The DuBois Boys Raid
| Location: Log_Location::Paquin Countryside | IC Date: Log_IC_Date::2534/01/01 | OOC Date: Log_OOC_Date::2015/05/03 |
| Characters: Has Characters in Scene::Jacy | ||
| Summary: Log_Short_Summary::Heather Jacy leads an assault squad against a group of rebels on Paquin | ||
The Paquin countryside, far from the hustle and bustle of the spaceport and vacationers where the normal folks live.. or in this case the loud, rebellious sort. The Dubois ranch sits on some two hundred acres of land and is a squat, but sprawling structure attached to a barn in the rear. The land around is flat and cleared from grazy animals and there are several wagons and MULEs parked in front of the house including one that used to belong to the local Fed station agent. That is at least until the Dubois boys broke into the station to raid the armory and then burned it down with the Fed still inside.
Which is where Jacy comes in. The Paquin Feds want the Dubois boys bad, but they don't want to tip their hand by rolling out of Paquin spaceport in a convoy, because the Dubois boys have eyes and ears there. No, instead they've contacted the Navy who have sent a strike team to drop down out of orbit, negating in part the Dubois' home ground advantage. Lieutenant Commander Heather Jacy is in the jump seat as the pilot drops down out of atmo. She glances back at a squad of Marines, tooled up along the bench seating in the dropship, strapped in, guns between their knees, doing what Marines do best before the battle - chaffing each other. "You know that DuBois means wood?" one of them asks generally, and not absolutely accurately. "I gotta get me a woody," snickers another. And so it goes. And in one of the seats there's Ashley Stratton...
Down below the DuBois boys are oblivious to that ship dropping out of atmo and and two figures come out of the house to bring a cloth bundle to the wooden post they have recently erected to serve as a flag pole. They stand near it a moment, puttering around with the rope hung off a pulley from it, but soon one starts pulling on the rope to raise the yellow, black and blue flag of the so-called Freedom Movement up high on the standard while the other snaps to a sloppy attention and salutes. The two stand there, looking up and admiring that flag as the ship comes closer.. hands get raised to shield their eyes from the glare and arms extend to point. Words are exchanged before they run towards the ranch.
Rolling thunder as the dropship's retrobrakers kick in, lancing jets of flame down towards the soil below. The ramp is coming down at the back, the two waist gunners in the .50 cals sweeping their sights about the compound. Thick black ropes, the thickness of a man's wrist, uncoil in sinuous lengths from the back and dangle down as the dropship comes to a low hover. The Marines are silent now, and Jacy quickly moves to take up her slot at the back, last man down. The ranch is quiet as the Marine's touch down.. not a bit of motion to be seen, though on closer inspection all of the windows give off a dull metallic sheen from what seems to be metal shutters closed over them from the inside. A small camera mounted above the door the two men disappeared into minutes befroe moves slightly, sweeping over the yard to take in the new arrivals... and a chicken runs across the path of the Marine's on its way towards the coop near the barn. The Marines spill forth, a fast rapel down the ropes to hit the ground running; breaking apart and scattering for cover. Jacy herself has barely hit the ground when the ropes come snaking down, thudding into a heap, and the gunship is lifting off and banking into a tight turn. One of the Marines drops to a knee, murmuring something in comms, and takes a shot at the camera.
There is the crack of the shot and the camera burst into pieces... it's quiet then except for the fade noise of the drop shit and the angry clucking of chickens. The house remains sealed and unmoving while the Marine's go for cover. The Marines are a self-contained unit, and really Heather Jacy is just so much extra baggage right now. Still, she's pulling her own weight, and nominally she's in command of this show. On instructions over comms, half of the dozen Marines circle round, setting up a perimeter - checking for no unpleasant surprises from behind - while the rest move up towards the ranchhouse itself, flattening themselves either side of the door. They've bought the usual 'Persuader', a cylinder of steel tube filled with concrete, held with two large handles; sending that into the door beside the hinges will breach the door well, and Heather Jacy gives the nod to do just that. ...at least, for normal doors. :-)
The Marine that move to create a perimeter will find nothing amiss, no ambush or nasty surprises, everyone there must already be inside.
The Persuader slams into the door and makes an impressive dent in the wood. The door rocks on its hinges, but manages to stay in the frame and upright, supported by something else on the inside. The Marine's that swung the tube only get a moment to notice this however before the rounds of a high-powered rifle start being fired through the door followed shortly by the sound. Whomever is doing the shooting has the weapon set to automatic and sprays lead through the wooden door and wall to rapidly empty the clip as they attempt to take down the marines.
The gunfire from the door proves to be a signal as small hatches in the metal window coverings are opened and the barrel of rifles appear to take aim at anyone they can see... shots are fired and its a mixture of automatic weapons likely stolen from the Fed armory and semi-auto hunting fires that are no less deadly should they hit where they're aiming.. if they're even brave enough to look out the window where they're aiming.
The Marines drop, fragmenting into cover as the fusillade of shots rattle out. There are casualties, too. The Marine with the 'Persuader' falling backwards, his visor shattered by the bullets, and a young woman with the rank insignia of a Corporal stumbles as an armor-piercing bullet finds its way between the mobility plates of her armor and into the side of her knee; she goes down, screaming, and presents a beckoning target for the shooters from a window; bullets thud into her armored form until she goes still. But, after that first moment when the battle seems to be going against them, there's a fightback. A burly Marine flat against the wall beside a window gunport unclips a frag grenade and, pulling the pin, simply stands and drops it through the gunport beside the hot barrel of the automatic rifle poking through. He ducks down rapidly, it's only on a two-second delay. Other Marines are firing at the windows, and in the distance the dropship is circling round, one of the waist-gunners lining up to spray .50 cal down through the roof. The walls may be armored, but is the roof? The initial barrage from the house makes the battle seem more impressive than it really it.. but the untrained hands on the guns within are quick to learn while full auto is rarely used. A lot of bullets are sprayed outside, but few are aimed and the clips are quickly emptied. The dropped grenade explodes inside, blowing the window open and the metal shutter half of its brace so that screams can be heard from the inside. More are followed as the .50 cals from the drop ship start to fire from the roof and many guns disappear from the windows as those within try to find cover.. still, some other weapons stay true and look for targets, firing away with calm shots at anyone that presents themselves. Whatever else might be said about the Butcher of Whitefall, Lieutenant Commander Heather Jacy, she's no coward hiding behind her troops, but nor does she lead them rashly or blindly into the firefight. She's picked up command seamlessly from the Marine Lieutenant who is now slumped behind one of the MULEs, clutching a shattered shoulder and being injected with painkiller by a medic. Those weapons still firing with measured shots are generally left to their own devices as Jacy concentrates on advancing the beachhead, spearing her forces into the ranch house through the fragged room's window. Another few seconds and then the dropship's fire is called off to avoid the risk of friendly fire casualties. After a couple of Marines have silenced the breached room with more frag grenades, one crouches down beside the window, making a step with his back, and Marines are converging to pour into the room through that window. Heather Jacy is amongst them, stumbling as a bullet splatters against her chest armor as she lumbers across the open ground. That's gotta hurt, and probably brings back less than comfortable memories of the battle on Eavesdown Docks the previous February. The large screaming man that burst out though the bar doors with a large wood cutting axe raised over his head probably brings back memories of Eavesdown too... at least until he takes a shot to the chest and stumbles down in a heap to the dirt.
The breech inside the building reveals that it was just a house really, reinforced with a bit of steel here and there with a thick, study bar place over the door to prevent entry. The grenades thrown in tear the room apart, some shrapnel making its way through the walls into the rooms beyond. There are a handful of bodies in the room, mostly rough, unshaven men.. though miraclously unharmed through the explosives and rounds fired is a certain calendar on the wall turned to a certain page with a blond and a flag.
And then begins the slow, steady process of room clearance. Smoke and gas grenades are tossed through each doorway, the Alliance 'Protector' armor having the NBC capabilities that prevent gas from becoming an issue to the assailants. And then the Marines breach each room, shooting first and not bothering with the whole question-asking. There are no prisoners being taken here.
The first few rooms have men that put up a fight, firing blindly into the smoke towards the doors, but they are easily dispatched. At least one, a young man barely old enough to grow a beard tries to surrender... the last room though.. That proves more of a challenge. When the smoke grenades are thrown in two pipe bombs with short lit fuses are thrown back out to explode in a shower of steen pipe and nails before the man that threw them rushes out after in a gas mask of his own with one of the stolen Fed rifles. He is older and knows his way around a rifle so that he fires off in controlled burst at anyone wearing that Protector armor before he is taken out himself. The combat is short and bloody. The next Alliance figure through the door is Heather Jacy, and she fires at the staggering older man, another three-round burst aimed at center mass, and another, and another, until he goes down. She steps up, kicking away the rifle, and looks down into his eyes as she brings her gun up to his head. "You DuBois?" she says coldly. The old man goes down at the second burst, clearly wearing body armor of some sort underneath the old brown duster he has on. Likely something Fed issue stolen from the station. Still, six rounds to the chest hurts like a son of a gun and his breath is ragged when he is questioned. He peers up at the Alliance Officer, hatred in his eyes and manages to spit her way instead of answering.
Jacy's boot comes down on his chest, applying her weight, grinding her heel. "You DuBois?" she repeats coldly, jabbing the gun into one eye socket. No, not all Pan's Labrynth, but painful nevertheless. "I'm not gonna ask you again." The man sneers up at her, trying to act tough, but still tries to turn his head away from that gun when its against his eye. "Yeah... I'm a DuBois." he coughs out, not able to talk all that well with her weight on his chest and after having been shot all those times. "You.. the Butcher..?"
Jacy hasn't been called that in a while. Well, not to her face at least, and she smiles tightly. "Yeah, I'm Jacy. Good men and women died here because of you." She doesn't mean amongst the defenders. "You know Kilbride?"
"Kilbride... With the Mustache?" DuBois shakes his head, "Never met him.. Independence is bigger than one man! We're rising up.." it pretty obvious he's about to start a tirade.
"What about a woman called Hilde Frobisher?" Jacy snarls, trying to cut off the tirede in the bud with more pain on the man's chest. She's stubborn. There is a cough and a splutter as more pressure is applied to his chest and he glares up at the woman, "Nah.. how about.. Amanda.. Amanda Huginkiss? You heard of her?" Isn't he a charmer?
Jacy sounds disgusted. "Get him out of here," she says coldly, and moves her aim to shoot through the side of the skull of a a fuzzy-faced young man.
