09-08-2015, 12:26 AM
The trio of Primes would not get much of a chance to consider their options before there came a distant roar. With the layout of Tier 7, it was difficult to tell just what, exactly, had caused the echoing thunder...or which direction it was coming from. All that could be discerned was that the aggressive noise was getting closer.
"Maybe we should-" Triest started, but was cut off as an immense gunship of some kind came barreling at them from out of the smog. Wisps of choking vapor twirled in its fierce wake as its repulsorlift engines churned the air. In the next instant, lances of bright green fire pounded into the ground around them. The LAAT slipped sideways in the air, keeping its nose pointed in their direction as it orbited the street they had lingered on.
By this time, the trio had wisely begun to seek cover, and dashed for the relative safety of a nearby multi-story warehouse. Though decrepit and foul, it was at least better than facing the alternative. Inside the cockpit, Twenty-Twelve's finger hovered over the arming button for the vehicle's heavier ordnance.
"Boss, we cleared for rockets?"
Three-Eight was quick to respond, as always. The Squad lead had a knack for making split second tactical decisions.
"Affirmative,but Wings, keep the building standing. We need to be able to confirm our kills."
"Aye sir." Wings said with more than a hint of glee in her voice. With the casual stroke of her thumb, Twenty-Twelve unleashed a quick volley of rockets at the structure, clouding it in a veil of fire and smoke. Inside, Axorn, Erik and Triest were thrown to the floor and scattered dolls at the force of the explosion. Axorn was quick to regain his senses, having been thrown hard against a duracrete pillar. He took in the scene of pain and debris quickly. Triest was meagerly pushing his way out from a pile of rubble, and Vrell was in the midst of doffing his beloved blue cloak, which was engulfed in flame. There was not an immediate follow-up to the attack, so the Primes had but a fleeting moment to organize a plan of action.
Meanwhile, out in the smog and ruin, the LAAT opened its doors again. Boss, Fixer and Scorch rappelled down to street level, quickly raising their blaster rifles and stalking towards the entrance of the building, which had been blasted wide open by the explosive initial assault. Their vector was covered by a haze of smoke, as well as the remains of an abandoned cargo hauler. The three commandos stacked up against the rusted, brown sheet metal of the decaying machine.
"Twenty-Twelve, I need you to drop our overwatch off. See anywhere you like, Sev?" Three-Eight asked, holding an armored hand up to his helmet's yellow ear-piece. The rough, guttural growl that was Seven's voice responded.
"Yeah Boss. There's a pumping station across the street of the north-east side. Should have solid enfilade on the second, third and fourth story main hallways, but the first and fifth stories are gonna have to be all you."
"Good to know. Wings, get Seven over there immediately and then stay on station at half a klick. Be ready to catch them if they try to leave."
"Aye sir."
With that, the LAAT tilted forwards slightly before lifting up and away to deliver the squad's sharpshooter to his desired campsite. Sev offered a distant salute as the gunship pulled away, which three-eight returned with an adroit gesture. With that taken care of, it was time to make a plan for ingress. Reports indicated that two of the Primes were packing some form of firearm, and one was a mentalist of some kind. They would have to try and ensure one-way fire scenarios...ideally by catching the Primes off guard. Three-Eight mulled over their options for but a moment.
"Alright, squad. There's a side entrance on the south wall of the building. That's our first objective. Fixer, take point."
"You got it Boss."
The team's logistics specialist quickly popped around the side of the cargo loader and peered into a window that had recently lost its transparisteel. There was some motion inside, but there was no clear line of sight if the squad moved to the right. Six-Two indicated this with a chopping gesture, which Three-Eight responded to with an elbow bump. On this cue, the ground squad shuffled out from behind their cover while crouching to keep their profiles as low as possible. Fixer kept his rifle trained on the window as Three-Eight and Four-Zero filed past before following suit himself.
Everything was going quite well, so far.
"Maybe we should-" Triest started, but was cut off as an immense gunship of some kind came barreling at them from out of the smog. Wisps of choking vapor twirled in its fierce wake as its repulsorlift engines churned the air. In the next instant, lances of bright green fire pounded into the ground around them. The LAAT slipped sideways in the air, keeping its nose pointed in their direction as it orbited the street they had lingered on.
By this time, the trio had wisely begun to seek cover, and dashed for the relative safety of a nearby multi-story warehouse. Though decrepit and foul, it was at least better than facing the alternative. Inside the cockpit, Twenty-Twelve's finger hovered over the arming button for the vehicle's heavier ordnance.
"Boss, we cleared for rockets?"
Three-Eight was quick to respond, as always. The Squad lead had a knack for making split second tactical decisions.
"Affirmative,but Wings, keep the building standing. We need to be able to confirm our kills."
"Aye sir." Wings said with more than a hint of glee in her voice. With the casual stroke of her thumb, Twenty-Twelve unleashed a quick volley of rockets at the structure, clouding it in a veil of fire and smoke. Inside, Axorn, Erik and Triest were thrown to the floor and scattered dolls at the force of the explosion. Axorn was quick to regain his senses, having been thrown hard against a duracrete pillar. He took in the scene of pain and debris quickly. Triest was meagerly pushing his way out from a pile of rubble, and Vrell was in the midst of doffing his beloved blue cloak, which was engulfed in flame. There was not an immediate follow-up to the attack, so the Primes had but a fleeting moment to organize a plan of action.
Meanwhile, out in the smog and ruin, the LAAT opened its doors again. Boss, Fixer and Scorch rappelled down to street level, quickly raising their blaster rifles and stalking towards the entrance of the building, which had been blasted wide open by the explosive initial assault. Their vector was covered by a haze of smoke, as well as the remains of an abandoned cargo hauler. The three commandos stacked up against the rusted, brown sheet metal of the decaying machine.
"Twenty-Twelve, I need you to drop our overwatch off. See anywhere you like, Sev?" Three-Eight asked, holding an armored hand up to his helmet's yellow ear-piece. The rough, guttural growl that was Seven's voice responded.
"Yeah Boss. There's a pumping station across the street of the north-east side. Should have solid enfilade on the second, third and fourth story main hallways, but the first and fifth stories are gonna have to be all you."
"Good to know. Wings, get Seven over there immediately and then stay on station at half a klick. Be ready to catch them if they try to leave."
"Aye sir."
With that, the LAAT tilted forwards slightly before lifting up and away to deliver the squad's sharpshooter to his desired campsite. Sev offered a distant salute as the gunship pulled away, which three-eight returned with an adroit gesture. With that taken care of, it was time to make a plan for ingress. Reports indicated that two of the Primes were packing some form of firearm, and one was a mentalist of some kind. They would have to try and ensure one-way fire scenarios...ideally by catching the Primes off guard. Three-Eight mulled over their options for but a moment.
"Alright, squad. There's a side entrance on the south wall of the building. That's our first objective. Fixer, take point."
"You got it Boss."
The team's logistics specialist quickly popped around the side of the cargo loader and peered into a window that had recently lost its transparisteel. There was some motion inside, but there was no clear line of sight if the squad moved to the right. Six-Two indicated this with a chopping gesture, which Three-Eight responded to with an elbow bump. On this cue, the ground squad shuffled out from behind their cover while crouching to keep their profiles as low as possible. Fixer kept his rifle trained on the window as Three-Eight and Four-Zero filed past before following suit himself.
Everything was going quite well, so far.