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ITF Act 5 - Operation Golgotha | Team Two Only

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This is for team two (Chaviks) postings only. When both teams are together in the same engagement area, use the main ITF thread. Otherwise, use this.

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Blades - how far are you happy for us to RP for this first stage? I've got some time to work on a good post, but I want to know how far to take it before you want to step in and redirect it. Do we engage the troops? Do we win?...*grin*.


Ah, you know the drill. Dont take it too far, and leave somthing for the rest of us to do. Remember, we're only going as far as taking the barracks for now. The hard part comes later.

[ 12-06-2001: Message edited by: Blades ]

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Their best advantage was the suits. With such a small team, they had a distincitve tactical disadvantage, even with a number of the Earth Command marines unaccounted for. They were outnumbered, and would rapidly be separated, pinned, and neutralised before they managed to gain the upper hand over the opposition in a fire-fight.

And that was why Scholar had his knife out as he slipped down the slope, trying to keep the falling scree and pebbles to a minimum, his progress as silent as possible. To his right, he could make out an occasional scrape - the mercenary Nova, if he recalled corectly from their positions before they engaged the stealth suits. The rest of Team Two moved silently, not a pebble dislodged, not a footprint left.

The knives were the key. Quick and silent, if used correctly, and equally as lethal from close range as any projectile weapon. The suits would allow them to close on the marines and finish them off one by one, without alerting the team until it was far too late.

Scholar tried to steady and quiet his breathing as he progressed down the slope, occasionally holding his knife in his teeth as he negotiated the marrower sections of the descent with both hands. Somewhere back on the SS Vulture - it seemed like months ago, even though it was only a matter of days - someone had spoken up during the briefing. They had suggested that stun weapons be used in this affair.

Too much was at stake now. Even though their targets were Terran - others of their race - there was no longer any place for quarter. Certainly, none would be given - when they were under attack, the Earth Command marines would respond as they were trained to, whether the opponents were invading hordes of Gammulans, or a few lightly armed Terrans with murder on their minds and fear in their hearts.

Somehow, though, it was possible to rationalise it. Earth Command and Galactic Command had been attacking, and killing, the Insurgents for years. Humanity's history was defined by the wars it fought - they'd been killing each other since a primitve hand had first grasped a blunt stone and brought it down to stave in the head of another.

It had to be to the death now. Scholar shook his head as the thoughts buzzed through his mind. He stifled a cough - the tightness in his chest was getting worse. His bio-scanners showed no sign of biological agents, but against an EarthCOM covert facility, you could never tell what might be unleashed - some new viral payload not detectable by orthodox scanning technology - after all, so many of the squad were beginning to show symptoms. It was hard to tell who was charging into this onslaught more fiercely. The Insurgents were fighting for their honour, the honour of their cause - to liberate one of their leaders.

The GalCOM commanders were fighting for their very lives, and the lives of the thousands of Terrans who would be lost to the war effort should Akira give in and reveal the secrets of the Insurgency. For the lives of the tens of thousands who would perish fighting off the Gammulan expansion. And for the millions of lives that would be extinguished when the Gammulan War Council closed it's clawed first around Earth and squeezed it dry, enslaving it's people, like the Falkyrie before them.

The ground was levelling out. The plan was simple. The marines that remained exposed were their first targets - each man had their mark. Terminate with extreme prejudice. Should the next four marines turn up, they had already been divvied out, to ensure they were finished as quickly as possible.

Scholar spotted his mark as the sunlight began to fade towards evening. He was alone, standing to one side of the compound, watchful eyes sweeping across the landscape. Their gaze passed over Scholar without a second glance. Even though, as the watchful gaze swept over him, the mercenary felt his heart freeze reflexively.

Scholar scanned the expanse of ground between himself and the marine. It was mostly clear. He chose the path of least foliage, and moved as quietly as possible. They couldn't afford a false start. His suit chronometer was flashing in his HUD. The plan was to make their first strikes almost simultaneously.

The time counted down as Scholar moved slowly towards the lone marine. As he drew within meters, he saw the man start, and turn towards him. He froze.

He must have sensed something.

Still half a minute until strike time. He remained motionless, barely breathing, begging the marine to settle. With ten seconds to go, the marine - finally satisfied that there was no threat - turned back to watch the perimeter of the camp, never suspecting that the enemy was already within.

Zero. The witching hour.

Scholar lunged forward smoothly, hand reaching forward to wrap around the marine's face and stifle a yell. As his hand touched the man, the cloaking field was disrupted, and a haze of light revealed his hand and armour-clad arm. The marine reached up with one hand to grab the arm, the other reaching for his sidearm.

But it was too late. Cloaked in devilish darkness, Scholar's knife was already drawing across the marine's throat. The man jerked once, and was still. Scholar began dragging the body towards cover.

From somewhere across the compound, a single yell pierced the still, warm air. Scholar swore.

Someone lost their mark.

Scholar hauled the body behind a building and moved silently and invisibly out to assist. He could see one of the marines backing across the compound, ZS-10 at the ready, trying to find his prey. A slash across his upper arm was oozing black blood down his sleeve, to drip onto the dry ground. Scholar reluctantly reached for his sidearm, gritting his teeth.

Suddenly, there was a haze of cloaking disruption to the left, and a grey knife flickered into sight, hurtling through the air, to strike the marine in the upper chest. He gasped for a moment, before sinking to his knees, the knife buried to the handle in his chest, and then dropping, face first, to the warm, dry earth.

"Break communications silence. Last mark is down." It was Diamonds voice over their communications channel. He continued.

"We have no contact from other marines. Prepare to secure the-"

The old marine was cut off by a yell from an Earth Command marine. "Man down! Man down!"

Scholar looked up to place the sound, and saw an EarthCOM sentry with a sniper rifle in a window of a nearby building. He swore. The sentry was already reaching for his communicator.

It was time for it to all go to hell.


Let 'er rip, boys and girls!


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