Brush Over Boros

[Bishop Morse]

Boros
Border Worlds, Independent Colonies Territory
February 16, 2507 - 0930 hours

A bright and early morning light came glistening over the planet Boros on yet another beautiful wednesday morning. Over the tan tinted planet the 'Adoment 83' detachment fleet drifted in orbit. It's 27 capital ships set up in a relaxed spindle formation, while some of its smaller craft ran patrols across the horizon. They had been stationed over the planet for one day shy of 2 weeks and thus far had seen no action what so ever. The 'Adoment 83' was an improvised feet, one of many the independents had assembled to meet their naval needs for the war. Primarily heavy cargo and transport ships, which were converted and outfitted to be warships, the 'Browncoat Navy' was mainly relying on the skill of it's sailors and officers, rather then sheer power which the alliance had on it's side. Many of the men on board the vessels were eager to show off their skills in the war, ready to give the alliance what for. However a great amount were just happy that they hadn't suffered any casualties in combat thus far.

Among them was Bishop Morse, Captain of the Remora 4, I.C.S Ithika II. He had been in command of the vessel since November the last year, when he had completed officer training core for the Independents's Navy. The ship was relatively small, only 90 feet from front to back. It had a single cannon mounted on top of it, which was controlled at a weapons station inside. The vessel was a boarding ship. It had a crew of 4, and housed a squad of 5 marines. Bishop was very respectful to the marine corporal he shared his home with. Even in a very confined space for a few weeks, the 9 men seemed to get along fairly well.

Bishop awoke around 9:00 that morning, deciding to wake up late as there was no real cause for vigilance. After a short shower he found himself in the galley, with the marine corporal. Corporal Neilson, a stout man who was older then Bishop by a few years, drank a mug of coffee. Corporal Neilson was a bit low brow in his mannerisms, as he had been raised on a border moon called Lilac by former rim ranch hands from Beylix. Despite his rather gruff tastes, he was easy to get along with. Bishop took a sip from a mug which was filled with a delightful drink he found himself enjoying alot these days called 'homebrew'. Most others in the crew couldn't stand the smell or taste of it, but Bishop found himself partaking in it quite regularly. From the stairwell to the lower deck, Bishop could hear some of Neilsons squad excercising and rough housing down below. Ray was likely still in his bunk in the crew quarters, as was Hoffman in the engine room.

Then there was a call from the engine room. The calm tone of the ships pilot Clemens came on the overhead system. "Bishop, got somethin for ya to look at here." Clemens's voice said over the speakers. Though the pilot was in the room just behind Bishop, he didn't take any mind to it. Bishop stood up from the round table and walked onto the bridge. At the front left console Clemens sat with a headset on with a somewhat confused look on his face.

"What ya got Clemens?" Bishop asked somewhat concerned, it was likely just a patrol order that they would be shifted into.

"I don't know, I can't figure it out. Listen to some a the fleet chatter," Clemens said flicking a switch making the fleet general channel audible.

"6v, come back on that report, interior isn't showing anything." One voice said. "Patrol Boat 6V here, I've got heavy signals commin in, but I don't know if it's interference. a voice replied. "You might be getting ion slips on the screen 6v" another voice said. "I'm gettin it too, this is 2L, and i'm not anywhere close to 6v's position. Nav-Dack, can you run another scan." A new voice spouted. "3S here, I've got it too, big big signals I'm bouncin, and its done runnin right towards us."

The chatter continued for a few moments, mixed reports all saying similar things until suddenly there was a new response.
"This is Rear Admiral Manning of the I.C.S Tritus, all patrols are to return to the fleet immediatly. All vessels are to go to full alert and combat rediness. Fleet reposition to arrow formation with the Coalrunner at the front. This is no drill, this is war. All fleet hands to battle posstions and prepare to engage." The voice of the Rear Admiral cut out after that.

Bishop himself then activated the intercom. "All hands man your battle stations. Corporal Neilson, get your men ready for deployment, crew to your stations. Were about to run into some roughness!" Bishop shut off then shut off the intercom. The Ithika II wasted no time falling into position between the Independent cruisers Kethor and Unyielded Pride. Bishop stared out of the bridge window into the space before them to see if he could see the enemy. Suddenly they're radar began to show incomming signals. But there were alot of readings. Bishop wasn't particularly good at math, but he was rather gifted in lamens calculations. Clemens looked at the same console Bishop did to see the large reading.

"Bishop, how many ships do they have?" Clemens asked shakingly with a great deal of fear in his tone.

As he asked a large battlegroup could be seen off in the distance getting closer.

"Give ya the easy answer, Clemens, they got atleast 3 times as much as we do." Bishop said.

No sooner did he give his reply then there was a suddenly shaking in the vessel, as the sky lit up with missile launches and cannon fire from all around them, while before them from the enemy fleet the same sight was visible. The glimmering lights and blasts of sound signalled only one thing, the end of the easy living for the 'Adoment 83.'

[Bishop Morse]

0932 Hours

The short haired Corporal Neilson wasted no time scrambling up from his seat at the round table in the galley to come onto the bridge. He entered through the door with a confused look on his face, obviously full of doubt that Bishop was being serious. But as he came closer to Bishop he noticed the ship shake a bit, and bright lights flashing outside. He could see of in the distance what looked like rockets, shells, and laser fire zipping towards them. "Shen sheng de gao wan, you aren't kiddin!!" The corporal exclaimed. He was unsure of what to do. Even though Bishop had given him and his men a directive, that seemed to have blown completely out of his mind when he sat the spectacular sight of Naval ships coming together.

"Corporal, you dumb Hun Dan, get down to the lower deck and get your squad ready for deployment!" Bishop yelled back. Within seconds of him getting that order out, the first volleys of fire began hitting the fleet. "Clemens, drop us down, get us far below these capital ships." As Bishop gave his order to the pilot, he sat down at the right console on the bridge. The ship wasted no time in activating its boosters again getting below the volleys of fire.

As the ship dropped, Neilson took hold of a support pipe, and pulled himself into the next room. When the ship leveled out he ran down the stairs. His men were all taking hold of different objects to keep themselves on their feet. Neilson quickly came upon a crate which held their weapons. The small squad of marines, each wearing a brown helmet and a dark brown duster uniform, signifying their status as marines, armed themselves quickly. They strapped themselves full of ammunition, small arms, explosives, knives, indeed everything they would need once they were inside an 'Alliance' vessel. Once fully equipt, each man held a rifle with a sling over their sholder. They all scurried over to the forward section of the lower deck, and took up positions by the walls, holding onto whatever they could. At the center of where they stood was a large circle, with a visible crease right down it's middle. That was the 'breaching bore' which the marines would use to pierce a hole in the hull of an enemy ship, and enter into its bowels, and begin causing havoc inside the enemy ships. On the surface the marine strategy seemed devestating, but in reality it wasn't.

Once inside an enemy ship, the squad would be greatly outnumbered, and in an unfamiliar territory. There would be no back up, no telling what part of a ship they breached into, or what kind of ship they had entered into that matter. And all of this was assuming they weren't shot to pieces on the way there. The percentage of survival for marines wasn't particularly good, but for such jobs the 'Browncoats' picked only the craziest and toughest of the lot who could over look such percentages. The 5 men just stood by the walls awaiting the captains signal to commence breach, and then the real fight would begin.


Back on the bridge, it was a different story. Bishop was desperatly trying to sort through communications, to get a directive, or atleast a general idea for what the fleet was doing. But he wasn't having much success with figuring either of those things out. As he sorted through the transmissions, Clemens suddenly spoke up. "Bishop, the fleet is moving forward, I don't know what to do." Clemens said. Clemens always spoke somewhat in chunks of phrasing. He would give a sort extremely brief pause in everything he said. Rather then a statement flowing clearly, it was very blocky and followed a specific pattern, though not monotone in any regard. Despite this, Bishop looked up and saw the rest of the fleet beginning to advance. "Well, tian sha, keep with em!" Bishop yelled. Their ship then lurched forward with a jolt and started keeping up with the rest of the fleet. Why the fleet was advancing towards the obviously larger force Bishop wasn't sure, but he needed to get a directive and fast, but didn't take him long to give up on it. "Gorramit, I'm switchin channels, aint nothin but people screamin on the nav-dac." Bishop said exasperated. Nav-dac was a short term for 'Naval Directory', which was the main fleet channel. He switched over to a local com channel, and started trying to find any short wave transmissions from the fleet to see if he could get a directive.

[Bishop Morse]

0935 Hours

The volleys from both fleets didn't stop, nor did their advance towards each other. Some rockets slammed into the ships around the Ithika II, while others missed by what seemed to be inches. But neither fleet faltered in this game of chicken. Even though the browncoat vessels were outnumbered 3 to 1 they still didn't hesitate in their boost towards the enemy. By now the battle was taking a real shape. Fighters and other small craft were engaging in a large hairball in the center while others were zipping towards their enemies to see what damage they could do. The fleets weren't far from connecting with each other, which in Naval terms wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do, as friendly fire would become an abundant feature of the fray. Bishop looked up for a moment from the com pannel to look at the fight. The flashes were amazing, and the explosions drove un ending brilliance to the darkness around them. Yet the irony to it all, was that you couldn't hear a thing of it. The ships would shake a bit do to shock waves, which caused tremors which could be felt by the occupants, but other then that, you wouldn't know there was a battle going on if you hadn't looked out the window.

And then suddenly an unexpected voice came over the com. "This is Andrew Schooler, pilot of the ICS Boarding shipMichelles Way. Is anyone recieving." The voice said. Bishop wasted no time scrambling to activate the com to reply. "This is Captain Bishop Morse on the Boarding Ship Ithika double i" Bishop said frantically. He always found Ithika double i to role off the tounge better then the official name. "We're recieving you Schooler, put your captain on the line."

Bishop remembered Schooler, he was one of the people who served under 'Captain Clease', or the 'Dumb Adam' as the rest of the flight group had come to call him. They had met that week, not more then a few days prior, when they had been docked on the ground for a re supply and the crews had a drink at a bar together. All together they weren't a bad group, but they weren't effecient in anyway, and they weren't the smartest people in the verse' either.

"No can do Morse, we got hit with the back end of a missile couplink, and it caused some interior damage. Long Story short, Captains out cold. I'm in control a this bird now." The pilot on the other ship replied.

"Ta Ma De" Bishop yelled, forgetting that the com was still on. There was suddenly a bright flash as one of the ships on their side exploded into pieces. Bishop snapped back after a second and looked straight ahead. "Alright Schooler listen up, I got an idea and command aint talkin so I don't give a damn about approval. So I need you to form up behind me and do exactly as I say, ya got that?" Bishop spoke quickly and seriously. "I'm forming up with your ship now." The voice said back. As it did, Bishop and Clemens watched a vessel identical to theirs seem to drop from out of no where and slow down beside them. It seemed they were alone, in a matter of speaking, and the pilot on the other ship seemed to know that.

The fleets were now not far from what looked like a collision. But the fleets continued forward regardless of it. Bishop had his idea, which fell right under his job description, but it wasn't gonna be looking to pretty doing it. "Alright Schooler, are your marines set and ready to board?" Bishop asked somewhat calmly. Bishop was by no means 'freaking out' but he was trying to maintain a calm state to think clearly. "Ya, Clease gave that order right before he got knocked out." Schooler replied. Bishop had a smile appear on his face. "Good, so here's what were gonna do. We're bassically a couple a mosquitos. We're carryin the uncurable virus when it comes to large vessels in the nature we're standing against. So we're gonna fly through this spray, just above the firing volleys, and drop down on the heads a the biggest ships we see, and make em sick. Ya follow me?" Bishop said, somewhat deviously. There was silence over the com, it took a second for the pilot to respond. "Oh ya want us to deploy the borders." The pilot replied. Bishop now had a look of dissapointment, as it was obvious he was dealing with someone who was rather slow. "Yes, we're gonna deploy the borders. Now when I say launch, you follow us up over the line of fire, and then follow us over to their line." Bishop gave a pause and looked at Clemens. He widened his eyes a bit, and Clemens nodded "I'm ready Bishop" Clemens said. Schooler said the same over the com.

Bishop looked out at the battle going on before them. "Headin North for the Summer, GO!" Bishop yelled.

Both vessels lifted upward and began to put Bishops little plan in motion.

[Bishop Morse]

Corporal Neilson, with his eyes very visible under his helmet which was tilted back fairly far on his head, had a look of fear and uncertainty on his face. The vessel rocked and shook constantly. The pressure of the ship accelerating and decelerating constantly gave the 5 marines a twitchy feeling. The sounds of the small craft being struck by the force exerted from large shells, rockets, and lasers gave a terrifying feel to the aura in the room. They wished they had a window so they could see what was happening, but at the same time they were so affraid of what they would see that they tried to keep their minds off of what was happening outside. They each clung tightly to bolted metal to support themselves, and to their rifles. It seemed they were all just sitting in a large metal tomb, waiting for someone to tell them they were dead and could lie down and rest. But at the same time they had never felt so alive in that they had never been so scared before. They just try to avoid conversation, and looking at eachother so they wouldn't have to think about the horrid endevour they were now embarking on.


Back on the bridge, Bishop was watching and white knuckling the ride up above the fleet formation. He took note that there appeared to be flashing comming from above the ship with a slight rumbling which seemed to come in a pattern. He quickly discerned it to be Ray obeying an order for once, and hopping on the ships defensive gun. It was a small cannon mount on the top of the vessel, which was controlled from the inside. For reasons Bishop didn't understand, when they were turning the vessel into a 'makeshift boarding ship' they decided the best place to mount the weapon was on the top of the ship, and the panel to control it should be in the galley. He payed little attention to that, as details on his own ship didn't matter right now. The Ithika II zipped through space above the streaks of light. The radar showed that Schoolers vessel was just behind them which was a good thing. Atleast people were actually following orders for once. The streaks of light beneath there ship though seemed to be getting more sparatic. As the fleets were now almost directly on top of each other, they seemed to be 'firing at will' rather then targetting in controlled successions. This was good for the two small boarding crafts as it could mean they would go undetected. Fighters zoomed around being chased by other fighters, or doing bombing runs on enemy ships. From the angle the two boarding craft were, it was very obvious that the Alliance outnumbered them in exactly the fashion Bishop had assumed they did.


Bishop checked there distance and began scanning the enemy ships. They had all sorts of vessels, ranging from the 90 feet that the Ithika II was, to well over 700 feet. Trebuchet Battleships, Victoria Cruisers, Longbow Assault Craft. They even had several of the massive Crete Battlecruisers which was larger then any vessel in the Browncoat fleet. Despite this Bishop started looking at distances between the ships, and figuring what they could do the most damage to, and in the shortest amount of time. He came to there was a vessel near the alliance center that he kept bringing his eyes too, an alliance Trebuchet moving forward at cruising speed. Though smaller then the Alliance Longbow, a Trebuchet made up for its size with very thick armor and a set of 6 double barrel cannons as well as an unknown amount of rocket pods. If there was one thing that they needed to stop it was those, and Bishop would do his part in taking down this one. He activated the com-link transmitting to the vessel following his.

"Alright Schooler, I got a target, Alliance Trebuchet vector grid, 38:92:67. Grab somethin close by so your still in visual range, and make it a good target." Bishop told the pilot of the other ship. He hoped that the moron piloting the other ship wouldn't make the mistake of landing on a massive Crete which they didn't have the ordinance to damage, and something bigger then a Victoria.

"Ok, I think I've got one. I'm ready to go when you ar." Schooler replied.

Bishop wanted to ask what the target was, but there wasn't any time for that. He looked over at Clemens "Listen up clemens, when I say so, your gonna tilt us straight down towards that ship, and go full speed ahead down towards it. Once we're over it, cut all speed and move to full reverse to slow us down. Land on the ship, and we deploy the marines, ya follow me?" Bishop asked his own pilot

"Yes Bishop, I understand" Clemens said bobbing his head up and down in a way that made Bishop less assured of his plan.

"Schooler get ready for hard burn! We're goin in 3.... 2.... 1. GO!!!" Bishop yelled and both crafts tilted downward and like a a bolt of lightning raced towards their destination. There engines gave off trails of ligh, as they approached the enemy fleet like two massive drops of hail. Just as ordered Clemens slowed the ship to a near halt once within a close proximity to the ship. He aimed to land at the front of the ship. Down, down, down, they went. And suddenly, CLUNK!. There was a loud snapping sound and smaller craft linked to the Alliance Battleship.

Bishop, without thinking, took the intercom into his hand. "Corporal Neilson, Deploy!" Bishop said.

Without a moments hesitation, the Corporal hit the 'breach control' and it started to rip through the enemy ships hull. The circle in the middle of all the men had lit up, and the sound of 7 blow torches was audible. They shielded there eyes as it cut through the outer hull of the ship. Quickly it spun and spun, until finally with a loud SMASH! the piece fell through. Neilson grabbed the circular hatch and opened it. Beneath them was the bright white light of the interior of the enemy ship, and one by one the marines eagerly jumped down into the unknown.

[Bishop Morse]

SLAM! The boots of the marines came with a loud sound on the metal floor of the vessels interior. One by one the five men had jumped through the hole they had made into the alliance ship. They all had on a helmet, dark brown duster, and rifle to bare. Neilson had been the first one to jump down. Behind him jumped Breese, Charley, Johnvon, and finally 'Chocolot' (which was pronounced like the candy treat only with an accent.) Smoke seemed to have filled the room, but it was really just steam and dust brought up from the breaching action. Around them were alliance sailors, covering there eyes and heads from what had just happened. Some were on the ground, some were standing in absolute shock of what had just happened.

In spite of all of this, not Neilson nor any of the men gave a moments hesitation. Shots began ripping from there weapons into the men standing around them. Some of them try to draw pistols, others tried to run. Both actions were futile. The .45 caliber rounds ripped through them like they weren't even there. They held position for a moment, clearing out everyone that was around them. Standing in a formation, 2 facing each direction down the hallway, Neilson remained in the center of them placing his finger on his ear to hear the com-piece all that much better. "Captain, this is Neilson, which way am I goin here?" Neilson asked into the com. He had no idea what kind of ship they were on, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't know where to go. He remained weapon at the ready, his men firing a shot or two every few moments at a sailor or soldier who thought they'd try to take care of them or cross the hallway.

Back on the bridge Bishop was looking a schematic provided to them by the Independent's Naval Intel. A 'Trebuchet' class battleship didn't have a lot of small hallways in it which was good, he was trying to figure out where he had dropped them off. "Hang on a second Corporal, I'm figurin that out." Bishop said still scanning over the schematics. It took him about 20 seconds to figure out they had landed on the port side of the vessel, and were in a hallway there. With his finger he measured the distance to the engines, and to the bridge. He discovered that they were closer to the bridge and was ready to guide them there. "Good news Corporal, your not far from the bridge. Head down.... hallway L6-D, and keep goin straight. Aint no turns or nothin on your way there. There'll be a right you'll take at the end of it and a large door to the bridge. That's where your droppin your ordinance. You got 4 minutes Corporal, get to it!" Bishop finished, keeping the com on. He didn't have a tracker with them, so he would have to rely on what he was hearing to figure it all out.

Neilson took a second to wrap his head around what they were doing. "Alright marines, this way. We're headin to the bridge. Charley you take point, Johvon watch our ass's. Let's go!" Neilson said. The group began to shift positions and sprint forward down the hall. Charley lead the group forward and fired periodically. The Officers on board the ship seemed to have gotten control over their people as the sailors came less frequent and when they did, they were armed. They sped forward and they were about to take the right turn down the corner when suddenly from around it, the Alliance seemed to have a counter.

Atleast 4 soldiers with rifles, and 3 sailors with pistols came around the corner. The group stopped and took up positions at the side of the hallway. Neither side waited for the word to 'fire'. They just opened up on each other. But through all of the loud clattering that was rounds being fired, everyone could hear the sudden CLUNK! and then a sputtering drop. Corporal Neilson had a bullet rip straight through his forehead and coming to contact with the helmet. He was dead before he hit the ground, and he fell hard. The other marines saw what happened, but didn't stop. They expected bad things to happen, it was inevitable in there line of work. All that could be done was Charley reached his hand up to his com piece, taking cover behind a pipe and said. "Neilsons down Captain, I repeat, Neilsons down!"

[Bishop Morse]

Smoke and flashes filled the hallway. The snaps of bullets hitting metal we're heard at every second in successions verying from single bursts, to 5 in a spray. It was a nightmare for the 4 browncoat marines, who fearlessly held their position. But they weren't sure what do, with Corporal Neilson dead they didn't know whether to advance or withdraw. Charley seemed to now be the de facto leader of the group. Charley had short blonde hair, but was more muscle then fat as opposed to their commander. Though this didn't help him come to a decision, he still was strong enough willed to remain there. "Captain, I need a directive here. Forward or back, your choice!" Charley yelled into his com piece over the sounds of gun fire all while trying to avoid being hit by the bullets himself.

On the bridge Bishop heard the noise comming through the radio. He wished he could see what was going on, then he could better assess the situation. But as it was he didn't have such a luxury, so he'd needed to make a decision based on his own judgement. He thought quickly, though it was difficult with the sounds of gunshots over the speakers. He looked at the layout of the vessel and judged their approximate possition. He quickly weighed odds of success against faults of failure, and quickly made up his mind. "Rip that ship a set a new air holes, soldier. Advance!" Bishop ordered into the com. That was all he could think for them to do. If they fell back, then they might just lose more trying to run down the hallway while getting fired upon. However should they complete the mission, the Alliance crew would be put into shock and get disorganized. There really was only one real option to be considered and he said it. He just now had to wait for the result.

Back in the Alliance Battleship, Charley relayed the captains decision to the others through hand signals. Once he had done this he looked at the tallest one in the group, Johnvon. The soldier had more explosives strapped to himself then any of the others. Charley made a fist and spread his fingers out quickly. Johnvon understood the signal and picked out a gernade. Unlike the Alliance crewmen who were likely told not to use explosives, the Browncoats didn't care how much damage they did to the ship. Johnvon held the gernade in his hand and clicked a button which was on top. There was a line of 6 lights on it. One light each second lit up. 1, 2, 3, and on the 4th Johnvon threw the gernade down to the end of the hall. The marines ducked. All that could be heard for the second before the explosion was an Alliance crewmen who yelled 'GERNADE!!!'.

BOOM! The gernade exploded with incredible force and the screems of the soldiers melded in with it. After a bright flash of light and flame, the 4 browncoats charged forward. The hallway was a mess, with chard limbs and burnt blood everywhere. The group paid almost no attention. They came around the corner, and saw only one crewmen running away. Unfortunatly they weren't watching their backs very well. Several shots rang out, and 'chocolot' screamed, hit a wall, and fell to the floor. A series of bloody holes were visible on his chest. "Move up, Move up!" Charley yelled to the others. They didn't dispute the order. They continued running down the corridor. The plans showed that a large door should be just around the corner, which was the bridge. They took another left, only to find another soldier. He didn't have time to shoot at them before they dropped him dead. And behind him was the large gray door they were searching for. The first thing they tried was to open the door. It was locked tight from the inside. The group stopped a moment, unsure of what to do. Charley turned around and looked at the door. He then slung off his backpack which was loaded with explosives, just as everyone elses were. "Drop em here, We'll blow right through em from this side. Johnvon you set em, Breese help me keep him covered." Charley said turning and holding his rifle up, sticking tight to the left wall. Breese dropped his pack, and clung tight to the right. Johnvon went to work on arming the 3 backpacks full of high explosives. It was easily enough to rip through the door, and likely kill everyone on the other side aswell as anyone in the hallway they stood in. Hurridly Johnvon went about arming them, adjusting a set of clear in field goggles up, while the two muscle men watched his back. They didn't have much time, and he knew it, so he worked as fast as he could to arm these little 'gifts' to thank the alliance for it's wonderful tour of it's ship.

[Bishop Morse]

Bishop was having trouble making out what was being said by the marines on the ship. He had been able to discern that they had lost another man, and had proceeded forward. But he wasn't sure what was happening. They had been somewhat quiet for the last few seconds, but he knew they weren't dead as he could hear them breathing as well as quite snaps of chatter. It still wasn't a good situation. The ship should periodically, as they Browncoat and Alliance fleets had come together. Bishop tried not to look out the window as it was distracting watching all of the flashes of light from the battle outside. He tried to focus strictly on the chatter inside the enemy ship. He was thankful that the breach-hatch ceiled after drop, that way the Alliance wouldn't go about trying to break into their ship. And even if they did, Hoffman was more then likely to put them down with his shotgun pretty quickly. And then the chatter came audible with a quick set of sounds. "FIRE!" Charleys voice said, followed by the loud sounds of gunfire.

Inside the Alliance ship, Charley and Brease tried to hold back constant alliance attempts to retake the hallway. The bridge was on the other side, and locked down good, but the alliance didn't want Browncoat rats running through there ship. Snaps, scrapes, recoil, clicks, it was all heard as the two Browncoat Marines tried to hold their position. Johnvon hurridly tried to prepare the bombs, but it was hard to do several bombs while being shot at.

THUNK! The sound of heavy force striking something soft was heard. Brease was hit in his stomach. He fell backwards a moment, but then took a knee and continued firing. Brease was a large muscular man, and he ignored the pain of the bullet. But he started losing blood, which caused his mind to faulter. He slid out of cover a moment, and was struck a second time, now in the left shoulder. He dropped his rifle, drawing his pistol. He got 3 rounds out before another bullet entered into the center of his chest. It took 3 rounds to put him down, and finally the large man lay dead. Charley remained, trying to cover Johnvon as best he could. "Gotta hurry up there Johnvon, we have no time!" Charley yelled. "I'm almost done, I'm settin the... AH!" Johnvon yelled. A sudden snap and he realized he'd just been shot in the leg. Blood poured out of the wound, and he proceeded to scream in agony. "Johnvon, Johnvon!" Charley yelled back. He knew he couldn't stop firing, but he had to help the wounded marine. He picked out a gernade from his belt, armed it, and through it down the hall. It wasn't quite as accurate as the one thrown earlier, but it did the job. The Alliance crew fell back a moment. Charley came down Johnvon. "Johnvon, ya gotta stay with me, gotta finish armin this and then we can get the hell outa here." Charley said taking a knee. Johnvon was lying on the ground beside the three backpacks full of explosives, he was still cringing in pain. "Just gotta snap arming chords together and it's set." Johnvon said, but he was in so much pain he couldn't do it himself. Charley moved over to the bomb, and quickly figured out what he wanted to do. He snapped the through chords together, linking them to the detonator and timer. They now had two minutes. "Got it, lets get outa here!" Charley said. But not but a moment later the sounds of gunfire was heard again, and Charleys eyes went wide.

This time there was no crack, just blood and pain. Charley looked at his chest. Atleast 5 holes were no in his chest, each with a stream of red liquid draining from it. He fell to his knees, some of the blood had gotten onto Johnvon. Charley was dead before his head touched the ground. But Johnvon was alive, and in pain. One of the bullets that had hit Charley went straight through him, and stuck Johnvon in the stomach. He suddenly had felt the wind knocked out of him, but the pain didn't stop. All he saw was the conscious world in a blur. Johnvon felt tears streaming down his face, and he gave horrified groans. He could see the Alliance crewmen moving towards him, but his rifle was out of reach. Though even if he could reach it, he didn't think he had the strength to fire it. He scooted back a bit, seeing the blood which coated the floor and walls, some of it his own. His groans of agony grew a bit fainter, and he looked at the packs beside him. The large backpacks had the failsafe button armed and ready. Johnvon reached his hand out to it, and put the detonator in his hand. The Alliance crewmen were now over him, and screaming something at him. He couldn't understand it, and his goggles were filling with tears. He continued whimpering and looked at his hand, in which the detonator sat in. He lifted it slightly off the ground. Johnvon had come to the realization, that this was the end. Just 2 hours ago he had woken up thinking it was just another day. He had no idea that he would be dead 2 hours later. He just whimpered in the agony and pain, and came to accept it. He closed his eyes shut, flexed every muscle in his body at once, gritted his teeth together, and squeezed the detonator. And then there was just light, bright light, and he suddenly felt as though he was flying.

[Bishop Morse]

There was a great rumbling all throughout the ship. The shaking was sudden and unexpected. Tremors moved through the ship with out any sign of stopping. The sound of metal moaning under pressure was audible and the sound of the shaking only insued along with it.

Bishop through himself forward onto the console to keep himself from falling backwards as the shaking began. Clemens, who was still sitting at his left, was squeezing the arms of his chair and kept his eyes shut. Bishop checked the console to check for external damage. The ships external display didn't show anything that had struck the ship. There was no damage to the outside. A sudden pressure hose on the ceiling popped and a hissing sound filled the bridge. Looking around there was no real internal damage, there was oxygen flowing, and no loss of pressure. The question was what exactly was that shaking.

Smoke began to pass by the viewing port out of the front of the ship, and small bits of metal debris. Bishop grabbed the radio. "Charley, did you blow the charges?... Charley come in.... Johnvon, Breese, somebody." There was no response to Bishops calls over the radio. He looked to his left, thinking that Clemens would have some sort of input.

"They're all dead." Clemens said looking back out at the debris passing by the front. Bishop looked out as well. "I figured that, but I need to know if that was their charges that were blown. I got an idea, I'll get a second opinion." Bishop said and he switched the com channel over to the one which he had spoken to the pilot of the Michelles Way on.

"Schooler, come in, this is Bishop. Do you have eyes on the ship that we're strapped to?" Bishop asked over the com. There was a considerable pause ovre the radio for a moment. "Uhh, yes Captain." The pilot replied. Bishop had hoped that the moron on the other ship would be able figure out that what he needed was a status report, but of course he hadn't set his expectations so high. "Can you see any external damage to this Trebuchet?" Bishop called out over the radio again. And then there was an oddly quick response. "Uh oh, you gotta get off a there."

[Bishop Morse]

Bishop’s eyes went wide and he started looking out the view the port from the bridge, frantically trying to find out what the pilot of the Michelle’s Way was talking about. He didn’t see anything other than the smoke and small bits of metal passing in front of them. ”What! What is it!? We gettin shreaded by point defense cannons." Bishop asked as his gaze still scanned the space around them. ”You just gotta get out a there.” Andy insisted. This aggravated Bishop a bit and he took his eyes off of the screen. ”Yes but why is that?” Bishop asked again, in a somewhat strained tense. ”Well you just gotta move.” The com said. The anger on Bishop suddenly got a hold of him. ” Ta shi suo you di yu de diao zi de ma! What in hell is commin at us!” Bishop yelled into the com set. There was a pause over the coms a moment. ”Oh, your ships heading full speed towards a ‘Longbow’, you gotta get off a there or your gonna…” Andy was cut off before he could finish. ”Got it.” Bishop said.

Bishop looked over at Clemens. ”Shit, why is clarification so difficult?” He said aloud. Clemens looked back. ”Should we detach?” Clemens asked. Bishop suddenly had a look of exasperation ”Yes! Detach, detach!" Bishop snapped back. He didn’t seem to be able to comprehend how the pilots of Remora’s were such idiots. But the fact that they were designated to do nothing more then land on cruisers, while being fired at from the enemy as well as allied ships who don’t realize they’re there.

Next time he got the opportunity he was requesting a transfer. The Independents Navy wasn’t that big, but anything was better then commanding these suicide runs. He was commanding the human equivalent of a ‘bot-fly’, and he’d had enough. Clemens suddenly detached the Ithika II from the hull of the alliance ship. As they detached and turned Bishop got a glimpse of the front of the Trebuchet they had been latched to, and saw the smoke rising from all points that were it’s bridge. He also had seen a massive long ship they were heading towards. He didn’t have a problem with them detaching since the marines were all dead.

They drifted back off, and the flashes of the battle were still going on all around them. The sounds of the battle on the hull continued to rattle and shake. Flashes persisted as well. Bishop flicked the com channel back over to the fleet chatter, and it was the same thing as before, lots of screaming and yelling. But what was persisting over a lot of it was a general alert to fall back and retreat. ”Schooler, there’s a general retreat order we’re getting out of here, ‘your smart you’ll do the same.” Bishop said switching back over to the com channel they’d been using. ”Yes Clemens, start falling back, head down towards the planet, we’re gonna need to get a further directive." Bishop said without looking at him.

[Bishop Morse]

0950 Hours

The Ithika II, now without purpose other then to recieve further directive raced down towards the planet. The Remora-class vessel had been designed for boarding action, and now that they had lost there entire marine compliment, it had nothing left for it to do. It started tearing through the atmosphere over Boros. At the lower portion of the of bridge, a firey glow of the atmosphere burning at the ship was visible. The ship rocked and shook, but no one on board took much mind to it.

Bishop turned around and walked to the back of the bridge, and sat down in a small seat which was pulled down from wall. He sat there contemplating their next move. Of course they would return to Fort Adams, a small town on the surface which was where the command of the Boros Independents resided, and receive further orders. But the question was what would those orders be? To get a new attachment of marines and make another run? Or worse, to act as a troop transport for a ground war? These questions were zipping through Bishops mind, and he's wasn't incredibly anxious to do anything at this point.

Suddenly the vessel leveled out, showing it had broken through atmosphere, and revealing the bright blue sky over Boros. For a moment one could forget every thought they had, and just bask in the amazing spectical of the beautiful sky and the bright earth beneath them.

And then there was an unexpected flash of bright light, and heat, rippled through the bridge. The explosion and fire that followed wasn't so large that it reached Bishop directly, but he could feel the instant heat it caused. Clemens flew backwards, as the front of his console ejected him from his place at the helm. He yelled as he was thrust to the back. with no one at the helm the ship began to tilt to the right. It was a strange feeling as now they were falling faster and faster.

Bishop brought his head up recovering from the explosion to see the left console completely decimated. He felt the ship beginning to drift out of control. He quickly thrust himself forward towards the right console. Clutching the chair and pulling himself into it he began to attempt to stear the vessel. It shook violently as the forces of wind and gravity pulled it towards the planet. A small fire sat on the console beside him, but he took no notice as he tried to level the ship. The ground got closer and closer. They were surprisingly still on course towards Fort Adams, and Bishop did his best to keep their heading. The ship rocked, obviously something in the stabalization was wrong, but there was no way to repair it now.

They came down like as a ship from heaven, and approached 2000 feet. Bishop pulled back on the leveling stick to ease their approach. Though the ship gave little response, it was worth the effort. They had slowed down considerably, and it came screaming in. He tried to drop the landing gear, but there hadn't been enough time. The ship slammed on the ground and slid across the sandy desert ground. It slid and slid, and shook and shook, until it came to a very abrupt hault.

Bishop looked up to see they'd slammed through one of the logistic buildings on a landing strip which was intended to be more of a parking lot. Bishop leaned back in his chair and gave a heavy sigh. The windshield was cracked slightly from the explosion, but he could see other smaller vessels descending towards their location.

Just then Bishop noticed the fire still burning beside him. He grabbed a fire extinguisher mounted to the wall beside him and put it out. Suddenly he recalled his pilot being violently thrust backwards. Clemens lay there on the floor, unconscious. He had been burned on his face and hands, and he seemed scorched considerably. Bishop started trying to wake him, but he wasn't successful. He was alive, and breathing, but was hurt considerably.

Bishop walked off the bridge and into the crew section. Ray was beside him.

"Clemens got burnt bad. We need help, I'm gonna go get it, stay here." Bishop ordered as he started climbing down the ladder towards the lower deck, and not waiting to hear a response. In the lower deck, where formally the 5 brutish marines took up residence, it was now strangely quiet and empty. Bishop took little notice as he moved towards the center, and picked up a small control. He clicked a button and the ramp beggan deploy beneath him. Light poured through the whole now in the floor, and for a moment Bishop seemed lost in thought, unsure of what was to happen next.

[Bishop Morse]

O953 Hours


Bishop, though a bit shaken from the "landing", stepped down the loading ramp beneath the ship. At first he didn't see anything, as his eyes adjusted to the influx of light. But then his vision came back into focus. Comming off of the ship, Bishop looked to his right to see the building they had smashed into. The outer shell of the building seemed to have taken it fairly well, though a portion of the ships right hull had breached the metal siding.

He didn't really care about the damage done by his landing, he treaded down onto the dirt landing strip and out from under his ship. He looked up at the sky, where a series of craft roughly the size of his were making their way to the same location. He looked around for someone who could help him. He found what he presumed to be a mechanic, wearing goggles and greese on his face like a mask.

"You" Bishop called down to him pointing. "I need you to get me a stretcher and a medical officer, I got a guy on my ship that needs treatin of some serious burns. Go get me one!" Though it seemed to be rather informal and imposing, the man turned right around and headed towards a stretch of buildings.

Just then another thought came into his head. "What the hell happens now?" He turned and looked at the mechanic running to fetch his pilot medical aid. He was too far away. He quickly searched around. Another ship was landing not far from him, with several more comming down fast. He looked around as men started appearing from the stretch of buildings to give assistance to the landing craft. Some were armed and in uniform, others were less then prepared, but that didn't matter much here. He stopped someone running past him, a soldier with the recently adopted Brown Duster and regulation uniform. "Hey, who's in command on this strip, we're needin to know where to go?" Bishop told the man.

The soldier recognized the jacket of a Naval Captain, and so was quick to reply. " Lieutenant Commander Montiel is at the station headquarters? You and the rest a your'n might try that over there, he might figure on somethin for ya."

"Where's station headquarters?" Bishop asked quickly looking over the stretch of buildings by the landing strip.

"That'd be the one of there, the big one." He said pointing at the largest building. It wasn't all that big, it was two stories tall, and not that long or wide.

Bishop gave no reply, simply began walking quickly down to it. He noticed that he wasn't the only one doing so. As the assorted vessels began landing, they're crews began dissembarking and many were on their way to that building. The wind was picking up, and there was alot of shouting that could be heard all around as the ground crews began refueling vessels, and making light repairs to salvage them. Bishop looked back at his own vessel smashed into the side of a building. It was in bad shape, and not likely to move without serious repairs.

He approached the directed building, opened up the door and stepped inside. Here a large cluster of men, of various rank similar to his own were all in a great ruccus over what was to be done. Bishop wasn't sure what to do, but he didn't have to wait more then a minute before a man stood up on a desk. He had the insignia of 'Rear Admiral', and Bishop took him to be Montiel.

"Guys, look, I don't know what more to tell you. Admiral Manning's calling for a full retreat of all Naval forces in the system to fall back to Beylix for regrouping and reasignment. So just do what you have to get all our assets here on the ground out to the Rim. As long as your ship can get through atmo and out then get moving, if not we're gonna take care of it here. Now just do what you have to do, and don't ask questions, now get moving!" The man spoke with a sort of distress in his tone, as he was obviously being put under alot of pressure right now, and couldn't deal with a packed room of qualified indeviduals who didn't know what to do.

A large majority of the men who were bickering in the room left, while a few were remaining behind. The Rear Admiral stepped off of the table and down to the ground. Some people were asking him questions and he was handling the issues as they arose. Bishop approached the group. Someone had issue with a stabalizer grid, another had 2 groups of marines and not enough room on his ship for all of them and his crew. Bishop waited a moment for his turn, as the Rear Admiral handled those problems. Finally it was his turn.

"Sir, my ships got some major damage, and without serious work I don't think she'll make it to Beylix." Bishop told the Rear Admiral

"What classification is the vessel?" Rear Admiral Montrella asked Bishop. A beed of sweat dripped down his face. The man war glasses and he took them off a moment and started to wipe off a smudge on them.

"It's a Remora 4, but I lost my entire marine compliment in their boarding action. Aint got but me and 3 crewmen left, but my pilot suffered severe burns from and explosion on the way here. He's gettin medical attention, but he's in about the same shape as my ship." Bishop responded.

Then a man who was standing in the room, whom Bishop hadn't noticed before spoke up."You could hitch a ride with ship? It'll be cramped, but it'll work?" said Andrew Schooler, pilot of the Michelles Way, the vessel which Bishop had done his boarding manuver with.

"You, your Schooler, where the hell is Captain Clease?" Bishop demanded from the pilot.

"He's out of action remember? He suffered that head wound from interior damage to the ship? I'm the highest ranking man on board right now."

The Rear Admiral had heard enough to make a decision for what was to be done. "Alright, Captain Morse, you say your ships down, and his ship needs a Captain. I'm seeding control of the Michelles Way over to you for the time being, get you and your men that are able bodied, and get off world." He didn't wait for a response, he started walking towards the door to help direct the flow of things going on outside.

The decision having been made, Bishop looked at Schooler. "Alright, get your ship ready for launch, I'll get my crew and move them over to your vessel. We'll be there in about 5 minutes." Bishop too did not wait for a response, he began walking towards the door. He wasn't particularly happy with taking control of a new ship, but it was only temporary. He opened the door and walked out onto the dirt back to his ship. The screams of ship engines was loud and all around, but it was all that could be expected from this sort of situation.

[Bishop Morse]

1002 Hours

Morse boarded the Michelles Way, what was left of his previous command following behind him. Coming up the boarding brought a sort of sense of familiarity, as the two vessels were virtually identical. However there was stark difference between Morse’s vessel and this one. Here there were bodies all over the floor, breathing, living. It was a strange sight, one that he hadn’t anticipated seeing. There were also a great deal of many standing up in various positions. Morse’s confusion was only increased when he realized that there were medical practitioners tending to these broken men. He looked around for signs of some sort of authority, but he was having trouble with it. There didn’t seem to be any sort of order on board this craft at the moment. There was lots of screaming, and groans pain, but the only governing voices were the ones which were trying to calm them. Morse stopped in the middle of cargo bay to seek out a commanding presence. But it was hard not to look at the men around. They were burnt, they had holes, they were bleeding, they were missing limbs, they had disjointed appendages, they were exhausted, and most importantly, they were scared.

Suddenly someone came into who was familiar. A thin, blonde haired man, who was sweating and had a bit of shock in his eye came into view. It was the pilot named Schooler who, as of 9 minutes ago, was now Morse’s subordinate. The man looked confused, and though was the highest ranked person on board the ship apparently, behind Morse, he clearly had no intention, experience, nor ability to command the vessel.

”You, Schooler, who the hell are these people?” Morse demanded from the man. He would clearly have a better idea of what was going on here, as it was the vessel he was actually assigned to, for more than 15 minutes.

The pilot, while looking confused, still seemed to actually have a grasp of the situation. They were all soldiers here, so they had training which taught them how to react to certain events. However, it wasn’t always perfect, nor adhered to, but it at least gave most men an idea of what to go off of. ”These are lay overs, and wounded from the 83rd. They are just falling from the sky like rain, and we need to get the off world. It’s either we leave them here, to be captured by the alliance, or we put them on any available raft we have." The pilot stopped, as another group of men came on. They were carried on stretchers, 4 men carrying 3, each able bodied man set in between the stretches. The two unlucky ones in the center, were each carrying half the weight of two stretchers, essentially carrying a whole man. ”It’s a real mess out there, most of infantry and marines are being pulled back to the city.” He finished, though it looked as though there was more to say, but little need to do so. The simplicity of that description was good enough to show how dire the situation was.


”Are you in command here, sir?” One of the stretcher carrying soldiers said after setting his man down. He was a large, somewhat older, and muscular man. He had black hair, drenched in sweat. His face was dirty, as though scorched by back draft from flames.

”I am.” Morse answered quickly, looking at the man. ”What do you got?” He asked. Morse was a bit desperate for information at the moment. While clearly his new pilot had been listening to radio chatter, Morse had chosen to switch off the frequency because the massive cluster of information was just a jumble of noise, and distracting from doing his job.

”There’s reports of incoming airborne. Skiffs and fighters seen dropping atmo, as well a dropships, no doubt a platoon in each. It’s being advised that all aircraft start liftin’ off before it’s late and get shot off the run way.” The man said. He seemed to be fairly calm, like he understood his duty. But there was no doubt he knew exactly what the information he had just relayed entailed. The alliance might sweep across the landing strip with soldiers, or worse, bomb the entire sight. And being an able bodied fighter, it meant he had to find a transport to get away, or prepare to be a part of the defense of the landing strip, in which case he would be outnumbered and outgunned worse than were in orbit. After speaking the man, as well as the 4 who had carried in the wounded ran back down ramp, and onto the dirt outside.

Morse pointed at the ramp control. ”Someone close that ramp up.” Then he looked at his new pilot. ”Schooler, get on the bridge and start her up. Who do you still have on station?” Morse asked, wondering if he was over or under capacity for crew. The ship generally flew with a crew of 4, and of his remaining from the Ithica II he had 3.

The pilot scratched his head and thought a moment. As he did, one of the medics activated the ramp control and the ramp began to draw up. After a few seconds of being distracted the pilot snapped back to reality. ”Well general command requested all infantry and non essential naval personnel to report for reassignment for defense of the planet. So my remaining marine attachment was sent off. There’s just me and the engineer, Anthony. We lost our mechanic though, when a pressure bolt burst off.” The blonde man said. It was clear he hadn’t given a lot of thought to a question like that, but he’d figured it out fairly quick.

Morse turned around to what was left of his own crew. ”Mmmk, Hoffman, find a tool bag and get to work on keeping the generator workin’ right. Ray, you’re on the gun. Schooler, bridge, now.” He finished and started towards the stairs which were at the other end of the cargo bay. The cargo bay was fairly small, and it seemed smaller with the amount of people that were crammed into it. As he walked, behind him walked the rest of his new crew, up the stairs. Once at the top, the ship seemed just as packed. There were wounded still all around even in the upper deck. Hoffman split off towards the engine room, while Ray took a seat at the “Gunner’s Grope”, which was the unofficial title of the gunners console. Morse and his new pilot moved quickly onto the bridge. To Morse’s surprise, Schooler took a seat at the left console. It was unusual, as generally pilots flew using the right console. But he didn’t bother with it.

Morse stood at the right console, activating various switches, as he may have to act as a co-pilot. One of the various controls he activated was the radar console. As it pinged, it showed many “Blue-Marks”, which were friendly marked vessels. He widened out the range, and saw something that concerned him greatly. “Red-Marks”, and quite a number of them. While civilian vessels too would be marked in red, generally representing an unfamiliar incoming, civilian vessels didn’t fly in close delta formations.

”Ah Shit! Schooler, we gotta go!” He said, looking up out the forward viewport. Several black dots were visible. They were getting bigger and bigger, but even as the vessel whined back to life as the electricity and the engines roared, it didn’t alleviate any of the tension. Suddenly the black dots had bright lights forming off of them, and a trail of white vapor was seen. ”WE GOTTA GO NOW!" Morse yelled assertively, as though he was about to get out of the ship and throw it into space if his order wasn’t followed.

”GOING!” Andy yelled back. No sooner had he spoken those words, had the bright lights with the vapor trail connected with the other end of the landing strip. Massive explosions began at the other end as what were clearly missiles destroyed whatever was sitting at the furthest part of the strip, right as the Ramora 4 vessel Michelles Way lifted up.

[Bishop Morse]

As the small boarding craft lifted up, there was a sudden rumble coming from within the ship itself. It rumbled three times a second, and continued. It was the gun mounted on top of the craft itself, and was shooting behind them. Only a moment later the Michelles Way had it’s engines kick it forward and began racing away. But there was more to it then just the engines, and the gun. There was another heavy rumbling coming from behind them, which carried more power then anything coming from the ship. The missiles landing behind them, still far off, but they were very powerful. The small ship soared over, but not gaining much altitude. The radar was showing that the enemy craft were bearing down right behind them. But they weren’t going to outrun them from a dead stop. They sped up as fast as they could, which caused them to rip over the dry landscape, but it wasn’t enough. Suddenly clicks and tinks were heard all over the ship. They came in rapid succession, and the radar showing the craft had them soar right over the Ramora Class-ship. But it had drifted down from the original 5 to 4. Apparently one of the craft had been shot down. As they came over head, Schooler and Morse could see 4 Foxbat Class-Strikers fly above them. One of them was smoking up badly.

”Maybe they’re just here for a bombing mission.” Schooler said hopefully, as he kept the vessel headed straight. He tilted them right so that they might be able to just avoid the oncoming craft. But just then 2 of the 4 Foxbats split off and turned around towards them. ”Hell no they’re not.” Morse said realizing they were forming up for another attack. ”It’s all on you, Schooler.” Morse said setting himself into the co-pilots seat. ”Don’t kill us.” He said as he started to figure out their range and heading. The Foxbats flew over them, and began coming around to take them from behind. But just as they were coming over, the Ramora sped up. The Foxbats came about to match there speed, but suddenly the small craft they were chasing twisted and went straight towards the sky. The Foxbats began to chase, but the cannon on the roof didn’t stop firing. As they rippled upward, suddenly one of the Foxbats fell back. They couldn’t see what caused it, but it was a fair bet that it had just been struck down by fire. The final one began ripping up towards them. It was going to over take. The image of tracer rounds zoomed by the hull and cockpit. ”Ah shit.” Morse said as the ship was destined to be split to pieces on it’s way up. Suddenly the craft began falling back. Then it slipped off radar.

A loud amount of cheering and swearing came from the room behind them. Mixed and muddled curses, which barely seemed to string together. But it was unmistakable that it was Ray. Morse and Schooler both gave a sigh of relief as it seemed Ray had shot down the last Foxbat. ”I’m showing clear all around, where we goin?” Schooler asked still controlling the ship, and tense from the chase. ”Montiel says Beylix, head to Beylix. I gotta assess our cargo and passenger situation.” He said pulling out a canister of drink he kept on him. He could barely hold it as he was shaking and took a sip. ”Nice flyin’.” He said stepping off the bridge, and the Michelles Way started to break atmosphere