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| Above the Surface; Open | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 13 2009, 08:24 PM (321 Views) | |
| Darien | Aug 13 2009, 08:24 PM Post #1 |
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Join a team of C.D.C operatives as they start out on a mission to go back to the surface world. A place no colony dweller has been for more than 500 years. They hope to find survivors of the great disaster to help them move the colony dwellers to the surface before the Kereak Empire finds out about the destruction of three of their finest battle submarines. |
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In Christ, Darien Ironheart | |
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| Darien | Aug 13 2009, 08:28 PM Post #2 |
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Ok, so, this is before the big battle with the Great Whites, to get you introduced into the world this takes place in. Write what you want about the battle, but make sure they win. After this battle 6 operative from the torpedo squad are chosen by commander Horn to go on a mission to the surface world. This is the beginning of a novel i'm writing, and thought you guys could have fun with the idea. So, here you go, and have fun going above the surface! (which has replenished it's self by the time they get there by the way) Above the Surface By Ironheart Ch.1 Jake didn’t know where he was or, for a moment, who he was. As soon as his senses began to focus he noticed the surface he lay on was hard and flat. He opened up his eyes to find himself staring at a blue mass. What the heck was going on here? He slowly sat up to get a better look at his surroundings, but what he found didn’t help him much. The land in front of him looked out of focus and blurry, and barely anything was even remotely identifiable. Jake saw shapes moving through the blur, but he had no way of knowing who, or what, they were. He bent down to get a good look at what he was standing on. It wasn’t metal, or even a grass or concrete covering. It was… rock! Who had ever heard of a colony made of rock? Suddenly Jake got his first good look at his surroundings in an unpleasant blast of sounds and colors. Everywhere around Jake men darted in and out of ruined concrete buildings, some so colossal Jake couldn’t even see the tops! Jake didn’t have the slightest clue what they were doing at first, he merely saw men, tall, strongly built looking men in tanish brown uniforms, on a scale he didn’t know was possible. There were hundreds, possibly thousands running frantically this way and that. The enormity of everything hit Jake in that one split second, and he froze. He literally could not move. He merely stood staring, opened mouthed, at the chaos around him. An explosion devastated the asphalt next to Jake, flinging him and several other men to the ground, hard! That’s when reality set in; Jake lay right in the middle of a battle zone. His brain kicked back into gear, screaming, “Take cover you idiot!” Jake scrambled to his feet as fast as he could, sprinting for the closest cover he could find; a mound of dead bodies. The stench given off was unbearable, and the mutilation of some of the bodies made Jake sick just by looking at them. Holding back the urge to throw up, Jake looked up at the horizon, expecting to see a glass barrier of some sort, but there was none to be found. The ruined city and the blue mass just kept on going. Some of Jakes favorite books told stories of people being flung into other worlds, but those were fantasy. Jake began to think those fantasies had just become reality. Despite the carnage taking place around him, Jake for some reason couldn’t help but notice strange shadows playing across the shattered rock around him. Without really hoping for much, he looked up, expecting to see a flock of birds or something moving above him. Boy was he in for a shock. Right above the tops of the buildings, and sometimes maneuvering in between them, dozens of large, metal objects screamed through the air faster than Jake’s submarine moved through water. Two of the objects, which caught Jake’s attention the most, swirled and chased each other above the bloody battle, never colliding, and keeping a wary distance from each other. The intricate ways in which these things moved and interacted mesmerized Jake. It seemed to him to be like a graceful, beautiful dance in the sky. Then, so fast Jake barely saw it happen, one of the objects placed its self right behind the other, and launched something from under its main body. Another second later the first thing exploded in mid-air, and crashed burning in to one of the monolithic buildings. Just then Jake realized their ballet had a much deadlier purpose then mere beauty. Another explosion shook the earth, and a man flew over the decomposing heap and landed flat on his back right next to Jake. He looked to be about ten years older than Jake, and his short dark brown hair showed due to the fact his helmet flew off mid-flight. He sat up, groaning and looking a little disoriented by his sudden crash course in flying without wings. After gathering himself, the man gave Jake in his civilian cloths and odd look, and opened his mouth to ask him a question when a black device on his belt vibrated and beeped violently. He picked it up, putting it to his mouth and ear. “Captain Carrington reporting…. Mmhmm…. THEY DID WHAT??! We’ve still got men out here you can’t launch one of those things NOW!... what do you mean take cover? Where do we take cover from one of those?.... oh for the love of…!” The man threw the black box against the ground and said with a terrified look in his eye, “Kid, I don’t know if you speak English, but if you do, find shelter! A basement, a bathroom, a bunker, anything! Just find shelter!” After this he got up and began yelling at the top of his lungs, “Get out of here! Run! They launched a nuke! Go, now! Find Shelter!” Men looked at him rather strangely at first, but when they heard what he said and processed it, they turned deathly white. Jake had no way of explaining the look on their faces when they heard him. It was a look of betrayal, hopelessness, and absolute horror all at once. Jake remembered that look for the rest of his life as the most dehumanizing thing he ever saw or would ever see. After the initial shock, men all around him dropped their weapons, heading straight for the surrounding buildings, mounds of rock, or anything that could provide them with shelter. What they needed to take shelter from still perplexed Jake. After a few minutes of this confusion, Jake looked around to see the streets deserted and heard total silence. Then, a high pitched whistle pierced the nothingness, slowly growing louder, until in a deafening moment another object ripped through the space less than 300 feet above Jake. He watched the long, tube-shaped thing move through the city twice as fast as the things Jake had watched earlier. It headed for a large, point tipped building in the center of this phantom city, and hit with enormous impact. There was a blinding light, a wave of hot air that almost knocked Jake over and then… “Awooga! Awooga!” Jake’s brain turned on quickly and painfully from this abrupt awakening. Groaning, he sat up in his bunk in the barracks, rubbing his eyes. He looked around to see his groggy, confused roommates doing the same. Jake sighed and placed his head in his hands. What a dream, he thought, it felt so real! What did it mean? For some reason Jake knew pure coincidence had nothing to do with it Jake’s eyes flew open with a sudden realization; that annoying sound that woke him up,… yeah, that was the C.W.R alarm! His earlier ponderings pushed out of his mind as, Jake rushed to the doorway to see other Colony Defense Corps members blotting down the narrow halls toward the command deck. The C.W.R (colony-wide response) alarm meant one of two things, that A: the colony was under attack or B: command had decided to run a drill. Attacks had only been made on the well hidden and well protected Rebel Colony twice in the past 25 years, both concluding in decisive, no-casualty victories for the disciplined and effective C.D.C. By now, most raiders knew attacking colony meant making a fatal mistake. Jake almost dismissed the idea of the colony ever coming under attack. Drills, however, took place once to twice a month at random intervals to keep the C.D.C, and the civilians, on their toes and vigilant. Either way, drill or actual bogey, Jake and his roommates needed to get their butts down to the command deck stat, or they would be in for it! Jake rushed to the closet in the back of his room and unhooked his blue and yellow submarine pressure suit. Pulling on the rubber fiber jumpsuit with its many tubes, pieces of equipment, and airtight seals took a complicated process. Thankfully C.D.C operatives were trained to be able to put them on in a moment’s notice, so Jake and his friends had theirs on in less than five minutes, quite a feat. After one final equipment check, all six operatives joined their comrades in the halls each 20 pounds heavier. Everyone ran through the labyrinth of pipes, wires, and metal as fast as they could without killing each other. No fancy pressure proof glass bubbles for the barracks. If it wasn’t absolutely necessary, you could be absolutely sure it wasn’t in the barracks. The winding hallways of the barracks were large and everything looked the same. As you can imagine this made it extremely easy to get lost, and following the guy in front of you didn’t work because chances were, he had no idea where he was either. Only countless drills enabled Jake to memorize the route to the command deck. They’re annoying, thought Jake, but necessary. While snaking through the tunnels, the C.W.R alarm stopped mid-broadcast. Although they kept running, the pilots listen attentively, expecting to hear the all clear signal to go back to their rooms. Instead, their hearts fell as the speakers crackled back to life, letting a voice through on the intercom. Huh boy, Jake thought, this can’t be good. “Attention!” a static laced but unmistakable voice yelled. The same voiced continually yelled at Jake for taking “unnecessary risks” during training exercises. This infamy made Jake one of the few junior officers C.D.C Executive Commander Horn knew by name. Most of the others he merely called “lieutenant,” “grunt,” or just growled at them to get them to come. “Attention colony dwellers! All C.D.C operatives, to the command deck, NOW! All civilians, head to the mines! Colony Police officers and Invasion Protection Force go with them and keep your shock sticks at the ready. We have three Great White Battle Submarines heading our way. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill!” Holy cow, thought Jake, Great Whites! Three of ‘em! The young soldiers looked at one another with mixed expressions of fear and uncertainty for a moment before tearing down the halls twice as fast, throwing caution to the winds. They crashed through the double doors onto the command deck. It was always quite a shock going from the cramped barracks to the cavernous docks where all of the C.D.C’s battle submarines lay. Mechanics scrambled around on the scaffolding above them, prepping the systems, loading torpedoes, and doing a general once over on. The command deck overlooked the docks from a platform about 20 feet above. Commander Horn stood at the far side of the platform in front of a semicircle of pilots crowding in closer to hear him, while attempting not to crowd the very touchy commander. He stood with his legs apart, looking imposing even at his rather unimpressive height of five foot six. He wore a white undershirt, blue sweatpants, and uniform boots that would have made the whole ensemble look rather ridiculous if it had been on anyone else but the commander. The commander obviously wasted no time getting into uniform. Solid muscles showed visibly beneath his shirt, and his long gray hair was in a tight pony tail behind his back. He furiously chewed several pieces of gum in his mouth, as he usually did when focusing. “Alright,” he growled, “we need to get started. You’ll have to fill in any late slackers on details they missed on your way to your stations.” With the other hand behind his back, the commander pointed to a holo-pad that displayed a 3-D map of the reef, including the colony. Three miniature TI- 3000 “Great White” battle submarines blipped steadily on the map about 7 miles from the crevice in the reef where the colony lay suspended between the walls, and slowly crept forward. “This is our situation;” Horn informed them “a trio of huge, powerful, heavily defended, and, from the looks of ‘em, brand spanking new Great Whites.” He paused a moment while gazing hard at the jittery group of young pilots while what he said sunk in. “Not only that, but our remote scout robots showed us images of this symbol on the sides of these submarines before being blown to pieces.” He lightly pressed a few keys on the holo-pad and the map disappeared, replaced by a shimmering, ghostly image of a shark jaw bone with two intertwined cobras wrapping their powerful bodies around the jaw. A deadly, horrible silence fell over everyone. No one could tell if anyone was breathing. That symbol represented the colonies worst nightmare; the Kereak Empire. The Kereak Empire controlled almost of the entire Indian Ocean, along with a large portion of the southern Atlantic and Pacific as well. Their holdings only continued to grow as they pushed outward, expanding their borders. Every month dozens of refugees flocked to rebel colony seeking escape from the high tribute of the empire, a cruel monarchy with an enormous fleet built off the backs of oppressed subjects. Up until that point the Kereak Empire mostly avoided the Colony’s waters due to the fact all of their submarines that went into that area had a habit of “mysteriously disappearing.” No traces, no escape pods, nothing. They simply vanished. Dubbed “the black hole of the Atlantic,” superstitious Kereak sea captains bypassed it, and military operations generally stayed away, fearing losses. Ghosts or enemies, the Kereak Empire had gotten used to meeting little to no resistance, blowing through colonies like sharks through a school of gold fish. The concept of entire convoys disappearing unsettled them, but now, it seemed, they figured they needed to investigate, and they weren’t taking chances. “These submarines, due to their huge size and low amount of maneuverability, use the “wall of death” defense.” Meaning they launch huge amounts of Torpedoes at once to destroy on coming attackers before they get there. If you can get past that, you’re fairly safe from major danger.” He then gestured to a large man on his left. “Captain Smith will go in with his torpedo squad before the rest of the fleet so he can take out as many torpedo tubes as possible before the rest of us.” The M-34 Torpedo Submarine was the submarine Jake piloted. His fast reflexes made him perfect for piloting the small, maneuverable machine. “Now, as I said, these things are gigantic. We’re going to need to get a bomber in there to take them out.” Bomber Tactic M-2 Battle Submarines were the largest and most powerful subs in the C.D.C’s fleet. They were wide and flat. They would drop large mines powerful enough to blow a good sized hole in even the thickest hull. “So duel Pilots,” the commander continued, pacing now, and stoking his large, walrus-like mustache, “due to the powerful defenses of these subs, you will have to protect the large and vulnerable bombers.” The pilots rolled their eyes; like they didn’t know that already. Another one of the C.D.C’s smaller submarines, Doubled Piloted Escort Submarines also boasted one of the most extensive array of heat seeking torpedoes in the Atlantic, and always got stuck with the job of guarding the big and important subs. “Alright,” Commander Horn said, “I’ve said my part now it’s time to do yours.” This comment sobered the nervous group of pilots. “It’s now up to you. It’s up to you to decide the fate of this great colony. We are going to go out there and take them down… or we are going to die trying!” Short, sweet, and to the point, that was Commander Horn for you. A fierce roar of approval came from the team of pilots so determined, I’m sure it would have shook the nerves of the most experienced Kereak pilot if they had heard it. With that they all headed down the ladders to their subs. Air was fed to the cockpit directly using air absorbers. They worked like gills, absorbing the air in the water. In fact, an extremely large one of these was what fed all the air to the colony. It was the latest in air refining technology. The suit and helmet were used if you ejected. This was a relatively new function and hadn’t been tested yet, and usually, if you’re hit by a torpedo, you’re dead before you can eject. Boy, what a cheery thought. As Jake climbed into the cockpit he whispered a prayer to God that they would be given the strength to defeat these punks. The torpedo sub was called that because, well, it was shaped like a torpedo. They were long pointed tubes with fins. It also had two torpedo tubes and a small glass bubble they tried to pass off as a cockpit. He switched his radio to conversation. He connected to torpedo sub #2. That was his friend Will’s sub. Will was Jake’s best friend and commanding officer. Sub numbers worked sort of like chairs back when Jake was in the Colony Middle School band. Ironically, the lower you were the better you were. Jake may have been first chair there, where creativity was appreciated, but here, Will was the best (next to the Captain), because he was a by the book pilot. Jake was Torpedo Sub #4. He was a better pilot then the guy who was #3 but nooooo… Jake “never followed regulation and until he decided to he was going to stay #4.” “You ready Will?” Jake asked as he did a systems check. “Yeah,” Will responded, “but I never thought I’d have to fight a great white let alone three!” “Maybe, but do you really think they can take on our mad skills?” “Mad skills? YOU? Uh huh, right.” Will laughed sarcastically. “Why you little…!” “Enough chit-chat everyone!” a voice interrupted through their radios. It was Field Captain Smith. Smith was tall, about 6’4, had straw colored hair, and big blue eyes. He also spoke in what they called a western accent, though no one had ever figured out why they called it that. He wasn’t even from the west part of the city. He was the kind of guy, unless you had a heart of cold stone, it was impossible not to like. He was a veteran to battles and deserved the rank of captain. “This is Torpedo Sub 1.” Smith said. “Sign in everyone.” “This is Torpedo Sub 2,” said Will, “good to go.” “This is Torpedo Sub 3, itching to kick some Great White butt!” “Calm down Harry, you spaz.” said Jake, “This is Torpedo Sub 4, good to go!” This went on through fifteen, a newbie sub pilot fresh out of training. “All right!” said the Captain, “let’s go!” The docking bay let go of their submarines and they floated, suspended in the water for a moment. Then, they all hit the throttle as hard as they could. Immediately the propellers spun, launching them into the water at 50 leagues an hour. They sped through the giant crack in the reef where the colony was built. As the opening loomed closer, Jake started to sweat. Not from heat either. Then, with a flash of light, they were in the open water. Fifteen let out a short gasp. No amount of training could have prepared him for this. |
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In Christ, Darien Ironheart | |
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| Andromis | Aug 15 2009, 11:30 AM Post #3 |
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Role Player
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Dallas had been assigned to torpedo sub number twelve, an insult. He had been fairly confident in his own ability to pilot a submarine, though not so with his instructor. As a matter of fact he had been lucky to even be piloting a sub. During training he had nearly killed both him and his instructor in a crash that costed the colony a brand new sub--taking valuable unreplenishable resources to do so. However, he was allowed to remain a pilot due to the fact that he had been put in a difficult situation during what was supposed to be a routine training exercise. Even so, he was looked down upon as a pilot by the other colonists, and typically got the short end of the stick, such as the inderiority of sub number twelve. The only thing that kept him out of subs thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen was the fact that he had had experiance on the underwater battlefields, as oppose to the newer pilots who were unexperienced. "Torpedo sub three to sub twelve." Came a voice over Dallas' radio. "Torpedo sub number twelve, do you come in." Dallas had spaced out and lost track of what was going on. "Twelve here." Said Dallas. "Okay Dallas." Said will from sub number three. "We've got signals from the sonar that there are great whites up ahead, but we can't see 'em directly yet." Dallas winced, he knew what was coming next. "We don't want them to get too panicky and shoot us down all at once, so we need you to go ahead and make a diversion." That was it. Like always, he got the grunt work. Even though he knew he had far more experience than plenty of the pilots, he got the low class job. He had to go off to the side to attempt to distract the great whites and then turn tail and run like a coward after they fired torps. This allowed the rest of the pilots to move in close enought that they would be unable to hit with the long ranged Great white torpedos. By the time the great whites could turn to face the bulk of the pilots, they would be too close to fire anything, and the Colony pilots could move in for the kill. "Yes Sir." Groaned Dallas. He pulled off from the rest of the pilots and throttled the engine to beat the others to the great whites so that he would be the first thing the kereaks saw. He hated always getting this job, though he knew it was of utomost importance. The torpedo subs grew smaller and smaller in the distance and eventually dissappeard, leaving Dallas alone, in the open sea. Everything was quiet except for the gentle humming of the ship's engine. It was peaceful, it was beautiful. Dallas was alone with just the open sea and his thoughts. He began to become tired of the constant assignment to lower class work; though he knew it was important, he still wanted a piece pf the action, for once. If only he got the chance, Dallas knew that he could show the rest of the pilots how well he could perform in the heat of combat. Sadly, that one hiccup he had in training cost him his dignity for the majority of his career. But if he had the opportunity... A red light began to flash on the controls, the Great Whites were beginning to become visible from the cockpit's window. Dallas flipped of the alert and got ready to turn tail and run when the Kereaks began to turn and fire. He was about three leagues away from the maximum range of the enemy. Dallas lowered his speed so that he could be able to turn when he needed to. Two leagues away. The enemy ships were clearly visible now, and were beginning to turn about. Dallas paused for a momment. If he had the opportunity, he remembered, he could show the others what he could do. One League away. If only Dallas would somehow reverse his bad luck, maybe he could gain some respect from the other pilots. If he could take on these three subs singlehandedly, what would the other pilots think? Dallas would be a hero. His sub was in range now, it was time to turn...or was it? The enemy subs began to fire a smothering attack of torps at Dallas. It was time to decide. Technically, he thought, even if he fought the subs by himself, he would still be a distraction which would help the other pilots, so it was really only his own risk, technically. OOC-Hey Darien, if it doesn't fit with the story, I can change the post if you want me to. Just PM me and tell me what you think. I can make Dallas engage or turn and go away. Or I can change the whole diversion thing overall. You tell me what you want me to do.
Edited by Andromis, Aug 15 2009, 11:33 AM.
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