be respected. Rank is to be defended. Rank is to be valued. Even if he was a goddamn blowhard the man got lip service by virtue of the chevrons on his sleeve.

You do not ever

ever

disrespect the Corps itself in front of a man like Vukovic.

Fury was heat, fury was flame, and the fire in the Service Chief's eyes could have burned down half of Ozymandias on its own. But then the NCO part of his brain gave the part of his brain that wanted commence with the whole Wrath of God routine a boot up the ass. Not here. As much as he would fucking love to, not here. He gave himself a mental shake, clipped to collapsed hunk of metal that was the Piranha to his back, and stood up.


Someone's got to set the goddamn example after all.

He snagged the cloth bag from the arms of the PFC and withdrew a handful of odds and ends for himself, tucking them away in his combat webbing, before moving to drop it back into the case before pausing. She was just a kid yeah but

You'd rather someone here who you can actually rely on?

but she had her head screwed on straight. And that was worth something right? Especially out here in their lovely little sandbox filled with the annoying, the incompetent, the idiotic, and the batshit.

How is that even a question?

He reached in and plucked out a dark metal rectangle, a basic haptic projector on the flat and cool blue edging worked through like luminescent thread.

"Cryo mod." He said simply before tossing the sack into the crate and slamming it shut with his foot. He jerked his head at the door; it was time to get moving.

"Your attackers are being fueled by irrational hatred spurned on by a demagogue. They have been convinced that any efforts by the Systems Alliance and her allies on Earth are ultimately for the purpose of destroying their culture, their history, and their lives. They believe we are setting a iron boot across the face of every human being: supported by alien occupiers. They'll do anything against it, and it's our objective to convince them otherwise. Zamani is a dangerous man, he's the kind of individual who spawns movements that prefer attacking civilian targets over military strength, a knife in the back before a blow to the face. And now we are going to remove him from the equation." Admiral Mayhead spoke clearly, each phrase having that feeling of punctuation more befitting of political speak than orders.

"As for strength I can only give you an estimate of maybe two hundred fighters directly in support of Zamani. However, there may be a large Satter presence as well as any other amount of hooligans present, and anyone not holding Alliance IFF codes should be treated as hostile. I'm turning two battalions of Marines loose on this city, but I need you all to ensure that Zamani does not escape, is that understood? If we don't get this guy, it's on your ass, Hemmings." Mayhead added, looking towards the agent.

Above you a Frigate was just breaking down into the atmosphere, as Mayhead and the Operations Chief turned to return to their shuttle.


"He's sending everyone into a death trap..." Sellers sighed, watching the shuttle take off.

Yay, mass slaughter instead of a precession op... did 'minimize civilian casualties' even mean something on their own planet? Freh'ya just rolled her eyes. At least their part in the plan was to concentrate on this Zamani guy.
She wasn't afraid of the scenario. Going into unclear territory with inferior numbers was business as usual for the commando but she was concerned about the on-the-fly planning.

Freh'ya looked at Sellers. She was used to be the one looked at by her team usually but here, without any proper intel, it was Sellers' show.
"So what's the plan? Are we just hoping he runs away and into our arm or will there be a setup?" This was one of the multiple points she wished there would have been a briefing... some sort of briefing. Good Goddess.

You're presuming this guy is even there.

Cline groused at the description of the plan. 'Just a damn retalitory attack. We've got no solid intel where he is...' he thought as he fiddled with his omni-tool, an idea forming in his head. Looking over to Sellers, the combat engineer then asked "Ma'am," he asked LtCmdr. Sellers, "Any spare recon UAVs we could get our hands on? We might as well have some sort of idea as to what's out there."