Déjà Vu
Ineedapea
Join Date: 2004-03-09 Member: 27241Members
Join Date: 2004-03-09 Member: 27241Members
<div class="IPBDescription">My first fan fiction about TSA recon 1</div> This is currently being written at the moment, however for a teaser im going to post the prologue
Déjà vu
An NS fan fiction by INEEDAPEA
<b>Prologue- A crippled Wolfe</b>
The S.S. Wolfe, 2125
Chief petty officer Wilmington was said to have had, after the captain, the easiest job on the ship. He was master at arms and chief security officer for the “night watch”. These jobs meant little at all to the overall running of the freighter, as the most common disturbance on the night watch was that a pipe had burst, and the engineers had to go and fix the steam leak before any moron happened to walk through it and burn themselves. His job as master at arms didn’t equate too much either. The S.S Wolfe’s weapons cache accounted for about ten old late 21st century rifles and a small crate of ammunition, which was to be distributed to the officers and WDF (Worker Defence Force) personnel in the event of a riot or mutiny. Alas this event had never occurred. Despite being master at arms, he’d never even held a rifle before, let alone shot one.
Tonight however things were different. Both engines had mysteriously shut down in the middle of an after burn, leaving the freighter drifting in space, on approach to a planets orbit. Firstly a team of engineers were sent down on the port engine room to make hastily repairs so the Wolfe could break orbit. Radio contact was lost. Wilmington then ordered 3 WDF troopers down to the port engine room suspecting a saboteur had cut the engines then kidnapped, or even worse murdered the engineers. The 3 personnel reached the engine airlock to discover blood trails by the airlock door. The 3 men proceeded in with caution. Wilmington listened in to the radio communiqués
“This is Oscar two-three, I’ve got a large heat signature ahead please advise”
“Oscar two-one to Oscar two-three, negative, probably that the engines are still warm, ignore it”
Wilmington listened in to silence broken only by footsteps on the metal engine room floor. The silence was broken when he heard Oscar two-two frantically bark
“Holy ****! Contact front!”
This was followed by sporadic gunfire that masked the 3 screams that came over the comm. Channel.
Wilmington rushed over to the weapons cache grapping himself a rifle and passing out the other 6 to a series of officers and WDF troopers that had also rushed to the armoury. Passing out the magazines meant that there was just enough for one magazine each, they locked and loaded before heading down to the engine room.
Wilmington pushed the large button as the airlock slid open. The dead engineers mutilated copses could now be seen, terror still in their eyes.
“Sir these men have been bitten and scratched, we aren’t facing no saboteur” one of the WDF troopers exclaimed, breaking the eerie silence in the room.
Wilmington was now scared. An animal won’t back off at the sight of a gun. They were going to have to kill it.
They gingerly edged forwards, scanning the area in front of them. Wilmington kept his eye on the back sight of his gun, hands shaking in fear. Then it hit him. He didn’t comprehend what it was at first. Then he looked at his combat vest. The left shoulder pad was covered in what looked like saliva. Knowing there was only one possible place it could have came from. He looked up. Hanging there, staring at him, was a small orange animal, gnarling at the teeth. Its stare was mesmerising, with its deep orange eyes. Wilmington stared back.
He was the first to move reaching for his combat radio he shouted
“****!!! They’re on the ce……….”
Before he could finish his sentence the creature leapt at him, biting him in the neck.
Wilmington felt a rush of pain in his neck, before dropping to the floor on the back. His neck and head became numb as his body quivered. He lay there helpless, his comrades all around him, ignoring him. He stared at the ceiling, counting 10 maybe 20 more of the creatures. Another creature leapt from the ceiling at Wilmington. It went dark.
Déjà vu
An NS fan fiction by INEEDAPEA
<b>Prologue- A crippled Wolfe</b>
The S.S. Wolfe, 2125
Chief petty officer Wilmington was said to have had, after the captain, the easiest job on the ship. He was master at arms and chief security officer for the “night watch”. These jobs meant little at all to the overall running of the freighter, as the most common disturbance on the night watch was that a pipe had burst, and the engineers had to go and fix the steam leak before any moron happened to walk through it and burn themselves. His job as master at arms didn’t equate too much either. The S.S Wolfe’s weapons cache accounted for about ten old late 21st century rifles and a small crate of ammunition, which was to be distributed to the officers and WDF (Worker Defence Force) personnel in the event of a riot or mutiny. Alas this event had never occurred. Despite being master at arms, he’d never even held a rifle before, let alone shot one.
Tonight however things were different. Both engines had mysteriously shut down in the middle of an after burn, leaving the freighter drifting in space, on approach to a planets orbit. Firstly a team of engineers were sent down on the port engine room to make hastily repairs so the Wolfe could break orbit. Radio contact was lost. Wilmington then ordered 3 WDF troopers down to the port engine room suspecting a saboteur had cut the engines then kidnapped, or even worse murdered the engineers. The 3 personnel reached the engine airlock to discover blood trails by the airlock door. The 3 men proceeded in with caution. Wilmington listened in to the radio communiqués
“This is Oscar two-three, I’ve got a large heat signature ahead please advise”
“Oscar two-one to Oscar two-three, negative, probably that the engines are still warm, ignore it”
Wilmington listened in to silence broken only by footsteps on the metal engine room floor. The silence was broken when he heard Oscar two-two frantically bark
“Holy ****! Contact front!”
This was followed by sporadic gunfire that masked the 3 screams that came over the comm. Channel.
Wilmington rushed over to the weapons cache grapping himself a rifle and passing out the other 6 to a series of officers and WDF troopers that had also rushed to the armoury. Passing out the magazines meant that there was just enough for one magazine each, they locked and loaded before heading down to the engine room.
Wilmington pushed the large button as the airlock slid open. The dead engineers mutilated copses could now be seen, terror still in their eyes.
“Sir these men have been bitten and scratched, we aren’t facing no saboteur” one of the WDF troopers exclaimed, breaking the eerie silence in the room.
Wilmington was now scared. An animal won’t back off at the sight of a gun. They were going to have to kill it.
They gingerly edged forwards, scanning the area in front of them. Wilmington kept his eye on the back sight of his gun, hands shaking in fear. Then it hit him. He didn’t comprehend what it was at first. Then he looked at his combat vest. The left shoulder pad was covered in what looked like saliva. Knowing there was only one possible place it could have came from. He looked up. Hanging there, staring at him, was a small orange animal, gnarling at the teeth. Its stare was mesmerising, with its deep orange eyes. Wilmington stared back.
He was the first to move reaching for his combat radio he shouted
“****!!! They’re on the ce……….”
Before he could finish his sentence the creature leapt at him, biting him in the neck.
Wilmington felt a rush of pain in his neck, before dropping to the floor on the back. His neck and head became numb as his body quivered. He lay there helpless, his comrades all around him, ignoring him. He stared at the ceiling, counting 10 maybe 20 more of the creatures. Another creature leapt from the ceiling at Wilmington. It went dark.
Comments
you want to eat my work! <!--emo&:(--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html//emoticons/sad.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='sad.gif' /><!--endemo-->
not the quite desired effect <!--emo&:p--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html//emoticons/tounge.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='tounge.gif' /><!--endemo-->
also some observations/critisims plz
<b>Part 1- This is a rescue mission</b>
Weapon R&D centre 443-997, 2125
For Sgt. Bernard it was like déjà vu. As if he was returning to the scene of a previous crime. He was a private when first posted to guard this facility with his old company before the war started. As he stepped of the drop ship ramp he looked at the results of his escape, on his last visit. The docking bays walls almost perforated with bullet holes, was smeared from floor to ceiling with blood and the green "stuff" that sent shivers down his spine every time he saw it. He knew that the Kaharra were watching, he could smell them. Once he was sure that the immediate perimeter was a safe as you could be on a planet infested with bloody thirsty xenoforms he turned to brief his men.
“Listen up ladies” he barked
“The S.S. Wolfe is a cargo vessel that reported engine failure thirty hours ago, claiming it was under attack from Xenoforms soon after. We lost contact with the Wolfe and her crew twenty four hours ago” stopping for a second to clear his throat, he looked at the men’s faces. Not a single one had flinched.
“We are to rescue any surviving crew members and to recover the cargo of twenty thousand tonnes of nano-sludge, recently excavated from a newly discovered system on the edge of the Ariadne arm “
“You maybe an elite fighting force in a combat simulator, but that don’t count for nowt out here.” He then rolled his neck to the left to cure a crick in his neck that had been annoying him for a little while now.
“Some of you have fought the Kaharra before and you don’t need me to tell you that some of the men before me won’t be coming home with us, Infact I can guarantee that in less then three hours time probably you, or the man beside you, or both will be dead”
“Plenty of our brothers would have fallen before you and you wont be the last, so suit up and keep your eye on the ball”
Bernard’s eye was then caught by a scorch mark on the docking bay wall. Just below it was a standard issue TSA pistol, magazine empty, lying on the floor. This ignited a dozen bad memories and he went into a trance, remembering the bad memories he’d much rather forget.
Weapon R&D centre 443-997, 15 years earlier
Cadet Bernard walked down the drop ship ramp clutching his shiny new Ar93-a2 in his right hand. The clean-shaven recruit was lost in a hive of activity as transport vessels and TSA corvettes continued to move around the bustling cargo bay. Shouldering his rifle, he walked forwards, following the signs for TSA training grounds. The only reason he was on this TSA weapons research facility, was that he had to complete advanced weapons training before he could qualify as a full space marine. But for now he walked to his bunk, slung his rifle on it, got some well-deserved downtime.
Bernard awoke to a loud wailing alarm, causing a ringing in his ear. Initially thinking nothing of it, he slowly arose from his lumber
“freaking drills,” he mumbled to himself
He decided that he should probably get down to the staging area, simply to avoid getting in a world of ****.
He picked up the rifle and began slowly walking towards the marine staging area. His haste was increased when he heard a message over the base PA system
“All marine personnel report for duty now! This is no ****! We have heavy hostiles…”
A roar of gunfire broke the message as an AR93 opened up
“Get here now, there in the command centre!”
The anonymous voice shouted over the sporadic gunfire.
Bernard pulled the cocking arm on the rifle and ran toward the command centre, using the sound of gunfire as a homing beacon.
Running into the command centre he saw about half a dozen officers using the command consoles as cover, firing into the opposite door frame. Diving behind a satellite control panel he shouted at a major
“Cadet Bernard, reporting for duty sir”
The major wryly responded
“Better late than never cadet!” while pulling a fragmentation Grenade from his belt.
Bernard looked at the major’s nametag. It read Rickenbacker.
Major Rickenbacker then called the defending officers to order.
“There gonna overrun this **** barricade any minute, if you want out, we’re gonna have to fight our way to the escape pods.”
The officers and Rickenbacker filed out of the only available door. Rickenbacker called back
“Cadet! You coming, or do you wanna be lunch?”
Bernard decided that it might be a better idea to follow the 5 heavily armed officers, then stay here alone and probably die. Jumping from behind the barricade he followed Rickenbacker out of the door. The tall major then threw the primed grenade into the command centre, the resultant blast blocking the door with debris.
Regrouping with the other officers, they ran to the escape pods, Rickenbacker taking the point, Bernard acting as the rear guard.
They were nearly there now, metal tapping under feet. Bernard checked behind, in case of an ambush, pacing backwards, the world suddenly tumbled around him before a sharp pain in his back.
He had fallen down a hole in the floor, he called for help, but the officers either didn’t hear, or just simply didn’t care. Bernard picked himself up and looked around. Seeing nothing ahead and behind but inky blackness. Fumbling for the flashlight mounted under the barrel of his rifle, he found the rocker switch and flicked it on. Even with the LAM’s bright high-powered light shining from underneath the rifles barrel all he could see in from and behind was a dark, inky blackness. Turning round to face the walls either side he saw a dirt and grease smeared red arrow with a faded grey and white “surface access” written across it. He now knew he was probably in the piping and service ducts, a maze of tunnels that linked the entire facility, keeping it a constant regulated temperature.
Deciding that the opposite direction probably had an identical sign, just replaced with “certain death” he followed the arrows to the surface. Edging down the dark surface shaft, the narrow, enclosing, claustrophobic concrete walls seemed to echo even the quietest of sounds. He walked for what felt like hours. Seeing nothing other then the un-shrouding walls as the flashlight passed along the corridor unmasking nothing but grey concrete. Bernard then heard a new sound; it was an unfamiliar sound, it was like a rapid tapping sound of an object behind him. Spinning round, he opened fire. The narrow corridor amplified the guns already loud noise, bouncing the muzzle flash down the corridor with every shot.
For Bernard it all went in slow motion, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, roared the rifle as the bolt slammed into each round one by one, the chamber door sliding back and forth, back and forth, ejecting a cascade of brass to the floor, which twinkled down the corridor as they landed on the ground. CLICK. The receiving arm slammed back indicating the magazine was empty.
Bernard then shined the rifles light down the passage to reveal nothing other than a green pool on the floor.
Clicking the magazine release button, the empty black magazine fell to the floor, to be hastily replaced by a fresh one, all 50 rounds present and accounted for.
Bernard sprinted down the corridor, metal armour in tow, his legs physically ached, but he carried on running.
After what seemed an eternity he reached a dead end, and a service ladder leading upwards. Climbing the ladder Bernard peeked his head over the top. The pulsing lights from the hanging broken strip light obscuring his view, he used his AR 93s flashlight to, with a heightened sense of paranoia, scan left to right, making sure the area was safe before climbing up. Reaching for his musette bag, his left arm brushed past his comm. Link, turning up the volume toggle and roaring the radio to life with the sound of chatter broken by gunfire. He listened in to the conversation over the radio.
“This is alpha one-one to all marine units, move out and regroup at the cargo hold, we’re busting out of here”
Bernard decided that being left behind out alone wasn’t a good idea, and started running in the direction that the signs to the cargo bay pointed. He reached the research labs airlock. These labs and the science annex reception were all that’s stood between him and the cargo bay, and his ride out of here. Using the barrel of his AR 93 he pressed the airlock door, the double doors slid open to reveal a large whitewashed room, experiments on all the tables, including a specimen that belonged to one of the small yellow creatures he’d shot at earlier. The computer display read:
<span style='font-family:Courier'>SPECIMEN NAME: SKULK TORSO
CATLOUGE NO.: 01666382
COMPOSITION: 15% ACID
12% FLESH
73% UNKNOWN SUBSTANCES
READOUT INFO.: HOSTILE LIFEFORM, HUNTS IN PACK, CAUTION ADVISED, TERMINATE BREEDING NOW.</span>
This message sent shivers down Bernard’s spine, although ‘what the **** were the, scientists doing here? This is meant to be a weapons research centre’ was the only thought that popped into his otherwise emotionless head.
Hearing the security lock for another door to the room open, Bernard spun round hands shaking, rifle butt plate pressed firmly into his shoulder, eyes fixed onto the iron sights pointing his weapon straight at the door. The doors slid open. A captain walked into the room. Wryly exclaiming,
“What’s the matter cadet, nervous in the service?”
Bernard shrugged and walked over to the captain, shouldering his rifle. Then the corporal behind the captain shouted out
“OH ****! We’ve got hostile on the motion tracker, range twelve metres, hostiles five”
The three men readied their weapons, cocking rounds into the chambers of the 3 rifles, using the lab workstations as cover.
“Only shoot at what you can hit and conserve your ammo”
The doors opened to reveal a dimly lit corridor. The three men stood fast, eyes with an unwavering fix on their iron sights, ready to fire. Then it came. The five animals, matching the ones he had faced in the ventilation ducts and the specimen on the lab table in front of him, burst into the room. The three rifles opened up, the missed bullets splintering the white washed walls into a shower of brick dust. One of the creatures exploded into a shower of green as the 5.56 full metal jacket round pierced the “skulks” head just above the right eye. Bernard took aim at the second creature to enter the room, pulled the trigger. All that happened was an ominous slapping sound as a round jammed in the AR 93’s chamber. His rifle had jammed. Dropping it to the floor, he reached for his MR 12 Lantern side arm, acquired his target for the second time and pulled the trigger. The .45 calibre round flew from its barrel, spinning towards its target, breaking the sound barrier as it flew forwards, ending its flight hitting the skulk in the chest. Two identical bullets soon joined this bullet both slapping into the animals chest, piercing its heart. The animal fell from the sky to land on the ground, light fading in its deep orange eyes.
Bernard fired the remaining seven shots without taking aim. They all missed, the pistols receiving arm jammed back over his wrist. He dropped the pistol and picked up his AR 93, removing the gun jam exactly as he was instructed to in basic training, slapping the bottom of the magazine, before opening the chamber to eject the troublesome bullet. He peeked his head above his cover to see the five dead creatures lying on the floor. There was an eerie silence. The Captain was the first to break it.
“Let’s get the hell out of here”
With that the 3 amigos ran for the cargo bay, their flashlights sweeping across the walls in an almost mechanical fashion.
Then there purpose appeared in full view. A giant monolith, their only remaining lifeline. The huge cargo blast doors, the last remaining obstacle between them and freedom. Bernard checked his musette bag for ammo. Empty. Unlocking the magazine from his AR93 he looked at the amount of bullets visible. There was one. The simple equation didn’t require a maths degree to calculate. He had two rounds between him and death, and if it eventually came down to it, one was all he needed. He took in a deep breath. The doors began to slide open. To Bernard’s relief, it was clear. They began to walk to the cargo transport; it was the same craft Bernard had travelled in on. The captain brung his two faithful followers to order.
“Bernard, you jump in the back and operate the rear doors, Corporal Jones you fly, I’m gonna get the outside doors open.”
The three then split up, Bernard doing as he was told, mounting the cargo transport at the back setting his rifle down on top of a crate of ration supplies. Jones climbed into the crafts cockpit, preparing it for flight. The outside doors began to open, warning alarms sounding. The captain began to stroll back towards the transport. Then they came, Bernard did not know from where, but they attacked none the less. Within ten seconds around fifteen skulks were rushing for the cargo vessel. The captain saw them. Spinning about face he drew his lantern side arm and began shooting at the bloodthirsty creatures. Three hit the cargo floor, the rest kept coming. The captain ran for an ammo cabinet mounted on the wall, intending to put the general-purpose machine gun it contained to use. He wasn’t quick enough. The creatures bit at his legs as he fell to earth. As he laid there, with the twelve creatures, biting ferociously at him, he reached for a hand grenade. With his all his remaining energy he mouthed, “GO!” to Bernard and pulled the pin.
Weapon R&D centre 443-997, 2125
Removing the safety off his AR-93 Battle Rifle, he scanned all the vents, making sure he had his grenade within reach to chuck into the vent. When he was sure that the perimeter was clear he walked back up the ramp, pulled the last of his cigars out of his pocket and said "Marine recon team alpha, There’s only one way you’re gonna get off this god forsaken, hell hole of a rock, and that’s by killing every single one of those things, so gear up and lets kill us some vermin!" Bernard then coolly spat out his cigar and squashed it out; pulling down his visor and cocking his rifle he walked over the Command Console, got in and opened a signal to the orbiting TSA base ship, the U.S.S.T. Freedom.
“Ready to cleanse. Requesting permission to annihilate?”
The comm. channel spat out two words
“Permission Granted”. Just like old times thought Bernard as he hooked himself into the chair.
The TSA was his life. Bernard was the stereotypical ‘career soldier’ and serving in Marine recon team alpha, the TSA's elite SAR fighting force gave him a great sense of pride. Despite the highly recommended reputation of alpha recon, the unit on a whole was poorly funded. Bernard presumed that this is due to the fact that alpha recon worked in covert, so thus didn’t need all the flashy weaponry that the grunts got.
He then continued to do what he always did, placing IPs, a turret factory and an observatory before ordering the team to check out the crashed freighter. He dropped a welder for his team 5 leader, Corporal Davis. Bernard disliked Davis, not because of his attitude, but because he was a poor solider. The only reason he was even at his rank and unit, despite never facing combat, was because he was a distant relative of some head honcho in the TSA. Davis pumped a round into his R7a12 pump-action shotgun (affectionately nicknamed the scattergun) and yelled,
"Lets get them!!!!!" Bernard had the feeling that if the Kaharra didn't kill Davis, one of his squad members would quietly do the job for them. He placed a waypoint for the team to a gaping hole in the side of the freighter. Three minutes later, without facing so much as a fly, on the way there they entered the downed craft. They had entered into the cargo bay. It was pitch black. The only light came in heavenly beams of light, through the cracks in the hull. Bernard placed a waypoint to the power array. Davis through his welder to PFC Chavez, and ordered Chavez and private Brown to get the power back on. The team then turned on their flashlights and in a paranoid way, scanned the hold. Chavez found the correct array and began welding, turning his flashlight off as the sparks made sufficient lighting. Then he saw, out of the corner of his eye a flicker, quickly followed by Brown's voice over the radio
" Damn, do these flashlights ever work when you want them too?" to which Chavez replied
"Not a chance in hell!"
Then he heard a muffled whooshing sound quickly followed by a shriek of pain and a thud.
Chavez in a shaky voice called out
“Brown, you there? Stop messing around, Brown?”
Chavez fumbled with the flashlight switch, finally managing to flick the switch on and was greeted with the site of Browns corpse cut in half at the waist. Shakily moving the light up to in front of him he saw a towering eight-foot tall, black monster with scythes for hands, standing toe to toe with him. Chavez envisioned it as the grim reaper himself, death. A few tense seconds passed where Chavez and the monster stared at each other. Chavez froze. The monster lets of a terrifying roar that was almost simultaneously followed by Chavez cocking his LMG. He managed to fire of 5 rounds before the monster took a swipe, slashing through his neck, Chavez head, almost comically, rolled into the hold stopping near Davis feet. As Chavez body hit the steel deck, the muscles all over his body contracted, his finger squeezing the trigger causing the magazine to empty into a wall.
Davis radioed to the two deceased marines,
“What the hell is going on back there?”
No reply came. Davis the looked down to see the dead PFC’s head at his feet. Then as if it came from nowhere an object lunged at the group from the shadows. The hold was filled with the deafening roar of gunfire, followed occasionally by an intermittent shriek and a cry for help. Davis saw one of the fast small creatures out of the corner of his eye. Almost instinctively turning round he fired shot after shot, finally killing the pest on the seventh shot. He then spun round, to be greeted by another one of the creatures flying towards his face. He squeezed the trigger, all he heard was a worrying click, as the bolt slammed into a non-existent shell. Time them seemed to go really slow as the creature flew towards him. As if by an act of god, the creature exploded into a green ball of slime that threw him off his feet onto his back. He lay there for a few seconds and looked at the cargo hold ceiling. He could make out objects moving and called out
“Look out, there above us!” The marines, depleted of ammunition, severely began firing skywards. Small yellow objects began falling from the sky, landing with a thud on the cargo floor. With a scream one of the creatures flew from the sky and blew up in the group of marines throwing them all off their feet. Davis flew backwards and fell into a loose pipe. Impaled through the chest Davis looked around. His team was dead. With a struggle of breath he radioed to Bernard
“Team down sarge”
Then his body fell limp and lifeless. As the last rifle fell to the ground with a thud the hold became silent. The creatures that had so massacred the team were now almost non-existent. The only source of any form of moment in the gaping cargo hold, were smoke trails emanating from the hundreds of cartridges now lying on the metal grate.