26Chapter 11: Hurry up and Wait? Explore the City
SLS Abyss, Ground Commander's Stateroom
Fort Deen, near Pirth City, Arcadia, Procyon System, Former UNSC Controlled Space
April 8, 2772 Hegemony Standard Calendar/April 9, 2531 UNSC Military Calendar
Colonel Watkin sat in his office aboard the Dropship Abyss, reviewing the requisition forms for the regiment's repairs and equipment replacement when his aide knocked on the siding of the open door.
"Survey teams are beginning to report back, sir," Johnna Kurita said, laying a new datapad on his desk. "Preliminary report has the cities less devastated than we're used to, Pirth City is still mostly standing, rather than a majority being reduced to rubble. Analysis thinks the Covenant action might have been a raid, or a dedicated kill team. There's a lot of supplies left behind that we can probably recover for our own use. No survivors have been found yet, but given that the city will likely take several days to fully search and the outskirts are the most heavily damaged areas, that's not terribly surprising. Agricultural suitability looks promising, according to the few agri-zones we've seen thus far, though their drone harvesters are no longer functioning as far as our people in the field could see. Whatever controlling network existed, it's gone now."
"We'll have to see if the UNSC will sell us a replacement drone control system for their agri-drones then. Any word from Centaur on that emergency beacon from the third planet in-system?" Jason asked.
"No word from Centaur yet, though we should be hearing back in the next day or two, if time tables hold up to estimates," Johnna replied.
The Lola III destroyer Centaur had preceded the flotilla as a scout, to confirm that the system was still clear after the UNSC Spirit of Fire had left to go find one of their commanding admirals, who would be able to make definitive decisions of policy and actually open formal diplomatic relations. She had been retasked by Admiral Nelson when the Terra's more powerful sensors had detected a faint distress signal originating from the third orbiting body in the system.
"Report in as soon as we hear back from Centaur then. Thank you Johnna, that will be all for now," Jason dismissed her, picking up the new datapad as a break from the tedium of reviewing requisitions.
Pirth City, Arcadia, Procyon system, Former UNSC Space
April 8, 2772 Hegemony Standard Calendar/April 9, 2531 UNSC Military Calendar
Lieutenant Kian Sinclair looked out the rear ramp of the Vector transport VTOL his ad-hoc platoon was riding in as they flew over the former UNSC colony's capital city. The Jump infantry were interspersed with traditional foot mobiles such that each mixed squad had a man or two with a jump pack, to scout areas where foot access had been eroded or destroyed. Each squad had also been given a box of self-adhesive tags and a box of spray paint, to mark buildings as explored, resource rich, unnavigable, occupied, or deceased occupants.
The loud rumble of a Fury dropship passing overhead made Kian look up, and he watched as another Fury dropship followed the first down towards the assembly point, where the flight of VTOLs would land and offload their own infantry, to join the other platoons that were being assigned to this endeavor.
"It ain't everyday you get assigned to clear an empty city," groused Arturo Esteban, the uncharacteristically cynical EOD Sergeant seated across from him. The Sergeant was in a full set of Ordnance Disposal Armor, complete with powered exoskeleton to aid in mobility and lifting power, as well as added stabilization for delicate work.
"I've had to do searches before," Sinclair said, "but never so long after the battle that necessitated the search. 2nd Watch had to do several searches after urban mech battles in the Rim Republic. Amaris might be a bastard, but his people didn't deserve to starve just because their leader was a Tyrant."
"I expect we'll be finding mostly bodies, unless there's still good sources of water and power available in the city," said Captain Hill, the SLIC spook attached to this mission, her voice artificially reduced in clarity to a poor electronic speaker, almost like listening through a tin box. The Nighthawk Powered Armor the Captain wore was the single most advanced piece of tech on this mission, its stealth armor and ECM suite able to render the suit and its wearer entirely invisible to optical and electronic detection. The SLIC exclusive powered armor made its wearer nearly immune to small arms fire, able to soak incredible amounts of damage before failing. It would take several bursts from a support MG before it failed, and even more fire from standard infantry rifles and SMGs. Sinclair knew that there had been a model being prototyped for the SLDF, but it had not made it to the full production stage before the Amaris coup.
"I expect you're right," Esteban said. "Two months is a long time to survive on your own or in small groups when you're not prepared." Further commentary was cut off as the Vector came in for a landing in a large clearing next to the Fury dropships, and the infantry piled out and loaded themselves into large open bed trucks, which had already disembarked from the dropships by the time the helicopters landed, for the drive to their initial starting points.
A few hours later…
Kian blanched as the '10-ton' truck (1) he rode passed by a group of desiccated alien corpses, one of the saurian Elites, and three of the diminutive Grunts, along the side of the road. The bodies appeared half eaten, and it was likely that they had become food for the local scavengers. Several hours of making their way through buildings, and having returned to the staging point for a meal later, Sinclair's squad, Survey 9, Captain Hill in tow, was returning to the search line, alongside three other squads.
So far, the finds had mostly been what you'd expect to see from a city that had been rapidly evacuated while under attack. A few buildings so far had had bodies found in them, but all of the places that they'd searched showed signs of being abandoned with a sense of haste. Some teams had even found rotting food that appeared to have been abandoned mid meal. Bullet casings were plentiful, and would likely pose a hazard to most hover vehicles in the SLDF inventory, if the streets weren't swept clean before hover vehicles were deployed.
Their next destination was an apartment block, just past a raised mag-lev track. The apartment complex itself towered over the third story mag-lev track at twelve stories high, the clean white exterior shell broken by scarring from high-energy blast marks, even though roughly half the windows remained intact. The truck slowed to a stop at the front door of the tower, and offloaded Sinclair and his squad to begin their search of the building, before rolling off to its next destination, silent except for the crunch of tires over debris.
The squad's pointman, a sarcastic chap by the name of McClain, stepped through the shattered glass of the apartment's front door. "Knock, Knock," Kian heard McClain mutter. The only response came from broken glass crunching underfoot. Kian was the third man through the door, entering the extravagant foyer behind Captain Hill's powered armor.
When Esteban entered the building second to last in the eight man stack, he whistled appreciatively. "Nice villa, lots of money here."
The foyer was a large open central space, centrally occupied by a cultivated garden of local plants and trees. This garden was beginning to show the signs of lack of management that being abandoned led to, with plants beginning to compete directly with one another for light and space. Kian could hear the trickle of running water inside the planted area. At least some of the pumps in the building had power then, he concluded, even though the building's internal lights weren't running. Bags, backpacks, and suitcases were scattered across the foyer, some opened, and most of them shoved to the side after being abandoned by their owners. The presence of empty casings and stray plasma burns across the walls and ceiling explained why.
As the team swept through and cleared the diner on the ground floor, McClain paused for a moment before speaking up. "Cooler in the corner looks like it's full of local brew. I vote we grab that once we're done." Sure enough, there was a refrigerator full of various bottled beverages sitting on the corner of the counter in the dining area.
"I won't object to a drink after a day like this, as long as that cooler's still powered," Kian allowed after a moment of thought. "We can check it once we're finished clearing. I'll call for a truck to come and clean out their fridge if it's still good."
"Sir," came the acknowledgement from the rest of the troopers.
The squad proceeded to sweep the rest of the first floor, finishing with the building's daycare, between the bank of three elevators and the stairwell. A quick check revealed that all three elevators were non-functional, even though the cars were all present at the first floor foyer.
"Stairs it is," grumped Captain Hill. "I just hope they accounted for heavy loads."
"At least you have jump jets," Esteban ribbed.
"Yes, and I still weigh twice as much as you do, Sergeant," Hill shot back. "And that's counting your blast suit."
"Let's just finish this building, alright?" Kian groaned before the two could get into an argument. "McClain, up one."
"Aye, sir. Up one."
The door from the stairwell onto the second floor opened smoothly, despite an apparent lack of use for almost two months. The inner balcony loop looked down onto the foyer, and a few of the planted trees even reached up past this floor of the building, casting a pleasing green tinge to the wooden furnishings. They started a right hand circle around the balcony, clearing each room as they passed by it.
Entry to each room was gained by way of a manual override each door possessed. All it took was cracking open a panel beside the door and turning a lever, releasing the door's electronic brakes, and sliding the door sideways into the wall.
It was as the squad was passing by a seating area on the balcony that Kian noticed something off. He reached forward and tapped Captain Hill's shoulder. Hill reached forward and stopped McClain before he could get far ahead and then the squad grouped up around the seating area.
Kian tapped the side of his helmet, signaling a switch to internal comms. After a moment, he pointed to a table lamp. "This lamp has been moved recently," he told the squad. "See here?" he pointed at a circle where the wooden table lacked a dusty coating. "The dust hasn't covered its old resting place." Looking at the rest of the furniture, there was a similarly thick layer of dust everywhere, still undisturbed. On the floor however, there were traces of footprints left behind in the dust.
"Animals wouldn't have left it upright," one of the Privates, Ramirez, said. "Not that we've seen any, besides the ever damned rats."
Captain Hill picked up the lamp and looked at the base. "Concave. Easy place to hide a spare access card or key or something. We might have people here."
"Digsite, this is Survey 9-2, positive signs of recent activity," Sinclair called on the operational frequency. "Source unknown. Grid L-11, the Secret Coast Apartments. Over."
"Copy that, 9-2," the local ground controller said. "Dispatching backup your way. It'll be a Goblin with a heavy squad headed your way if you need them, callsign Barker 3. They'll stage 150 meters south of the Secret Coast Apartments. We're also going to position a 10-ton nearby in case you need it. Over."
"Acknowledged Digsite. Survey 9-2, out."
"9-2, this is 8-1," one of the nearby survey teams called on the same frequency. "We're standing by to assist if needed. RTA 5 mikes. 8-1 out." (2)
The squad advanced forward, silently checking each door they came to, until they heard voices behind the door just before the next corner they came to, and Hill signaled the squad to hold.
"That's the 4th time one of those trucks has dropped off a team on this block. I don't think we can stay hidden much longer. Hiding on the maglev tracks kept us hidden before, but if they start flying those helo's around, that won't help us any," a male voice said, barely audible through the cracked open door.
"Whoever they are, they're loaded for bear, are you sure they aren't Innies?" a second man's voice asked nervously.
"Not unless the Innies have their own troop helo's and small warships that can land on a planet." The first voice responded. "And there's too many of them, the insurrection is a decent sized movement, but I've never heard of them operating in anything larger than a hundred man cell. And the Innies tend to use older UNSC or Colonial Arms Project gear. They've never had any arms industry of their own."
"I still think we should head back to the station. The others might panic once these guys get close," a female voice urged. "And I don't want to risk getting found on our own, in case they are Insurrectionists."
Captain Hill had paused at the door to listen during this whole exchange. Through her helmet's camera feed, the squad could see two men and a woman in police uniforms, and an additional man and two women in some 'civies'(3). All six had slightly frayed clothing, and what looked like service pistols in belt holsters. A quick glance confirmed that the group was looking away from the door.
"Lieutenant, mind if I handle this?" Captain Hill asked quietly over squad com, the sealed helmets preventing the group in the room from hearing her.
"Your arena, ma'am," Sinclair answered. "You're intel, we're not."
With a hand signal to the rest of the squad to cover her if things turned hostile, she silently pushed open the door, lowered her Mauser, and knocked on the door frame, causing the three to spin around in a panic. The three officer's hands went for their pistols, bringing them to bear on her before realizing just what they were looking at.
"Oh crap," breathed the man without a uniform as he and the other two civilians retreated as far out of the line of fire as they could.
"Captain Hill, SLDF," Hill said, staring at the officers' guns. "Mind putting those down so we can have a friendly chat? Or do I have to demonstrate why they're useless against me while I'm in this?"
"What are you doing here?" one of the officers asked, lowering his weapon. "We haven't seen anyone from offworld for almost two months."
"We're checking the city for survivors that got left behind in the evacuation, or hostile pockets that didn't leave with the rest of the aliens. We ran into the Spirit of Fire out in the back of beyond, and were told that this was a decent place to wait while she went to get a representative to talk to, since where we met definitely wasn't a safe place to wait around."
"You said you were 'SLDF', what does that mean? Are you affiliated with the UNSC?" one of the civilian women asked from the side where they had retreated to.
"We're our own governmental structure, separate from the UEG," Capt. Hill responded. "We're probably going to be setting up trade with them in the long run, possibly more, but what that looks like is a little above my paygrade at the moment." The Captain stepped a bit further into the room, and leaned gently against the corner of the walkway wall as it opened into the main living space. "And like I said earlier, we thought we'd run a bit more thorough a sweep of some of the major habitations on planet while we wait for Spirit to get back with someone a bit more qualified in negotiating than what they had on hand. Now, I heard you say something about others back at a station? I take it that means you're part of a larger group?"
The male police officer with features reminiscent of the Pacific Islander peoples stepped forward, holstering his pistol. "I'm Patrol Sergeant Esera, with the Arcadian Patrol," he said, offering his hand to Captain Hill. "I suppose it's a pleasure to meet you. You're human, at least. We're part of a group of a little over fifty, based out of the police station."
Sinclair saw the Captain's indicator light on his HUD blink green three times, a signal that it was safe and clear for them to move up from their position at the door. He stood, along with the rest of the squad and filed into the room slowly, taking the chance to shuck their packs and relieve themselves of the weight briefly.
"Digsite, Survey 9-2, reporting friendly contact," Kian spoke into his helmet's radio. "Say again, friendly contact. Group of six, scavenger party from a larger group of fifty plus. 9-1 has made contact, and is in discussion with some local PD and civilians that didn't make it offworld. Request further instructions, over."
"Survey 9-2, this is Digsite, report acknowledged. Standby for instructions. Digsite out."
Several minutes went by, in which they learned that the survivors had sighted Jackals several times in the past few weeks, but only from a distance that was too far to shoot reliably with a pistol, as well as the fact that the survivors were running low on hygiene products and bedding, and were out of low-strength painkillers and other over-the-counter medicines. Eventually, the command unit hailed back on the radio.
"Survey 9, this is Digsite. How copy?"
Captain Hill held up her hand and tapped the side of her helmet, indicating that she'd be taking the radio call. "Digsite, Survey 9-1, send traffic."
"Survey 9, Baseplate requests you make contact with the remaining survivors of the group and assess conditions. General relief supplies have been authorized on a limited basis, and MEDEVAC is standing by if needed. Over."
"Survey 9 acknowledges, Digsite. Be advised, survivors have had sightings of Covenant Jackal foot-mobiles over the past weeks, potential hostiles may be in the area, though locations are unclear at this time. Over."
"Message received, Survey 9. Digsite out." The radio in his ear clicked, before Digsite broadcast the information back out over the main operations frequency.
"Right," Captain Hill said aloud through her Nighthawk's speakers. "Our commanders want us to meet up with the rest of your group, get a headcount and assess what level of assistance your people need from us while we're waiting on the UNSC to get back in touch. Do you want to ride in a truck over there or would you prefer another route back to your base camp?"
"Can we please not walk back?" One of the civilian women said. "I'm pretty sure my feet are starting to blister from all the walking we've been doing looking for supplies this last week." That brought a round of chuckles across both the squad and the scavengers alike.
"Right, I'll call for a truck," Captain Hill said with mirth.
Pirth City Central Police Station
The '10-ton' rolled to a halt, the broken road surface crunching under the reinforced tires of the vehicle. The tailgate was dropped and Survey 9 piled out behind the six scavengers, passing off the bags of gear the locals had stuffed full of supplies gathered from the apartment block.
Several people came out of the stations to greet the group, including a few children. While some were taken aback by the presence of the military personnel, most were quick to get over it. A few brave souls approached to take the bags of supplies, while the children bolted back into the structure with excited shouts. Most kept a polite distance while Officer Esera guided Captain Hill and Lieutenant Sinclair into the station proper.
Entering the two level foyer, it was immediately obvious that a battle had taken place within, pockmarked masonry from bullets, and plasma strikes were all over the ground floor, though the glass front doors were remarkably intact. Sections of masonry were simply melted away, while others bore the signs of explosions. A large staircase in the middle of the lobby split the ground floor, with a pair of officers watching from the upper levels with battered UNSC assault rifles, while more survivors were busy sorting salvage from another team that had returned before the group arrived.
"Where's Anna?" Officer Esera called up to one of the men on the balcony above.
"Third Floor, her office," came the reply from one. "Someone finally come back for us?"
"Something like that," Esera replied. "Anything happen while I was out?" He inquired.
"Rooftop guy's said they saw a helicopter fly over, and something big came down near Fort Dean." The other guard informed him.
"One of yours?" Esera glanced inquisitively over at Captain Hill.
"Yes," Hill replied. "Other survey groups. Nothing to worry about," she reassured.
"Don't worry about it for now," Esera called up to the two. Turning back to the group, he gestured up the stars. "This way."
They followed Esera up some stairs, past some other smaller groups of survivors, and into a third story office section. Going through the remains of a mostly cleaned up cubicle area, they soon came to a side office with a name plaque that read: Senior Detective Anna Manfield. The interior glass partition had been covered with salvaged curtains, making it impossible to see into the office.
Knocking on the door, Esera waited a moment before announcing himself. "Anna, it's Siaosi. Ran into some people from off planet that you'll probably want to meet. Can we come in?"
"Come in, Siaosi," Manfield's voice was muffled slightly by the door. Officer Esera opened the door and ushered Hill and Sinclair inside. Sitting behind a worn desk in what was probably once a nicer office was a lady in her mid 30's with European features. The office was spartan, but well kept, with a hideaway bed and footlocker packed tightly into a corner.
"These the people you thought I should meet?" Manfield asked, looking over Sinclair and Hill with a critical eye. At Esera's nod, she stood up and moved to shake Sinclair's hand. "Senior Detective Anna Manfield, at the top of what's left of Arcadian Patrol."
"Lieutenant Kian Sinclair, SLDF. Royal Black Watch Regiment, Ma'am. This is Captain Hill, of the Blackhearts," Kian introduced the Captain as she removed her helmet with the hiss of depressurizing seals.
"So what brings you military types back to Arcadia?" Detective Manfield asked as she shook Captain Hill's hand. "I was under the impression that anyone who stayed behind wasn't getting a second shot at a ride offworld. That's been UEG policy on evacuations for the past few years: one evac run from a planet once the Covenant show up."
"We ran into the Spirit of Fire out in the back of nowhere, and ended up sharing a few foxholes fighting the Covenant," Hill said with a soft smile. "As for how we ended up out there, and then here? Well, that's on the level of 'disclosure comes packaged with a bullet' classification. For now, at least. Until higher ups from both sides okay the sharing." She smiled and held her hands out sideways to show she wasn't trying to spread threats.
"Right. I suppose I'm not going to get anything more than your word on that for now," Manfield grumbled.
"They told our supply team that they were looking for survivors that hid away or pockets of aliens that got left behind," Officer Esera said, glancing at Hill.
Hill shrugged. "It's true enough. We're mostly using this system as a known point rendezvous while we wait for the Spirit to come back with some UNSC upper echelon types, to negotiate some things. We didn't think they'd take kindly to us showing up on their doorstep unannounced."
"Fair enough," Mansfield agreed. "Plenty of itchy trigger fingers after the last few years. So now what?"
"Well, now that we know you're here, we can share some supplies if you're critically low on anything we have spares of, and we have high level medical facilities if you get really hurt, and don't have access to a surgery. Command does need a headcount though, and if possible, a list of who you have down here."
"There's fifty five of us," Mansfield explained. "We started with about twenty survivors of the local police force, but we started picking up stragglers after the fighting died down. Most of the people we found were-"
"Medical Casualty! Front Entrance!" Hill and Sinclair's radios squawked to life. Sinclair recognized the speaker as Private Gardener, and his tone was urgent. "Casualty with a chest wound coming in the front door down here! Looks bad, lots of blood."
A quick glance between the four of them was followed by them quickly moving for the door, and the stairs at the end of the cubicles. Shouting could be heard from the floors below.
As the group made it to the second floor balcony, they could see a man being carried into the building between two survivors. The center man was limp, and the front of his shirt and torso were covered in slash marks. Sinclair could see a foam-like substance congealed on the man's chest.
"Make a hole!" Shouted Esera, putting action to words as he took the stairs down three at a time. People jumped aside at the command, clearing a path for the Sergeant. Sinclair and Mansfield were quick to follow him down the stairs, but they wouldn't be the first one's down, despite starting their descent first.
Captain Hill simply vaulted from the second floor balcony. Her armor's jump jets roared to life, cushioning her landing to the point that the 400+ kilograms of armor and trooper didn't so much as crack the marble floor below, shocking the small crowd that had gathered. "Esteban! Chavez!" she barked, her voice echoing through the suddenly silent foyer. "Front and Center!"
The squad medic rushed forward, her trauma kit already halfway open as she slid along the marble floor, skidding to a halt beside the patient. "Clear that," Chavez said, pointing at what was once the station's receptionist's desk. A pair of troopers promptly obeyed the command, sweeping the contents to the edge of the desk, where police officers frantically grabbed anything fragile before the contents were swept completely off the desk.
"Hill, Esteban, lift him onto the desk. Keep him straight," she instructed. "Somebody bring a blanket, this is going to be messy!" She reached into her trauma kit for scissors to cut the man's shirt off. "Gardener, get the litter from the truck." Private Gardener spun on his heel and sprinted to the truck outside.
"Wound sealed by foaming agent," she muttered. "Will it harm anything if I scrape off the excess foam, when was this applied, and how long is this stable for?" she asked of the two men who carried the man into the station.
"Biofoam," provided one of the men who had carried the victim in, who appeared to be one of the surviving officers. "It's a wound sealant and disinfectant. We put it on as soon as we got to him, about 20 minutes ago. You should be fine scraping off most of the excess. It's supposed to be good for up to four hours, but we normally get them to a hospital long before that."
"Do you have any medical information for him? Blood Type? Allergies?" Chavez interrogated while she continued examining the wounds, entering information into the trauma kit's diagnostic equipment, attaching lead lines and wires to the patient's torso. No one provided a sufficient answer to her questions as she worked.
Chavez glanced at the readouts the equipment was returning before making a snap judgment. "This man needs a surgeon immediately. Captain, call it in," she ordered Captain Hill, while hanging an IV bag with the help of Esteban. While the Captain may have outranked her, like any good soldier, she knew that when the Doc gave a command, you obeyed.
"Right," Captain Hill agreed, getting on the radio. "Any station, this is Survey 9-1, emergency transmission. I need an Emergency Medical Dustoff. Grid Juno 9. Pirth City Central Police Station. One Male victim, multiple lacerations to the torso."
"Shit, it's Nolan," Manfield muttered, after getting a good look at the victim. "Esera, grab our survivor log (4) for him!" She ordered Esera, who took off sprinting toward a side office. "What happened out there?" She asked the officer.
"Stalker attack," the other man who'd carried 'Nolan' in responded. "Damn thing came out of nowhere. It bolted when we started shooting."
"What's a 'Stalker'?" Sinclair asked. "Some kind of Covenant unit?"
"Local predator," Manfield replied. "They're ambush hunters. Similar to a tiger back on earth, only smaller. Fast and nasty shits, usually they stay away from the city, but ever since the Covenant attacked, and no more vehicles around, they started getting bolder."
"Got his file," Esera called, after a moment, running back to the group.
The radio had been quiet for nearly sixty seconds. Captain Hill was about to repeat her broadcast when the radio finally squawked in response.
"Survey 9-1, this is Dusty 2-4," came a call over the radio. "We're spooling up now, seven mikes out. Awaiting Nine Line." (5)
"We need somewhere for them to land," Lieutenant Sinclair pointed out. "Do you have a helipad?"
"No," Esera replied. "We never needed one."
"Then we use the street out front." Captain Hill declared. "It's big enough."
"Right," Esera agreed, before turning and shouting orders. "Everyone clear the street out front!"
There was a small stampede as the various locals rushed to clear the street in front of the entry to the building, while Captain Hill quickly rattled off the nine-line to the medevac helo, and awaited a response.
"2-4, acknowledges all, awaiting your smoke." The medevac helo replied.
The medevac helo touchdown was textbook, as was the casualty transfer aboard. The transfer was so fast, that the helo was barely on the ground for a couple of minutes before being airborne again.
"This is Dusty 2-4, watch for rotorwash, we're airborne," came the radio and loudspeaker call. The Vector quickly gained altitude before making a left hand bank and accelerating away toward the staging area.
"Think he'll make it?" one of the civilians asked aloud.
"Don't know, but he would have been a dead man yesterday, even with Biofoam," another replied.
"I hope so," a third chipped in. "We've lost too damn many already."
The crowd continued murmuring to themselves and milling about for a few moments after the helicopter had faded from view before Manfield stepped up to get everyone's attention.
"Alright everyone", she called. "We're all concerned about Nolan, but it won't help him to just stand here worrying. We still have to sort today's salvage, and figure out what we're going to do for our evening meal."
"She's right," Esera affirmed loudly. "Not only that, but it's also getting late. Which means we need to get the night watch ready. Back to work, everyone."
"So, detective Manfield, now that the immediate emergency is over, what can we do to help you?" Captain Hill asked with a smile.
Excerpt from the Arcadian Bestiary by Alexander Tyner
Species Number 31: Arcadian Stalker.
The Arcadian Stalker, Xenopanthera arcadiana, is a felinid carnivore native to the eastern jungles of Eire, on the Planet Arcadia. It is a scavenger and ambush predator, though it is known to be at its most dangerous when cornered, like most animals. Weighing in from around 45 to 100 kilograms, their diet consists of other, smaller animals, and the occasional larger prey when they can ambush and bring down a larger animal.
With an orange coat, and jagged striped pattern, stalkers resemble Earth's native tiger, though they are smaller in size.
Stalkers are diurnal in nature, hunting in the hottest parts of the day, when most other large predators will be resting to avoid the heat. They are known to dislike loud noises, suggesting that they rely primarily on their excellent hearing to locate prey in the dense jungles. Remember, if you can see the stalker without magnifying optics, it knows you are there. It heard you.
While the stalker's primary means of killing is its bite, crushing the windpipes of prey, it also attacks with its claws, which can reach an average of 6 cm in length. This allows it to disable and occasionally kill its prey with a single lunge. Oddly, despite being proficient climbers, they have never been recorded pursuing prey up a tree, even when their prey has been cornered into a lone tree.
With their natural lethality, stalkers are perfectly capable of providing for themselves, but they are also known to steal kills from smaller, and sometimes larger, aquatic reptiles. They seldom attempt to engage with prey significantly larger than themselves, but will attempt to claim kills from other predators. Stalkers tend to hunt as either solitary hunters or as a pair.
Some stalkers have become accustomed to humans, as Safari tours are a popular pastime of wealthy tourists on Arcadia. Because of this, tour guides carry shock wands, to ward the stalkers away with the sound generated by electrical arcing if they approach too close to a tour group. Zookeepers have also reported that stalkers raised in captivity may bond with their caretakers.
While the stalker can be a threat to humans, they mostly avoid human habitation unless sick or starving, the exception being the occasional raid on moa, sheep, or pig farms. Stalkers have also been known to investigate recently "abandoned" structures and vehicles that have been left unattended for long periods. This leads to their most common run-ins with humans. "Stalker Attacks" are generally swift and precise, targeting what the animal believes to be a weak area. While incidents are rare, survivors of stalker attacks are warned to seek medical aid, as their claw strikes frequently become infected.
Author's Afterword:
This chapter took longer than expected. I had to scrap the first version entirely, because I was hitting a rock wall. This time, I decided to start with a bit more progress happening offscreen, and start after we had already made planetfall. Then the City Scene, which was supposed to be short, kinda exploded in length. It ended up taking over most of the chapter.
Also included is our first Bestiary entry! Future entries will probably end up as side story entries instead of embedded in the chapter, but this time I'm just leaving it in here. I hope to have some character profiles ironed out soon for the important figures, but they're still evolving as I write, so their entries keep changing.
Also, Both Halo and Battletech/Mechwarrior have some pretty dope medical tech available. Biofoam is a temporary solution, but awesomely capable. Battletech has Plastiflesh Bandages, composed of advanced polymers and medicine, this bandage is programmable to be tailored to the patient's specific wound, blood type, and immune system. It even takes on the appearance of the patient's own skin, improving morale. It's a midterm solution, requiring reapplication around once a week, and can reduce recovery times by around 10 percent.
Co-writer's Afterword:
"A nice short and easy Chapter", I thought. "Wrap up this part of the story", I thought. NOPE! My autistic mind said "Fuck That! We're writing a huge scene in the city!"
We'd planned on just a short scene in the city exploring before we realized that there were people that got left behind in canon. Which then ballooned into this beast of a scene.
This chapter shows us a decent example of what's known as "Urban Search and Rescue". (USAR) Which I once had training in back in the early 2000's as an elective in school. However, this example is one of the military versions that is a "Bad Day" scenario for the military in real life, known as "Post-Combat Urban Search and Rescue". If you're doing Post-Combat USAR, it's officially been a bad day for a lot of people.
We also see a group of survivors that are more organized than most. This is due to a decent percentage of the group being people that are trained for emergencies, and have a decent grasp of organization. This group is led by former members of "Arcadian Patrol". A canon group of law enforcement that aided in the evacuation of Arcadia, but had several people stay behind to try to save more of their civilians.
Sadly, groups like this one are an outlier. Most of the time, a survivor of a disaster that they have been caught unprepared and unequipped for will have a couple of weeks to a month at best before they succumb to starvation or the elements.
And finally, we have an example of how in a medical emergency, unless in combat, the medic, affectionately known as "Doc" by the grunts, outranks EVERYONE. A medic working on a casualty can even get away with ordering higher ranking officers. While medics may not have formal authority to do so, most soldiers will comply, as it doesn't pay to irritate or impede the person that may have to patch you up next.
Side note, there are 4 things you never shoot at if you're fighting infantry:
The Officers, as they're the one's reminding the grunts that "War Crimes are a thing", and keeping them in check. Grunts without adult supervision can and will get creative… (Nightwing: This one is more of an American Military thing, DPJ. Many militaries use officers to motivate their troops to fight, not hold them back.)
Anyone carrying a large, rapid fire weapon that has a lot of ammunition, like the squad machine gunner. They have good motivation to put as much of that ammo downrange as they can justify, just so that they don't have to carry it all back. Ammo is heavy, and they don't like carrying it.
Any dogs that may be with the squad, be it the bomb sniffing dog, a search dog, or an attack dog. Shoot at Fido, and ALL of the grunts take it personally!
And finally, "Doc". If you shoot at the one guy whose job it is to patch up the grunts when they get shot, or dispense medicine to them as required. Well… I'd recommend you make sure that they can't find you afterwards. Seriously, if you shoot at "Doc", the grunts will turn your general area into "Was/ Were" pronouns VERY quickly.
Many thanks to my Marine friend for his consulting work, (You know who you are, if you ever read this), without which, I would have gone insane trying to make this all make sense and seem believable. For the record, if you're ever needing to know shit, get a senior enlisted. They know things that you wouldn't expect.
Glossary of Terms:
(1) '10-ton' truck
Much as the name implies, this is a 10 ton truck, but it's also much more than that.
A '10-ton' is the collective term for two types of standard military medium to heavy trucks, that refers to either the total weight of the vehicle, or the cargo capacity. Which often overlap. In this example, the total weight of the vehicle is 10 tons.
They are produced in a variety of roles, from tractor trailers, to armor transports, to infantry transport in 'friendly' areas, and even light cargo transports. They have a cargo capacity of up to 6 tons unless they are built as a tractor trailer unit. Some are even modified with roof turrets for use in 'less friendly' areas.
When fitted with a 'soft side' bed, a single '10-ton' can carry as many as 28 fully kitted soldiers in the load bed. It's also capable of hauling trailers of up to 30 tons in weight.
In Battletech, a "10-ton" is considered a 'Light' truck. Mainly due to vehicle construction rules.
(2) RTA
Response Time Arrival
The time it will take a unit to arrive in response to a radio call.
(3) "Civie's"
Military and police slang for "Civilians" or "Civilian Clothes". In this context, it refers to the clothing worn. A police or military member being "In Civie's" is commonly perceived as being off duty or "operating undercover". Also known as "PlainClothes" in law enforcement.
The key difference between "PlainClothes" military or police officers and "Undercover" personnel is that a "PlainClothes" officer is required to carry identification on them that proves their status if challenged. An Undercover officer is not.
(4) Survivor Log/File
This is a way for better organized groups of survivors with proper training to keep information for emergency responders to use upon rescue. The will include medical information such as blood type or allergies, as well as a next of kin for contact. May occasionally include a 'last will' as well if a survivor knows they are likely to die. Sadly, they are seldom found, as most disaster victims do not consider them.
As this group of survivors is being led by former first responders, it is reasonable that they would create a 'Survivor File'.
(5) Nine Line
A Nine Line, or Nine Line CASEVAC (Casualty Evacuation) request, is a standard format used by the Armed Forces for coordinating the evacuation of injured persons. These requests should be done by the most direct and clear means of communication available to the unit controlling evacuation assets. This information must be clear, concise, and easily transmitted. The brevity codes used to send this information contain nine pieces of information, transmitted in nine parts (lines) that the evacuating vehicle, usually a helicopter, will need to know as it approaches the area for pickup.