Sorry for the delay on posting, work has been pretty rough. I'll get something up today, and all things will be well.
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Don't Tread On Me
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So I didn't want to push the fight further than getting the company into position on the edge of the airfield, to the north and on the left flank of the CIS forces. For any interested parties, the company is garrisoning three defensive positions, with one platoon held in reserve, and Whit is setting up heavy weapon emplacements and anti-personnel measures [flashbangs, poison gas, incendiaries, land mines etc] to handle withdrawal and removal of saber troops. He is going to dig in and then begin to engage troops, hopefully drawing fire from the gunship and, when reinforcements arrive, have a good fallback/support position from which to base attacks.
Whit received the message he had been dreading. The Major, his difficult-to-distinguish voice coming over the comms wreathed in static, crackled out of Whit's in-helmet speakers, speaking quickly and without interruption.
"Captain 7, you have new orders. General Skywalker's transport crashed near enemy lines, needs immediate extraction. Push forward ASAP, relieve the General. Expect heavy resistance and platoon-numbers of Dark Jedi. Once you engage the forces approaching the general, dig in and resist attacks. The Second and Fourth companies are on their way."
Map coordinates flashed on Whit's HUD, and after he flashed acknowledgement the Major's voice and the accompanying hiss of static cut off abruptly. He was filled with trepidation; he'd been given suicide detail, no doubt about it. He had a hundred and twenty combat-ready soldiers, and had been ordered to engage dozens of saber troops on the enemy's terms. Obviously, there was no thought of disobeying, but his indoctrination did not stop him from dreading the mission. He opened up communications to his Lieutenants.
"New orders from Battalion Command. We have been assigned to relieve the trapped troops of General Skywalker, on the airfield. Begin moving at double time, reduce covering troops to allow for greater speed. Avoid sep strongpoints, leave them for our reinforcing troops. We're tightening the front, delta platoon is to fold in and follow behind beta no further than seven minutes: you are to stay in reserve to reinforce engaged troops. Good luck clones."
Four lights blinked green, and he stood from his position on the wall and began moving out with Alpha. Alpha was the right-hand platoon, with Beta in the center and Delta on the left, Gamma swinging into a support position. His units were closing in slightly on each other, tightening their battle line to facilitate their double-time advance southwards, preparing to crash into the left side of the Dark Jedi. He was just over two miles from the airfield, and his hurried advance southwards. The quarter of an hour rush towards the south was a blur for Whit, his mind racing in preparation for his engagement with the formidable saber-wielding shock troops. He was vaguely aware of blasting at droids, pinning their forces for gamma to mop them up, his advance never stopping for more than a handful of seconds. His soldiers performed admirably, their charge not stopping for wounded or dead, which approached twenty clone casualties by the time the rush was over. To his immense relief, he ran across a small squad of clones, some lads from the 9th regiment who were separated from their unit, and he incorporated them into his weakened delta platoon, the foreign clones slotting into familiar roles as naturally as possible.
He could almost see the airfield, and could certainly hear the roar of heavy combat, when he engaged his first dark jedi. Six of them charging towards the left flank of Alpha, their lightsabers burning red down a wide avenue. They were out of position, clearly swinging wide due to a lack of discipline or cohesion, and they were fortunately unsupported by any large force of ranged troops. It could not be a more favorable engagement, to Whit. He was in a building at the end of the avenue, one with dozens of windows with excellent view of the wide street and, consequentially, the dark jedi, not suppressed by sip blaster fire and able to take full advantage of easy firing lanes. Whit sent the third squad down the road slowly, blasting at the dark jedi who were clearly pondering whether or not to engage. Their pride made their decision for them when they saw less than a dozen clones advancing towards them. The dark jedi dashed down the road, and before anyone could react the lead black-robed figure sliced a clone clean in two. Unfortunately for the rest of the sabers, they were not quite fast enough. Third squad rolled flash grenades and prepared to withdraw, and while the clone visors washed out the blinding magnesium light most of the dark jedi were not as well prepared. The building Whit occupied exploded in blue light as the rest of the platoon opened fire, the two heavy machine-blasers firing as fast as possible. Three dark jedi went down immediately: two caught blaster fire in the head or chest, large holes punched through them, killing them almost instantly. One was hit in the leg, and while the thin robed man fell to the ground he was hit again in the arm, taking him out of the fight. The three other dark jedi had not been as effected, or at least had been able to use the force to deflect enough blaster fire to get out of the line of fire, hiding behind the only real cover in the street, an overturned hovertruck. It must have seemed liked a good idea to them, to keep their cohesion and prepare a strike. Whit disagreed, and with a motion an AT trooped readied his weapon, preparing to fire HEAT at the potentially-explosive truck sheltering the three hostiles. Whether the dark jedi sensed the danger, or whether it was just a coincidence was beyond Whit, but just before the rocket troop managed to fire the overturned truck flew as though swatted by a petulant giant, hurling end over end towards the building. Whit managed to dive away from the point of impact, the shattering glass and stone missing him by more than a foot, but the rocket troop was not as lucky: his crumpled body was only kept in one piece by his armor, but his form was broken and twisted and very clearly dead. Any other, non-clone unit would have been too shocked to take advantage of the situation, but GAR troops were a cut above, and as soon as the truck cleared the ground the fire resumed, cutting down two of the remaining jedi, who were unprepared due to the extreme force exertion. Two fell to blaster fire after deflecting a few rounds, one managing to redirect a shot to kill another third squad soldier before dying to the overwhelming fire, spread over their entire body as doctrine demands, and the third and only combat-ready dark jedi, surviving by an impressive defensive display and a lighter load of fire directed towards her shorter twi'lek form, retreated with the same blistering speed that had been used at the charge.
It was a prodigious success. Common wisdom said one dark jedi on even terms equals a squad of clones at the very least. Whit, fortunately, with his perfect conditions, managed to dispose of five saber troops with only three deaths, supplemented by three lightly wounded clones who had been clipped by deflected blaster fire. Morale was understandably high, and as the advance continued he received reports of his other platoons gaining defensive positions, which Alpha managed too in a span of minutes, Whit preparing for the coming, likely extremely fatal, engagement with the dark jedi and droids he could see in the distance.
"Captain 7, you have new orders. General Skywalker's transport crashed near enemy lines, needs immediate extraction. Push forward ASAP, relieve the General. Expect heavy resistance and platoon-numbers of Dark Jedi. Once you engage the forces approaching the general, dig in and resist attacks. The Second and Fourth companies are on their way."
Map coordinates flashed on Whit's HUD, and after he flashed acknowledgement the Major's voice and the accompanying hiss of static cut off abruptly. He was filled with trepidation; he'd been given suicide detail, no doubt about it. He had a hundred and twenty combat-ready soldiers, and had been ordered to engage dozens of saber troops on the enemy's terms. Obviously, there was no thought of disobeying, but his indoctrination did not stop him from dreading the mission. He opened up communications to his Lieutenants.
"New orders from Battalion Command. We have been assigned to relieve the trapped troops of General Skywalker, on the airfield. Begin moving at double time, reduce covering troops to allow for greater speed. Avoid sep strongpoints, leave them for our reinforcing troops. We're tightening the front, delta platoon is to fold in and follow behind beta no further than seven minutes: you are to stay in reserve to reinforce engaged troops. Good luck clones."
Four lights blinked green, and he stood from his position on the wall and began moving out with Alpha. Alpha was the right-hand platoon, with Beta in the center and Delta on the left, Gamma swinging into a support position. His units were closing in slightly on each other, tightening their battle line to facilitate their double-time advance southwards, preparing to crash into the left side of the Dark Jedi. He was just over two miles from the airfield, and his hurried advance southwards. The quarter of an hour rush towards the south was a blur for Whit, his mind racing in preparation for his engagement with the formidable saber-wielding shock troops. He was vaguely aware of blasting at droids, pinning their forces for gamma to mop them up, his advance never stopping for more than a handful of seconds. His soldiers performed admirably, their charge not stopping for wounded or dead, which approached twenty clone casualties by the time the rush was over. To his immense relief, he ran across a small squad of clones, some lads from the 9th regiment who were separated from their unit, and he incorporated them into his weakened delta platoon, the foreign clones slotting into familiar roles as naturally as possible.
He could almost see the airfield, and could certainly hear the roar of heavy combat, when he engaged his first dark jedi. Six of them charging towards the left flank of Alpha, their lightsabers burning red down a wide avenue. They were out of position, clearly swinging wide due to a lack of discipline or cohesion, and they were fortunately unsupported by any large force of ranged troops. It could not be a more favorable engagement, to Whit. He was in a building at the end of the avenue, one with dozens of windows with excellent view of the wide street and, consequentially, the dark jedi, not suppressed by sip blaster fire and able to take full advantage of easy firing lanes. Whit sent the third squad down the road slowly, blasting at the dark jedi who were clearly pondering whether or not to engage. Their pride made their decision for them when they saw less than a dozen clones advancing towards them. The dark jedi dashed down the road, and before anyone could react the lead black-robed figure sliced a clone clean in two. Unfortunately for the rest of the sabers, they were not quite fast enough. Third squad rolled flash grenades and prepared to withdraw, and while the clone visors washed out the blinding magnesium light most of the dark jedi were not as well prepared. The building Whit occupied exploded in blue light as the rest of the platoon opened fire, the two heavy machine-blasers firing as fast as possible. Three dark jedi went down immediately: two caught blaster fire in the head or chest, large holes punched through them, killing them almost instantly. One was hit in the leg, and while the thin robed man fell to the ground he was hit again in the arm, taking him out of the fight. The three other dark jedi had not been as effected, or at least had been able to use the force to deflect enough blaster fire to get out of the line of fire, hiding behind the only real cover in the street, an overturned hovertruck. It must have seemed liked a good idea to them, to keep their cohesion and prepare a strike. Whit disagreed, and with a motion an AT trooped readied his weapon, preparing to fire HEAT at the potentially-explosive truck sheltering the three hostiles. Whether the dark jedi sensed the danger, or whether it was just a coincidence was beyond Whit, but just before the rocket troop managed to fire the overturned truck flew as though swatted by a petulant giant, hurling end over end towards the building. Whit managed to dive away from the point of impact, the shattering glass and stone missing him by more than a foot, but the rocket troop was not as lucky: his crumpled body was only kept in one piece by his armor, but his form was broken and twisted and very clearly dead. Any other, non-clone unit would have been too shocked to take advantage of the situation, but GAR troops were a cut above, and as soon as the truck cleared the ground the fire resumed, cutting down two of the remaining jedi, who were unprepared due to the extreme force exertion. Two fell to blaster fire after deflecting a few rounds, one managing to redirect a shot to kill another third squad soldier before dying to the overwhelming fire, spread over their entire body as doctrine demands, and the third and only combat-ready dark jedi, surviving by an impressive defensive display and a lighter load of fire directed towards her shorter twi'lek form, retreated with the same blistering speed that had been used at the charge.
It was a prodigious success. Common wisdom said one dark jedi on even terms equals a squad of clones at the very least. Whit, fortunately, with his perfect conditions, managed to dispose of five saber troops with only three deaths, supplemented by three lightly wounded clones who had been clipped by deflected blaster fire. Morale was understandably high, and as the advance continued he received reports of his other platoons gaining defensive positions, which Alpha managed too in a span of minutes, Whit preparing for the coming, likely extremely fatal, engagement with the dark jedi and droids he could see in the distance.
No worries, it has not been a good few days for me either work wise. I'll get a post up today, and we'll resume our previous tempo, I reckon.
I may be wrong, but I am pretty sure this is what tumblr calls "cultural appropriation". Stop oppressing me and stealing my culture, you monster.
;)
;)
In
The Ministry of magic has fallen- they are coming- A Harry Potter RP
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Billy Coopers emerged from the main Magical Law Enforcement floo network particularly disheveled. He had become less and less of an early riser since his assignment to Britain, and the fact was troubling to him. He had spent the better part of thirty years waking up at 5am, some of the time accompanied by magical trumpets blaring reveille at an uncomfortable volume, but usually of his own accord. Early rising was something one learned, and Billy had taken pleasure in being cogent multiple hours before his friends and family. His duties at the Ministry started rather later, and perhaps it was age catching up with him but he had found his bed more and more appealing in the early hours of the morning.
It was a particularly shameful morning for Billy on this note, in that he had woken up only a score of minutes before he appeared in a burst of green flame at the Ministry, and he had not had time to appear particularly presentable, his blue and black robes still in the process of magically ironing themselves, and bearing a stain that the enchantments had not yet removed. He made for his small office with a purposeful gait, not hurried but certainly eager to begin the day and put the unfortunate morning behind him, hopefully with the help of a strong cup of coffee. He didn't see any particularly close acquaintances, but noticed a pair of aurors he dimly remembered giving him wary, almost scared looks. They had probably been part of his last Lake District expedition, he figured. It had barely been a week ago that he and a group of more seasoned aurors put two score of rookies through what Billy considered to be a realistic representation of rugged-terrain magical combat, but which he had heard termed by both sides as 'cruel', 'ridiculous', and even once 'nightmarish'.
The DMLE was less busy than other parts of the labyrinthine ministry, it being a department necessarily of wide lulls and violent spikes of activity, but there were still paper airplanes buzzing around, witches and wizards bustling about in various degrees of hurry, and the sound of a hundred voices all dictating quietly to an enchanted quill. He waved his greetings to the receptionist, a particularly friendly recent Hogwarts graduate named Lisa, with whom he'd shared several bored conversations. She nodded, her hands occupied, but called in her high-pitched voice "Good morning, Mr. Coopers!". When he continued walking past her desk, she spoke again, this time standing with a brown parcel in her hands.
"Package for you, Mr. Coopers. Down from International Cooperation."
Billy stopped and accepted the packet, absentmindedly checking for any outward distinguishing features as he responded.
"Thank you kindly, Ms. Halifax. Some nonsense from one of my folk back in the States, I reckon. If that's all, I gotta be on my way." She nodded, sitting back down, and he bid her farewell as he walked off, parcel in hand. His accent was as strong as ever, and it was odd for him to notice it. A sea of British folk talking to him in their way made his voice stick out like a sore thumb even to him, foreigners [especially from the Americas] particularly rare in the Ministry. He put it out of his mind with ease, though chuckled to himself at the thought of him picking up some of the English talk, wondering what Louise would think of him talking about 'biscuits' and 'crisps' and 'blokes'.
He entered his office and threw his package on the wide desk, enjoying for the millionth time the modern advances in space-creating charms as he surveyed an interior of an office that was at least four times larger than it appeared on the outside. It was a well-upholstered room, with carpet and a soft chair behind a mahogany desk covered in well-ordered but numerous piles of papers and documents. The Stars and Stripes hung on one wall, with the flag of the Wizarding States, a flag which in his opinion resembled the Stars and Bars a bit too much, hanging on the other. He sat down and opened the package, leafing through papers with a bored expression. They were mostly report requests, authorization acceptances and other miscellany. He found the most pertinent, if regular, request, one from his superiors at the embassy, simply wanting to know his lesson plans and send them back to Boston almost ritualistically, approval guaranteed as soon as the request was received. He had a great deal of autonomy, and he appreciated that, happy to be relatively free of red tape [though he found the idea that a parcel that weighed nearly a pound full of forms counted as 'free'].
He checked his schedule, reminding himself that his only actual training engagement today was with the actual Aurors, an occasion he looked forwards to. He had been forced to help regular Law Enforcement, seeing as the Auror numbers were rather low by themselves, but your average policeman [or whatever the Brits called them] didn't have much of a mind for real combat. Aurors were different, and being elite fighters with a dedicated interest in improving, they were a joy to teach. The pace at which they learned, however, made his job that much more difficult, seeing as he needed new curricula much more frequently than would be otherwise expected.
He sat for the better part of an hour in front of a sheaf of parchment, noting down ideas, most of which were immediately discarded. There were dozens of half-started paragraphs, with headers including 'Applications of Muggle Weapons', 'Appiration Prevention', 'Directional Appiration' and 'Scry-Sniping', a phrase he had become immeasurably fond of in the twenty minutes since he coined it. Frustrated at not having a particular direction, he eventually crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it into empty space, an enchantment on the room teleporting the parchment to the recycling bins forty or so floors above him. He'd do something simple and familiar, have them fight three-on-three mock battles, maybe changing team numbers to introduce to the usually-numerical-superior Aurors the terrors of being outnumbered. It would be a good day.
His mind made up, he began working through the rest of the pound of missives, his quill a blur of measured, neat strokes.
It was a particularly shameful morning for Billy on this note, in that he had woken up only a score of minutes before he appeared in a burst of green flame at the Ministry, and he had not had time to appear particularly presentable, his blue and black robes still in the process of magically ironing themselves, and bearing a stain that the enchantments had not yet removed. He made for his small office with a purposeful gait, not hurried but certainly eager to begin the day and put the unfortunate morning behind him, hopefully with the help of a strong cup of coffee. He didn't see any particularly close acquaintances, but noticed a pair of aurors he dimly remembered giving him wary, almost scared looks. They had probably been part of his last Lake District expedition, he figured. It had barely been a week ago that he and a group of more seasoned aurors put two score of rookies through what Billy considered to be a realistic representation of rugged-terrain magical combat, but which he had heard termed by both sides as 'cruel', 'ridiculous', and even once 'nightmarish'.
The DMLE was less busy than other parts of the labyrinthine ministry, it being a department necessarily of wide lulls and violent spikes of activity, but there were still paper airplanes buzzing around, witches and wizards bustling about in various degrees of hurry, and the sound of a hundred voices all dictating quietly to an enchanted quill. He waved his greetings to the receptionist, a particularly friendly recent Hogwarts graduate named Lisa, with whom he'd shared several bored conversations. She nodded, her hands occupied, but called in her high-pitched voice "Good morning, Mr. Coopers!". When he continued walking past her desk, she spoke again, this time standing with a brown parcel in her hands.
"Package for you, Mr. Coopers. Down from International Cooperation."
Billy stopped and accepted the packet, absentmindedly checking for any outward distinguishing features as he responded.
"Thank you kindly, Ms. Halifax. Some nonsense from one of my folk back in the States, I reckon. If that's all, I gotta be on my way." She nodded, sitting back down, and he bid her farewell as he walked off, parcel in hand. His accent was as strong as ever, and it was odd for him to notice it. A sea of British folk talking to him in their way made his voice stick out like a sore thumb even to him, foreigners [especially from the Americas] particularly rare in the Ministry. He put it out of his mind with ease, though chuckled to himself at the thought of him picking up some of the English talk, wondering what Louise would think of him talking about 'biscuits' and 'crisps' and 'blokes'.
He entered his office and threw his package on the wide desk, enjoying for the millionth time the modern advances in space-creating charms as he surveyed an interior of an office that was at least four times larger than it appeared on the outside. It was a well-upholstered room, with carpet and a soft chair behind a mahogany desk covered in well-ordered but numerous piles of papers and documents. The Stars and Stripes hung on one wall, with the flag of the Wizarding States, a flag which in his opinion resembled the Stars and Bars a bit too much, hanging on the other. He sat down and opened the package, leafing through papers with a bored expression. They were mostly report requests, authorization acceptances and other miscellany. He found the most pertinent, if regular, request, one from his superiors at the embassy, simply wanting to know his lesson plans and send them back to Boston almost ritualistically, approval guaranteed as soon as the request was received. He had a great deal of autonomy, and he appreciated that, happy to be relatively free of red tape [though he found the idea that a parcel that weighed nearly a pound full of forms counted as 'free'].
He checked his schedule, reminding himself that his only actual training engagement today was with the actual Aurors, an occasion he looked forwards to. He had been forced to help regular Law Enforcement, seeing as the Auror numbers were rather low by themselves, but your average policeman [or whatever the Brits called them] didn't have much of a mind for real combat. Aurors were different, and being elite fighters with a dedicated interest in improving, they were a joy to teach. The pace at which they learned, however, made his job that much more difficult, seeing as he needed new curricula much more frequently than would be otherwise expected.
He sat for the better part of an hour in front of a sheaf of parchment, noting down ideas, most of which were immediately discarded. There were dozens of half-started paragraphs, with headers including 'Applications of Muggle Weapons', 'Appiration Prevention', 'Directional Appiration' and 'Scry-Sniping', a phrase he had become immeasurably fond of in the twenty minutes since he coined it. Frustrated at not having a particular direction, he eventually crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it into empty space, an enchantment on the room teleporting the parchment to the recycling bins forty or so floors above him. He'd do something simple and familiar, have them fight three-on-three mock battles, maybe changing team numbers to introduce to the usually-numerical-superior Aurors the terrors of being outnumbered. It would be a good day.
His mind made up, he began working through the rest of the pound of missives, his quill a blur of measured, neat strokes.
In
The Ministry of magic has fallen- they are coming- A Harry Potter RP
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
@the crafty pig Not particularly pleased with this first post, but it will have to do. I hope it at least approaches the required standard; if not, blame my shitty job for giving me 11 hour shifts.
In
The Ministry of magic has fallen- they are coming- A Harry Potter RP
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
I'll get something posted asap. Thanks, that was all I needs to know.
In
The Ministry of magic has fallen- they are coming- A Harry Potter RP
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
I will try to get a post up soon: work has been pretty rough recently, but I have Monday off, which is the absolute latest I will be able to post.
Tangentially, I am not quite sure what Billy's up to, or what the general status of the coup is. Some extra guidance would be helpful, I reckon.
Tangentially, I am not quite sure what Billy's up to, or what the general status of the coup is. Some extra guidance would be helpful, I reckon.
I, for one, am all for collaborating on scenes and dialogue.
HA! Check me out with my contentious opinions. I am basically an RP hipster.
HA! Check me out with my contentious opinions. I am basically an RP hipster.
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