Chains of Command

[John Glayde]

No matter how hard Glayde thought outside the box, he would never have imagined that he'd find himself here. His life had changed quite radically over the years; the young boy who wanted to travel to Alderaan and learn to become a chef would no doubt have been disappointed in the military path he chose; the unshakeably loyal Storm Commando would no dobut be ashamed of how severely his loyalty had been shaken. The Sergeant who never wanted to be an officer would hate to see the Major badges pinned to his uniform.

But none of them, not in a million years, would have pictured him seated on the bridge of a starship; especially not in that seat.

Hyperspace whirled around in front of the viewport as the Novgorod cruised onwards. The hypnotic cascade of colour was beautiful to look at for a few moments; but the magic had long since worn off. In these situations the ship flew itself. The officers manning the essential stations were doing nothing important, save for the occasional diagnostic; they were there because regulations demanded it.

So was Glayde. He didn't know a damn thing about starships, but he knew about regulations. If the Alliance Navy rulebook demanded that there was a senior officer present on the bridge at all times, then he would damn well sit in the chair until someone showed up to relieve him.

The doors to the bridge hissed; relief finally came. Out of reflex, Glayde was on his feet in an instant, arms clasping smartly behind his back. "Captain on deck!" he announced, the sudden noise enough to make the young Ensign at the helm leap clear out of her skin.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

He was proud of himself. He didn't wince that much. He was almost getting used to his sensitive ear drums getting molested every time he stepped toward his duty station. With a nod, he dismissed the call to attention.

He did the little shuffle-seat-change when the guard shifted. Taking the command from his XO, he skipped over the formalities of pulling rank, and gestured to the viewer.

"How was yourr fjirrst naval post? Fjish out of waterr?"

He'd gotten Glayde's resume on his desk a day before he was posted. It wasn't his decision, it was a directive from Bothauwui. With Novgorod's mission being open-ended enemy engagements wherever they presented themselves, Intel believed a specialist strike team assigned to the Navy's fastest sortie frigate would enable them to hit the Empire where it hurt, again and again.

[John Glayde]

"No offense to you personally, sir -"

A faint scowl had settled onto his features. He'd found that happening quite a lot lately. He wasn't normally the sort of person who had much in the way of facial expressions at all, really; but scowling especially was most definately not his thing. Not in the past, at any rate. A sinking feeling in his stomach made him wonder if he might slowly be turning into Vansen Tyree. Was this the first step on the path to becoming his miserable old CO?

He drew in a covert breath, holding the urge to sigh at bay. "- but this is hardly the sort of thing I signed up for. I'm not just out of water: this fish is on Tatooine, and he isn't enjoying it at all."

He'd kept his voice low; not so much to avoid the crew overhearing, more to make it clear that they weren't supposed to be listening. "It isn't my first time being stationed aboard a starship, but I much perfer sitting down in the barracks to sitting up here on the bridge."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr's expression turned grim a bit as Glayde told him that gee, this just isn't the pleasure cruise I hoped it would be. It would be wasted on his second to explain how little he wanted to be a Captain, and how joining the Alliance was a career of not getting what you wanted. He swallowed down that impulse. It wouldn't be good for anybody to hear it.

"Well, jI wouldn't worrry. Wjith the trrouble we'rre orrderred to get jinto, jI expect all sorrts of jinterrestjing and hostjile planets to splash down on jin ourr futurre. Speakjing of..."

He pressed a datapad into Glayde's hands.

"Frrom Dac. We'rre lookjing forr a ljive jintel opporrtunjity. Snatch, grrab, and jinterrogate."

He leaned back a little in his seat.

"So we'll get you on soljid grround soon enough."

[John Glayde]

Sitting next to his senior officer was an uncomfortable feeling. Not that there was anything wrong with sitting next to Cirrseeto Raurrssatta; it just felt oddly casual, like he was chatting to a fellow passenger on a luxury shuttle instead of a ranking military commander. He wanted to be opposite, or at the very least standing at something vaguely resembling attention still. But, he'd surrendered and settled into a seat; the Captain would probably have ordered him to do so if he'd remained standing anyway.

His eyes skimmed over he datapad he'd been given; he resisted the urge to express his sincere hope that the Novgorod's shuttle pilots were skilled enough to not splash on anything. He supposed he should be grateful; the fact that there were shuttle pilots at all was a novelty he was very much looking forward to getting used to. After his last few experiences, he hated piloting the bloody things.

"Will we be interrogating the target on-ship," he asked casually, still absorbing the intelligence report. "Or will we be delivering them to Intelligence for that?"

It seemed like a stupid question; but with the motley crew that Captain Raurrssatta had assembled, he wouldn't have been surprised to learn that there was an expert interrogator with a shady background in the Inquisitors lurking around the corridors somewhere.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"We extrract them and deljiverr them to Dac. jI'm not jin the jinterrogatjion busjiness."

He continued, glancing to his XO.

"Command wasn't too specjifjic. jI just thjink they want a warrm body wjith a hjigh enough jImpSec clearrance. jI don't want any unneccessarry rrjisks forr yourr team. jIf you can't capturre, you kjill, and you get out."

It wasn't explicit in his orders, but Cirr interpreted them through is own personal ethics. If command got specific, he'd adjust that worldview accordingly.

[John Glayde]

"You've seen my service record, Captain."

There was a hint of something in Glayde's voice - not quite pride or arrogance, but certainly confidence; the kind of confidence that came from knowing what you were saying was unquestionably true, and everyone would have to grudgingly come to accept that - as he spoke, his attention finally peeling away from the datapad.

"I tend to keep failed objectives to a minimum, and I always put things right when the situation goes wrong."

The addendum went without saying, but his mind certainly dwelt on it. If I'd made a mistake in the Storm Commandos, they wouldn't have let me live long enough to make a second.

He offered a shrug, as if his success rate was just a casual topic of conversation.

"What's our ET-to-target?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr glanced to Saine, who was already on the query.

"Realspace terminus in just over twenty minutes."

The Captain continued.

"We used to hold Daltarrra. The Empjirre pushed us off, and have clamped down the surrroundjing sectorr. Rresjistance should be averrage on the surrface. We'll do a qujick pass, jinserrt you, and do pjickup agajin jin one hourr."

[John Glayde]

An hour. For a quick sieze and escape, that could either be too long, or not enough. A string of flukes could have them in and out in half that time, only to be apprehended by local authorities while waiting for their pick-up; and even one or two minor disruptions could leave them entrenched against hostile forces while their ride sailed on by.

Of course, Glayde lived for missions like this. It was this kind of op that the Empire had trained him for; strangely fitting then that his skills would ultimately end up being used against them.

He flashed a smile. "One hour? Should be a cake-walk, Captain. Anything else you want done while I'm out - groceries you need picking up?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr smiled.

"jIf you'rre askjing for a ljicense to cause mayhem jin the meantjime..."

He glanced over, his baby blues narrowed conspiratorily.

"jI don't thjink anyone wjill exactly complajin jif the occasjional garrrjison goes up jin flames. What's the human terrm? jIcjing on a cake?"

[John Glayde]

Glayde's face broke into the closest thing to a grin that he would ever allow it to become.

"In that case, I'll be sure to mix up some extra frosting."

Rising from the chair, still clutching the datapad in his fingers, his mind jumped ahead several stages, already planning the op laid out before him. Covert infiltrations and exfiltrations were his speciality; whereas collateral damage and bonus explosions were thing that he knew some members of his team did extremely well.

He threw a curt nod at Cirrsseeto.

"If you'll excuse me, sir, I can think of a different Captain who will be very excited to hear about this."

With that he left, so focused on his newly assigned task that he forgot to be relieved about escaping the bridge. A comlink found it's way into his hand, thumbing the stud that would open a channel to Captain Tallen.

"Mara," he spoke, holding the device close to his lips, "Tell Porter and Onashi to grab their gear, and meet me in the hangar in fifteen minutes. We have an op but time is short: I'll have to explain on the way."

He fell silent for a moment, his legs already carrying him through the ship to the lower levels, where cabins and bunk rooms had been distributed out to the various members of the Novgorod's unorthadox crew.

"Glayde out," he added into the comlink, thumbing it off as he reached the door he was looking for.

He drew in a breath before he pressed the chime; a few seconds past before the hatch slid aside, revealing the dour face and intimidating frame of Ledo J. Prent.

Glayde fixed him with a determined look. "I have a job for you."

[Mara Tallen]

The pull-up bar was set at a peculiar height in the doorway to her sleeping area. Low enough to clothesline anyone not looking where they were going. But it was the perfect height for hooking one's knees over it and dangling upside for abdominal crunches.

When the comlink trilled to the particular series of beeps that meant it was incoming from Glayde, she answered it without hesitation. "Tallen." She replied, trying to keep the breathless out of her voice lest he think she was misbehaving again.

She arched a brow as she dangled there, listening. A smile curled her lips as she barely managed to get in a 'Yes, sir' before Glayde cut the line. The careful flick of a fingernail brought a line open to both team members at once. "Porter, Onashi. Grab your gear, hanger in fifteen. We've got an op. The Major will explain en route. Time's short. Tallen out."

The comlink was flicked off again in short order. The other two knew what to do, she wasn't worried about it. In the mean time, Mara kicked her legs up and off the bar, flipping around in mid-air to land in a very feline crouch before she stood. A very quick trip through the 'fresher was in order, as was a fresh change of clothes. It was the usual black bodysuit, boots, utility belt and hefty backpack, the latter of which was always packed and ready by her door.

She was the first to arrive with a few minutes to spare. Mara set the backpack down and took the time to adjust the thigh holsters holding her shatter guns. She was going to need a new holster for the left one soon, a fact which made her frown. The door behind her whooshed open, and she cast her amber gaze over a shoulder to see who had arrived.

[Serasai Onashi]

Onashi stood, eyes closed, and his face creased in an expression of thoughtful determination, like he was relaxing off the burn of a good workout.

"Hmm," he 'hmmed'. "That's good."

His comm chirped, and he grinned, pulling the device off the stand next to him and thumbing it on. He didn't even need to say his name, however; Tallen only took the time to pass on the orders and then signed off.

He deactivated the comm unit and looked down thoughtfully.

"Do you think you could finish me off with that time limit?"

The cute little ensign on her knees in front of him smiled. His return smile was positively radiant - for him, that is.

She didn't quite make it, but swore she'd do it next time. He was sure she could, being the fast learner she was and all.


"Tallen!" Onashi called, a lazy smirk on his face and a certain spring in his step. "Are we going to break something explosively, or is this another one of those subtle missions?"

[Ledo G. Prent]

He drew in a breath before he pressed the chime; a few seconds past before the hatch slid aside, revealing the dour face and intimidating frame of Ledo J. Prent.

Glayde fixed him with a determined look. "I have a job for you."

"Heh. Heh. Heh."

The grizzled face that looked back at him cracked a shark's grin.

"Issat so lad?"

Ledo had finally had his room upgraded from the brig to a single cot room with two polite guards. He was familiar with the racket. Pirates impressed, shanghied, and kidnapped-with-benefits all the time. Apparently the Rebels aped the business model. Still not quite vested enough to be out on his own without a chaperone though. Of course, with his likeable personality, soon they'd all be the best of friends.

"Isser money 'n pussy innit?"

[Sam Porter]

She heard the voice coming from her activated comm, but gave no response to the accursed thing as it rested on the small nightstand beside her bed. In fact, after it'd clicked back off, Sam let out a rebellious groan as she turned over beneath the mound of covers that were piled over the top of her lanky frame. She closed her eyes even tighter, trying to will away the notion that she even leave the comfort of her bed.

She'd just gotten to sleep! It wasn't fair! Couldn't these people accept missions that had nothing to do with disturbing poor souls who'd tossed and turned all night long, thinking over the last batch of mollyhocked thermal detonators they'd put together? They weren't pretty, and were even less trustworthy.

Another disgruntled moan, and the blonde kicked away the mass of blankets before rolling over the side of the bed, giving the offending comm a distinctly angry glare.

"Do you people even know what time it is??!!!"

It was a question given to no one, and spoken more out of angry self-pity than anything else.

"This is an ungodly hour to foist the exhausted out into the world!"

Any hour before noon was generally considered 'ungodly' in her mind.

"And what's more," she raged to no one at all as she pulled a pair of trousers on, "... I want it known that a durracrete slab is more comfortable than that bed."

Sam pulled a shirt on over her head, and it was soon followed by less than graceful feat of acrobatics that involved putting on socks while at the same time pulling on her jacket.

She slid her feet into her boots, but didn't bother tying the laces as her gunbelt was cinched around her waist.

"It's a damn travesty, is what all this is," she grumbled angrily, swiping the comm from the nightstand and grabbing at the handle of a small duffel.

Like a violent solar storm she burst from her room to tromp her way down the corridor, a near-murderous glare that still held the cobwebs of fresh sleep glinting in her eyes.

[Mara Tallen]

"I sincerely hope so, Onashi. There's been a lack of proper explosions in my life lately."

Mara replied, until she really looked at the man as he bounded into the hanger. He was never quite so...ebullient. Except when...oh gods. There was no way in the nine levels of hell that she was asking which of the Ensigns it was this week. Especially since she wasn't getting any at all.

Shaking her head as she ran her fingers through her auburn locks, Mara kept her expression smooth with her usual smile firmly in place. A neat ponytail soon bound her hair back from her face as she eyes her backpack. She knew the contents and their precise placements by heart. But without knowing exactly what the mission was, she thought to err on the side of overkill.

Out of a nearby storage locker, she retrieved a locked silver case and set it beside her pack. There was Cresh-Four in it, among other assorted explosives that the military required certification and security clearance to handle. With that, and Sam with her kit, they ought to be able to cover anything Glayde could throw at them.

[John Glayde]

Ledo had finally had his room upgraded from the brig to a single cot room with two polite guards. He was familiar with the racket. Pirates impressed, shanghied, and kidnapped-with-benefits all the time. Apparently the Rebels aped the business model. Still not quite vested enough to be out on his own without a chaperone though. Of course, with his likeable personality, soon they'd all be the best of friends.

"Isser money 'n pussy innit?"

"Money, explosions, and shooting people," Glayde offered back.

The Major was loathed to call on the assistance of a man such as this. The Rebel Alliance was forced to make use of less than honest men on a regular basis: when merely being part of the Rebellion automatically made you a traitor and a terrorist in the eyes of the "legitimate" galactic government, you started to become a little less judgemental of some of the crimes your compatriots had committed in the past.

But Glayde still clung onto a few of his morals and principles; and working with pirates severely tested those. Luckily for the Alliance, and for Prent, Glayde's commitment to his morals came a different second to his commitment to his orders and the mission.

"Anything else, you'll have to get hold of on your own."

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Come on; I'm briefing the others in the hangar bay, and I hate explaining things twice."

*

The team was assembled looking professional as ever. They were certainly a motley assortment: one mercenary, one pirate, one loose-cannon, and one whatever the hell Sam Porter was - all of the above? - all to be herded towards an objective by a Storm Commando in-exile.

Were their mission not such a serious matter, it would almost have felt like some sort of cruel sitcom like the ones his sister had forced him to watch back on Corellia. His sordid history with Mara certainly fit the profile, and Onashi was clearly the comic relief; idly, he wondered which of the group were the requisite sleeping together in secret couple.

From Onashi's pleased with himself look, and Porter's ruffled and disgruntled one, they seemed to be the safe bet.

"Our mission is simple," he explained, clasping his hands behind his back. "Alliance Intel wants a senior Imperial to question; our job is to get one. It's a quick snatch and grab, with a one-hour window. Plenty of time if it all goes to plan; precious little if we balls things up."

"The Captain -" He hesitated, a slight nod of his head towards Mara. "The upstairs Captain has also been complaining that we have too many blaster backs, grenades, and explosive charges cluttering up his cargo hold. He's asked us to get rid of as much as we can; so collateral damage is approved - hell, encouraged -"

He wasn't sure who deserved his stern look the most; it was a struggle to rely on the restraint of any of the group, and he found himself with the uncomfortable realisation that Onashi and Tallen were probably the best behaved. Life had taken some interesting terms of late; he was pretty sure he didn't like them.

He decided on Prent as the target of his scowl. "- but against military targets only."

"Time is short: we only have a little over five minutes before we drop out of hyperspace; that's when our one our window starts. Get your gear on the shuttle; I'll answer any questions in transit."

[Ledo G. Prent]

"Money, explosions, and shooting people," Glayde offered back.

Bollocks on the money bit. He was every bit certain that the Alliance would short him or there'd be none at all. Maybe whatever he could steal while on the mission?

The rest was good though. One caveat.

"I wan' me knoif back."

The guards had confiscated his pigsticker. The blade was lovingly maintained but the rest of it looked like shit and it was mostly there for sentimental reasons. And for shaving. And for eating fruit. And for stabbin'. Not a lot of that in this day and age, but he was a sucker for waxing nostalgic.

Once Glayde ensured that, the rest was gravy on a spot of nerf. Ledo decked himself out gear that the Alliance master chief was suddenly all too willing to foist upon him. He listened to the plan, giving Porter a bit of his attention as he did.

[Sam Porter]

For her part, Sam busied herself with finally taking on the task of lacing up her boots as Glayde spoke. She made faces as she worked, parsing the XO's words and filing them away for whenever she deemed would be a useful time to pay them heed.

Of course right now, her footwear took precedence. She caught Prent sneaking himself a few looks, but gave no indication that she knew or cared as she finished up, and in one smooth motion her now-free left hand closed around the duffel's handle while she straightened to stand and took a small step backwards.

She did not have much to pack, which was a good thing in situations such as this, and with a weary sigh the tall blonde started for the shuttle. She shuffled her way past the short line of her teammates, walking behind them.

Restraint never being one of her stronger traits, Sam did not resist the urge to reach out, nastily flicking Prent's ear as she passed by him.

[Mara Tallen]

Amber eyes glittered with absolute delight as Glayde spoke. She swore the man had never said anything sweeter...well, he had, but that was neither here nor there. The directive to lighten the Novgorod's load of explosives from the Captain was a burden she would more than gladly accept.

It took her about two minutes to transfer everything to her silver case and in turn grab a few extra supplies. Leaving her empty backpack behind, she boarded the shuttle with the others and got herself settled.

Mara secured the silver case before finding herself a seat and strapping in. Slender fingers busied themselves with her shatter guns, checking the weapons over carefully as was her custom.

[Serasai Onashi]

Onashi looked around the shuttle thoughtfully.

"Too much of my life lately has been spent on shuttles," he said. "When are we going to have a good boarding mission?"

He settled his gear beneath the crash seat and strapped himself in, making sure it was snug. Last time he'd been lazy about it, he'd almost gotten whiplash from bouncing around so much.

"Seems like we're all in, John. Shall we commence with information dispensation?"

[Ledo G. Prent]

"Easy, cunnie." Ledo growled at Porter as she passed, a sportsman's smirk on his face as he went back to checking his weapon's action.

"You remind me offa girl I knew on Malastare. Fuck if I remember 'er name, bu' tha' skirt had an arse like an R2 dome."

He winked as she walked past.

"Loved t' watch 'er go, too."

[John Glayde]

Very few things annoyed John Glayde.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. A great many things annoyed John Glayde, but for a very select few reasons. Chief among them was a lack of professionalism and respect. That was what frustrated him about Onashi most of all: the mercenary was capable of being a highly proficient soldier and a remarkably useful squad member; he just required an undue amount of motivation and a desperate level of personal danger to actually be inspired to do so. Ledo Prent it seemed was of a similar ilk.

"Miss Porter," Glayde said, his voice calm but with an underlying current of threat and authority. "If you ever find yourself wanting to beat on Mr Prent here, please do so with my blessing. I would normally ask you to aim away from his face, but frankly I'm not sure anyone would notice the difference if you didn't. And Mr Prent -"

His tone changed; what had been a mere hint before became an icy and obvious threat as he squared off against the pirate, his eyes making it plain just how capable he was of backing up his threats.

"While you are on a mission with me, you will act at least vaguely like a civilized human being, and will keep thoughts like that firmly behind a shut mouth. If you do not, I will take a fist to you myself... and believe me, you will not like where I plan on sticking it."

His gaze didn't falter. "Is that entirely clear?"

[Ledo G. Prent]

Ledo sized Glayde up, his eyes running through the calculus of a few dozen ways this could go down. Figuring that getting a cut of the action was worth more to him than whatever damage this yipping dog might do to his pride, he gave a gruff laugh and a pat on Glayde's cheek.

"Fuckin' crystal, mum. Look'ere. You tell me who's dome needs this..."

He gave his rifle a loving pat.

"...an' I fuckin' do it. Wha' I don't do is tapdance. So cut th' foreplay an' ge' outta me face."

[John Glayde]

"No foreplay? Fine."

Glayde didn't blink. Ledo didn't have the opportunity to, either. if he had, there might have been a small chance of his eyes staying closed as the stun blast from Glayde's quick-drawn blaster enveloped him. Neurons misfired, and Ledo's entire body crumpled, depositing itself in an immobilised heap on the deck.

"You need to learn when to shut up, Mr Prent," Glayde muttered, casually tucking the scout blaster back into the holster on his belt.

A hint of a sigh escaped him as he regarded his now paralysed team member. For a man of his size and muscle density, the effects wouldn't last long with the comparatively low dose of stun-strength energy that had been splashed over him, but that didn't particularly matter. He'd be mobile again long before they reached the surface; but for the next few minutes, he'd have absolutely no choice but to sit still and shut up, while his eyes and ears fed all the necessary details of their mission into his still-conscious brain.

Turning slightly, Glayde's gaze settled on Sam Porter. "Could you give me a hand loading this last bit of cargo into the shuttle?" he asked, casually enough. An afterthought added itself a moment later. "And next time, remind me to have a repulsorlift trolley on standby for lugging around useless lumps of meat."

[Sam Porter]

Sam grinned like the sandpanther that'd gotten a hold of the mynock, and as she tossed her duffel through the shuttle's open hatchway, her direction changed abruptly to retrace her steps.

The thought of Ledo Prent unable to speak for any amount of time was a wonderful one, and she gladly would help Glayde drag that oaf wherever he needed to be dumped.

"Sure thing."

Stopping at Prent's inert form, she stooped down to take hold of both ankles.

She made a face.

"Are you sure we can't just dump him in the garbage compactor?"

At the XO's look, Sam gave a shrug.

"We can make it look like an accident... "

[John Glayde]

"I've never returned from a mission without a member of my team, Porter," Glayde shot back, grabbing Prent by the scruff of his webbing and hefting his ridiculously heavy bulk off the floor. "Even the ones killed in action: I always brought them home."

He grunted as he navigated his way backwards up the comet's boarding ramp. "No way in hell am I tarnishing that record on scum like Ledo Prent."

With a heave he threw the living corpse into one of the crash couches, unceremoniously jamming limbs and body parts into the appropriate places as he strapped the pirate securely - perhaps a little too securely over some parts of his anatomy - in place.

Glayde threw a smile into Ledo's dull but still-open eyes. "You sit tight now," he said, patting Prent gently on the cheek, before turning around to find a seat on the opposite side of the ship that offered his team the best view of him.

His eyes settled on Onashi as the pilot obligingly closed the boarding ramp in the wake of his passengers. "Don't worry, Serasai," he reassured, making a rare use of the mercenary's first name. "There's plenty of charge left for you as well, if you feel like getting yappy."

[Mara Tallen]

Her beast was getting a little restless, uncomfortable with being confined by crash webbing and in human form. Normally, Mara would spend the ride in her feline shape just to ease the burden. But this time it wasn't possible, given the conversation that was going to shortly happen. It would be best if she didn't shift back and forth just to ask a question if she had one.

So human she remained.

Mara tilted her head and watched the exchange between Porter, Glayde, and Prent. And kept watching as John gave the man exactly what he deserved in that moment. She dipped her head to hide her smile and remained perfectly silent. A hand lifted to press tightly against her lips as he threatened Onashi as well.

A moment to regain her composure and she lifted her head again, gazing over at Glayde with only the slightest hint of a smile playing about her lips. "What planet are we hitting? And are we after a particular Imperial or just the highest ranking one we can get our hot little hands on?"

[Serasai Onashi]

"Why do I get the feeling you don't like me very much?" Onashi asked sardonically. "What have I done to you to get threatened with bodily harm and shocking? It's shameful, picking on an innocent man."

His heart went out to the pirate, but Onashi wasn't sure he wanted to get shocked himself when there was the possibility of explosions and fighting. He watched as Prent was dumped unceremoniously into a seat. Onashi settled in one himself and strapped in, eager for work.

He loved his job, and there wasn't anything else he would rather be doing.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"Majorr."

The comm line to the bridge crackled live with the voice of the Captain.

"We'rre on the rrealspace terrmjinus at Daltarra and engagjing E-WARR prrotocol. Comm sjilence frrom herre on. We'll get you close, the rrest jis on you. One hourr."

The voice paused a bit.

"Happy huntjing."

As the comm line cut off, the deck chief began to flag down the shuttle, steering the Comet toward the ventral bay with two batons as the repulsors whined and the dropship began to shudder. Below them, the ventral bay doors peeled open, still shrouded with an atmo barrier, but showing the glow of a planetscape below as they approached fast and quiet.

The deck chief shouted over the din of the great durasteel beast.

"You are green for drop! This is a full speed insertion! Prepare for maximum turbulence!"

As Novgorod skirted the ionosphere at nearly full sublight, a flicker of movement could scarcely be seen from her belly as she peeled off. A shape that quickly began to plummet, picking up an angry trail of red as her speed ramped up.

[John Glayde]

John liked falling. Hell, he'd spent a decent chunk of his military career falling from high altitudes on purpose. Back then, all that had stood between him and either a fiery friction death or a bone-liquidizing impact with the ground was a flimsy suit of Imperial-issue armour and a comically small repulsor pack. Some said that the Jump Troopers were suicidal, or crazy. Others said that they had balls the size of gas giants. Some called them fearless; and for John, that was perhaps the closest to the truth. It wasn't that he was without fear necessarily; he just ignored it, the same way he ignored everything else that might cloud his mind and interfere with the mission. He compartmentalised, storing thoughts and emotions until he was ready to indulge them.

Right now, he was indulging intense frustration.

The problem was, as much as John liked falling, falling in the Comet was something else entirely. When you fell with a parachute or with a jump pack, you felt free. You felt the wind and the G-forces rushing past you. You could move; control your descent with the merest shift of your arm, or flick of your thruster controls. It wasn't flying, but it was falling with style.

Style was not something the Comet posessed. Nor did she posess inertial stabilizers. Or structural integrity. It was like plummeting towards the ground in a coffin. A noisy, rattling coffin. Built by monkeys. That didn't feel free at all. That felt like dying, at a painfully slow pace.

Glayde's eyes strayed to the rear hatch, and for the umteenth time he vowed to requisition enough repulsor packs and training materials to ensure that his team would never have to step inside this infernal jump box ever again.

"Approaching drop site! Three minutes out."The pilot's words echoed through the comlink plugged into John's ear. It was a damned good thing that it did: there was no way he would have heard it over the infernal racket inside this can. He made a mental note: next time someone asked why anyone would be stupid enough to jump out of a perfectly servicable shuttlecraft, he'd take them for a ride in the Comet and see if that changed their mind.

Glayde reached for his restraints and clambered free, taking a moment to let his legs become accustomed to the rumbling of the deck plates beneath. Luckily, the shuttle was cramped enough for him to place a steadying hand on the ceiling above. "Lets move!" he bellowed, eons of practice letting his voice slice through the ambiance like a lightsaber.

He advanced a few paces, just close enough for a booted foot to collide forcefully with Ledo's shin. "You back with us, Mr Prent?"

[Ledo G. Prent]

A face that had been slack was now twisted with distinct irritation. The mouth scowled and the brow knit. The space pirate's body contorted against the brusque way it had been strapped into the harness, sliding backwards in his seat to prevent the groin strap from doing any further injury.

Eyes still closed, a hand deftly travelled to a pocket on his utility vest, fishing out a flask that was quickly nipped from. A dribble of brown liquor ran down the stubble of his chin, and at last, the old pirate's eyes opened.

"Yeh."

He guzzled again, and gave a small burp.

"Oughtta lemme know bout th' bumps. Me boys doth protest."

Ledo leaned forward and spit a shot of saliva that landed squarely between Glayde's shoes.

"Aim's off. Better get sighted in, eh?"

[John Glayde]

"I guess performance issues are something you're used to at your age," Glayde shot back as he stepped past the least desirable of his predominantly undesirable team. "Though if your 'boys' are causing problems, I'm sure Miss Porter would be more than happy to remove the inconvenience for you. No doubt they're largely decorative by now anyway."

With a slight shift of his bodyweight, Glayde turned away from the pirate; not enough to expose his back as a tempting target, but enough to let Prent know that whatever asinine taunts he managed to conjure up in response, the Major would be ignoring them. A hand reached for the storage racks above the crash seats, and pulled free the gear-laiden tac-bag that Glayde had stowed.

"Come on ladies," he added as he slung his gear over his shoulder, with a glance towards the rest of his team that clearly included Onashi in the 'ladies' category. "Lets get a move on. We don't have all day."

"Two minutes out!" the pilot added, right on cue.

[Serasai Onashi]

"Tongue like a knife there, Major," Onashi said as he sprang up and pulled his own gear on. "Careful with a weapon like that, yeah? You might hurt my feelings."

He settled himself in position, his blaster strapped tightly to the pack underneath his parachute.

[Mara Tallen]

"I thought you didn't have feelings, Onashi." Mara grinned at the merc over her shoulder, ignoring Prent completely for the time being. The urge to shift and gut the man was strong, and her beast was already pacing from the anticipation of the mission.

Amber eyes grew bright and reflective, while her pupils lengthened into slits as she nodded to Glayde. A verbal response wasn't necessary, and wouldn't be audible as the shuttle complained and the pilot gave them a two-minute warning.

Shuttle was a generous term. Rickety floating death box of doom, might be more appropriate.

Shaking her head, Mara turned back to the task at hand. Fingers tugged the large silver case down from its secure rack and looped the straps securely over her shoulders and around her waist. It was bulky and a little awkward, but she'd long become accustomed to it...and the added bulk would make her feline form larger and more formidable. Which was always a plus.

Mara moved over to stand near Glayde and Onashi, keeping her gaze focused forward as the pilot gave the one minute warning.