Log:Weapons Malfunction. Very Dangerous
An experimental weapon malfunctions on the range
OOC Date: January 4, 2016
Location: Finalizer
Participants: Booker, FN-4126, Fuze as GM
The scene is the weapons range, visited annually (at the very least) by Stormtroopers maintaining their qualifications on the various weaponry that is issued to them. Discipline here is strict - well, it's strict everywhere, of course, but if anything it's more strict here than elsewhere due to the potential for mishap. Downrange there are a selection of targets, but none more traditional (nor popular) than the paper silhouette of the charging Resistance figure that Stormtroopers love to disintegrate. Uprange there is a station leading through to the Armory, where Stormtroopers can sign out their weapons and powerpacks and return them to receive their gradings. And today, there is something unusual being put through its paces: a heavy tripod-mounted high-rate-of-fire blaster cannon designed for blast door breaching. Technicians, sadly none of them Tenn Ro, are assembling it according to the instruction manual - slow but probably safe. Let's hope the instruction manual will be refined before it is introduced into a real combat situation, or the Resistance will all have died of old age before the weapon can be bought into play.
BK-8642 stops watching another Stormtrooper near-cradle their carbine as they perform weapons maintenance in the background of the firing range. Booker himself qualifies regularly as is his station and demeanor to do so, but at least he isn't up next either. His attention turns back around to where a megablaster is being emplaced for training; slowly but surely, which does not appear to readily upset anyone nearby. Booker checks, looking around. Everyone is doing their own little thing which prompts him to step forward. "Put the technical manual down. That won't help any trooper out in the field. Here, allow me," he gestures with an open, gloved hand toward the large weapon.
The heavy blaster is an impressive piece of work at first inspection. The manual, that the tech relinquishes readily and steps back to allow BK to do whatever BK is planning on doing, declares that it is nearly twice the rate and power of fire of its nearest rival currently in service and is several pounds lighter. This is clearly an experimental model; nothing on it is standard, from the non-standard power pack (that appears to be a bastard offspring of several regular blaster powerpacks), to the non-existant accessories rail, to the non-standard tripod mount. What catches BK's eye, however, is the heavy black box that sits between tripod and mount. It appears to have power leading to it, but nothing else, and it's not immediately obvious what it's for. The technicians crowd round, eager for BK-8642 to give them feedback on what is obviously their baby.
On the upside, at least BK-8642 sounds relatively pleasant in that he does not bark orders or is otherwise purposefully intimidating. The nearby technician steps away and leaves behind the manual for Booker to glance mildly at from behind the visor of his helmet. He taps the cover idly against the chin of his helmet as he looks at the blaster. It's a combination of many a thing which only leads the trooper into crouching behind the monster and looking at it from a gunner's position. "Do you intend on this being worked over by an assistant gunner too?" It's a brief question, his vocoder's metallic tinny scrambling any curiosity out of his tone and making him seem bored. On the contrary, his eyes and hands are exploring the weapon system. "It's bulky. What's this, a computing system?" He gestures at the point between mount and tripod.
"No, it's an oscillating motor drive for single-handed use," explains one of the techs, a male's rich warm tenor voice somewhere in there. "Set this baby up down a corridor and it'll oscillate from side to side rather than just sending a series of blasts down the center of the corridor. If you want this to keep a corridor pinned down and clear, you engage this with this button." He reaches forwards and thumbs a control button, and with a hum of powerful servos the device starts to oscillate, just a couple of degrees. It's pointing downrange, thankfully, at a series of blast absorbing walls. No chance of ricochets here. "Now fire it," the tech adds proudly.
"That's an interesting idea. I don't think I'd want to use this in a hallway, for example, but have you thought of adapting it for anti-vehicle?" Booker pauses long enough to point upwards in the universal signal of 'towards the sky' to include Starfighters and atmospheric craft in his list of vehicles. The man returns to being behind the large weapon in the end, slowly nodding. "I like the idea." His gloved hand taps but does not press the button suggested, to turn off the idle hum and oscillation. Meanwhile, some other of the Stormtroopers have gathered around considering BK-8642 is about to fire the experimental heavy blaster. He looks at the walls downrange, and then the techs, and then keys the oscillation off. The Stormtrooper takes hold of the weapon with his right on the trigger, and the left braces over the receiver. He pulls the trigger.
The scene is the weapons range, visited annually (at the very least) by Stormtroopers maintaining their qualifications on the various weaponry that is issued to them. Discipline here is strict - well, it's strict everywhere, of course, but if anything it's more strict here than elsewhere due to the potential for mishap. Downrange there are a selection of targets, but none more traditional (nor popular) than the paper silhouette of the charging Resistance figure that Stormtroopers love to disintegrate. Uprange there is a station leading through to the Armory, where Stormtroopers can sign out their weapons and powerpacks and return them to receive their gradings. And today, there is something unusual being put through its paces: a heavy tripod-mounted high-rate-of-fire blaster cannon designed for blast door breaching and corridor cleansing, complete with a 'waggle' mode. Technicians and Stormtroopers are clustered eagerly around...
...and then BK-8642 stops it 'head-waggling', and pulls the trigger. WHOOMPA WHOOMPA WHOOMPA.... It truly is a terrifying weapon, even to those standing uprange of it. WHOOMPA WHOOMPA WHOOMPA... The blaster bolts erupt on the absorbing shields downrange in a fireball of delight. WHOOMPA WHOOMPA WHOOMPA... As Booker holds down the trigger, the weapon's powerpack, that bastardized offspring of the mating of several conventional weapons powerpacks, starts to whine.
The door hisses open and shut, admitting yet another Stormie. Rhona was just here for a little practice, as evidenced by the carbine she's already sliding from its leg scabbard, but the sound of massive firepower unloading within the range area draws her attention within seconds. Sliding the weapon back into its place, she moves to get a better look at this thing... with the crowd around it and the constant-fire mode shooting, it proves easy to locate. "New toy?" she asks casually of one of the crew, picking one in armor since they're usually more willing to talk than some of the crewer types.
The crewmember in armor that FN-4126 spoke to looks round. "Yeah, it's the latest that we have for...wait, is it supposed to be doing that?" The powerpack's whining is increasing in both volume and frequency, already comfortably into human vocal range and rising fast. Another of the techs drops down to his knees, fumbling with the controls, but all that serves to do is to engage the 'waggle mode' - the muzzle of the gun now starts to oscillate in direction from side to side. WHOOMPA WHOOMPA WHOOMPA... Stormtroopers nearby start to pull back from it, glancing nervously about. The waggle mode starts becoming more pronounced as well, a couple of degrees of waggle suddenly becoming five or ten degrees, which in turn is ramping up to twenty or so degrees of waggle. Paper targets on side ranges are being blasted, and those few dedicated Stormtroopers who were working on their qualifications pause as their objectives are shot away. And still the whining increases. Something is clearly wrong.
"Sounds like that's a 'no'," Rhona quips, hearing the powerpack sound more distressed and the weapon begin to swivel, peppering a larger area with fire. She moves to deal with the matter. "Private, is there a Safe Mode?" she asks quickly, looking over the blaster's controls as best she can. She's trained on emplaced weapons, and this looks like a classic example. "See if that'll stop it!" Preferably before this powerpack leaves a massive hole in the deck. Or several.
A couple of techs dart in, and between them and Booker's ministrations, suddenly the blaster ceases its WHOOMPAing fire, and the waggle dies away with a miserable whine, like a petulant child admitting defeat over bedtime. The powerpack's high-pitched whine has also ceased more abruptly, but as a technician closes his hands over it to disconnect it, he screams. "It's HOT!" he yelps, unneccessarily, as he jerks his hands back, sucking on them. None of the onlookers seem particularly inclined to step in to help, despite their gloved hands.
Rhona shakes her head, patting Booker's shoulder. "Good job, Private. I'll get a service detail in here to help get this thing back to the lab," she says. "Looks like it needs a few more hours in debugging."
Of course, there's still the matter of the powerpack... and the Sergeant moves to assist. Grabbing a couple rags from a tool kit nearby, she wraps her gauntleted hands in them just in case and disconnects the power feed herself. "Better give this thing a while to cool off before you try to move it. I'll order some circulators along with the relocation detail."
The techs look somewhat shamefaced. "Yes, Sergeant," one of them mutters. "It's probably the feedback circuit went open loop," another opines, and then they're chattering away, for all the world oblivious of the fact that there was very nearly a major weapons malfunction that may have cost lives. That fact is not lost on some of the Stormtroopers, who manage to make their displeasure obvious despite their armor, cold-shouldering the chattering techs.
Frowning under her helmet, Rhona gestures to the troopers to form up and join her away from the still-cooling field piece. "Let's /not/ annoy the people who design and maintain our heavy gear, shall we? As we just discovered, the enemy's not the only party those things can hurt. Get some practice while you can... I'd suggest the starboard side of the facility," she adds, meaning the one away from the new toy.
