Sniper Fire!
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A RolePlay Log by | |
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Title |
Sniper Fire! |
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Date |
2012 Sept 10 |
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IC Date |
2531 Jun 25 |
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Location |
Eavesdown Docks - Persephone |
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Appearing |
Admiral Bryce Thompson Col. Calira Dumont Captain Malchior Havoc Lt. Heather Jacy Carmichael Aife Rendolin |
On any given day something unexpected can, and often will, occur. This day is no exception.
This lesser kept portion of Persephone's port city is home to legions of disenfranchised entrepreneurs, each tent or stall vying with the next in line. Vendors shout their own particular brand of advertisements or allow the pyres of smoke from their grills to do the advertising for them while others are busy buying and selling goods of every imaginable value. There are cargo containers stacked in high hills throughout the area, most of them likely from a shop of the same name, Cargo Containers and a shadowed doorway nestled in the maze of stacks leads to Eavesdown Ink.
Running the length of the port the side of a building boasts an entrance with an awning leading into the Steel Dragon Shipyard. To the northeast, a section between two landing platforms begins the road to the Spacer's District, where those who are less restricted to Eavesdown may find additional business options. Lower end housing is located to the east at the Eavesdown Heights while the same thoroughfare stretches to the west towards the Racetrack.
Bryce Thompson stands in the security zone across from the Temperance... maybe 1000 feet or something... around him, about 10 men in suits. <English>
A hoverMULE with 'Shore Patrol' stencilled on a board across the front comes skimming down the ramp of the Temperance. Lt JG Heather Jacy is riding in the jumpseat, the MULE is being steered by an NCO with a sleeve full of stripes, and there's a sailor manning the .50 cal mounted at the rear - which suggests that their intentions are more to create an oppressive atmosphere around the Tempy than to round up the odd drunken sailor in the Dregs. (Although, taking a .50 cal into the Dregs would be...sporty). Spotting someone breaching her security zone, Jacy taps the sailor on the shoulder and points over in that direction, and with a whining of engines the hoverMULE goes skimming across in that direction to investigate. <English>
Malchior doesn't seem to be coming from the Temperance at this point. Instead, the man is quite probably visible with his height and hair above the heads of anyone else who might be mulling about the area of the docks. His body had emerged from the northeast it seems, the saunteering man a bit asleep as a hand rises to lazily rub against one blue eye as the other scanned against the Docks to see who might be around and visible to him. Brows furrow together for just a moment or so as he spots Bryce Thompson, but he is instead shaken to attention by the disembarking hovercraft that Jacy was occupying with other crew. "I knew I shouldn't have gone out today," he hums faintly to himself while stretching his arms upward into the air to try and wake him from his dreary mood. <English>
Rendolin is just striding with purpose into the landing area, heading for one of the civilian ships, and is slowed by onlookers? He cranes his neck, and spots the 50 cal, and eyes lift with... love? Perhaps he likes guns. <English>
Dumont is making her way toward the cordoned off landing pad that the Tempe is parked on, one hand lightly curved over the com unit fitted to her right ear while the left is casually riding in one hip pocket, her strides long, confident, the roll of her shoulders subtle but each ground-devouring stride is purposeful. A woman on a mission, or just on task. <English>
As the hoverMULE skims along to intercept Bryce Thompson and his goons, Jacy recognizes him, and gives a sharp order to her crew. The MULE pulls away from its intercept course to a parallel course, the gunner averts the barrel of the .50 cal, and Jacy nods smartly. She's not about to go saluting someone in civilian clothes, but the respect is there. And then she points over towards the crowd milling around near Rendolin, some of whom are coming perilously close to straying into the exclusion zone around the Temperance. The hoverMULE picks up speed, scattering dust and gravel from under the turbofans, as it accelerates towards the civilians. "This is the Alliance Navy!" booms Jacy's voice from an unbelievably loud PA system mounted on the MULE, distorting just enough to dehumanize it. "Stay back one thousand feet from the ship or face arrest! This is your only warning!" Nice. Someone should give her a crash course in Alliance public relations 101.
Or then again, maybe she's already had it. <English>
Rendolin is probably the first to step back almost instinctively, and he grins, giving a salute. He's dressed like a traveler, no sign of military, but there it is. As the rest of the crowd moves back with less respect, the gunman fades back, seeking another path to the Falkirk. <English>
Malchior hears that one, alright.. Any sleeping state was shaken away from him at Jacy's amplified voice on the PA system. His eyes narrow as he readjusts his course toward the invisible barrier of a thousand feet distance from the ship. He does not seem to mind this challenge, though he does not approach menacingly, either. A hand rises upward as he breaks through the crowd, fingertips waving to grasp someone's attention aboard the little vehicle. "Hey~ I want a ride~" his voice whines loud enough through a cupped hand to try and bait them playfully. <English>
The Admiral for Naval Intel, Bryce Thompson starts walking backward and forward for a long moment, waiting for a reply, then everything seems to slow down for the man as he is stuck by a bullet all of it seems to hang there for a moment, as the report of a Rifle echoes around the port. It's not clear how bad he is hit, but the fact that he is indeed hit, is clear as two of his security detail more or less fall on him, and the other 8 men draw weapons... <English>
Dumont's lifts her head slightly, the sound of Jacy's amplified voice cuts through noise and crush of the usual crowd on the docks, making it rather easy to pinpoint the Lieutenant's position. Dumont's eyes narrow subtly as she sweeps a look around the crowd, the dock again, and she is about to nudge Malchior to get him to stop fooling around when the sound of a rifle shot echoes oddly around the port. The sound bounces off the hulls, the sides of the buildings, warping and confusing the source. Dumont is drawing one of her guns and shoving her way through the crowd to the Admiral's position even as she sees his security detail shoving their principal to the ground to shield him. She shouts into her com unit, "Shots fired! Admiral Thompson is hit! All divisions respond!" <English>
The fact that there's a Longbow on Eavesdown and has been there for a while, is noteworthy. When there's a big alliance presence around it though, it's time to poke one's nose out and look. From the top of the ramp of the Falkirk then, Carmichael got to witness the sounds of gunfire and the absolute chaos that's BOUND to errupt from this. His eyes go to the distant figure, frowning and marking the direction he fell in, looking away to whatever structures are nearby in the vague direction of the opposite. Mind you, could be anywhere up to a kilometer or more away, if that was a rifle shot! "Best not to get involved in that..." murmured, he stays... well... put! <English>
Twisting round in her seat, Jacy tries to see what happened. The echoing reverberations of the rifleshot can be heard even over the whine of the hoverMULE, and for a few moments she is craning to see whence it came. Then she spots the tumbled form of the Admiral, and she gives a curse and smacks the driver on the shoulder. The hoverMULE turns sharply, the gunner clinging on for dear life, and accelerates in a flat charge across the open space towards the fallen officer. Jacy's face is white as she is yelling into her commlink, "Condition Red! Condition Red! Lockdown, Lockdown, Lockdown, seal up the Temperance!" <English>
Instinct takes over and the man turns around, a hand digging down against his thigh beneath the heavy coat. The weapon is raised as his eyes quickly scan the area to try and find the source, the hit, the.. Anything!
"Get /down!/" the man shouts boldly, his voice shouting heavily regardless of the booming system that overmatched him numerous times. He checks back to the two people he had recognized first.. To the mule, though he didn't have to linger with it long as it seemed to swerve sharply while it sped off toward the fallen Thompson. Fingers reach out in an attempt to grasp Dumont's arm as she runs off, the brightly colored man rushing off to follow with his weapon held lightly in his opposite hand. <English>
Really no point in knowing were the Sniper was, but where ever he was it was a long way off, the bullet hit him before the report of the rifle, that makes the shooter at least a mile off... <English>
Dumont sends a brief look toward Malchior, a baffled expression in her eyes for a bare moment when he reaches to grasp her arm, but she's running full out within a matter of seconds. Some instincts are bred in the bone, and for Dumont the instinct to run TOWARD the sound of weapon fire instead of away from it is precisely that. First in, last out, all the jargon. But she keeps her side arm aimed at the ground as she runs, elbowing aside any stray civilians that scatter away from the sound of rifle shots like chickens scramble before pebbles. She has the presence of mind to tug the badge from her hip and is holding it in her right hand, offered up and prominent as she skids to a halt before the group of guards surrounding the admiral, hearing Jacy's voice over the comm. <English>
Carmichael retreats back into his ship, with a murmur into the iComm. When the place is crawling with alliance personelle, even if you're a witness to what went on, it's best to just keep out of the way! <English>
The engines of the hoverMULE whine in protest as it swings around the crowd side of the downed Admiral and comes to a halt. The gunner, recovered from almost being thrown out of the vehicle, is covering the crowd with the big .50 cal, and Jacy's on the PA system now. <<"Disperse now or we will fire on you!">> Behind her, the hydraulic pistons that operate the big ramp of the Temperance are hissing into life, the main ramp creaking off the ground and starting to retract into the hull. No doubt there'll be a sally port open to emit Marines. <English>
It seems that Malchior is only just a few paces behind the very fair Dumont, a faint huff of his breath offered for the trouble as raises his chin just slightly in a somewhat haughty fashion. He surveys the crowd of guards and beinds ahead of him before his free hand ducks down to a hip and up again to pull the badge out for those surrounding the area. "We're going to have to clear the area to get him to the hospital.. An ambulance route. Should we call ahead to the Memorial or do we have the available staff ourselves.." He seems more mumbling to himself than trying to direct anyone. He wasn't the boss, afterall. <English>
The fire team around Admiral Thompson, black suits all of them, form a protective area around the man, the two men on top of him give a report, "He is down, and bleeding, but alive...what is our Evac plan?" <English>
Dumont hopes that Thompson's guards have seen her badge before she shoves it back onto her belt in order to tap her comm unit, "Lieutenant, ease back on that hair trigger, we aren't firing on any of these folk, the shot came from to far away for the shooter to be hidden in the crowd. Get units out to all of the tallest buildings - even the Helios - and have every room that has a view of this dock - no matter how skinny the view - searched and swept. Pull surveillance, etc. You know the drill," she says in a voice that is terse without being abrupt. She nods to the fire team, "Working on that," she says to the team member giving the report. "Memorial is closer, but call ahead and have a team of our doctors and medics ready to meet us. He cant' go under anesthesia with civilian doctors, make sure that they understand that this isn't a point of negotiation," She says to Malchior and hands that detail over to Malchior before turning back to the fire team and hails the Tempe, "Send out a medic and a and any supplies they need to stabilize the Admiral now, call for the ambulance." <English>
Stepping onto the docks, Aife is struck by the turmoil. Granted, the docks are always bad for the ebb and flux of humanity, but at the moment the area seems more so than usual. The general attention seems to be focusing on one particular area. Whispers of 'gunshot' and 'Alliance down' spark Aife's curiosity and; like the proverbial cat, she shifts her direction and; like a leaf blown against a closed doorway, she eventually fetches up against the cordon of officers blocking the curious or hte maliscious from getting too close. "What's the story," her voice remains low as she queries a nearby observer. A somewhat indifferent shrug is her only reply. The bossy woman is recognized and the call for a medic is heard. She cannot step forward as the line is being held, but she does incline her head once toward Dumont. Maybe it will be seen. Probably it won't in the crowd. <English>
"Copy, m'am!" And Jacy's hopped down from the hoverMULE, barking orders into her smartcom. A sally port does open in the belly of the Temperance, and a platoon of Marines spills forth in battle dress, jogging in tight formation into the heart of the crowd (who melt away before them like butter before a hot knife) in the direction of the tall buildings that overlook the spaceport. No doubt that's all the troops on immediate standby, but it's a dead cert that inside the tranquil beast of a ship there are squads hastily scrambling into battlegear, lacing up tunics, seizing weapons and forming up to back up their first responder compatriots. A couple of Marines jog over to Jacy's side, and as the hoverMULE settles down on its ground pads, the whine of the engines dying away, one of the soldiers unfolds, origami-style, a large smartcomm display onto the hood. A hologrammic representation of the docks area springs up, and Jacy studies it intently for a few minutes before starting to amplify her orders; "Squad two, the Helios. Squad seven, the Bracknell Building and this watertower here...." The gunner has the .50 cal pointed up at the sky, now, but he's still watching the crowd. <English>
"Blaaah.. Doctor duty," he murmurs as he reaches to stow away his badge and retrieve a new item. His voice is low as he speaks, enough for those close to be able hear something along the lines of requiring an entire surgical team to be at the local hospital and its utmost importance.. But that aside he's moving to press closer to the men in the black suits. "We'll have to wait for the ambulance to arrive.. The quicker the crowd is moved out of here the better for the manuverability. What is his pulse like?" Malchior questions intently of those closest to the fallen Admiral. <English>
Dumont is speaking on comm again while the rest of the chatter is being sorted out, linking to traffic control in this sector and calling for emergency evac with enough uniforms - local constablulary mixed with Alliance - to clear the path. By the time Marines are emerging from the Tempe and Jacy is sorting out which units need to head where and Malchior is organizing the medical personnel to head to Memorial, Dumont has the outline of the Admiral's condition to relay to the medics themselves. From the Tempe emerges the medic team that'll get the Admiral stabilized enough to load him onto a backboard and from there do what medical personnel do. In the distance, and not terribly far away at that, is the sound of sirens and the amped up presence of Alliance soldiers as they pour out of the tempe to clear the area. <English>
As the troops head out to search for the sniper, the crowd parts to let them throgh and Aife floats on that movement; flotsum in the crowd. Pressed too close to the line, she softly apologizes to the trooper and presses back into the throng. With the advent of the Alliance medical corps, Aife figures; rightly, that the downed officer will be cared for. Time to beat as hasty a retreat as possible in the crowd, then. Angling with the crowd toward an exit from the docks, she spares a brief glance over one shoulder, then slips away. <English>
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