Zero Six Hundred

[Captain Tyle]

:: sploosh :: :: sploosh :: :: sploosh :: :: sploosh ::

The early morning calm was jostled awake with the sound of boots, tromping through grass, over rocks, through dirt, mud, and of course...puddles. Over two dozen pair of boots slapped against the earth as they moved to cadence, echoing in the dew-dampened treetops of the Coruscant Grand Arboretum. At 50 square miles, it was the only viable non-urban playground for the men of Krayt Company to enjoy their morning. And as the sound of hard breathing issued amist the clap of rubber soles on gravel-speckled trailway suggested, they'd enjoy it whether they liked it or not. As they ran in unison, a chorus issued up amidst their panting.

<center>Jump, jump, jump the ship...
Jump, jump, jump the ship...
Navy ain't for me...
Navy ain't for me...
We all drink like Micks, and knock up your chicks
We're Orbital Infantry. HOOAH!!

Peel, peel, peel the spuds...
Peel, peel, peel the spuds...
Swab up the latrines...
Swab up the latrines...
The Army won't stand for bastards like you
You're Orbital Infantry. HOOAH!!
</center>

[Marc Tycho]

Singing was just not his thing, and although the boys around him sung like they were some chruch choir, however Marc was not. All he wanted to do was concentrate on running and not trip over some rocks or fall down a hole, no he would rather keep attention on the road rather than sing some song that made little sence to him. He was here to treat the sick not run track, and to be honest none of these guys were going to die from alittle cut from falling over...but orders were orderds...

[Sol Blake]

It was freezing and Sol had to wonder how a place like Coruscant could get so cold yet be so horrendously stuffy and humid in the afternoon. Where does all the heat go? Not that it mattered. A run would be enough to get the blood pumping and he was warm soon enough.

Still pretty dark, the private found a great deal of escapism in the all too familiar excercise. There was only him and the road, or the grass or the soil or the <smallfont color=#FFFF00>-Censored-</smallfont>. It was of no relevence. He would breath in deeply to ensure he would belt out every word and achieve every note. Not that a military running chorus required a great vocalist or musician. It was the principle that matter, this was who he was and if he didn't give one hundred percent in even the activities that might seem menial then he would lose his definition.

To Private Blake the heavy stomp of boots on concrete and stone was as powerful as any percussion and more graceful than a woodwind. It was a rythmn to which he would dance into the very valley of the shadow of death and from the moment of an early wake-up call he would flip that switch that caused the transition from man to machine. The NRSF is more than a job and a way of life, it is an artform in itself.

So within no time at all, the chill had left his bones and his cheeks tingled against the frosty morning air but regardless he found himself much warmer. Occassionally he would glance at Tycho and smile to himself at his reluctance to sing but perhaps he was reserving his energy, after all, he was yet to find out how tight a ship Captain Tyle ran.

[Captain Tyle]

"Move it, first platoon! Second's making you look bad! Dren-damned baby-faced replacements with chips on their shoulders are gonna show the rest of you trench-jockeys up! Tak! Move your <smallfont color={hovercolor}>-Censored-</smallfont><smallfont color={hovercolor}>-Censored-</smallfont><smallfont color={hovercolor}>-Censored-</smallfont> before I light a fire under it!"

Tyle kept to the rear of the pack, so he could keep an eye on the unit's performance.

"No complaints about hangovers! This is better than coffee, Private Ruutiger."

Second platoon continued to overtake first, and at last, Tyle sprinted ahead to the front of the pack.

"Company halt! Form up!"

Rows and columns instantly lined up, separated by platoon and further by squad. The sigh of residual heavy breathing could be heard, as puffs of steam issued from the mouths of Krayt Company. Tyle tilted the brim of his helmet down, as he walked the line.

"Lieutenant Pylache"

"Sir." The leader of first platoon responded promptly.

"You've got some lead-footed troopers, Lieutenant. Moving off active duty does not equal a vacation. Cantine check, Lieutenant. Send First on the course again, and look sharp. Fall out!"

"Sir!" Lieutenant Pylache turned to his platoon.

"First squad, you're on me! Police those cantines, and line up! Second squad, on Sergeant Churman, front and center! Lets move!"

The soldiers of first platoon, weary as they were, carried out the order, hitting the trail again. Tyle stared down second platoon, standing for a minute in silence.

"Alright. Second platoon, get your BDU's and report to the live-fire range. Fall out!"

[Hector Diens]

Diens laughed under his breath as the second platoon ran off to the live-fire range. Diens, a Corporal was also a demolistionist. He enjoyed blowing things up even if he had to run twenty miles to do it.

"Okay you snot-licking censored ! Form up into lines. " Said Lt. Hiller,and the two squads broke off into lines. "First squad! Switch off safetys and fire at will.!"

The Lieutenant pulled off to the side with second squad. Soon enough the sounds of blaster fire errupted from the range. Leaving the other platoon members to rest slightly.

"So Sarge," Diens began a conversation with one of his friends and squadmates, Sergant Brano Wychek, "You eager to get into combat?"

"Ya know what Hec." He trailed off.

"What?"

"ATTEN-HUT MAGGOT!" He boomed!

"Sir Yes Sir!" And the Corporal snapped to attention until it was second squads turn up.

[Sam Riley]

A flush faced soldier and the men of first column jogged passed each other in opposite directions as the latter peeled away from the formation to run another circuit of the trail.

Private Jordan O'Neil, lately from D Company barracks had her papers outlining her re-assignment to Krayt Company folded crisply in the top corner pocket of her uniform, her duffle bag containing her meager belongings slung and strapped tight against her back. She was to report double-time to Captain Tyle upon her arrival at base. Her transport had arrived at 0540 that morning and it had taken her some time to speak to the proper personell which had directed her to the group she was heading to.

As the second column fell in and began practice at the firing range, Pvt O'Neil halted her run and stood at attention before the officers, taking the opportunity to slow her breath, until Tyle acknowledged her.

[Captain Tyle]

"Orders, Private?"

On cue, O'Neil handed Tyle her transfer orders. Giving them a curt once-over, he returned them to her, nodding. He glanced over her shoulder in second platoon's direction, as they prepared their live fire exercise. A second later, he returned his attention to O'Neil.

"At ease. Walk with me, soldier."

Tyle walked toward the gunnery range, but at a slow enough pace to speak with his newest soldier.

"You transferred from D Company, correct? Subspace communication specialist? Battalion CP said they were shuffling some staffers to the line companies. Good."

Tyle shielded his eyes from the sun, tilting the edge of his helmet down as he watched 2nd platoon, like a hawk circling overhead. He spoke to O'Neal at the same time, actions independent of each other.

"Our radioman was KIA at Traxia IV, so we can use you. You've got proper qualifications, correct? Zero-G jump training, and basic combat training, at the very least. I know D's an admin company under Battalion CP, but I'm not taking any liabilities into combat, are we clear?"

He turned to look at her, eyes sharp and grey from beneath his helmet's shadow.

"One more thing, you're getting a commission as part of company exec. Don't let me down, Staff Sergeant."

[Sam Riley]

"I know D's an admin company under Battalion CP, but I'm not taking any liabilities into combat, are we clear?"


Seems she heard that comment, or comments of much the same nature, where ever she went. But Tyle informing her of the promotion to Sergeant was definitely unexpected.

"I believe my record shows I can hold my own, Sir."

I'm glad to be aboard, Sir. Thankyou, Sir."

[Captain Tyle]

Tyle gave a curt nod.

"Alright, Sergeant. Fall in with the live fire maneuver, and police up a rifle."

His jawline tightened as he returned his attention to the gunnery range.

"Earn your keep, or you'll get yourself killed, and I'll find someone better."

He allowed a thin smile, then tapped the edge of his helmet.

"Dismissed."

[Sol Blake]

"This weapon is your life!" Or so he had been told by an old comrade prior to his untimely end in the event of an unfortunate weapons malfunction. Irony had a grim way of showing it's face and impeccable timing. In any case, he took that advice to heart after all in life-or-death situations a fully functional and efficient weapon would not go amiss.

"And Rosie wept and sang the blues..." He sang staring at the standard issue or "Serena" as he affectionatly named her. He brushed the barrel with a neutralized piece of cloth. He continued to sing. "Her dog was dead and tea was cold...Hmm-ba-da-da--"

He cut himself off once they were ordered to attention and slipped his cleaning apparatus inside a pocket. He had studied the "Art of War" and that which made the difference between a good soldier and a dead soldier. As such he found it was important for life to immitate art so always took his work seriously.

Now to live-fire exercises. He was no marksman, he was a soldier of the New Republic Special Forces and they don't need special names and terminology to emphasise their skill. "Not a wasted round--" He thought in preparation for the exercise to commence.

[Captain Tyle]

"Alright, Second...this is a base of fire operation. High concentration blaster fire, loose and continuous. Squad one will set base of fire for Squad two's advance. Droid targets are active up these hills, and they're firing tag beams. If you're contact beacon flashes, cease fire and lie on the ground."

Lieutenant Hiller made sure his platoon kept to a disciplined attack plan.

"Squad two, when you reach the first hill, you should have enfilade and complete coverage on the next two hills. Establish suppressing fire, and Squad one will flank. Keep count on those rail charges. Aim small, miss small. There's a count of 40 in each magazine, so make the shots count."

Hiller approached the sandbag barrier that lead up to the live fire range, and with a hand signal, rallied first squad on him. Gesturing to Sergeant Wychek, he sent squad two around to his right flank, opposite the middle opening of the sandbag barrier. The hand signals instructed squad two to wait for base of fire to be established before advancing. Taking a breath, Hiller rose over the barrier, rifle snapped up to fire.

"COVERING FIRE!"

<font color=FF0000>BLAT BLAT BLAT BLAT BLAT!!!</font>

First squad rose up, peppering the contour of the nearest hill in a rain of blaster fire.

[Hector Diens]

"Alright boys and girls lets MOVE!" Wychek screamed to the squad and they began moving to the first hill. A hail of blaster fire from what seemed like all directions took place above them as they moved low and fast to the first hill.

"Hec! Cut right with Will and Ren. I'll go left and meet ya in the middle!" The Sergent screamed across to Hector and the squad split up into two groups, drawing out the fire. Moments later the two met up in the center of the hill with the others layed out parallel to them.

"Take 'em down!" Wychek ordered and that they did. The six guns of the second squadron dug into the dirt and began to unleash crimson hell upon the droid targets.

[Marc Tycho]

By this time first platoon had returned and to be honest Marc was thankful. Marc was a very fit guy but he was a Medic not a bloody running intructor. However he had once again run the course and once again huffing and puffing. His calfs were now hurting, he feet felt like a jack hammer had pounded them into the ground and his lungs felt as if a fragmintation grenade and just exploded in them.

'Damn...man..thats..a long...way.'He managed to puffout before there walk to Captain Tyle for a new task had been completed, the rest of the guys just nodded in agreement.

[Derric Rienhardt]

Rienhardt could only agree with the medic, his lungs burned slightly as well as sharp pains thumping into his kidney. Rubbing his side slightly, Derric followed the squad while still in ranks.

Second Squad had already begun the fire exercise, 'damn' Rienhardt silently thought, waiting as the Captain finished his talk to address the first squad...

[Sam Riley]

Saluting before turning and breaking into a steady trott to where the Second had assembled for live fire exercise, Jordan peeled off her duffle pack and tossed it off to one side.

Taking up one of the rifles, she fell into a position free between two men that already had their weapons lined up and sighted. A breif cursory check of her gun and Jordan also lifted the rifle to firing position and scoped in on her selected target.

[Captain Tyle]

Tyle hustled down to fall in with Second platoon's first squad, setting up briefly under first squad's base of fire. He turned briefly to Hiller, with a clenched fist. Hiller addressed first squad.

"First squad, hold up. Cease fire."

Tyle eyed O'Neil, and gave a series of hand signals.

Two fists, pressed together - On me

Hand sideways, fingers extended, then index and ring finger extended - Join up, second squad.

He pointed to Hiller.

Cupped left hand, sideways hand, fingers extended, index finger extended - First squad, left flank assault.

"Wait for my command" came the hushed order.

Tyle coiled, then dashed forward, tugging O'Neal by the shoulder to come along. He snapped up his AR Mk2, laying a cursory flash of suppressing fire over the horizon.

"COVERING FIRE!"

Ahead of them, second squad intensified their barrages on the forward two hills. Behind, first squad peeled out on the left flank of the sandbag barricade, advancing in a quick column towards the leftmost hill's perimeter. Sprinting forward, Tyle shoved O'Neal behind the first hill's defilade.

"Sergeant Wychek, take Diens over the right flank. First squad! Extra grenades on the runners, double up! O'Neal, you're on point, hustle up and clear that right flank!"

Tyle fingered a smoke grenade, jerked the pin, but kept the spoon closed in the palm of his hand.

"Wait for the signal, and begin your assault in earnest. First squad, support from this enfilade, full suppressing fire."

Taking a second to ready himself, Tyle turned away from the hill, sprinting the distance and threading the needle between the left hill, being flanked by first squad, and the right hill, which was being hit by Wychek, O'Neal, and Diens. The four privates of second squad opened up in a hailstorm of red blaster bolts, as Tyle tossed the smoke grenade, signaling the right flank to attack.

[Sol Blake]

Blaster fire had rained thunderous overhead from the first squad as Sol joined the rest of Second Squad on their ascension up the first hill. The MG-12 he carried was hardly a burden considering it's size, it was lightweight in both hands but manageable with one until it was time to fire. Reaching the top of the first hill, he remained stationary for a moment before double-checking that his charge magazine was securely locked in place.

"Nrgh!" He grunted, diving to the ground avoiding an angry, red plasma bolt. With a roll, he gained some cover and camouflage in a rut to the side of the hill where he could see his attacker. "Droids!"

He squeezed the trigger and unloaded a seering blast through the mental abomination's chest cavity. There was a fizzing and it then ceased to move. As much as he hated droids, training droids were well-versed in combat strategy and were also frighteningly accurate. But they lacked the drive and inspiration to find art in destruction.

"Raindrops keep falling on my head--" He sung, reaching the top of the second hill, he stradled it's side a little and from his vantage point caught sight of two droids charging through tall grass at the bass of the incline. He hurled the short-range grenade straight for them, crouched out of sight and in the cover of the gritty earth and waited for the explosion.

It caught one of the two droids and it's curvacious flew over, landing several meters away from Sol who now took hold of his blaster rifle again. Setting up camp from the side of second hill, he began unleashing covering fire on the horizon of the third knoll as first squad advanced.

[Sam Riley]

Jordan twisted anticlockwise at the tug on the back of her jacket as Tyle ran by, breaking out of line and fell in behind him. At a running crouch, her weapon craddled and swaying conversely with each stride, O'Neil was only a step or two behind her commander. Tyle opened fire before them and then a sharp shove to O'Neils side, sent her into an embankment and a dirt snack.

From her vantage point, laying in a semiprone position against the rise, her hazel eyes roved the battle scene. She made sharp mental memo's in her mind as to positions, landmarks and motion of other incidentals in the field. Tyle was peppering out orders and then he was off once again.

It was her job to take point and help clear the right flank. A quick peek over the dirt hill and she was up. Blasting in a sweeping arc, mindful of Wychek and Dien's company to her right. At a run, she made it to the relative shelter of a twisted metal barricade, and waved her hand forward for the second squad to do the same. Signaling to broaden their advance, she continued to lay down a supressing fire.

She saw a private from second take out a group of droids with a short-range grenade. He looked like he was talking to himself, or it maybe he was singing. Who knew. Through the noise she couldnt tell. Whatever, he was effective and thats all that mattered.

O'Neil could see first squad moving in, but the way wasn't fully cleared. A second wave of droids had just crested a rise and moved over and down into a dip in the land, and couldnt be seen from where first were located.

She and two others scrambled farther left keeping as low to the ground as possible to come at them from above and the side. Before they had got into proper position, a hail of fire opened up on them from the droids who had spotted them. The blaster bolts began to zing frightengly close to their heads and all three flattened to the ground spread-eagle to Jordans shouts of 'DOWN! DOWN! DOWN!"

[Sophia Harten]

Sophia stood at and easy attention, watching the exercises from the command tower that overlooked the large semi-wooded arena where the platoons practiced their maneuvers. She would take her eyes off the screens, indicating where each platoon and it's soldiers were: blue dots for the first platoon and green for the second. When she would zero in on a single dot, she would be given the soldiers rank and name, as each soldier carried a transponder put on before they entered the area for their exercises. Hostiles, if any were used in the exercises, were shown as red dots, while neutrals were shown as white. If any mission objectives were to be a part of the exercises, those were shown on the screen as yellow.

Today, however, it wasn't a complicated exercise, and the screen only showed blue and green dots, with a scatter of red dots showing where the guns for live amunition were kept. When on or more of the blue or green dots would come into an open area of the exercise arena, she would look up from the screen and use a pair of binoculars to see if she could spot any soldiers in the designated open area.

For the most part, the platoons were doing well in todays early morning exercise. So far, there had been no "casualties" in the exercise. Even the new recruits were giving their all, which marked the Krayte Dragons as being one, if not, the best.

[Sam Riley]

Nodding to one of the men who had taken a detonator from his belt, Jordan watched as he lifted himself up and threw the device over the rise.

The hit came quickly..as they do in real life. The guy had exposed himself at the wrong time, and he took a shot to the throat. Fortunately, this dispatch of droids were armed with training rifles, and not the live-fire of their counterparts. Red coloured paint splattered across his neck, shoulders and sprayed onto Jordan's face.

'FRACK!!!' Jordan cursed and slammed her head back in the dirt in frustration.

The private slumped down and layed where he was, as per the tactical rules of excercise, surprise and shock both at his good and bad luck of being hit, but being hit with dead-fire. His bright blue eyes rolled up in his head as he looked across at Jordan.."Im too pretty to die, Sarg."

"Frack" she said again in disgust at herself.

One man lost and she's been a sargeant for all of 15 minutes. Tyle's gonna just love this.