Oshi Builds
Reinforcing Bravo Base | 253rd
Mission Logs [(local)]
Transaction ID: 0000:000655B
User: PT-491, “Ghost”
—--------------------------------------
Filename: Reinforcing Bravo Base
> Frantic chatter over the comm channels operated by the regs. The guttural vibrato of Separatist artillery. I’m pounded by a thousand sounds as our gunship makes its approach to Bravo Base, our forward outpost. But despite the ambience of war just beyond the hull of the transport, the atmosphere inside is one of readiness.
Deadeye, our spotter and sharpshooter, locks and loads for the dozenth time beside me, sorting his various ammunition pouches underneath his shawl. Back at the chaos of the landing platform, we’d picked up a few clips of incendiary rounds on our way through, along with a spare crate of grenades - all semblance of order amongst the regs had disappeared, and supplies were being abandoned in favour of a rapid withdrawal as CIS units encroached on our defensive line. Or rather, what was left of it.
‘We’re two klicks out now, boys.’ Our pilot shouts back from his seat instead of trying to get a word over the 253rd comm channels, which had been knocked out earlier. ‘Respectfully, I’m not dropping you at the front door - there’s a lot of surface fire, and too many casualties in need of evacuation to afford losing more ships.’ I nod to acknowledge his rationale. Knowing what we’re about to get ourselves into, I can’t blame him.
At the same time, my other troopers begin checking their gear. Through the slits in the door, plumes of churning smoke can be seen spiralling into the sky from a dozen different locations. It’s obvious which one is Bravo Base once I see it. The forward fortifications had been all but obliterated by heavy CIS weapons, gaping holes blown in the outer wall; exchanges of blaster fire - mostly coming from enemy positions - cast a red and blue hue over the snow. It quickly becomes obvious that the situation is worse than Legion command had anticipated.
The pilot brings our gunship as close as he dares, AA rounds passing narrowly overhead and the sound of the exchange at the base clearly audible. He gives us a two-finger salute as we disembark; we hit the ground running. Lines of evacuees are gathered at the main depot, the only secure part of the base remaining, as medics guide them to our transport.
As we run up to the rear fortifications, I gesture for the bulk of my squad to head to the west side of the base, while Deadeye and myself make our way to the command centre, bringing a crate of thermal detonators with us. We quickly run into complications. Droids have overrun the corridors like an infestation, the sound of mechanical walking echoing throughout the complex.
I turn to Deadeye. ‘Bring up the map - we’ll have to find another route.’ The sniper produces a hologram and places it on the floor, kneeling as it scales to our current location.
‘Two other entry points, sir. We either double back and head up the east flank, or divert through the armoury. Either way, we’ll be drawing a lot of fire.’ I point to the armoury, and Deadeye nods.
After navigating our way past the bulk of the Separatist forces, exit the cargo hatch from the armoury and are met by a platoon of droids, milling around on sentry duty. Deadeye takes the right flank, while I wait to give the signal. As I raise my hand, we toss grenades into the midst of the droids. Their platoon leader picks one up.
‘Hey! These aren’t standard issue!’
As the two grenades hit the end of their timers, erupting into glorious clouds of fire, I lay down covering fire with my twin DC-17s as Deadeye takes out the droids out of my line of sight. As he blasts his way through the last of them, I lower my guns. The hard work is only just beginning. <
/// [(Log End)] ///
Reinforcing Bravo Base | 253rd
Mission Logs [(local)]
Transaction ID: 0000:000655B
User: PT-491, “Ghost”
—--------------------------------------
Filename: Reinforcing Bravo Base
> Frantic chatter over the comm channels operated by the regs. The guttural vibrato of Separatist artillery. I’m pounded by a thousand sounds as our gunship makes its approach to Bravo Base, our forward outpost. But despite the ambience of war just beyond the hull of the transport, the atmosphere inside is one of readiness.
Deadeye, our spotter and sharpshooter, locks and loads for the dozenth time beside me, sorting his various ammunition pouches underneath his shawl. Back at the chaos of the landing platform, we’d picked up a few clips of incendiary rounds on our way through, along with a spare crate of grenades - all semblance of order amongst the regs had disappeared, and supplies were being abandoned in favour of a rapid withdrawal as CIS units encroached on our defensive line. Or rather, what was left of it.
‘We’re two klicks out now, boys.’ Our pilot shouts back from his seat instead of trying to get a word over the 253rd comm channels, which had been knocked out earlier. ‘Respectfully, I’m not dropping you at the front door - there’s a lot of surface fire, and too many casualties in need of evacuation to afford losing more ships.’ I nod to acknowledge his rationale. Knowing what we’re about to get ourselves into, I can’t blame him.
At the same time, my other troopers begin checking their gear. Through the slits in the door, plumes of churning smoke can be seen spiralling into the sky from a dozen different locations. It’s obvious which one is Bravo Base once I see it. The forward fortifications had been all but obliterated by heavy CIS weapons, gaping holes blown in the outer wall; exchanges of blaster fire - mostly coming from enemy positions - cast a red and blue hue over the snow. It quickly becomes obvious that the situation is worse than Legion command had anticipated.
The pilot brings our gunship as close as he dares, AA rounds passing narrowly overhead and the sound of the exchange at the base clearly audible. He gives us a two-finger salute as we disembark; we hit the ground running. Lines of evacuees are gathered at the main depot, the only secure part of the base remaining, as medics guide them to our transport.
As we run up to the rear fortifications, I gesture for the bulk of my squad to head to the west side of the base, while Deadeye and myself make our way to the command centre, bringing a crate of thermal detonators with us. We quickly run into complications. Droids have overrun the corridors like an infestation, the sound of mechanical walking echoing throughout the complex.
I turn to Deadeye. ‘Bring up the map - we’ll have to find another route.’ The sniper produces a hologram and places it on the floor, kneeling as it scales to our current location.
‘Two other entry points, sir. We either double back and head up the east flank, or divert through the armoury. Either way, we’ll be drawing a lot of fire.’ I point to the armoury, and Deadeye nods.
After navigating our way past the bulk of the Separatist forces, exit the cargo hatch from the armoury and are met by a platoon of droids, milling around on sentry duty. Deadeye takes the right flank, while I wait to give the signal. As I raise my hand, we toss grenades into the midst of the droids. Their platoon leader picks one up.
‘Hey! These aren’t standard issue!’
As the two grenades hit the end of their timers, erupting into glorious clouds of fire, I lay down covering fire with my twin DC-17s as Deadeye takes out the droids out of my line of sight. As he blasts his way through the last of them, I lower my guns. The hard work is only just beginning. <
/// [(Log End)] ///