Cashdash25
The Proletariat Robot
March 19th, 3177 Earth Calendar.
0700 Hours Local Time.
Carprin, Capital of Rendoja Province, Stratoris.
Lieutenant Commander Adrian Cort looked across the city below him, from his vantage point atop the skyscraper he had commandeered as a observation post, he could see the various UCR forces and civilians as they went about their day, fortifying buildings, digging trenches and the like. He squinted up at the sky, searching for any sign of the coming attack, the grey clouds revealed nothing to his gaze. "How many ships?" He asked quietly.
"FTL scanners detected at least seventy before they were knocked out, probably more." Lieutenant Alira replied grimly.
The Lieutenant Commander turned around to face his adjutant, "How much longer until they enter bombardment range?"
"Less than an hour."
Cort looked back up at the overcast sky, "I hope the general knows what he's doing."
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March 21st, 3177 Earth Calendar.
0900 Hours Local Time.
Flight Hanger 06, UESDF Indomitable, Orbit over Stratoris.
The engines of the Guardian roared to life as a platoon of UESDF Legionnaires boarded, each one in turn taking their seat on either side of the craft and buckling the crash-harness around them. Ensign Aleskander von Harmac watched his men board, counting off each one in turn as they took their seat, all nineteen of them, before boarding himself and strapping in. This part is always the worst, he told himself, the prelude, the calm before the storm, nothing to do but try and distract yourself from what is to come. Everyone has their own way of dealing with it, some men prayed, others smoked, some obsessively cleaned and maintained their gear, Aleskander preferred to make sure his subordinates were ready.
The Ensign let his gaze wander around the passenger compartment as the Guardian went through its final flight check and prepared to take off, the men and women under his command each coping in their own way. A few near the back of the transport telling jokes, another nervously muttering to himself, one or two simply sat in their seat with their eyes closed, lost to the world, or possibly dozing off. The latter possibility would be intolerable of course, so he would need to do something about that.
"Platoon!" He barked, "Ready for takeoff?"
0700 Hours Local Time.
Carprin, Capital of Rendoja Province, Stratoris.
Lieutenant Commander Adrian Cort looked across the city below him, from his vantage point atop the skyscraper he had commandeered as a observation post, he could see the various UCR forces and civilians as they went about their day, fortifying buildings, digging trenches and the like. He squinted up at the sky, searching for any sign of the coming attack, the grey clouds revealed nothing to his gaze. "How many ships?" He asked quietly.
"FTL scanners detected at least seventy before they were knocked out, probably more." Lieutenant Alira replied grimly.
The Lieutenant Commander turned around to face his adjutant, "How much longer until they enter bombardment range?"
"Less than an hour."
Cort looked back up at the overcast sky, "I hope the general knows what he's doing."
----------------------------------------------------
March 21st, 3177 Earth Calendar.
0900 Hours Local Time.
Flight Hanger 06, UESDF Indomitable, Orbit over Stratoris.
The engines of the Guardian roared to life as a platoon of UESDF Legionnaires boarded, each one in turn taking their seat on either side of the craft and buckling the crash-harness around them. Ensign Aleskander von Harmac watched his men board, counting off each one in turn as they took their seat, all nineteen of them, before boarding himself and strapping in. This part is always the worst, he told himself, the prelude, the calm before the storm, nothing to do but try and distract yourself from what is to come. Everyone has their own way of dealing with it, some men prayed, others smoked, some obsessively cleaned and maintained their gear, Aleskander preferred to make sure his subordinates were ready.
The Ensign let his gaze wander around the passenger compartment as the Guardian went through its final flight check and prepared to take off, the men and women under his command each coping in their own way. A few near the back of the transport telling jokes, another nervously muttering to himself, one or two simply sat in their seat with their eyes closed, lost to the world, or possibly dozing off. The latter possibility would be intolerable of course, so he would need to do something about that.
"Platoon!" He barked, "Ready for takeoff?"
