USCMRPG

Planet: Adullan
Location: Secessionist Space
Date: February 1, 2187
Mission Time: 1:49

The sounds of firing continued in the background on either side. In the direction the platoon was heading there was still the frequent sound of the sentry gun unloading a burst upon an unfortunate target. This would be met with a random fire of small arms that were so far unable to locate the robotic guns that kept them pinned down.

But while that was a sign of hope, the ammo counters in the weapons were getting lower by the second, and soon there would be nothing before the massing group and the platoon.

Meanwhile far away the sound of a hard fought battle was still thundering around over the tree line. Dropships were still visibly moving through the region and holding out against the enemy that was much too far for the platoon to see.

Another Surface-To-Orbit missile launched up from a position further up and raced skyward, dampening the sound of small arms with its powerful rocket.

And then there was a rumbling from the treeline behind them. A thunderous roar of powerful wheels and a multi ton slab of metal smashing through brush.

The APC was imposing as it crashed through bushes and foliage. Its metal visage an awe inspiring representation of USCM domination in that particular part of the planet.

It slammed on the breaks the moment it came into view of the gathering up unit in the light clearing with a destroyed 242-Combat Buggy and the wounded Smartgunner.

The side door slid open and a Sergeant stuck his head outside.

“Pile in people, move!” The Sergeant roared. “If it aint wounded, it’s standing room only. Lets go!”

He disregarded any higher ranks that were in front of him, not noticing them, nor having the time to notice them.

The APC looked like God's own anti-son-of-a-bitch machine roaring through the forest. Sal had to admit, if he had to go to Hell, riding in one of those would be preferable to dying in the sweat and the forest. When it slid to the stop and a soldier order them to pile in.

"That's your cue, Morse." Sal slide his rifle to his back and moved to carry Morse to the APC. "Looks like I get to play your shadow at least for this ride." He lifted the man off the ground and carried him to the door.

"We've got turrets holding back a line of hostiles," he could still hear the machine guns going off, "might want to drive away from that." He found a place to set down Morse and did a check to make sure moving him hadn't undone any of the good Quinn had done.

<Roll Proficient Medicine>

"Thank fuck"

Bell doesnt bother putting a knee down, hoping his turn to board the APC comes quickly, but still manages to points his weapon downrange, not quite sure how close on their heals the opposition is.

Samantha didn't say anything, but anybody who happened to be looking in her direction saw her big brown eyes light up at the sight of the approaching APC. Quickly turning to cover the other marines, she made sure her squad was all on-board and any wounded she helped carry/shift into position aboard the APC before she finally boarded and found a place to stand and sling her Pulse Rifle over her shoulder while taking a brief moment to lean against a bulkhead of the vehicle and let out an exhausted breath.

"I don't really care where we're going, so long as there's nobody shooting at us when we get there"; she said with a weary, sad attempt at humor. Glancing over at Mark, Sal and Roberts, she nodded at each to let them know she thought they had all done a helluva good job.

<Tag anyone>

"Oh, Thank God." Mark muttered under his breath as the APC broke into the clearing and offered them a lift. The arrival of the fast moving, armored vehicle truly did seem like a god-sent miracle after the series of disasters this operation had been up to this point. Still hard drilled discipline kept him from running into the promised shelter of the vehicle, and instead follow the careful protocol of loading up the injured Morse and falling back into it with cover. Once inside he naturally drifted to the computer controls, looking over the shoulder of the operator.

((OOC: Still here! Still really haven't anything to say, but I'm keeping up.))

maxvale76 wrote: "I don't really care where we're going, so long as there's nobody shooting at us when we get there"; she said with a weary, sad attempt at humor. Glancing over at Mark, Sal and Roberts, she nodded at each to let them know she thought they had all done a helluva good job.
<Tag anyone>

Dmitri boarded last after his squad sergeant, his weapon ready to cover their retreat. Of course, he privately thought , no one called it that. Strategic withdrawal, maybe. Or timely extraction. That would be for the history books to decide. Right here and now, he did what he hoped was the right thing to do: guard his squad, follow the orders he'd been given, and keep his eyes open for anything untoward.

Dirk saw the arrival of the APC as nothing less than divine deliverance. A moment ago he was trying to figure out a way to get the members of the platoon, with a badly wounded Morse, to friendly lines and was not coming up with a way. Stepping forward he turned to the Marines, some of who were already loading into the already crowded APC.

"Lets pack it in Marines. Get Morse and the LT inside." He yelled/
<Tag everyone>
(OOC.. Sorry for a long absence. I'm back now and can post more regularly.)