Jammed Up
Jammed Up
Summary: Resistance and Marines set out to blow up the cylon towers that have been jamming their wireless signals.
Date: PHD076
Related Logs: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank)
Players:
Legacy..Komnenos..Cyrus..Dmitri..Roubani..NPCs..

Scorpia - Highway 606, South of Osprey

The mission is manned with marines, all those not hospitalized, and as many Resistance and Military as were fit. The approach to the towers is somewhat slow, though it's not too far away, the hike is a good one (15k). Taken under partial cover, through the trees by the road, it's a couple of hours at a pretty consistent pace. The day waxes on toward dusk, and clouds overhead reduce the light even further. It looks like there might be a storm rolling in.

Thea's in line behind one of the Marines. Though she's the highest ranking officer present, this is a Marine mission. Along the route, she did manage to ask Roubani and Cyrus a question - "Poet, Mr. Korosti? Should we take out three towers in a line, or should we take out every other one, to make a bigger hole?"

Cyrus is one of the civilians along for the ride. He seems eager, and a little twitchy. Or at least wired. It's hard not to be, though. It's one thing to be wandering a blasted, wrecked landscape looking for food, water, anti-radiation meds, and company. It's another thing entirely to be part of a combat detail actually -looking- for trouble. This would probably account for the adrenaline high.

Anyway, Cyrus is rolling with the marines. And the Cylons will probably be hating. Soon. If he has his way. Then again, anyone who commits genocide on billions of sentient beings is pretty much a hater. "Um. Do we know their total layout? I'm not sure I know for sure, or if it would even make a difference, but I'd probably go after them in staggered order."

Having graduated from pistol to rifle, Roubani is walking along with the rest of the group. He's no Marine; 'skinny prat with a gun' fits him more aptly than 'fighter'. But you know the little ones, they'll bite your shins. His expression is solemn and eyes mostly on the ground as they walk, hand freshly bandaged. As Thea asks the question he thins his lips, glancing at Cyrus and the Captain. "Myself, I'd say three in a line has a better chance, from the configuration you showed us. Should we leave every other there's more chance of leaving residual signal that will interfere."

He's not sure why he's here traipsing through the underbrush, as this isn't exactly Thorn's job description. Nevertheless, he's here, a rifle in his hands and a fresh bandage on his shoulder. It was either this or sit with Ivory's still unconscious body in the bunker sickbay - and the latter sounded downright depressing. Besides, with so many wounded at the moment, someone's got to pick up the slack. He wasn't asked the question, but he volunteers an answer anyway. "You want to guarantee a hole in the jamming, go with three in a line. Best t' be certain."

Dmitri is off from the group— a little ahead, a little to one side, keeping his distance so he can scout things out. Rifle in hand, ghille suit worn, he's a softly rustling and armed bush moving through the forest and keeping an eye out for lead scouts.

"Mr. Alexandros and Lieutenant McTiernan did the recon," Thea says quietly, deferring a bit to Dmitri. "Looks like they're all around the city. Let's just start with one and hit them all as we get to them, as many as we can before we have to fall back. Minimum of three, then we'll start trying to get a signal through while we go for more. The harder we make things on them, the better off we'll be."

What Cyrus -actually- said is, "Groupings. There's likely to be some sort of signal-overlap otherwise." He nods a bit as Thorn and Roubani offer their advice, looking suddenly a bit satisfied. All three seem to be in agreement.

"Yes, sirs." Roubani murmurs. The words barely move his lips. He shifts the heavy rifle strap with his thumb, rolling his slender shoulder and trudging on. There's a glance or two at Cyrus as they go, and if he catches the man's eye for a second in there he mimes spraying something nearby with a can of paint, baring his teeth. Then it's back to dead serious, before the nun can hit his knuckles.

The (NPC) marines move along, clustered around the other military, in front, mid, and back, forming a CMC bubble around the other combatants, senses in full on recon mode. Parts, Lem, Dover, and Nikos slink along stealth style, rifles up and ready.

The first tower is just over a short rise, East from the bridge, along the bank of the dry river bed. The patrol routine is an alternating guard, with 2 Centurions always staying put on it. Each time the roving patrol Centurion arrives, the Centurion at the base of the tower breaks off to walk to the next down the line to the East, leaving the former patrol to become stationary at the base of the tower. Last night, a third stood in the tree line watching motionlessly. The Colonials approach from the SW.

Cyrus pretty much doesn't offer anything beyond that one bit of technical advice as he looks between several of the military Personnel. The Captain, Roubani. And he catches Roubani's gesture and his lips crack open in a wide, wolfish grin and his chest practically -rumbles- with a rough snicker. Anyway, he's not exactly anything resembling a tactical expert. Leave that to the pros, right? He falls in line afterwards, with nothing more than a reassuring pat on his backpack. Maybe he brought a can. Maybe.

"My kingdom for an air strike…" Thorn mutters to himself, sotto voce, as the Colonial group comes over the rise and into view of the first tower. He hefts his rifle experimentally; he hasn't even held a similar weapon since training. Nevertheless, the weapon's weight is a comfort; better for plinking Cylons than his service pistol, anyway.

Roubani smirks at Cyrus, looking back the way he's going. His pack might have a suspicious shape in it too. Maybe. As they start drawing near, he pulls his rifle off his shoulder into his hands and slows his steps down, staying behind that circle of Marines. Solemnity settles back over him, dark eyes looking up at the height of the first tower and then back down.

Thea settles into position as she plays spot the plonk…er, spot the cylons. She's near a Marine. Marines are good. Marines are very good. Down she goes, rifle up.

Thorn, too, settles into a firing position in the brush. The unwitting Centurions are in view now. His rifle comes up, slowly, quietly, as he lines up one of the Cylons in his sights, waiting for the cue to open fire.

Cyrus treads along, hefting his own rifle and actually remembering to turn the safety off with a silent flick of his fingertips. He had a few years of being a small-time hood under his belt. Vandalism just didn't seem as satisfying in those days, though. His gaze flickers about, keeping silent, and whatever crude jokes he has to make remain with him. Thank the Gods. All his experience with a gun, up til the past couple months, was limited to sport and target shooting. As the others fall into cover, sensing something's up, he follows suit, dropping down low.

Roubani also hits the dirt, though he does it slowly. Don't scare the wildlife; it has guns. Click goes the safety, soft as can be, and he settles the rifle into firing position. Trained on the centurion that the Marines seem to be hellbent on taking out, he squints an eye shut and makes a target of the thing.

Dmitri crouches down slightly as the come into view of the tower, bringing the rifle up and aiming for the centurion standing beside the tower. The steady back-and-forth of its red eye sweeping across its face, again and again, as the survivalist takes aim. "Bet you never saw /us/ coming, you ambulatory piles of junk— " When other weapons fire— so will his.

Pvt. Parts, Pvt. Dover, Sgt. Pickens (called by his first name, Lem, due to there being another Pickens on the Kharon), and MSGT Nikos all draw down on the target nestled in the treeline, hiding there in the very edge of the woods. Taking out the flanking Centurion seems to be their priority, because the roving patrol should be coming from the rear of the other stationary target. Best to have an eye on all incoming as soon as possible.

The Centurions, meanwhile, are stationary and focused on their task. Neither of the two currently guarding the radio tower seem to be aware of the presence, the incoming DOOM with a fleshy human face.

Dmitri's lips twitch in a grimace as he firesand the bullet ricochets off the centurion's armor. "Frak frak frak" Another chambered, he brings the rifle up to fire again. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result, but nobody has ever accused Dmitri of being particularly sane.

Thea turns her attention to the other Centurion this time, keeping herself low, her eye on the target. Yes, the pilot actually knows how to shoot. At least, she knows how to handle a gun. Guns are like sticks, right?

Roubani's finger depresses the trigger and the rifle slams back hard against his shoulder, exploding fire into the centurion by the trees. Two bullets rip metal off the thing in the middle of the hail of other shots coming from their party. Keeping his focus on that one for now, he's determined to see it on the ground.

"I'm sorry." Cyrus mutters, deadpan. Heavier hardware takes a bit of getting used to, as he sinks down into the ground. The recoil from the second and third shots was a bit much for him to anticipate, but the first shot hit, lodging in his own Centurion target's arm. "Really I am." He lines up another shot.

Almost as one, the humans open fire; the nearer of the two Cylons is hammered by a torrent of fire, including Thorn's — two of his shots ricochet harmlessly off armor, but the third buries itself in a metallic leg — but it doesn't fall. It's clearly in a bad way, though, and Thorn turns his attention to the Cylon closer to the tower.

The hail of bullets poured on the centurions batters the shit out of the watchful sentinel at the edge of the trees. That's a wake up call that is most unpleasant. His gun arm comes up, and whirs flashing and spitting return fire even as he turns, his first volley not particularly aimed. It's more of a craps shoot.

The Cent at the base of the tower receives a slightly less harsh awakening, but it is also surprised. A machine adjusts quickly, and his gun arm comes up as well.

Dmitri pulls the trigger; again, the bullet strikes the centurion but leaves little more than a dent. "Well made piles of junk," he corrects himself in a growl under his breath, chambering another round, firing once more even as bullets tear through the undergrowth dangerously near.

Cyrus' mouth is hanging open a little bit now as the rounds fly by. "What the frak did I say about you SHOOTING AT ME!!!" he mouths, audibly, as he sinks down lower into the brush, fortunately said rounds do miss, and the one shooting at him probably won't shoot at anyone ever again with -that- body. He concentrates on the one he was working on earlier, grazing it in center mass with his first shot again. Something about recoil, man. Recoil.

Roubani's heart is pounding in his ears, but by now it's drowned out in the rat tat tat tat! of the hails of bullets going in both directions. His rifle unloads again on the centurion that took the brunt of their fire last time, two bullets again tearing metal from the thing's frame and sending sparks flying. He shifts on his shoulders, turning the rifle to aim now at the other one they can see.

Sentry, meet hail of bullets#2. The Centurion is battered all to hell, practically blown to bits as various pieces of armor succumb to the beating.

Lem nods slightly, Dover just squints, Nikos lights his stogie, and Parts snorts. "Who's your Daddy now."

Thea's shooting, the rifle butting up against her injured shoulder - though she doesn't seem to notice it all that much. There are toasters to be killed and by the gods, the pilot is going to shoot as many as possible.

Thorn throws his body down into the brush just in time; bullets slice through the air where he was just standing. "Not this time, frakhead," Komnenos snarls, his lip twisting in anger as he scrambles back up, bringing his weapon back up to aim at the Centurion.

Cyrus is sapping -someone's- sentry. Of course, there are enough good people here to be taking ample credit for the next Centurion's demise. His mouth hangs open some more to allow the production of a truly hoarse laugh. "Silly sons of bitches." A series of his shots from his most recent burst hit, and a couple of them are square in the center mass of the Centurion's chest. He's getting the hang of this.

Roubani' last burst of bullets doesn't do quite as good a job at tearing shit to pieces, but they hit somewhere. Breathing in shallow sips through his teeth, he lets out a swift and silent burst of air once the thing falls, readying his rifle for more. Is there more? He can't really hear to tell. His attention turns to Thea.

Thea starts to reload once the second toaster is down. "Can we get that tower wired, please," she asks the Marines. "We'll move to the other side and prepare to intercept the patrol." Some of her bullets have hit, some haven't. A speaking commentary on her life, apparently.

"I need some frakkin' steel jacketed rounds," Dmitri mutters under his breath, pushing himself up as the centurion falls. He doesn't go for the tower, trusting the demo sorts to do that, but starts through the underbrush towards the patrol path to keep an eye out for one approaching.

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer bullethead," Komnenos mutters in that same snarling growl as the second Cent goes down. He's not usually the intimidating type, but the crisscross of scars still on his face gives him a sinister aspect as he stands to find a new position, waiting for the arrival of the Centurion. He shoots a quick look at both Thea and Roubani before reloading his own weapon, fumbling with a new magazine.

Monkey see. Monkey do. Cyrus looks towards his nearest analogues for guidance here. He's never touched G-4 in his life, which is probably a good thing for all involved. Particularly since he's not about to start now. "Uh. Reloading." He announces to nobody in particular. For some reason, he's grinning. He's either crazy or an idiot. Or just on an adrenaline high.

It's just not a good day for the occupying forces. This must be Lady Luck kicking them in the face after what their counterparts did to the Colonials last night, and the day before is Osprey. Go good guys! The tower stands immobile, as towers do. It stretches up into the sky, wired and presumably transmitting. A large metal box, about the size of a smart car, rests at the base is wired to one leg of the tower, presumably the transmitter with a generator inside.

Msgt Nikos growls out an order to his marines, and three of them set off across the clearing, all of them digging in their packs. Nikos jogs out with them to provide cover, his rifle raised, should anything even think about jumping out at them. The tower is in an open space, thusly vulnerable to spotting from above. The marines fan out, and get to work.

Roubani has one eye on the tower area as he works to get his rifle reloaded. A couple soft clicks and scratches and *thwicks* as the clip's changed out, and the weapon cocked again. He rubs the back of his hand against his hairline, catching a dirt-soaked rivulet of sweat before it can trickle its salty way down into his eyes.

Thea moves out as well, heading toward the vague direction of the next tower, trying to keep under cover, to keep herself low. No, she doesn't get too far ahead of the boys blowing things up.

Click, click, click. Reloading is easy, right? Cyrus isn't exactly the fastest at this. He does manage to monkey around and get the old clip out and the new mag in a few seconds after Roubani. His teeth flash again in a grimace directed at no-one, as he looks over towards the action at the tower intently.

Thorn fumbles a bit as he's reloading; he's by no means a pro at this. He's doing fairly well learning on the job, though, and he manages to not make himself look too out of place as he finally slams the new clip home. He's starting to sweat, and he dearly craves a smoke, but he resists the temptation; he merely moves alongside Legacy, making his way towards the next tower.

It is, of course, just as the marines reach the base of the tower and begin setting their G-4 charges that the Centurion appears on its patrol route. It's moving at a run. One might deduce its sensors picked up the combat nearby, and Bubba is inbound to smoke some humans!

Dmitri was already heading for the patrol path at a short jog, when the centurion bursts into the open—swearing, he brings his weapon up from its fresh reload, snapping off a shot as he shouts, "COMPANY!"

Awfrak. Roubani's eyes snap up at the sound of WHIRR THUNK WHIRR THUNK moving at high speeds. "Oh, bugger," he mutters, jamming the rifle butt back against his shoulder. Snicksnick, aim!

Oh, wonderful. Guests for dinner and they're already short shrimp. Thea drops to a knee behind some cover and starts shooting at the incoming Centurion. "Provide cover for the ones at the tower," she orders the gathered.

Thorn whirls around at the shout; indeed, the third Centurion has finally showed up to play. "Really?" The rifle swings back up, and Thorn flicks the rifle's switch back to burst fire before he opens up.

Cyrus wastes no time in bringing his, er, eager way of doing things to bear as he levels his rifle in the direction of the target, squinting. "I see you." He mutters.

Cyrus merely adds to the hail of gunfire and doesn't do anything impressive other than fire a few shots on the target again. Still, every little bit, right? "Nice one." He calls out to Komnenos and Roubani, who are close by. He lowers his weapon a second and takes a breath as the little Centurion who could - can't anymore.

BOOM headshot. Two of Roubani's shots do nothing, but one about blows the thing's faceplace off. Not that he can tell it was his bullet; he's just laying it down. Killitwithfire! His hands are shaking a little by the end of the hurricane of bullets, brows drawing together sharply as he tries to see the Marines. "Damn…were they hurt?"

Parts, Dover, and Lem continue to wire the tower, despite the incoming. Nikos' rifle jams as he attempts to fire, and he pays for his ammo malfunction by eating three rounds, arm, and either leg. The Sgt goes down with a grunt of pain, his rifle still clutched in one hand. Dover barely finishes his charge before he takes a round to either arm, and he falls back for a moment, before sucking it up to set his timer. A spray of blood from Lem's arm sends him falling backward, and he clutches it with a yell of pain. Blood flows pretty freely.

It's the yell of pain that gets Thea's attention. As the Centurion goes down, she drops back to the injured. Lem first, apparently. "Hold on," she tells him quietly, getting ready to treat the wound.

Komnenos could get used to this, seeing Centurions go down like butter under a hot knife. He's able to throw a quick nod to Cyrus before he notices the marines. He winces in dismay as Nikos and Pickens sprawl backwards. "No, Ensign, it's only fake blood," he snaps sarcastically as he moves to assist Thea with the wounded.

Dmitri brings his rifle up as the robotic menace goes down, and turns— ah, hells, someone's been shot. Well, their luck couldn't hold on forever.
Komnenos treats Msgtnikos successfully.

"Oh go frak yourself, sir," Roubani snaps back, none too nicely. Whoa, someone's a little more tense than usual. He rolls his eyes and turns his attention to their surroundings as Thea works on the Marines, rifle trained on the area around them and ears pricked for more whirr thunks.

Cyrus' thick brows knit pensively at the sight. He was telling himself something bad would probably happen. He opens his mouth but doesn't say anything immediately, rather, scanning about to make himself more useful. "Is it clear?" He inquires, even as he's checking himself.

Well… Thorn might have had that one coming. There's tension to be found everywhere, and it's not like Roubani's given to extravagant cursing, unlike a certain snappish jig everyone knows. At any rate, the ensign's outburst is forgotten as Komnenos is leaning over Nikos, frantically cleaning and bandaging the man's leg wound. The Marine master sergeant isn't that much better off when Thorn is done, but it's a start… a real medic will be needed for his other injuries, though.

MSGT Nikos is slow to get up from the ground. As the enemy goes down, and the rest come over to assist, he remains where his is. The stogie is still clutched between his teeth. He smokes in stoic silence, while he's treated.
Shegt Lem Pickens clenches his jaw, and goes marine stoic as he's treated. The initial reaction is now under control. He's bloody, but he might not lose the arm. Might not.

Dover moves over to finish checking the charges as his fellows are treated, using his right arm, the one with the lesser flesh wound. A grimace accompanies the first, but it's just a slight frown as his body becomes accustomed to the new pain.

Nikos gruffly says, "Help me up. Move out to the next target." The detonators are set on timers.

Captain Legacy is a woman of seemingly infinite patience, even in the middle of firefights and blood. However, Roubani and Komnenos seem to be trying that patience ever so slightly. She slides herself under Lem's other side and says one simple, very quiet word - "Enough." Apparently she feels that's all needs to be said.

No sounds on the horizon. Roubani only used a few bullets, but that doesn't stop him from reloading. His is a painfully logical mind, after all. Legacy gets no response, his eyes just flickering between the reload and the area around them until he's done. Then it's onto helping Marines, whoever needs doing.

"We've got to move, before more've those centurions show up," Dmitri says in tight tones, not unsympathetic, but they're on a timetable here! "Frakkin' toasters'll catch on soon enough, especially when the tower blows."

Cyrus murmurs, "Too bad we don't have the resources for simultaneous detanation." Yeah, too bad they didn't have airstrikes, either. He moves up a little bit under cover.

Yeah, Thorn does have a way of trying the patience of superiors. Even the Cat, a much more patient woman than his old CO, has to step in once in a while. The rebuke is as far from his mind at the moment as the momentary spat with Roubani, though, as he's moving with the rest of them; Legacy only gets the briefest flick of a guilt-tinged glance as he gets underway.

The old dislike of hands on him is still there in Roubani's tense body, but right now that tension's mingled with everything else and easily overlooked by his rapidly churning mind. He helps up Parts or whoever's closest, ready to move on.

The injured marines manage to get up with help, and moving, even Nikos. The adrenal rush helps, undoubtedly, but it's clear from the gait of the largest marine that he's going to need some serious treatment in a pretty serious way. But there is, at this time, a mission. MSGT keeps moving.

Thea's next order is quietly spoken as she starts toward the next tower. "Move out, people. Double time. We don't want to be in town when this tower blows." And she's pushing it, holding the rifle in one hand, her other arm around Lem.

Roubani was moving. He keeps moving. Move move.

Thorn doesn't need to be told twice, either. He's already moving in the direction of the second tower, rifle at the ready.

Dmitri nods once, turns and vanishes into the brush once more, hustling along towards their next destination. Five clicks is a long jog.

Cyrus is once again rolling. Yes. That's it. Rolling.

Five km (3 miles) from the first wired tower is the second tower guarded by only two Centurions. The charges aren't set to blow until roughly their arrival on the second site, and Pvt Parts has the count down. He glances at his watch along the way, doing mental calculations now and then. The enemy is unaware of the deaths of their fellows, it seems, standing motionless by the towers.

Roubani wipes his left hand on the side of his fatigues trousers. Sweat is loosening the bandages wrapped around his palm, blood and some other nasty fluid seeping through both front and back from all the movement. It's barely noticed. He keeps his arm supportively under Parts' until they spot centurions again, and then gets low.

Thea brings Lem up to cover then gets herself low, letting the Marine down as she takes a bead on the first of the Centurion guards. Time to take these bad boys by surprise. Again.

The marines split off, fanning out with little difficulty, moving low, or grabbing a lean against a tree on one knee. MSGT grunts as he gets down, the injuries finally taking their toll. He's slower than the others.

And, time for round 2. As the Colonials close on the tower, its resident pair of guards comes into view, and Thorn, like the rest of them, skulks into the brush, preparing to fire.

Cyrus traipses and tiptoes along the path energetically, if he is panting a bit. This done, he follows suit with Thorn and settles into the brush. Waiting. Lining up what looks to be the next potential target. This little Centurion went to the market.

And this little centurion isn't going to run all the way home. Thorn eases his finger off the safety as his sights are set on another Cylon, and prepares for the storm to commence.

Roubani sees two of the Marines going for one of the centurions and sets down to concentrate fire. Elbows dug into the dirt and rifle braced, he mumbles a prayer under his breath and opens fire.

Thea flips her safety off, eyes narrowing as she concentrates. "Focus fire on the left," she says, voice low and quiet.

Dmitri drops himself down to one knee, the rifle drawn up as he finally flicks the setting over to three-round burst; squinting to aim, he pulls down the trigger, quiet, focused.

The Raptor Captain doesn't really change her focus from what she's doing, though comments, "Prepare to go."

Roubani barely notices Nikos taking out a centurion singlehandedly. His focus is still on the clunking to the left, breathing harshly through his nose as he readies another burst on the thing.

Dmitri smiles grimly as a few of his bullets tear into the centurion's armor; jaw set, he readjusts his aim and fires another burst, the kickback causing the suit he's wearing to rustle further.

Well, -that- wasn't supposed to happen. Green eyes flash in annoyance and a certain amount of grumpy disgust as Cyrus grits his teeth and pops out briefly, attempting to get a better angle. Aurora be praised. Or damned, depending. A better angle on the remaining sentry.

Komnenos is squinting down his sights at the Cylon, lining up another shot. Finally, after a couple seconds of tracking the Cylon with his eyes, he continues firing.

Another Centurion, another Colonial bullet storm. The final Centurion goes down, and Thorn rises cautiously out of the brush, looking around for more Centurions and reloading his weapon as he makes his way down towards the tower.

Roubani consolidates clips quickly as he sits back on his heels. Click click, metallic chinks and snaps. He slings the strap securely on his shoulder and gets back up, dirt streaking his knees as he heads forward towards the towers.

Dmitri's smile curves into a brief, bloodthirsty grin as he rattles a series of bullets down the centurion's face and chest, and falls under the hail of fire from him and everyone else. Pushing up from his slight kneel, he moves to cross over towards the opposite patrol path in anticipation of another approaching, reloading as he goes.

As soon as it's down, Thea's on her feet and starting forward. "Move move move," she calls quietly. "Tower two, then we're going in." In? "Grab who you can. Marines, we'll cover." Her body is pointed to Osprey as she reloads, quickly.

Much better. Much, much better. "Anyone object to souvenir belt buckles? Beer mugs?" Cyrus rumbles, just quiet enough to be heard. This is in another instance of semi-unfounded bravado. Only 'semi' because that Centurion had a fully concentrated dose of lead. Or whatever passes for lead in the Colonies. Ouch. He is saying this in indication of the next deactivated Centurion. He stoops to change another mag, fiddling with it a bit. Once this is done, he progressively edges through the brush to get in a better position. Also eyeing that Centurion gravely. Maybe he's serious about trophy-taking.

"Make a good ashtray," Roubani mutters under his breath, as to the downed centurions. His sharp eyes flicker to the hunk of metal on the ground and then back up and around them, watching and listening. There's one glance towards Osprey as Thea talks about "going in", but he's not about to question. Lookout duty ahoy.

The marines hop to, aside from Nikos, who remains where he is to rest up, and provide cover. Dover, Lem, and Parts head in again with their packs, and their demo gear. It takes them about a minute to get to the base of the tower, and then they're working with the mad speed and efficiency of Colonial Marine Corps members with fires lit under their asses. Maybe they just don't like this planet. Even Kharon grows on a person after a while.

"In?" Thorn is puzzled by the addition. He sidles up next to Legacy. "In where, Captain?" He shoulders his rifle and wipes sweat away from his brow, a questioning expression on his face as he approaches his commander. In a quieter tone, meant for her ears only, he asks, "Is there something else t' this mission we should know about?" He lacks Roubani's reticence, it seems, but that's nothing new.

"Risky." Dmitri pauses, glancing back to the captain, a brow lifting as if to say 'are you sure?'.

"Osprey," Thea says, voice quiet. She nods to Dmitri, once, acknowledging his comment. "If we take down the center tower, the hub, we'll slow them down even more and create ourselves a bigger hole." She's turns her eyes to the landscape, studying it from behind her cover.

If Roubani has anything for or against this cunning plan, he isn't showing it. His eyes turn towards the mentioned Osprey again, watching that direction thoughtfully. "I wish someone down there would make tea," is muttered finally. And dead seriously.

The couple of miles into Osprey are mostly wooded, and it's pretty much a straight shot North, with a slight angle East from the current location.

MSGT Nikos nods, and moves to rise as his marines finish their wiring. It doesn't take long, and they're on the jog back to join the group.

"Osprey," Thorn replies flatly. A flash of anger passes over his face as he regards the Captain. He hates these kinds of missions, where the true goal isn't revealed until halfway through. "Would've loved t' have been told ahead of time," he mumbles to himself, but doesn't protest as they wait for the marines to rejoin them. He's a cheeky jig, but he's no coward.

Cyrus doesn't take any exception to Thea's statement. 'Going in' is what they say in all the vids, right? He's along for the ride. "Ah. Osprey. Don't bother stopping for supplies." He offers, himself. Neutrally.

Dmitri grunts, but that's his only response to the plan; he did mention the possibility, after all, when he reported his findings to her. The gun's lifted up, and he plunges into the woods towards Osprey, jogging a bit to head for the front to keep with the scouts.

Roubani looks down at the 'dead' centurion nearby, watching it. Not like he expects it to move, he's just considering the metal monster. He exhales in a soft rush through his nose and gives the marines a glance, checking their progress.

Travel Transition to Osprey

Thea simply gives Thorn a look. In fact, she actually stops in her tracks to give him the Look. It's a pointed one. Very pointed. As in, so pointed it practically draws blood. For just a moment, the disappointment is clear on Thea's face. But she says nothing else beyond, "Keep moving." The ground is covered in decent time and the group arrives in Osprey. One of the first thing to be noticed is that there IS no tower. Just like there is no Zuul, there is no tower. It's down. "Get cover," Thea says quietly, tone giving nothing away. "Ensign Roubani, test the wireless. See if we're being jammed." She glances to Dmitri and offers him a little smile, but it's brief. "Thank you," she murmurs.

In the distance, there's a BOOM. But it's not for sure the people hear will hear it. Pvt Parts notes, as he rejoins the group, "First tower should have just blown." He turns to glance back at the second. "That's on a timer. I'll let you know when." He says this assuming camping here won't be happening.

Cyrus actually figures two heads are better than one. Roubani gets the order, but he stops to fumble in his pack for his own wireless transmitter. Never hurts to have a second opinion, right?

That can't be good. Thorn visibly shrinks under Thea's glare, and with a red-faced scowl, his attention is back on the brush — anything but his CO. Way to go, smart guy. With that, he's back into the brush, searching for cover as ordered.

Roubani has kept up admirably through the haul, finally stopping when Thea wants to know about the wireless. His dirty hands rummage through his pack, something making a couple metallic sounds in there before he draws out the Colonial wireless pack they'd ripped from their downed Raptor. He looks over at Cyrus and manages a weak grin, then sticks the earpiece into his ear and turns a couple dials. Listening. "Mmm…still being jammed, sir." He frowns, pursing his lips and looking around them. "Towers must have their own power supply…or transmission devices, or both."

Legacy looks over to Parts and dips her head, once, lips pursing. "Blow it," she says quietly. "Poet, try it again after the second tower's blown. With this center tower down, we may have a better chance. Mr. Alexandros did say three needed to go down." She's hopeful, very hopeful. For the moment, Komnenos is forgotten.

Roubani crouches down securely, heels flat on the dirt. He keeps the wireless piece in his ear, waiting for the second call of kaboom. His eyes lose none of their alertness, skimming the area around their little ground several times.

Ditto from Cyrus. "Nope. Nothing. At all." He says, after checking his wireless and stowing it. "I'm with him, they probably have redundancy. The Cylons are apparently not stupid enough to build centralized or interdependent grids with no redundancy. I mean, who would build a system that would completely fail with the loss of one component, anyway?" For a second, he forgets he's in a combat zone. Suddenlty, he snaps to, shaking his head and looking a little like his hand was caught in the cookie jar. "Never mind."

Parts glances over to Legacy. "You want me to blow it with us standing here? Any reinforcements in the area will be on us pretty fast. Not to mention air support," he reminds her, glancing up to scan the skies.

Now that they're REALLY down in Osprey, Thea glances over to Cyrus and Roubani. "Give it another shot," she says quietly. For a moment, she glances around, surveying the landscape. The clinic is what catches her attention. "We'll take shelter in there for the moment. I don't want to be in a non-defensible location." Yes, she even looks to the Marines for their opinions.

"Of course." Cyrus has been looking around a bit pointedly and edgily since they made it into Osprey. Something's definitely got him bugged. He reaches inside his pack again and produces his same beloved, lucky wireless unit. "Oh. Hey. Listen to that. No fuzz."

Pvt. Parts glances at his watch some time later, and nods. "Second tower should be down… now." He glances over to MSGT, who is not looking so good. The older man is pale, and that stogie, though jammed between his teeth, is no longer smoked.

Cyrus makes a little, bemused face as he gets the Wireless going.

Roubani nods to confirm Cyrus' happy news, the faintest smile gracing the corner of his mouth for a brief second. He looks up at Thea, earpiece still in.

Thorn's glancing around; the sound of the explosions has made him tense, almost as though he's just waiting for a column of Centurions to drop on top of them. He's making his way towards the clinic, rifle swinging in a cautious arc around him.

"Good job," Thea says to Parts, lips pursed as she looks at Nikos. "If there are Raptors in orbit, they SHOULD hear the signal. Poet, broadcast standard SOS call and response on all Colonial frequencies. I'm splitting the group here. I want a Marine and one other to go back with the Master Sergeant. He needs a doctor. Do I have a volunteer? Poet, I need you and Mr. Korosti to stay here. We're going to be running shifts with the wireless, not all in one place."

"You want me to try'n locate the central point?" A look over to Thea, Dmitri's brow lifting, "I'm pretty familiar with the town, came out here now'n again on supply runs."

Roubani nods solemnly to Thea. Stay here, phone home. Word. He moves the heavy rifle strap on his shoulder, flipping through the frequency dials on the wireless set. "I'll take first shift, sir." He looks over at Dmitri hopefully, then back at Thea. He then appears to realise something. He looks over at Komnenos over his shoulder. "Sir…" Not finishing quite yet, waiting to see if Kom knows what he's about to say.

Dover steps forward. "I can, sir." Even if they have to drag him, is the implication. The younger, smaller, and less injured Pvt. Parts steps over to take up a guard position, rifle in hand, with a nod to his fellows. He reloads his rifle in the mean time.

Nikos grunts, but doesn't voice any disapproval yet. He's too busy sending a quick prayer up to whatever God(s) it is he follows.

And once again, Thorn has that bad feeling he's become dead weight. He's standing off to the side as the group begins to split and Roubani is given the first shift on the wireless. "I can take watch, Captain," he volunteers quietly, if only to give him something relevant to do. He doesn't register Roubani for a moment, but there are only two here that the ensign would address as sir, and he's not talking to Thea. Thorn changes direction, heading over to the Ensign. If he knows what's on the younger man's mind, he doesn't say so. "Yeah, Ensign?"

Thea looks to Dmitri and nods, once. "We'll be here in the clinic," she tells him quietly. "This is your area of specialty. If you need anything, let me know." She turns her attention to the Marines and studies them. "Gods speed," she says, voice soft and quiet. "Roubani, you have first watch. Komnenos, you're with me inside." Whoops, she's not using call signs.

Note to self, superior officers aren't psychic. Who knew? Roubani turns around as Komnenos gets closer, asking quietly. "The drone, sir. I don't know very well how they work, but could it be of use somehow?" That thrown out there, he glances back at Thea as she summons Kom inside. Rut roh.

"Luck." Dmitri looks out across the city, lips pursing tightly, "A lot of frakkin' luck." That said, he pauses to shed the ghille suit— handing the giant bush-like raiment to someone unfortunate nearby, forest camo being useless in the city— and without further hesitation heads off from the group, ducking down the first side street.

The drone. He'd almost forgotten about the thing since they'd been brought back to the bunker. "Depends on whether or not Fenix can even get the thing t' work. If she can though — yeah, we might be able t' use it t' amplify our radio signals. It can't hurt, anyway." A quick look at Thea; no, she doesn't seem happy. What have you gotten yourself into this time, Komnenos? He nods to the Ensign. "Good thinking, Poet." he offers the younger man as he slowly walks off in Thea's footprints.

Roubani nods absently to Komnenos. He'll let the JiG handle whatever comes of that, going back to what he's doing on the wireless while Dmitri scouts for other locations. Select frequency, broadcast SOS. Change frequency. SOS. Rinse, repeat, through the night.

Thea is contemplative as Roubani and Komnenos talk drone. "If it might be useful, we'll have someone go get it," she says finally, then turns toward the clinic. "Roubani, stay inside the doorway, not outside. I don't want you in the open. Parts, get a nap."

"Yes, sir." Roubani brings his wireless, rifle, and pack with him to the doorway of the clinic, set to camp out. Give him a rocking chair and a banjo and it'd be all over.

His brief tech conversation with Roubani finished, Thorn is back to walking inside the clinic as ordered.

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