The Courier
Location: Crashed dropship, just outside the combat zone.The ship shook again as this time a rocket found its mark. He could barely overhear someone in the back yell as a relay to the pilots station to brace. And that was a scant few seconds before the ship slammed into the ground, nearly causing Damian to fall over. The doors would open and Damian, alongside 27 other Ultranauts, would immediately rush forward. To stay in the kill box was to die.
Equipment: Adamant Class Dropship (inoperable), blaster pistol, comlink
Objective: Capture the anarchists responsible for bombing the capital.
Assignment: Dropship Pilot (crash landed)
Even in his hazy dream state, everything hurt. When Uriel came to his senses, it all hurt worse. He remembered the rocket's impact, suddenly losing all control of his craft, the call to brace, and then... he must have hit his head. There was nothing after that.
Wincing, he reached out to the control boards in front of him and over his head, performing a flight check by near muscle memory. All systems entirely unresponsive. Not surprising. His vision was returning now, as was the appropriate sense of urgency. He'd been downed in a live combat zone while ferrying an infantry team. While in the academy, every pilot report he'd read that began this way had been very short, and ended with the letters KIA. He couldn't afford to stay still. Were his ears still ringing, or were those... sirens?
Uriel uncoupled his safety harness and stood on shaky legs from the pilot's chair. The dropship was empty, and the bay doors were open. Kuben Woods 's troopers appeared to have deployed successfully. The young pilot threatened a smile as he stumbled out of the dropship. At least something had gone right today. Of course, the platoon had left him behind, but that was honestly no surprise. Ultranauts never abandoned their own, but if you weren't their own, they made no promises.
The street outside was like something from a horrid dream. A once-beautiful neighborhood of the greatest city in the galaxy, reduced to a battlefield. Rubble and broken glass littered streets that were famous for their cleanliness. To his right, residential housing. To his left, a commercial block. All silent, save for a haunting far-off wail. Lights dark. Dead.
Ignoring the pang of his patriotic heart, Uriel lifted his comlink. <<"Chariot 1 to Mission Control, craft was downed on approach. Platoon is away, no casualties at the site. Requesting evac.">> Pausing for a beat, he surveyed his surroundings to ensure he was alone. Blaster fire and slugthrowers cracked in the distance, but the fighting seemed to be largely indoors. Still no response from Control, so Uriel hailed for his passengers. <<"Chariot 1 to away team, does anyone copy? I'm at the crash site. Lieutenant Frost? Anyone?">>
As the silence lengthened, Uriel weighed his options. It was possible his comlink wasn't broken. Ultranaut comms officers were famous for shirking the 'comms officer' part of their job in favor of doing the 'Ultranaut' part of their job. The team could be in combat, or they might be straight up ignoring him. The silence from Control was more worrisome. Regardless, it seemed as if Uriel was on his own.
Or maybe not. Hearing approaching voices, Uriel ducked back into his wrecked ship. If it hadn't blown up while he'd been unconscious, then fuel probably wasn't leaking. Drawing his weapon, he attached a modular stock and extended the underbarrel grip, turning his large pistol into a small blaster rifle. Who it was in the street outside, he wasn't sure. But he was determined his mission report would not end like the ones he'd read in the academy.
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