Log:First Order: Rescue Mission

Trandoshans abduct Stormtroopers. Other Stormtroopers are displeased.

OOC Date: February 10, 2016
Location: Bayuir
Participants: Fuze as GM, Oozlevort, FL-5114, RK-8801, Emma Starflare, First Order

The mission is simple when it's outlined by the mid-ranking officer in charge. "Three of our people were captured by Trandoshans," he growls, gesturing to the mugshots projected on the vid-screen. Two males, a female, staring blankly ahead at the camera. "Recon droid imagery shows them being held in a village on a mesa about forty clicks from here, just about /there/." The holomap rotates steadily, zooming in to show the topographical features of interest. "It's a steep climb up the sides of the mesa, except for the path on the north side that switchbacks up the side. We estimate there are thirty to forty of the lizards in the village. Males, females, and children. Kill them all. Rescue our people alive. Any questions?"

FL-5114 raises a hand, waiting to be addressed. When he is, he asks, "Sir, how do Trandoshan children factor into a rescue operation? Every additional moment spent in enemy territory reduces our chances of success." His voice is quiet, but audible.

Oozlevort has added to his mystic robe collection, electing to wear an overcoat lined with thick nerf wool in this polar area. He sits quietly in the briefing room, not wanting to admit that male and female Trandoshans look exactly the same to his eyes.

Foil gets a closely questioning look from the officer. "Because we are making a point," he says darkly. "Those lizard scum do not abduct our troops without /consequences/," and for effect he bangs the table with his fist. "This is not open season on the First Order. This is open season on them. Bear that in mind. Now, are there any /other/ questions?"

"Do we have intelligence regarding the surrounding landscape? Probable approach vectors?" The quiet stormtrooper inclines his helmet, "Even with superior firepower, Trandoshan regeneration may make them bold enough to simply pile on top of us before we can thin their numbers enough to ensure a rout."

"The approach vector is for you to decide, Stormtrooper," the officer rasps. "The mesa is about six hundred yards across and is roughly oval. The ground cover is loose and broken rock. Plenty of cover, but watch your footing. The top has areas that have been cleared. We believe they are Trandoshan combat arenas. The captives are being held /here/," he gestures to one of several objects that might look like stone huts. "We believe this is a hunting camp."

Oozlevort nods at the stormtrooper's comments. "Trandoshans can be very dangerous." His compound eyes focus on the overhead map of the mesa and camp in question.

FL-5114 salutes calmly, "By your command, sir." Just a grunt--a sanitation grunt at that--it's not for FL-5114 for order the squad to move out. So he waits.

The officer turns to leave, and the Sergeant growls, "Alright. This is how we're going to do it." His glittering eyes pick out FL-5114. "We're going to insert two teams. Team One heads up the path, Team Two climbs the bluff at the far end of the camp. Team One will undoubtedly engage the enemy first and will keep them distracted. Team Two inserts into the camp in search of the prisoners and gets them to safety before attacking from the rear. We'll heard them towards the cliffs and drive them off."

Oozlevort stands and bobs his bulbous head. "The Oozlevort is liking this plan. The Mists have told him where these First Order prisoners are. The Oozlevort hopes to be paid for his, uh, tracking abilities. Oozlevort may not have climbing gear, however."

FL-5114 nods his helmet, "Acknowledged, sergeant." Waiting a moment, he glances around, "...How are the teams being divided?" Or, more accurately: Which team is FL-5114 on?

"The Oozlevort," the Sergeant growls, "will be provided with climbing gear if the Oozlevort wants. The Oozlevort will be inserted into the second team and will locate the prisoners." The Sergeant doesn't bother to hide his disdain for Oozlevort, but then again he doesn't bother to hide his disdain for most people, either. "You," he jabs a finger at Foil, "You're with me in Team One. Alright, people, let's saddle up and go." The Stormtroopers, each dealing as she or he does with impending battle and maybe death, start to move towards the speeders that will take them close to the target.

"...As you wish." is whispered as FL-5114 moves to accompany the sergeant. His rifle is unslung and brought to the ready. Hustling over to the speeder, FL-5114 hops on board, taking the 'shotgun' position and taking up an offensive stance with his rifle after strapping in.

Oozlevort fetches some climbing gear from the assistant quartermaster, along with a couple extra weapons for prisoners. The Gand checks his pistol's power pack and settings and proceeds to the speeder, appearing comically much shorter than the nearby stormtroopers. "Oozlevort is quite good at stealth. Perhaps he can sneak into this camp." He pops the communicator from inside his breathing mask and adjusts its frequency to the stormtrooper squad's.

The Sergeant glowers down at Oozlevort. "You'd better be stealthy, or I'll have to have words with you later," he rasps. He clambers up behind Foil, slapping him on the shoulder with an armored gloved hand. "You good there, mister?" he demands.

FL-5114 rocks aside when his shoulder pauldron is slapped. "...Affirmative, sergeant." Getting back into position, the stormtrooper's helmet slowly swivels around, getting an idea for the range of vision he has to cover on this side. "We are ready to deploy at your command."

Oozlevort the Gand reassures the Sergeant. "Very sneaky, yes." He remains seated in the speeder awaiting transport.

The speeders speed (duh) through the night, black specks in a black night, the drivers wearing bulbous night vision goggles instead of helmets. What joker decided that Stormtrooper armor should be white, though? Anyway. They reach the jump-off point, and Oozlevort's team are deployed behind the mesa as the bulk of the soldiers circle round to the front. "Remember," the Sergeant growls under his breath to FL-5114, "Watch your back." Another soft tap on the shoulder piece of the armor, and he's moving off, taking the lead at the front. There, the path switchbacks up the hillside, wide enough for two men to walk abreast. At the rear of the mesa it's much harder going; it's only about a five hundred foot climb, but it's all loose stones and unstable boulders.

FL-5114 slides away from the speeder, crouching down as he keeps his rifle ready. Following the commander up the narrow path, he stays close, not making much noise and simply keeping a silent watch on the surroundings.

Oozlevort files out of the speeder with the rest of the squad at the bottom of the mesa. He fetches the climbing gear with a sigh. "It is very steep," he can be heard muttering as he wraps belaying ropes around him and prepares insertion lines and such. Then the climb begins!

Oozlevort and his team, despite the tricky nature of the terrain, move pretty quietly as they start to make their way up the treacherous rock. They're lucky, too; a small pebble is dislodged here, but plinks into a natural hole rather than bounce-bounce-bouncing all the way down the mountain and waking the dead.

Foil's team, though, are larger, and larger numbers of people are proportionally harder to keep quiet. A thud of armor on armor here, a stone kicked and banging into another there. There appears to be no opposition - until the Sergeant, in the lead, suddenly collapses. The reason is quickly clear, as rocks start to rain down on the Stormtroopers; rocks hurled from positions high above, where the Trandoshans are now showing themselves, dark against the dark rock. The stones they are hurling are fist- to head-size, and a Stormtrooper stumbles back, trips, and disappears over the cliff with a very feminine yell.

The Stormtroopers are split into two units, approaching the mesa with the Trandoshan village/hunting camp from two sides. Ooozlevort is leading a climb up the rear of the mesa, negotiating with delicate skill the loose gravel and unstable boulders up the 500' cliff. His/their mission is to locate and rescue the prisoners first before attacking the Trandoshans from behind. Foil is a member of the other team, who are climbing the switchback path on the front of the mesa. They, however, weren't quiet enough, and now they are being pelted with rocks from above by angry Trandoshans; the Sergeant is unconscious and one trooper has already fallen from the path, a painful fall for her down the hillside.

When the Sergeant goes down, FL-5114 moves, fast as thought, to drag the wounded, grumbling, growling asshole to the wall of the canyon. If the guy is still alive, he's propped up against the rock wall before the stormtrooper turns away, hustling up the twisting path with haste now, his rifle swung to the ready. One Trandoshan stands tall against the darkness of the sky, and FL-5114 brings his rifle up for a quick shot, not taking time to aim.

Oozlevort escapes the notice of the Trandoshan hunters in their camp as he climbs, using an ice pick to gain purchase while he ascends. A few small pebbles tumble as he gets footing, but thankfully there is no avalanche. "Praise to the Mists," he mutters under his breath. The harsh wind of the polar region whips at his robes.

EM-1710 is a ghost. Not literally, but with her stealth field active and her own trained practice at stealth she moves behind Oozlevort, her sniper rifle slung over her front and hugged tight. She's ready, scanning for threats and signs of discovery. There's prisoners for them to rescue and she intends to make sure the escape is covered.

As Oozlevort and his companions, Emma included, inch up over the edge of the cliff on the far end of the mesa, they see the village - crude stone huts and corrals and firepits - spread before them. The prisoners, spotted by recon drone, are being held in two of the huts on the left. But as Oozlevort's team begins to move forwards under cover of the rocks and boulders, a young Trandoshan appears by one of the huts. It ducks inside, then emerges a few seconds later dragging a young woman by the hair. A Stormtrooper, to judge by the undergarments she is clad in. It growls to her in whatever dialect Trandoshans use, evidently a threat or chastizement.

Down on the path the Stormtroopers are fighting back. One or two Trandoshans come tumbling down the hill, to be finished off in short order, but more than a few Stormtroopers are laid out cold, or worse, on the ground along the path. It'll take more than just a war of attrition to break the deadlock.

Finding his squad mates dropping like flies around him, FL-5114 dives aside and hugs the wall, firing off several swift shots along the sharply sloping path. Only one is actually aimed, however, and he locks sights onto a Trandoshan female as she raises a torso-sized rock above her head with both hands. Snapping off a shrieking bolt of plasma, FL-5114 takes off in a sprint, attempting to gain as much ground as he can before the next igneous volley.

Oozlevort climbs with a hiss to the very top of the mesa ridge, pulling himself over its lip and crouching. Luckily he is short and has a reasonable mass, so the climb was not too much exertion. He freezes upon seeing the young Trandoshan manhandling a storm trooper; creeping up while the alien is distracted, the Gand uses his fist and his Gand Findsman martial art to strike, hitting twice in the back, and then once in the Trandoshan's throat to kill him. POW POW, THWACK. The Gand's chitinous fist can puncture armor, they say, and so it is not gentle. "Oozlevort hear blasters," he says to EM-1710. "We must help."

"Impressive," Emma speaks, her face hidden by her helmet as she moves up behind the Gand, reaching down to her belt and unclasping her sidearm as she takes a knee beside the other female trooper. Holding out the weapon to her she gives the prisoner a nod and speaks softly. "We're here to get you out. Remain with the rest of the squad, be ready to defend yourself." Having said that she turns with a nod back at the Gand. "There are other prisoners. We secure our objective first, then we open fire."

The Trandoshan female's head is blown off by the bolt from Foil's gun, and her corpse crumples, the rock it was carrying bouncing down the hill and nearly, but not quite, accomplishing its aim as it ricochets off a boulder and just misses the janatorial trooper. But her death is acting as a rally point for both sides; the Stormtroopers are forming up behind Foil, only to meet redoubled growling and screaming and rocks. Lots of rocks.

The rescued Stormtrooper's eyes are wide as saucers as she sees her captor disposed of so...efficiently. "Who...what..." she whispers hoarsely, looking from the Gand to the mysterious EM-1710 in her shimmering outfit. She clasps the pistol like a long-lost lover, and comes to her senses: "RZ-1785 and RV-0414 are in that hut," she whispers, pointing. The hut in question seems to have a barred door with a massive padlock upon it. Screaming and yelling and chanting from the far end of the mesa, but no attention on this end of the camp, yet.

Sensing that his fellows are forming behind him, FL-5114's helmet turns ever so slightly. It's the edge of the coin, a moment when destiny could fall left or right, with only human choice to push it over. FL-5114 turns a little more, to look at those behind him. He could duck back, fall into the pattern, fade into the shadows of anonymity. Or...

FL-5114's helmet turns forward, and he suddenly stabs his rifle forward like a lance, "CHARGE!" Breaking into an open sprint up the narrow corridor, FL-5114 fires off several wild, random shots before finally snapping the rifle up to his shoulder and sighting down the largest Trandoshan he can find, lashing out with a bolt of brilliant green plasma.

Oozlevort draws his own pistol and hustles immediately to the hut in question, fiddling with the lock. "Oozlevort is not good with locks," he says, looking back at Emma. "Oozlevort shoot it." And he takes his Imperial-styled pistol and BLAM, shoots the lock, making a great deal of noise.

Foil seems to be leading the counter-attack up the hill, although many rocks are raining down on his companions; another trooper is hit as he pauses to fire, and the rock knocks the barrel aside, sending a blaster bolt into another trooper's back!

Up on the mesa, Oozle breaks the padlock on the cell where the two male Stormtroopers are housed. One comes out, blinking, but the other is in a bad way, curled on his side, a crude bandage around his head. "I don't know who the hell you are," his companion croaks in a whisper, "but RV needs help. He's in a bad way." But his whispering is in vain. There are shouts and barks from the Trandoshan front line, and suddenly four of the reptiles are running back towards the camp, one of them whirling a Stormtrooper's stun-baton around his head like it were a majorette's drumstick. Well, not quite, but you get the idea.

Charge! Rika's favorite word. She leaps over a thrown rock, with all the grace and speed of some great cat. As she does the Riot Baton unfolds with an ominous thrum amidst the violet nimbus. THe thrower of stones, tall, even by Trandoshan standards, goggles as she closes the distance, striking with the lightning wrapped baton. It takes him on the forehead, sparks flying as he convulses.....

The shots give them away, but EM had been counting on it. By the time the Trandoshans are turning towards them? She'd been lining them up through her scope. Exhaling a breath the sniper squeezes the trigger, aiming to take down the show-off Trandoshan quick and clean so she can move to the next.

Oozlevort unslings a rifle from his shoulder and hands it to the undamaged stormtrooper who is rescued. "Take this. Shoot Trandoshans." The Gand peers inside and says, "Oozlevort is no proper medic." He clicks on the comlink in his respirator. "Prisoner needs medical assistance. In back of camp." He raises his pistol and turns, firing on the incoming Trandoshans that heard his first pistol shot. BLAM.

Driving forward, but not nearly as swift as Rika, FL-5114 continues to lead his surviving troopers forward, firing to clear a path before taking aim on a Trandoshan directly above. The shot goes wide, and the missed reptile hurls its payload down upon the trooper. FL-5114 stumbles, taking a hard hit to the shoulder, but he only goes down to one knee, taking a moment to let the stars clear from his vision. Growling through the vocoder, more in pain and shock than any sort of fury or determination, he pushes back up to his feet. Up ahead, the camp awaits.

FL-5114's charge, coupled with Rika's explosion through the Trandoshan ranks, coupled with the deadly shots from the all-but-invisible EM-1710, spread confusion and panic in the Trandoshan ranks. It's an ugly battle now, all hand to hand (or more strictly, claw to hand) with no clear line of battle or sides drawn up. Stormtrooper fights with Trandoshan, Trandoshan batters back at Stormtrooper. A Trandoshan, his arm blown off, staggers away shrieking a battle-cry; he almost makes it to Rika before blood loss claims him. A Stormtrooper who has lost her gun finds herself in a bearhug with an adult lizard, and she's lifted from her feet, shaken, and tossed with great force off the cliff to fall screaming to her doom. An ugly fight.

Her first target is left lying twitching on the ground. Behind him is another, throwing a comrade to her death. Rika blurs, pivoting on one toe, spinning clear of thrown rock, a BIG one, then following through, just brushing him with the eletrical field. That is sufficient, however, he too shrieks and falls convulsing to the ground. She draws her pistol with her free hand, aiming for his head.....

Oozlevort fires wildly at the Trandoshans. Into the commlink he says, "Uh, hello? Stormtrooper prisoner needs medical attention! Herd the Trandoshans to the cliff, we will drive them over it!" That was the original plan, at least.

Art amoung chaos. EM's shooting stays smooth. One target down to one shot, she's already training it on the next. Trandoshan can regenerate, she'd been briefed on that much. But regeneration was much much harder if they'd had their head blown off. Taking aim at her next target she squeezes the trigger.

FL-5114 mutters as he hustles up the path, now following the troops he was spearheading. His shoulder hurts...an awful friggin lot. But he brings his rifle to bear and... POW! The bolt of plasma lances across the breadth and length of the field of battle to pop off the head of a Trandoshan warrior about to shove a stormtrooper over the edge. Instead of stopping to gloat or marvel, the Sanitation specialist just grumbles as he moves to press the attack, "Serves you right. ...Throwing rocks at me..." Mutter mutter. More shots shriek out, attempting to drive the Trandoshans toward the edges.

"Regenerate from this, Lizard!!!" Rika does not shoot, she simply kicks the fallen brute off the cliff. Even as she does so casually ducks another rock. The Trandoshan falls, and falls....the impact is rather final. She wings about, ready for more........

The officer was right. There are child Trandoshans - well, juveniles, probably bought here to learn to hunt. Quite possibly the prisoners were to be their prey. They, like many human juveniles, lack good judgement and many die quickly, charging the Stormtroopers as they begin to form ragged units around Foil to protect him and to protect Rika, too. Other, smarter Trandoshan try to sneak away, but EM-1710's night vision and rifle soon persuade them that that isn't a good plan. And so, gradually, they are herded towards the steepest edge of the precipice. There they attempt to make a stand, but it's clear that it's hopeless, and so they begin to flee down the hill, stumbling and sprawling and slipping and falling. One adult female catches her foot between two boulders as she slithers down the hill; her forward momentum neatly snaps her knee, and she shrieks in agony, helpless. The rescued female Stormtrooper carefully aims at the back of a fleeing Trand, firing. The second bolt takes him in the back, the third sizzles through his neck, and the fourth separates an arm from the rest of his torso, but the ex-prisoner keeps firing until the power pack on the blaster blinks red.

Oozlevort is charged by an adolescent Trandoshan; he guns the young alien down, and then puts a shot in its head for insurance. Trandoshan youth cannot be trusted. "Oozlevort is wondering if you should call in medical evacuation by the air, for your peoples," he asks of Emma, taking a deep breath from his ammonia rebreather.

It's the Trandoshan that snapped her knee that earns a shot from FL-5114. No more screaming. At least, not from her. Looking around and seeing no commanding officers, FL-5114 points to the west, "DF-4005, take your squad left and form a wedge pointing north." His hand pivots toward the Trandoshans at the cliff, to the north. "DF-2125, take your remaining squad mates right, echelon formation." To both of the, he nods, raising his rifle, "Fire on my signal. Everyone else, form up on me." He's speaking only to his local soldiers, not the wildcat tearing things apart, or the ghostly sniper. Or the Gand, really.

Another sharp shot and Emma cuts down Trandosans one-by-one with a single shot, Oozlevort's comment earns a nod. She's not the ranking officer...but the ranking officer is in the dirt unconcious. Clicking her commlink onto channel she speaks up. "This is EM-1710, prisoners secure and the opposition has been dealt with. Requesting medical extraction of package. Prisoners and several troopers are in critical condition." Even as she speaks, her words are punctuated with another shot. She might have hesitated when ordered to gun down captured civillians in a moment of odd morality that noone saw, but the Trandoshans? They trigger no such unexpected empathy.