Prologue: The U.S.S. Shiloh

[Corporal Hicks]

Nembus Campaign

Date: June 22, 2189
Location: USS Heimlich, Nembus System, Andromeda Cluster
Mission Time: 00:00:00

The Devil Dawgs’ cloaked recon spacecraft slid along through the silent darkness of space. They were one of the most elite and secret special forces units in the US Colonial Marine Corps. The Devil Dawgs had recently finished a secret mission on the planet of Fiorina 161, successfully rescuing a four-man USCM recon team. While this was the optimal outcome of the mission, it created a complication. Further investigation determined that the ship of the other recon team, the USS Jester, had been destroyed by Jingti Long craft while it waited in orbit. This meant that all 16 marines and one synthetic were crammed into the already tight quarters of the USS Heimlich. On top of this problem, the ship only held 14 cryosleep chambers, which meant that two unlucky volunteers would have to remain awake. First Lieutenant Harper used her laptop to create a randomized roster and two marines would alternate 5-day shifts of being awake. According to Bishop’s calculations, this should get them to Earth with only five days removed from each person’s lifespan.

The awake marines struggled with boredom and cabin-fever. The cool, passionless simulated humanity of the Bishop android was calming to some, but irritating to most. They couldn’t complain however when Bishop discovered a signal from a nearby vessel which was on a similar course to Earth. It was a U.S. Navy Cruiser, the USS Shiloh. Naturally, the USS Heimlich jumped at the chance of a ride home. The smaller vessel merely hailed its larger counterpart and received approval before altering course. The Heimlich lay-to in the course of the Shiloh for just under six hours until their courses converged. After docking in the bay, the remaining marines aboard were wakened. The bleary eyed men and women were herded to the cryosleep chambers of the larger ship, which had at least a hundred empty chambers to spare. It was tremendously cheaper than maintaining the expensive drive core of the Heimlich, which could now be put into sleep-mode.

The USS Shiloh carried 251 souls: 19 flight officers, 165 crew, 42 research personnel, and two platoons of marines, 25 in total. As a general rule, these marines slept most of the trip in cryotubes, but there were usually a few marines awake for various duties around the ship.

Captain Kevin Murken sat in his comfortable chair on the bridge sipping a cup of traditionally brewed coffee. The bitter sips burned his throat slightly but he couldn’t resist the delicious brew steaming in his hand. All around the bridge sat other ship’s officers. To his left was his executive officer, Lieutenant Joseph Blackstone. Blackstone was much more cautious then Murken, and much older. It was certain that Blackstone would end his career as an old and undistinguished Lieutenant, whereas Murken had hopes to become the Captain of a Flagship or even an Admiral before his career ended. Nevertheless, the two men had a professional working relationship and they balanced each other well.

“Bring her another two points to starboard Lieutenant Blackstone,” said the Captain.
“Aye Aye, Sir!” replied Blackstone immediately, “Ricks, Simpson, bring her two points to starboard. Engage aft thrusters 1 and 3 at 25%.” The stream of orders continued as the Flight Officers brought the ship over to the right. Captain Murken wanted to give the nearby planet a wider berth to avoid any risk of touching her atmosphere. “What system is this?” He asked a young man on his right.
“Checking now, Sir. This is the Nembus System, part of the Andromeda Cluster, Sir. It is 177.1 light years from earth. This planet is Nembus 9, known as Capua. It is teeming with life but it’s too far from earth to have any human habitation. Distant scans indicate the presence of vast oceans and wet terrain, as well as numerous megafauna. It has not been the subject of a major study. It is also-"
“That’s enough,” replied the Captain. He could have always asked the android, but he liked to keep his officers’ minds active on a task.

“Sir, that Indian trading vessel has not altered course. At this current rate we are on track for a collision.” The Captain pursed his lips and held back the stream of curses that came to his mind. That fucking merchant tub had been riding their coattails for an hour, on course for collision. It wasn’t an unusual thing with merchant vessels, more concerned with their profits and unwilling to alter course until after it was well beyond the point of politeness. This was taking it too far though. Murken spoke calmly, “They must have an indifferent navigator. Go ahead and give them a hail, would you?”

“Merchant Vessel, Bengal Class, this is USS Shiloh on course for Earth, demanding you alter course to avoid imminent collision, respond immediately... No response, Sir.”
“Give her a gun, right across her bows. That ought to give her second thoughts.”

The cannon fired into space not too far from the merchant ship. Still, it made no alteration of course. Another gun was sent across her bows but again no response. “Sir, I think she’s out of control. No wait... Jesus, she’s accelerating!”

“Evasive action! Six points to port and bring her down a trifle. Accelerate to 60% engines. Wake all cryosleep capsules...”

The marines of the Devil Dawgs and the local marines woke up suddenly to the sound of claxons blaring and safety instructions over the loudspeakers in a placid feminine voice. They were in the unfamiliar cryo-rooms of the USS Shiloh.

[eyeball]

Pfc Paulson woke with a start and sat up, orange lights flashed, klaxons wailed, another marine he did not know was doing the same next to him.
“All hand action stations! This is not a drill!” came over the tannoy twice.
“oh fuck” Paulson muttered before trying to rise, his legs and arms seemed to be made of pasta they would not operate properly. As fast as he could he rolled out of the still cold cryo capsule and started dressing as fast as possible.
“what’s happening?” He asked as soon as he saw anyone he recognised.
A Bishop shined a light in his eyes “name, rank, designation?” it asked,
"Paulson, PFC, special weapons.“ he replied, “what’s happening?” but got no reply as the android moved on to the still dazed marine next to him.
Gear up? Paulson wondered, looking for signs to the armoury just in case.
Finally, he saw his squad and ran to join them as they too scrambled around rising.
“what the fuck sarge?” he questioned as he arrived and how the hell was Morse looking so god damn awake already?
<tag Morse>
<tag squad>

[CarbebthePoncho]

Pfc Paulson woke with a start and sat up, orange lights flashed, klaxons wailed, another marine he did not know was doing the same next to him.
“All hand action stations! This is not a drill!” came over the tannoy twice.
“oh fuck” Paulson muttered before trying to rise, his legs and arms seemed to be made of pasta they would not operate properly. As fast as he could he rolled out of the still cold cryo capsule and started dressing as fast as possible.
“what’s happening?” He asked as soon as he saw anyone he recognised.
A Bishop shined a light in his eyes “name, rank, designation?” it asked,
"Paulson, PFC, special weapons.“ he replied, “what’s happening?” but got no reply as the android moved on to the still dazed marine next to him.
Gear up? Paulson wondered, looking for signs to the armoury just in case.
Finally, he saw his squad and ran to join them as they too scrambled around rising.
“what the fuck sarge?” he questioned as he arrived and how the hell was Morse looking so god damn awake already?
<tag Morse>
<tag squad>

Javier Was a few people down in line, and showed that the marines reaction was not as poor as a science officers. As he leaned over the bed, before swinging his legs over, he puked bile and not much else. The Bishop stopped by his table and commanded attention. Javier swung his feet over the edge and made eye contact with the Bishop's flashlight, his eyes winced as the light contracted his underused irises.
"Javier Fernandez, Petty Officer 3rd Class, Intelligence"
He made eye contact with Paulson who seemed much more awake than him, "I'd wager we found something we shouldn't have, sir."
Javier looked towards the Bishop awaiting orders.

[pictish20]

This routine voyage of the USS Shiloh, filled with the unending dreams of cryosleep broken only by the occasional routine duties and checks, and the bouts of nausea and dizziness that Cavalet had come to associate with the dreaded cryo chambers. The only happening of real note was when the Marines of the Heimlich, real Marines returning from some hush-hush combat operation, boarded and were ushered off to sleepers of their own. Cavalet, having all the luck of a new boot, managed to miss this as he slept away in his chamber, leaving him with a truly unabated monotony for the beginning of his first tour of duty.

This was, of course, until "Action Stations" was sounded. The peaceful, almost dreary voyage suddenly became a rush of confused and frenzied activity, alarms blaring, and Marines scrambling to dress themselves. For Cavalet, this wholly new and shocking experience was mixed with the waves of lightheadedness which had become brutally familiar even with his brief time in the Corps. As his head cleared, Cavalet gave the brief identification asked for by the Android which passed him, saw the Marines around him, Heimlich and Shiloh alike, throwing on their clothing, and realized that he was still standing at his chamber, looking like a dazed fool.

A short, frantic dash to get himself fully dressed later, he sought out Sergeant Perez. After all, the extent of Cavalet's experience with matters such as this one was the brief exercises they would do when he was still a recruit, back on Earth.

"Uhh, Sergeant? Action Stations? Are we being boarded or something?"

<Tag Perez>

[StConstantine]

Karl Sarafian awoke to alarms. He managed to cut off the scream rising in his throat before anyone heard. The resulting noise was a much manlier "blargh" as he clawed the pod open and emerged. Fast as molasses he managed to rip the slim revolver from where it was taped to his right ass cheeks, wincing as the tape pulled away more than just hair and began waving it around looking for the threat. Last mission had been a problem for Karl, between being shot and the giant insect monsters his mental stability was somewhat tenuous. Thankfully, he recognised where he was before ventilating an android. "PFC Karl Sarafian" he slurred "combat engineer".

He sat down heavily on the floor and began expertly field stripping the revolver he'd traded a pair of new boots for. "Oh shit haha, the defrost made the bullets swell" he giggled maniacally. Turning to show Morse the swollen bullets. "look sarge, I almost killed myself!"

[JuanPerez]

<USS Shiloh, Hypersleep-Section>

"Bug Hunts" they tend to call it nowerdays. Sure, the Devil Dawgs sole purpose of existence was to deal with xenomorph infestations. So after carrying out mission after mission against the xenos one begins to think of "routine". But Perez learned the hard way, that there is not and never will be something like "routine", if you are up against the most dangerous killing machine of the known universe. He bought it nearly, while clearing out an infestation aboard a Weyland-Yutani spaceship in the Iota Horologi sector. Just one damned second of carelessness did cost him a few inches of intestine. But he was somewhat happy about it, afterwards, 'casue the price to pay could have been much higher. So the medics did their job well, treated him, declared him unfit for duty and put him into the freezer. He missed the Dawgs latest gig at Fiorina 161, but as he did not even about it yet, no bad feelings. Just dreams. Sweet dreams of the promised lands, where milk and honey flew across. But all of a sudden interupted by ... unusual disturbance and unharmonic tones. All of a sudden he realized it. And knew immediately, that some major bullshit was going on.

The claxons, the automated voice, people running around somewhat agitated. Yeah, major league bullshit. Fighting back the impulse of vomiting, he began to act. Unclipping the hypersleep sensors from his body, trying to stand up, slowly at first. But wait a minute. Where the hell was he? Surely not, where he expected to be, because the hypersleep chamber of the USS Heimlich looked very different. He look around, his eyes scanning everything in sight. Over there. Jackpot. He could read "USS Shiloh". Damn it. How the hell did they get here? He knew the ship, it was a USCM Navy Cruiser. How long was he passed out? Obviously too long. Anyway, no time for dwelling on it further. After a few seconds, the drill kicked in. He found his locker quickly, dressing up in no time.

Suddenly someone approached him. Private Cavalet, asking funny questions ...

"Who would be stupid enough to board a ship full of bad asses? But it is definitly not a drill."
<Tag Cavalet>

Perez went over to the nearest intercom, pushing the button to open a channel to the bridge ...

"Sgt Perez to Bridge, what is your status?"
<Tag USS Shiloh Bridge Crew>

[Morse]

The jump through space had been more miserable then usual. An awful lot of disturbances for what was a routine transit back to home port. Not an ideal situation. Waking up and doing cryo sleep rotations like multi day bay guard shift at boot camp. Not anyone's idea of fun. Added to that, space faring vessels were not exactly intended for anyone to be awake anymore other then a synthetic. Entertainment found itself in the form of information clips and data manuals... and real life sleep, which was harder and harder to do the more your body was thrown through chemical stasis. Though it stabilized as they got passage on a larger ship, it was still not a fun ride home.

Morse had been in the Corps for years, and it was starting to show on his ragged body. His alcohol troubles were clearing up, but were also accompanied by crushing realizations of what sober reality was. It was less then ideal for someone who had spent so many years in crippling denial of universes harsh realities... especially one that expected to die younger then he was given his life choices.

It did make jumping to action easier, now that he did not feel like vomiting up an entire stomach of fermented molasses all over the bay floor, which was useful when the tubes opened up with emergency booster gas flooding the chamber and the lid slamming open.

Morse was hardly coherent, but training and experience dictated his movements now. He dizzily shot up, gripping the side of the tube, thrust himself out and to the lockers for his gear. His trousers were on and his T-Shirt changed in a second, socks following, as his grey uniform took form around his body.

In his dizzy haze he looked over at his marines, slowly making their way out of the tubes, confused and idling. But Morse had been at this enough to know that whatever it was needed speed.

In particular he saw Sarafian, doing as dumb privates did, musing on his own stupid decision to strap a pistol to his actual ass during transit. Though funny, Morse's mind was not processing humor in its drained state.

"Aint nobody asked none a ya a Goddam thing!" Morse roared at the Marines, some were his, some were not. But as he'd regained his status as an NCO, and a sober one, he had to keep them motivated and moving. "Get up! Gear it! N' Go!" Morse repeated himself. "Go! Go! Go!"

His robotic left leg clunked on the ground, an unfortunate gift from a rebel mine many years earlier. It added to his image of someone that may have seen to much.

"Paulson! Coffee that ass n' git' yer eyes open. Shit's happenin' today!" He barked at the sleepy marine that was coming too.

< Tag eyeball

"Grish! Honeysett! We're rollin'! Rise n' fuckin' shine!" he continued shifting focus to the two late risers of the squad.

<Tag Grisham and Honeysett

Morse had his boots on, the lases still not tied, and moved over to the loopy Sarafian, an individual that was reminding him fiercely of himself in his younger years. His metallic leg wheezed with hydraulics as it clunked forward and he crouched down near the marine field stripping the pistol.

"Either strap yer holster together'r shove that weapon back where found it." Morse growled at the loopy marine. "Now move it!" Morse ordered swiftly turning and moving back his locker to grab his coat and began headed towards the armory for his body armor and weapon. As he thought on the situation, he couldn't help but slip a grin at the dumbass that had shoved the pistol in his butt before cryo. "N' snag another cylinder with fart free bullets." He demanded, without turning around as he'd given away he was laughing internally

< Tag Sarafian

Morse applied his gear just as swiftly, his entire process taking minutes as he was trained to do, his faculties gradually coming back to him. He was the first one nearing fully battle readiness.

"Move it Marines! We got shit that needs shootin'!" Morse spouted, without actually knowing why they were woken up.

< Tag Anyone

[eyeball]

Paulson smacked a caffeine patch on his arm, pulled on his gear as quickly as he could and headed to the armoury with the other marines.
This was not a standard wake up he knew that he thought about wear he was and started grabbing a loadout for room clearing. He had trained in basic as a special weapons tech and grabbed a flamer with a spare tank, pistol, trusty motion detector but left the pulse rifle behind, he was a better shot, sure but at close quarters a flamer may have the edge whatever they were fighting.
Paulson decided against grenades; on board ship he was not sure they were a good plan also he didn’t think he could safely carry anything else.
Paulson exited the armoury as geared as he could be…a little over he probably thought hoping he didn’t have to run long distance a pound here would probably not kill him, worst case loose the pistol and pray.
Paulson stowed his gear around his person balanced and ready as he had been instructed then looked to join the rest of the Dog’s.
Paulson headed back to where he could see Morse now also geared out looking mean, or that could just be his natural look Paulson didn’t really know.
<tag Morse>
The caffeine patch or the adrenaline was doing its job, he was one awake mo-fo now, still slightly swaying under the weight he arrived back, or had the ship just altered course and tilted his balance slightly.
Safety still on, gas off, Paulson waited for the rest of the dogs, caffeine had been a damn good idea, he guessed that’s one reason why Morse was a Sargent.
<tag Dog’s>

[Quinn]

The last mission had been a right clusterfuck and a half. What was supposed to be a simple sneak and scoot turned into a hellish cat and mouse game with guns and hissing aliens. But the Dawgs had pulled their asses out of the fire, not before gaining a few more acid burn scars on the face. Fortunately, they were kept to a minimum thanks to a special salve Quinn had made to counteract the acid. It wasn’t perfect, and it stung like a sonofabitch, but it worked.

There was precious little time for a reintroduction afterwards, as there were multiple casualties, Sixtus included. At this point, every member of the Raider team were wounded in one form or another. Fortunately, they were walking wounded, which meant they could fight. But a long sleep in cryo would get them back to Earth.

At the moment, Quinn had been one of the Marines that was awake and moving around when the collision occurred. His face still pockmarked by bandages, mostly around his jaw and chin, he was puttering around in the medical bay in Marine country. Marines and Navy by and large did not get along during peacetime and so the medic preferred to stay out of the way. He passed the time by updating his certifications, paperwork that, although necessary, was as boring as watching paint dry. Sixtus was jolted by the call for General Quarters and a message saying to awaken all cryo pods. Sixtus grabbed a radio, fixed it on his head and flicked on the command frequency. He then bolted to the console with the commands for the cryo tubes and slapped the emergency wake-up cycle.

”Bishop, med check them!” he barked. A lot of safety protocols were being bypassed, and he wanted to be sure every Marine was uninjured. He tapped his radio. ”Bridge, CryoBay. All pods waking up. The lieutenant will want a sitrep.”

When the Marines were waking up, and Bishop went through checking them, Quinn strode over to the armory and slapped the door control open in time to hear roaring coming from the cryo bay. Morse is up... Quinn thought wryly to himself. He then went back to the cryobay to help Bishop check the rest of the Marines for signs of brain damage from the rapid wake up. But we all have brain damage to have signed up in the first place.

[taimdala]

"Prosypaysya!" Wake up! Oksana yelled in his ear, so unlike her usual soft greeting before they rolled out of bed. "You must wake up!"

Odna minuta, devka! One minute, wench …, Dmitri tried to say but his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. His wife's tone changed to something less human and more … mechanical. That got Dmitri's attention. Podozhdi ... Wait …

Next thing he knew, he was blinking at the frosty underside of his cryotube and the last of his dream shredded under the klaxon's call to arms.

Just another sunny day in the Corps … Dmitri hauled out of his tube the second the canopy lifted high enough to scramble clear and he pulled himself back to active duty. Waking up under such conditions wasn't that much different from his days aboard his fishing vessel on Eklyprillion, being rudely awakened to deal with one crisis or another. While the flora and fauna on that planet weren't all hostile species out to eat him whole … there were a few, as he well knew. It wasn't much different here.

So Dmitri kept up with his teammates, got checked out by the medic, listened to orders, and loaded for bear.

[Quicksilver]

Mark's left hand drifted out of the cryogenic pod as it first hissed open. Reaching over, he felt around with practiced ease until his fingers closed on the pair of wrap-around sunglasses that he always stashed there to combat the post-freeze migraine that he always managed to wake up with. It was only just as he was sliding them over his still tightly clamped eyes that his brain caught up with the fact this wake-up was anything but normal.

There were hisses of pods ejecting coolant on both sides of him. There was no flat, synthetic voice welcoming him back to the waking world with med-check questions. There was an alarm. Definitely an alarm. His adrenaline jumped in a way he hadn't felt since he was with the Devil Dawgs. He forced himself out of the tube as swiftly has his recently-frozen body could manage. He was in the local armory before he could even make out the actual words his sergeant - who he still thought of his "new" sergeant - trying to motivate and organize the squad into some kind of actionable force.

He took a deep breath and tried to clear. The rush cryo-wake and unusual environment left him feeling not quite awake like he was somewhere between memory and reality. He even would have sworn he could hear Morse' voice echoing down the hall.