Episode 4: "Fidelis Servorum"

| Mess
| Marine Country
| USS Redemption

“See you there” Beth replied as she followed the others off to get cleaned up and changed into a fresh set of BDUs ready for the go order. She took a little extra time to ensure she had replaced any of the supplies she had used up during the day's various training missions and made sure she had packed extras of everything, especially the drugs she was likely to go through if the resistance they met was worst case scenario.

Satisfied that she was as ready as she was going to be she wandered through to the mess where people were eating and chatting. Most of the conversations she overheard as she made her way over to the replicators weren't talking about the up coming mission, most were mundane things or light-hearted jesting between squads.

Beth ordered enough food to feed a small army along with a large mug of tea before carrying her heavy tray over to where Ziva was already tucking into a massive, still rather bloody, steak. Offering her friend a grin Beth slid into one of the seats at the table, placing her tray down in front of her and tucking into her food.

TAG: any

Cassius had left the briefing with even more to think about than when he had first entered. He was glad that the Admiral had backed him up on his desire to help pave the way for the beachhead that would put the troops on the ground for their assault. He was, after all, first and foremost a Marine. He wasn't about to have his craft sitting about in high orbit acting as transport relays. He did like the idea for the drop pods that Dushall had come up with. They could definitely be implemented for immediate deployment into a hostile area without providing a sitting target with the shuttles. But it would require a lot of refitting and reengineering time that, Cassius was pretty confident, they didn't have at this time. So, the old tried and true method would have to be used to get into where they needed to go.

When Cassius got back to the pilot's briefing room, He quickly got the attention of all the other pilots and started into "sand table" brainstorming sessions with the others pilots for ideas and run-throughs of assault patterns. He pulled up topographical maps and layouts of the region that their target was located in, using the geography of the landscape to figure out what the best approaches would be to their primary targets, the anti-aircraft batteries that littered the region. The layout of the stations was well thought out and would be hard to approach, no matter what. Field's of fire overlapped one another and worked to try and compensate for the rough terrain to provide as ample of "kill zones" as possible for the installations. So this was going to be a very tough ride. Thankfully, from all the intel they had, these installations were all automated with a very sparse human factor that could be spared with the proper applications of ordinance in key places. So causing human casualties while neutralizing the locations would be highly unlikely. Not impossible, but unlikely.

But still, as the pilots went over ideas over the boards and layouts, they found that there was one narrow hole in the air defenses that could be exploited. An narrow gap in the outer reaches of two sites that would allow the fighters to get in as close of a shot as possible before giving away their approach. The signal jammers on the fighters would mask the fighters as they closed in, keeping any real alarms from being raised until the first to sites were destroyed. And then they could daisy-chain the others before the defenders really knew what was going on. And when the first two sites fell, they would open the perfect window for the transports to move in and unload their personnel. Cassius smiled and nodded, patting the second squadron commander on the shoulder and tasking him with making sure waypoints were laid out assigning target tasks for each flight. He could see about making sure that the fighters were being loaded and possibly getting a run or two in on the holodecks when the marines were having a break. He definitely didn't want to interrupt them in their training tasks, but having a little bit of a trial run before hitting atmo would make things that much easier. He wasn't sure how much time they'd have, though. So it was, likely, going to be seat of the pants.

Cassius hurried off to the hanger deck, though, to make sure the preparations of the fighters were progressing smoothly.

------Redemption Bridge-------

=^=Admiral, Redemption is at full stop. Fleet is in position and awaiting your orders sir.=^-

It was time. The moment from which there was no turning back.

"Set a course for Earth. Wedge formation. Maximum Warp of the slowest vessel - and send one last reminder that we operate under non-lethal rules of Engagement this day."

He paused.

"Make it happen."

[hatter]

Wood took a deep breath as the Redemption, at the head of the Fleet, jumped through the threshold between normal and subspace. Brilliant blue lights flashed and swirled for a split second before the familiar sight of stars streaking by came into focus.

"Aspiring to be Angels, men rebel..." He muttered that part of Alexander Pope's quote on Rebellion under his breath, wondering just how angelic they could possibly be doing what they were doing.

In a matter of moments they would find out.

Reality was, the trip was over an hour long. During that time the fleet split into two distinct groups - each one covered by a hologram of the huge ships starfleet were developing in the sol sector. By the time they dropped out of warp in sight of their target - they were ready.

"This is it," Wood said before opening fleet wide.

=^="Launch assault team shuttles and escorts. Maintain close formation with the ships on approach. Let's do this thing!"=^=

[all]

| Marine Country
| USS Redemption

With the word coming through that they had entered warp came through the pipeline last morsels of food were hastily eaten, drinks slurped and the mess hall abandoned in a blur of fast moving green. The remnants of the marines last meal was left where it was, no one wanted to take the time from their last minute preparations for something so trivial as tidying their things away.

In fact with all their drills and training they were ready far ahead of time so a couple of squads were sent, in their full battle dress, to clear away the trays, dishes, cutlery and cups so that it wouldn't all go flying the moment the large ship started evasive manoeuvres. Shoving their last trays of dishes into the recycler Beth and Ziva traded jokes with a few other marines that had been sent to help clean up.

By the time they were finished the lists of what squads were going on what shuttles was through and the marines filtered down to the shuttlebays where the last of the refits were still being hastily completed.

Milling around outside the shuttle she had been assigned to Beth moved past each member of her team ensure that there were no last minute niggles left over from their intensive training schedule that might hinder their actions in the actual mission. As the team doctor it was one of her duties to ensure her marines were fit for duty.

With a couple of painkillers handed out for sprained knees and an over rotated shoulder along with some words of encouragement for the newer members of their team Beth reported that her team was ready for the off.

With her duties done for the moment Beth took the time to centre herself and run through the plan in her head once more. She was confident in Ziva's abilities to give them as much cover as possible from the roof top of the main building.

This mission was a little different as she was leading one of the teams taking out one of the numerous prison facilities holding 'friendlies'. It wasn't her first rodeo as team leader so she wasn't feeling nervous about leading her team into the sort of firefight where she could lose people.

Her task was to head straight into the building that held the general population of the prison and move through it to B block where their intel said that the political prisoners were being held.

Then all too soon the order to deploy was given by the Admiral and she was piling into the shuttle and sitting squashed up beside others of her team.

"Set a course for Earth. Wedge formation. Maximum Warp of the slowest vessel - and send one last reminder that we operate under non-lethal rules of Engagement this day."

He paused.

"Make it happen."

"Yes Sir." Lt. Hatter replied, entering the coordinates with the one hand and typing a message out in the other.

"Fleet under way. 28 ships, including Redemption. Entering Sol system at warp 7.3. Orders are non lethal. Suspect some form of subterfuge. Details unknown. ETA 74 minutes. Redemption can be made non combatant should required. Instructions?"

And Jess through Redemption into warp, to face what ever fate awaited them at sector 001...

"Sir, home fleet seems currently unaware of out presence here. Group Tango is coming about, and headed to rendezvous coordinates at impulse speed, Group Alpha is forming up on us taking our lead sir. Shuttle craft in close formation."

| Shuttlecraft
| Sol system

The time between the end of practise and launch had been filled as all such times were; with slightly forced activity and personal 'admin tasks' that for most were now a matter of personal ritual and individual focusing. For Tybalt that had included writing a few letters to his family (that would be included in the buoy left behind for later transmission in the worst case), and an almost religious checking of his personal gear.

Loading into the shuttlecraft had finally relieved the worst of the silent tension, given the marines and their veteran sergeant something else to focus on, real tasks to be doing even as they worked down the last of their personal checklists for the op. By section and fireteam they walked through the very few last minute need to knows and recapped the conditions actual on the ground.

Then there was only the whining, rising roar of the engines and the grey sky cammoed shuttles were slipping out through the blue haze of the bay's field retainer and rolling to place in the wake of the behemoths of the Rebel battle line.

Well briefed and packed in as close as they were none of the bootnecks were under any illusions about how vulnerable they were now, bereft as they were of most of the protections the mothership had offered and soon to be painfully exposed to the massive defence weapons of Earth's space 'wall'. A single rupturing hit from one of those and they would all be sucking vaccuum with very little hop of salvation amid the raging battle.

In all honesty however such salient facts were the last thing on any of their minds. Almost to a man the elite recon marines had done combat drops before and however much tougher Earth's defences were than most the fundamental question of whether or not they got to the target alive hadn't changed except in the fine details. Instead they spent their time in quiet banter, a few even managing to play a very cramped game of bastard brag while the shuttles ran their formation...

"The first person to start on the puns gets spaced"

"I can't really 'Alp myself!"

"Drop it!"

"Express elevator to -

"-My Pants!"

"Sweet Beelzebub and his filly knickers what died in your gut!"

"Shouldn't have had the curry..."

"Ten green bottles, smelling each others farts..."

| Prison
| Alps
| Earth
| (big-@ss JP)

Tap code brought the news of Larnell’s demise to half of B block and everyone who needed to know in Gen Pop long before the custos began their morning rounds. While the distant sun rising over the mountains and through the tiny windows cast the fresh falling snow into shades of blood and fire a fresh tense atmosphere crept through the prison. As vile as Larnell was there were others worse (and not just on the staff), but even as many of those were now scheming their way to get at people previously protected there were others with loftier aims, ambitions of their own to seize the opportunity Larnell’s demise had brought.

In their cells the late gangboss’s cronies spent a tense morning trying to work out what their best play would be, only too aware of the enemies they had made in Larnell’s service. Around them addicts, lovers and soft touches all suffered their own anxieties as the deals they had made for their own comfort collapsed. And in the quiet of the dawn slivers of metal, plastic and even bone were re-handled, re-sharpened or just slid out of their homes and into closer hiding places in the baggy prison gears of more than a dozen inmates.

There was no argument where the flashpoints would be, they were the same as they had always been; the queue to the yard, the yard itself, the queue to the canteen and the canteen itself, then finally the cells tonight as the desperate made one last stab at winning their ambitions before the morning arrived to reveal the fresh landscape of the hidden prison.

Lafargue was well aware of all of this, an old enough hand of police work and this hellhole itself to be able to predict the way the day would go down. Which was why he was finally finishing cutting off that extra long flake of hardened steel from his doorframe (with the spring from that recently acquired set of glasses) and binding the metal shard with a grip once belonging to the handle of a guard’s tennis racket. The point was honed and it joined to the rest of the martial bits and pieces that made up the scarred man’s fighting rig.

On narrow sheets of tissue paper (passed by night guards who wanted or owed favours) he called the shots, his best guess as to who was going to need what done to them and who was to do it, the biggest issue for him whether he could count on Blondie and the new additions or whether someone else might have already gotten to them.

By cell and section they filed out and down forming up in neat lines along the markers painted onto the floor, wary eyes watching about as they waited for the gates to be opened to let them file into the corridors leading them to the canteen for breakfast.

Which is when the first attack happened, one of Larnell’s goons perhaps not quite aware enough due to his sleepless night, and a skinny little dark haired rigellian who had been forced to pay Larnell’s ‘tribute’ when she first arrived got her first measure of revenge.

One moment things were calm then there was a growl, a shout, rapidly cut to a gurgle, and the frantic shuffling of bodies as inmates moved to either get out of the way of the sudden sanguine spray, or in a couple of cases ‘accidentally’ impede the guards coming to save the suddenly floored man.

The wet sound coming from the ‘victim’s’ lacerated neck was quickly lost in another shout, and another distinctive wet noise and then suddenly the file was a melee and the guards were far more interested in getting back out of the way than saving anyone.

In the middle of that the other right hand of the late Larnell’s enterprise found himself unexpectedly protected, drawn back to the wall behind the bulk of two other former adversaries (and relieved of his shank as he was). That their boss in turn gave him a pointed nod told him all too clearly who he owed for this generosity, and that said debt would be called…

Turning back away from the man he had arranged to be saved for the information Lafargue hoped he might have the scarred prisoner found himself having to block an unexpected attack of his own, the face behind it only vaguely recognisable, set ina rictus of hate as it was, as a friend of the man who had ‘donated’ the glasses used to make Lafargue’s current shank.

The same shank the former sec man now inserted without a second thought up under the ribs of the fool trying to wail on him ‘slasher style’. In contrast to the pick the attacker had used Lafargue’s blade was plenty long enough to do more than irritate, and with a wiggle at the end of the thrust soon had diaphragm lung and essential vessels thoroughly blended.

Even so Lafargue took the time to stick his head in and bust the fool’s face some before he let him drop; if only for the image of it.

The breakfast line on the bottom floor where Amy and Kandice resided had not erupted into a mode of chaos as of yet. The image of Larnell’s body being removed from the cell just hours before still burned in their minds. Many remained silent as guards began to rush toward the central flight of stairs.

They all knew the power struggle was about to begin.

It was blatantly obvious that Larnell held the most power within the block that everyone saw. Many were jealous of his stature - and many were scared. Those who were tormented by Larnell felt a light sigh of relief, but they all knew what was to come next.

“This will not turn out well...” Amy said with a pale look to her face as she held the tray close to her chest.

Standing behind Amy, Kandice glanced over Amy’s left shoulder. “What makes you say that?”

Amy took a deep breath and exhaled slowly in an apparent attempt to calm her own nerves. “With Larnell dead, all these other groups that wanted control of the block will stop at nothing to get it now.”
Both of them knew that statement was correct - though as one trembled in fear, the other maintained of a sense of calm. Kandice gently raised her hand and patted Amy’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry about, Amy. We should be fine.”

Another set of guards rushed in through the main entrance on the ground floor in full riot gear as they ran toward the central staircase. Another fight was beginning to break out on the upper floors.

“I can’t take much more of this.” Amy said as she glanced back toward Kandice. “Someone has to tell all of them to stop. If we have any chance of surviving - this can’t be the way to go.” She stated as tears began to form in her eyes.

Kandice quickly set her tray aside as she grasped Amy’s shoulders, staring straight at her. “Listen, Amy...Unlike us, there are reasons why people like them are in here. Listening to reason is not a strong suit.”

“You’re right...but there are people like us in here. Maybe they’ll listen to reason.” Amy said as she quickly set her tray aside and stepped toward one of the tables nearby. Kandice attempted to grab her to hold her there, but Amy’s determination for reason instead of chaos landed her standing on a table shouting at the prisoners near her.

“Do you not see what is going on here?” Amy began to exclaim as loud as she could. “This is what they want! They want us to kill each other - they want us to make each other scared - that’s because they don’t have to!” Her finger quickly pointed over toward the guards standing at the main entrance.

“But we are better than that…” She continued. “We are better than what they want us to come. We are better than the monsters they wish for us to be. We can show them all - even the Warden - that we are not afraid of them any longer.” Amy held her fist in the air. “Now who is with me?” She asked as she stared toward the ground toward those below her. “Today is the day we end……”

A single phaser shot rang out as it managed to silence the entire block. Amy stood still for a few brief moments before she hunched over and fell directly to the cement floor below her.

“Amy!!!” Kandice shouted as she rushed over to check on her cell mate - her friend. A quick glance at the wound on the back showed the crispness of a high power setting on the rifle. Suddenly, several guards came rushing over - violently shoving people out of the way.

As one reached down and violently grabbed Amy’s unconscious body to haul away, Kandice glared up in anger. “Why you son of a….” Before her sentence could even be finished, her fist had clocked the side of the guard’s head - sending him flying across the table and onto the ground on the opposite side.
The Cell Block war had just begun.

This was it, Beast noted in the second before an unwise fist flew in his direction. He deflected the blow and stepped to one side as his attacker put his full weight into a follow-up strike. The prisoner stumbled straight into another rioter, earning him a vicious flurry of blows for his mistake.

“Hm.” He said with a slight cock of his head, looking around for Justice or Amy so that they could keep the focus on the task in hand - amid total chaos.

The corridor was a bad place to be, for everyone concerned, adding to the confusion and the danger of the ‘incident’, which was in turn making the guards increasingly scared, or as it was otherwise known precipitously dangerous. Any moment now they would be turning their phasers over to wide beam and simply sweeping the corridors until the only movement was over -stunned twitches, or worse.

The saving grace came from one of the custos being not quite with it and messing up his SOP’s, he cracked the door to the canteen and all of a sudden the flow of the fight in the tight confines of the waiting lines became a rush; starting with those most desperate and quickly escalating to those who were nearly as desperate not to let their targets escape the fight fled-followed and ran into the wider area of the table-and bench filled room.

All the way across it there was a designated ‘safe room’ where guards in theory would let inmates in trouble run to when more normal scale fighting started (in practice only really opened for stoolies or soon to be ones), and towards this somewhere around a half dozen B-Blockers ran, most of whom might have fit the unofficial criteria for entry… only to find that the guard who should have been set to open the door wasn’t there.. and that they had now shown more than enough weakness and cause to be followed.

Bright red blood sprayed up the off-white wall, bones crunched and at least two more sets of eyes began to rapidly dim.

Meanwhile Lafargue walked slowly into the mess-room, another man’s blood liberally repainting his orange suit, hands busy taking something to pieces even as two of his people made sure nobody else would see what it was.

“Amy, are you ok?” Kandice yelled out at her as she ducked lower, avoiding a phaser beam by several inches. A light moan and twitchy movement from Amy showed a better sign - high power stun setting. She would be out and it would hurt - but at least she would be ok. Kandice quickly glanced up over the table near her to see the situation unfold. Prisoners had begun to fight each other and their attacks had lead to attacking guards as well. Guard units had placed themselves on the catwalk corridors around the main floor and had begun to open fire. It only took a little bit before they were overtaken.

Kandice then saw a sight of relief nearby as Commander Beast had sidestepped an attack from a fellow prisoner. “Beast! Over here!” She shouted before ducking down from another phaser blast.

Beast saw Justice flagging him down and made a bee-line for her, swiping aside two more overzealous prisoners in the process. Personally he was surprised he hadn’t seen anyone murdered with improvised weapons yet - after all, that was what they’d put the supermax criminals in with the political prisoners for in the first place wasn’t it?

“Justice” He had no need to shout. Telepathy had it’s uses, “Tell me you have an exit strategy.”

The screams of a guard being tossed over a platform to the cement ground almost drained out Kandice’s response. Continued phaser blast soared above their heads, forcing them to maintain a low stance near the ground. “Any moment from now those doors are going to burst open with the wrath of the warden - and we don’t want to be in the center of it.” She quickly glanced around and noticed an open cell block several yards away from them. “Help me get Amy into cover!” as she reached down and tugged on Amy’s right arm - pulling her up to lean on her shoulder.

Beast grabbed her by the other arm and helped to drag her out of danger entirely. Deep down he wished violence was not necessary to achieve their goal of escape, wondering if the galaxy was just full of creatures that did not know any other way of effecting change.

The few seconds that it took for them to rush across the mess floor into the more secure kitchen area seemed like an eternity. Phaser shots zoomed past them, burning marks onto the ground below and prisoners who were looking out for themselves being pushed back with kick thrusts and defensive punches. For once, the cell block would be a welcome sight - providing ample cover for them.

The clatter of dishes and glass breaking around them - falling objects crashed all around them as they pressed forward through the kitchen. After a few more meters, the last door was secured behind them - placing them on the cell block once more. Just in front of them was an open cell block door. The three of them made it inside, staying further away from the door to avoid any detection or stray phaser blast.

“She was hit pretty hard by a phaser blast - it stunned her pretty bad.” Kandice said as she gently placed Amy down on the mattress. “She may have suffered some burns on her back. I’ll have to check…”

“No time to check….” Amy moaned out as she started to wake up.

“Oh thank God you’re alright.” Kandice said as she reached down and embraced her.

“I take it my speech didn’t work so well?” Amy replied as she slowly began to raise up on her own.

Kandice lightly chuckled, “The fans didn’t like it, but I’m sure it’ll do better at the Academy awards. Are you able to stand?”
Slowly, Amy raised from off the bed and stood up to her feet, hunched over, however, and grasping for her shoulder which took the brunt of the hit. “I’ll be fine. So….what now?”

Kandice sighed as she stared past Amy and Beast to the main floor - just outside the cell block door. “Well, the biggest thing is to survive. We need to find the others.”

Amy raised an eyebrow. “What others?”

“The other rebel leaders.” Kandice replied as she glanced back over toward Amy. “This will be our only chance to get the defense network down and get this place opened up for the outside.”

“She’s right,” Beast chimed in, “It will be challenging. A facility such as this will likely have a centralised power source with the controls for such very close by. We should sabotage that in order to be sure they’re crippled long enough for outside help to arrive.”

“We also have to find Riley.” Amy said as she glanced around the room - looking for anything that they could remotely use as a defensive weapon against everyone on the outside of those doors.

“Then we better move fast.” Kandice glanced back toward Beast. “Mind to take lead, sir?”

If it wasn’t for the fact Beast was physically incapable of making the humanoid facial expression of a smile, he would have eagerly done so, “I would be my pleasure.” He said vehemently.


Back in the canteen and still into the cramped corridors of B Block they had spilled from the inmates of the more ‘secure’ area were still fighting (or in too many cases heading ‘towards the light’) but for all the viciousness of the attacks they were definitely on the ebb; no shank was ever going to be the match of a phaser set on wide beam and no amount of drug fueled desperation let a man climb through firing ports designed to permit no more than an emitter muzzle.

Which wasn’t of course to say the re-alignment of block politics was complete, after all it was a lot easier to stab a man who had been stunned than shank him while he fought back and likewise a lot easier to work up the courage to settle a score with an inmate if they were out of it unconscious and never going to know who cut them than it was to walk up to them, look in their eyes and drive a shaved metal spike into their face. Beyond even this though there was another factor at play, because the shots from the galleries and the firing ports were anything but random, the guards had not only agendas of their own but scores and debts too, so for the most part the people that were actually getting shot were those who hadn’t aligned themselves strongly with anyone ‘of note’ and or those who had perhaps leaned a little too hard on the people who now had an excuse to shoot ‘indiscriminately’

All of which meant that the last vestiges of Larnell’s power block went the way of the Earth black rhino, hunted down before people could even really work out who was doing all the shooting; and that the ‘less intimidating’ power block forming around a scarred former sec man and his bajoran pharmacist friend was getting less than their share of trouble.

This in turn soon had others crawl, stagger or outright run to the defensive knot that had formed around him, indicating by this deed if no other that they were willing to acknowledge a new debt, and a part of the new structure that was growing even as people fell.

Indeed within that knot people who had already been hurt were actually getting treatment of sorts.. along with of course some rather rapid debrief to set up angles and alibis for the inevitable questions that had to be asked.

“Responders any moment now chief” one of the older hands warned, nodding towards the door that would let the predicted team in.

“Okay” Lafargue replied, acknowledging that as fact, “ditch anything they can scan for and belly down before the door opens” he ordered, “Pill, Burk and Yanuk stay kneeling to treat and watch” he continued, naming three of his more trusted hands, ones whose physiology would let them take a stunner if it came to that; before wiping and throwing his fresh-this-morning blade to be nearer one of the fallen than any of his.

Immediately after that dozens of other small, often bloodied sharps followed suit and a few uniforms got shoved into some cleaning fluid to erase the traces on them too.

Not moments after that semi-metallic rain slowed the sally ports in the canteen opened up and some two dozen of the governor’s finest augments, armoured to the gills and wielding ‘suppression tools’ rushed the hall.

If you listened closely you could hear the bones they broke just by refusing to break stomping formation for anything as unimportant as a fallen inmate.

Cassius grumbled slightly as he settled down into the cockpit of the fighter, pulling his helmet over his head and fastening all of the life support and sensor feed connections into place on his flight suit. There had definitely been some let down in the fact that the holosuites had been all booked up. But it was to be understood with what the marines were going to be doing. And he was still confident that his pilots knew what was going to happen. Scramble orders were imminent, though, and there was no time for second guessing.

Cassius looked over the side of the hull, watching as the deckhands finished attaching the last of his torpedoes to the hardpoints. The fighter was already on it's warm up cycles as it prepared the reactor for ignition. System diagnostics were flickering across the readouts as the computer booted all of the flight systems from the power being pulled through the support umbilicals. The sleeping fighter being called from it's slumber slowly. Cassius looked down the line to the other fighter pilots, all going about the same process. The last of the torpedo gurneys were pulled away from the fighters and the technicians all cleared the deck, save for the few signal officers standing by to direct the fighters for launch. Cassius pulled his helmet into position and connected a few wires to initiate the HUD link, bringing up the fighter's telemetry information on his viewscreen instead of the fighter's hard mounted HUD projector. And with that, Grizzle closed the canopy of the fighter, buttoning down the locking mechanisms and sealing the cockpit from the vacuum of space. With a few deft keystrokes, the fighter's primary reactor fired to life, the tell-tale pulse of the fighter humming rhythmically through the small craft as it woke from it's sleep. Primary systems kicked on, full guidance and weapons systems. Jammers and shields. The fighter stretched and tested it's joints slowly as the controls systems flickered and flashed, testing operational status. Cassius could feel the primal desire of the fighters as it's spirit started biting the restraints still placed upon it. Grizzle chuckled and patted the throttle yoke slightly," Easy there, honey. Not just yet."

Down the line, one by one, the fighters all slowly lifted from the flight deck. Landing skids retracted and the fighters all waited, like caged wolves waiting to be let loose. The commands from the hanger control room came through easily over the comms to the pilots as the shuttle bay doors slide open to reveal the streaking light of stars passing by as the Redemption continued it's warp travel. The flight control officer counted down the time remaining until the mothership dropped back to normal space. And, on cue, the stars all streaked back to their small pin pricks of light as the Reddy came out of warp.

A moment later and the order was given to launch the fighters and shuttles. Like the well choreographed dance that it was, the fighters vaulted forward, narrowly missing each other as they slipped through the protective forcefield covering the shuttle bay, pushing out into the cold , hard vacuum. Cold, calculating wolves slipping from their den to hunt through the dark of night. 1st Squadron broke to the right, second squadron broke to the left, all coming into a close formation on each side of the Sovereign class, still nestling close to their home and ready to protect it if necessary. The large Gryphons with their precious, if ill mannered, cargo aboard, came up behind the fighters into their own tight formation as well. Everyone waited, holding their breath for what would happen next. Where the first shot would come from. Where this battle would ignite first. The calm before the typhoon hit home.

| Sol Sector

The rebels arrived

With an effort the size of the nascent rebellion, the efficiency of Carpathia's tyranny and the sheer number of souls involved, the chances of absolute secrecy were more than remote, but in and of itself this wasn't all necessarily bad; the voters may have initially bought his line but they were also familiar enough with the rigours of fleet entry requirements to know that something had to be afoot when that many famous ships turned.

That heroes like Wood and Picard were among those on the other side was missed by even fewer people and not even judicious use of Augment 'police' could keep that news from spreading. A cynic might even go as far as to say that the distance of the spread bore the hallmarks of artifice rather than simple osmosis; the quiet hand of people in grey rather than simple well meaning amateurs.

So as Zero hour approached the very chaos that Carpathia had promised an end to was emerging from its own gloom; ships, stations, habitats and homes, people weren't just asking questions they were demanding them... and responding themselves to the 'vigorous' response of the president's 'peacekeepers'. Ships that should of been in the line dropped adrift, squads that should have been at the ready instead remained in barracks and downed arms... 'pirate' broadcasters flooded the illegal channels with a veritable flood of information, all too often including video of their own 'removal'

The rising tide could so easily have become a flood, the groundswell a tsunami that could have swept Carpathian right back off his lofty pedestal; but the  man at the heart of this all didn't get there without using his head, and nor did he get there alone.

The broadcasts he didn't want not only had unhumanly strong 'callers' coming for their origins, but also rapidly walked into a wall of well rehearsed obfuscation far more sophisticated than simple jamming.. all with ready made excuses why they needed to exist. Likewise those ships whose crews weren't on his most loyal of lists had largely already found themselves posted out, drydocked or simply stripped of crew for 're-tasking'. A lot of good beings loyal to the principals of the Federation found themselves almost unaccountably shut behind blast doors, living under an all too pierce-able dome or 'simply' completely incommunicado.

And in the meantime those crews he and his had assembled and vetted, those citizens natural born and otherwise who had either bought the lies or been literally programmed to believe them cracked open sealed files and followed specially coded instructions put together in case of just such an eventuality as an attack on Earth.

The Rebel Fleet warped into sight of the precious jewel at the heart of the federation to find a fully operational (only slightly diminished)  defence fleet waiting for them...

Which in turn lasted about as long as it took for the well placed 'friends' of said rebellion to put their own coded orders into action; temporarily carving a great big hole right through the defensive net that should have been the anvil to the 'loyalist' fleet's hammer.

A lot of people did and would die to make that so, good people only too aware that the packets they were sending would be traced back to them, or the levers they were pulling would mean the end of more than just their promotion chances and only too aware that escape for them at least would be a long shot. It was perhaps no coincidence therefore that a good number of them both wore the grey collars of Intel... and had served during the Andromedan crisis.

On the bridges and battle bridges of the rebel ships highly sophisticated scanners began flashing up fresh threat markings, well trained strategic officers began working their skills in hushed tones to filter and present the information they received... and veteran Captains gave the orders to engage.

Somewhere off towards the sun a pair of smaller 'escorts' detached and punched straight for one of the watch stations, off on the other side another pair piled on the G's and turned for Luna; while seemingly from throughout the entirety of the cobbled together effort a veritable starburst of shuttles and fighters burned away from their mothers.

Who were in turn waiting... facing off across the empty starfield in front of Earth, eye to eye with the 'loyalists' whose job it was to hold them. Each of the big ships simply trimming their formation, waiting for the call; a low impulse almost drift of  sinister calm... tigers with bunched muscles and hard, hungry eyes.

"Line of battle formed sir, all vessels"

"Systems ready sir" announced Star's 2i/c from his place at the horseshoe behind Wood, echoing the same call that had been given by the junior officer at fleet coms.

And this was it.. the last chance to order the recall, the last moment before the dice was irrevocably cast, because with a few simple words Wood, at the heart of all this, had to either force the engagement or slink away in the full knowledge that they might never get another chance

"Sir?"

-----Redemption Bridge-----
Earth Orbit


Admiral Wood stood in the centre of the bridge, hands clasped firmly behind his back in the 'at ease' position, staring determinedly at the Home Fleet - assembled and waiting for them behind a wall of fixed defense platforms. All of them charged and ready.

For a moment there was silence, one which seemed to last forever as either side watched, waiting for the other to fire the first shot.

History had a habit of remembering such details.

Wood wasn't just waiting for the first shot to come from the loyalist camp. He waited so that an old friend could follow through on their pact - which she did in spectacular style. He barely heard Star's 2I/C informing him of the Fleet being in position - nor of his prompting. Timing was everything. They would wait.

First the defense platforms went dead, which was certain to have caused concern among the Home Fleet's crews.

Then came the snub. The proverbial birdie in the loyalist's face.

The phaser arrays on the defense platforms all simultaneously started spitting out Antimatter spreads, fired directly into the neatly formed lines of the Loyalist fleet. The chaos caused to those ship's sensors would only last moments - the time it took for Tactical Officers to recalibrate sensors to filter out the 'noise' the otherwise harmless antimatter bursts created.

=^="Surface forces - move out! Fleet will advance in wedge formation. Full impulse. Wait for my order to fire! Let's go!'=^=

{all}

| Shuttle ride to hell?

Beth was happy to discover that 'Ice Queen' was once again piloting her shuttle, the veteran dropship pilot would get them to the ground, and Beth hoped still be there to pick them up on the conclusion of their mission.

The shuttles had been stripped of everything that wasn't necessary for its function as a Grunt transporter and given that it would be transporting those rescued from the prison along with the marines on the return trip. Space was a premium so the extra comfortable arm chairs had been stripped out in favour of basic seating that wasn't much more than a hammock for your butt and a set of straps to hold you to the hull or the deck to stop you being thrown around due to the forces of the ships moving through the atmosphere. Although the marines squashed in to either side were just about all you needed to hold you in place.

The other change out for this mission was that the usual survival gear, tents, water purifiers and the like was pulled out of the storage compartments and Beth had arranged for extra medical supplies to be stuff into the lockers. She was anticipating the need of it on the return trip to the Redemption. Or in the event of their mother-ship being destroyed lasting them long enough to escape to a safe port.

As the shuttle took off and left the safety of the Redemption the lighting inside the small ship was turned down to a dim green that gave everyone a sickly look to their skin.

All their planning and training came down to this moment, there was no more time for either. Last minute, last minute checks were done on weapons and equipment as the usual bravado, joking and teasing started up.

It was obvious when they hit atmosphere as the small ship started bucking and jumping. “Ice Queen do you have to hit every speed bump on the road?” someone called from the back of the shuttle. The pilot's only reply was to tap on a button and start up some rock music while taking evasive manoeuvres. Earth's main defences might have been down for the moment but she was anticipating some sort of fight back from the numerous fighter squads stationed at various locations on the planet. It might take time for the response to their attack to come but that didn't mean that 'Ice Queen' was going to risk giving them an easy target once they did.

A brief look out the cockpit window showed the fighters from the Redemption moving in escort and ahead of them. The plan was that the fighters would do a strafing run on the prison giving the marines in the back of the shuttlecraft space and time to get out of the shuttle.

Meanwhile in the back of the shuttle Beth assessed those in team one and two. Team one was led by her best friend Ziva and would be tasked with overwatch, staying on the roof of the main building and providing cover for the other teams during the assault.

Beth grinned as she saw the toothy smile Ziva offered her. While everyone else looked sickly in the dimmed green light in the back of the shuttle her friend almost blended into the dark so only her tusks were obvious. Beth knew that they didn't need to exchange words, they had said all they needed to numerous times before on equally dangerous missions. They both also knew where the other kept the keys to the lock boxes stashed at Hera Prime, the boxes that held all the little mementoes and letters for their family members should one of them not come back.

Beth turned her gaze towards the back of the shuttle where Tybalt was sitting gathering his thoughts. She offered him a smile when he realised someone was watching him. Somehow the thought that Tybalt being on her team gave her the feeling that they would succeed in their mission.

Suddenly the shuttle banked sharply to the left throwing them all to the side.

“Haggis don't you dare throw up”

“Nae worries mate Voodoo gave me something for that”

TAG: any

Cassius waited patiently in the cockpit of the fighter, sitting in the tight formation directly in front of the transports carrying the marine compliments. He knew the order would be given any moment to unleash hell. He carefully monitored the sensor readouts to each side of him and looked through the clear canopy that protected him from the void of space. He looked to each of the other pilots in formation, making sure everyone was just as keen as he was. They kept radio silence for the moment, ensuring clear clear command lines from the Redemption for when they needed to make their blitz toward the defender's line. But Cassius had something waiting for them. Something to help boost moral on this perilous mission.

And then it came over the comms. The admiral's voice echoing through his skull for a second as the order that would mean the lives of a lot of good men and women was given. Cassius was the first to punch the throttle forward, a barely noticeable gap between when his fighter started to surge forward as to those of the rest of in First Squadron. Cassius eyed the sensors, watching as the defense stations fell dark and the defending ships started to blunder about. This would be the gap that they needed. Still, the atmospheric insertion would require several stages. First squadron would break into the defenders first, harrying the defending fighters  and opening up a better hole for the gryphons to punch through, followed by Second squadron, who would then take up escort positions while first kept anyone from following. All the gryphons had to do was push energy into their shields and engines to get through the main lines. Then it was down to brass tacks.

Cassius chuckled slightly to himself as he started down the approaching wall of ships. he hand reached over slowly, tapping a few small buttons to que up his surprise. Over the comms of the fighters and the transports music started to play, taking over anything that had already been playing in any ships. Jailbreak by Thin Lizzy started to wash through the spacecraft as they hurtled forward through space. It wasn't loud enough to overpower voice communication, but it was definitely there for everyone to hear. A not-so-subtle reminder of why they were here.

And then, faster than he thought it should have happened, they hit the "defenders". Phaser fire started to streak past the smaller craft The antimatter static that filled the void confounded the targeting sensors, keeping any of the larger vessels from attaining true target lock, so they were firing wildly, trying to fit their tiny targets, and missing with almost every shot. Still, there were Loyalist fighters in the mix of the capital ships as well. They would be trouble. As soon as they got close enough, First squadron split into it's two flights, each pealing away to one side, as the fighters opened up with a massive barrage of suppressive fire, forcing many of the defenders to veer away from the onslaught. Some of the larger ships even started to juke away, knowing just how damaging concentrated fire from multiple fighters could be. Cassius slide his fighter in behind one of the other defenders in an older type Valkyrie, slower and less maneuverable. It was short measure to take out the little snub fighters engines and leave it drifting toward one of the capitals. He was sure that their tractor beam would keep it from impacting. And he had too many other fighters to worry about it for too long before another fighter came up, begging for attention.

The Gryphons performed aggressive evasive maneuvers, streaking through the gaps that opened in the defenses as they floundered and attempted to regain their sensors. The ride wasn't any kind of smooth for the marines in the back, glancing shots to the transport's shields sending the shuttles bouncing around as they avoided the bigger blasts. There were no torpedoes to worry about yet, so that was definitely a boon in their favor. Second Squadron stayed tight on the transports, providing a screen for them as well with the sensor jamming systems to help further defuse the incoming fire. But the phaser fire was heavy, if not directly aimed, so it still came close, or even struck the shields frequently as the large transports raced through the defensive line.

First squadron stayed as close as possible to the group, but still had to duck out from the main path to push back other defending fighters that were still determined to try to stop the "rebels' from breaching the lines. Cassius and his other pilots put a quick end to that, while still keeping from destroying any of the fighters. After all, having friendlies adrift through the area would keep many of the tactical officers from spraying fire too wild, lest they accidentally destroy one of their own. They weren't desperate enough for that yet. But there was an old, tried and true adage of accuracy by volume. A defending Galaxy class managed to bring it's phasers down right, punching hard into the shields of Cassius's wingman. The massive hit threw the fighter wildly through the vacuum, preventing the pilot from being able to avoid impacting against a defending fighter that had zigged instead of zagged. Cassius bellowed in rage, watching the scene unfold and unable to do anything to stop it. The force of the impact tore the two fighters apart, their components separating from each other before The Valkyrie's reactor erupted into uncontrolled detonation. Cassius struggled to ride the shockwave of the blast, his shields flickering brightly, but still holding. Cassius gritted his teeth in feral rage, wanting nothing more than to order his fighters around to unload their payload onto the Galaxy starship that had caused the destruction. But his mind kept his instincts at bay. He had other things to worry about and the fighters, one pilot down, maintained their flight path.

And then, as quickly as it all started, the turbulence ended and the transports pushed through the far end of the defenders, heading into high atmosphere over the earth. First squadron loitered for just a few moments, giving the pursuing fighters just enough time to fall in behind the transports before the six fighters fell in behind them. Cassius and the other pilots laid heavy on the pulse phasers, pouring fire into the backs of the defending fighters. The defenders away, trying to flee, but the two different flights of first squadron stayed in pursuit, picking of the fighters one by one. Even being down one pilot, First Squadron sent the defenders sprawling or fleeing for the safety of the defensive lines. Unfortunately, the fighters that were crippled were now not left drifting, instead pulled toward the earth as they became susceptible to the gravity well of the planet. Cassius really hoped their ejection systems would pay off for them. he wasn't sure that he really cared that much. More than a small part of the darker side of his mind hoped they burned up on reentry. Once again, he had other priorities to worry about.

====Redemption Bridge=====

The Antimatter spreads worked exactly as Wood and Richards had hoped - buying them enough time to get the Transports safely through the shockingly ready and waiting Home Fleet.

Which was exactly what they were not supposed to be doing.

The Admiral put that thought to one side for the time being. Wild phaser fire from the Home Fleet's ships were starting the strike against his fleet's vessels, lighting up their shields which shimmered with blue energy. His forces held their fire, waiting more and more eagerly to unleash their firepower when the word was given.

But Wood wasn't ready to give the word yet. He wanted his first volley to hit hard. Really hard.

Their much smaller numbers made him want to make every punch count.

"Tactical. Target the weapons and engines of the closest vessel astern. Fire when I give the order fleetwide."

{Star}

"Auxilliary power to Fore shields."

{Senka}

Distance closed. The first phaser blasts struck redemption, causing a slight buffeting as the weapon's energy was dissipated across the shield grid. Thankfully torpedo fire seemed to be non-existant, most likely due to fear of hitting one's own side.

Wood's side had no such concerns.

Sensor scrambling from the Antimatter spreads started getting more intense as the distance closed to firing range. Their target - an Ambassador Class ship - grew close enough to see well. Phaser fire from the enemy started getting more concentrated.

"Wait for it..." Wood muttered, "Wait for it..."

The Antimatter spreads stopped. The Fleet was almost at point blank range.

=^="All ships - FIRE!!"=^=

[all]

The transition from space to atmosphere is a lot more gradual than most think, the furthest limits of gravity-held gasses thin enough that they didn't really cause either friction or anything like the turbulence of a certain recent epically huge antimatter spread had done. In actual fact the build is far more gradual with only a few real divides, most of those temperature based and only slightly less 'fuzzy' than the step from empty void to upper atmosphere.

On the other hand all of that only really held true if there was time to appreciate the length of a change... none of which even remotely applied to the 'rebel' dropships as they literally powered through the van-allens belts, the exosphere, thermosphere, mesoshpere et al at the best rate their well shielded hulls and thermal resistance could allow them.

Inside each, through the toughed viewports that only bore the slightest resemblance to glass, the blue-green world below became a ruddy red, filtered as it was through the burning rage of ignited air ahead of their shields; despite best efforts the temperature soared, hitting the occupants like a veritable hammerblow, drying already arid mouths and constricting chests.

Then the turbulence really did hit, the vicious contest of air pressure, gravity and thrust warring against dynamics and dampeners; with only one real winner. Every marine, every passenger, every pilot, was thrown against the straps that held them, loose gear flung about as if at the whims of some mad god; all coupled with the sudden monstrous roar as if of some ancient wind god, wrathful at the violation of his sovereignty.

Over that computers and computerised voices declaimed times to target, HUD counters rolled down their digitised numerals ... and the very last off colour jokes were bandied back and forth.

On the displays continents became countries, colours became features and icons very quickly resolved into targets.

"Safeties off!" Tybalt ordered, his experienced voice carrying over all else, "LZ is hot" he reminded everyone, "fire on acquisition" he finished, echoing the order just in case there was any doubt.

As a group the bootnecks in his dropship obeyed, shook out the last of the tension, and dropped the banter, eye after eye turning to face the doors they would be leaving through... any moment now.

Assuming of course the prison towers didn't get missed by the coffin-jocks and didn't blew the lot of them out of the sky on approach.

Cassius still seethed with anger as he looked out through the blazing viewscreen of the fighter. The friction of the atmosphere fought back valiantly against the force of the spacecraft and they drove onward toward the planet surface. The fighters bucked and bounced as the fires burned against the shields, causing the thick flames to roll along the surface and giving the craft the distinct look of massive fireballs trailing through the sky. He was sure the sight would be easy to see from at least half a hemisphere of the world below them. Long trails of black smoke billowed behind the 14 craft, making it look as it fiery claws were tearing black wounds into the blue sky above. Most on the ground were probably blissfully ignorant of the portent that these fireballs told of, thinking of them merely as meteorites crashing to earth. A select few knew exactly what was going on and started to sound alarms where ever possible. Cassius prayed the the antimatter static was stills strong enough to mask the direct angle of their approach. Not that their approach told of where they were actually going.

Grizzly grinned slightly, going over the motions in his head as he road the bucking bronco through the clouds. With the flick of a switch, the atmospheric maneuvering veins unfurled from under the warp nacelles, bringing much more control to the fighter as it hurtled through the air. It took several moments for the heat to subside and the ride to level out as they broke into the lower atmo. And with that, the ride got really fun. All of the craft dove sharply, pointing their noses to the dirt below and crashing down with as reckless abandon and the structural integrity fields could handle before they ripped apart from the stresses. This would help to confuse the observation posts. Their point of decent left them with easy picking of any potential targets within the European continent, not the least of them being the Presidential Summit being held in France. Cassius wanted to keep the defenders guessing on to where they would hit. It was a good bet that most of the defenses would get sent to France before they realized where the fighters were actually going. Then it would be too late to put up their strongest defense.

The ground closed in with blinding speed, the surface of the planet rushing to meet the fighters as they screamed through the air, pulling out to level flight at the last minute, leaving the altimeters reading just over 1500 feet. Low and fast, that would be what won this battle before it even started. They were below the sensor and radar levels of the planets main defense network, and they were out of range of any of the local networks that looked lower than 2000ft. At the moment, they were, for all intents and purposes, ghosts. All of the craft poured on the throttle as they leveled out, breaking into a sprint toward their target. It was only a short, blindingly fast, trip to the prison complex.

As they closed in on their target, the fighter's took the lead in front of the transports, moving into a tight and narrow formation as they prepared to thread the needle of the defense towers surrounding the prison. The ships dipped lower to the ground as they came into the lower foothills and following the map of the earth, hugging hill tops and dipping through valleys to disguise their approach as long as possible. It was not an easy task, to say the least, to navigate the craft through the tight, heaving countryside. The pilots all held their formation, though. Better than most stunt pilots ever would have, wintips nearly touching as they bobbed and weaved, working their way into the narrow gap in the defenses. It wasn't until they were closing in at the very gap of the defenses that they broke upward into the air, gaining altitude fast and working to give themselves the best possible angles. Cassius and his two wingmen broke out into the lead, the other flights breaking off to take up flight path's toward their targets.

Cassius wished he could have seen the look on the sensor officer's face when the hot targets blazed into their threat zone, already further in than they should have rightly been. Cassius could see the turrets coming to life, working to draw up targeting locks on the fighters. But it was too late. His targeting computer finalized lock, keening it's telltale tone for only a second before he squeezed the firing stud, loosing one of his two hard point mounted torpedos toward their target, the closest defense tower. His wingman loosed one of his own a second afterwards. The first torpedo would be more than enough to drop any possible shielding around the tower, and the last one would destroy it spectacularly. But they didn't stay to watch the fireworks. The second closest tower was finally figuring out just which target to track and working on a target lock. Cassius's flight veered left, altering their flightpath just enough to bring the second tower into their target zone. The fighter's waited, the seconds ticking by slowly as the computer calculated it's lock-on, beeping it's tone once more. Both pilots let loose their last outboard torpedoes toward the target, but not before the turret fired off a torpedoe of it's own. The weapon tracked through the air, trying to cut through it's target's sensor jamming as it closed in. Cassius watched as the fighter craft juked from side to side, trying to shake the weapon, but it managed to stick. It was only a moment away from striking home when another pilot broke to his left and poured pulse phaser fire into the torpedoe, detonating it prematurely. The blast wave from the torpedoe threw the fighters around, but the pilots managed to catch themselves and redirect themselves toward their targets.

Cassius looked back to the mission, hitting his comm switch," T1 and 2 down. Landing window has been opened. We'll drop the last of the towers and keep them busy while the gryphons land." The other fighters were doing their jobs just as well, making short work of the other towers before the defenses were able to put up much of a fight. The defenses had a hard time cutting through the jamming, let alone getting a target lock afterwards. But a pathway had been cleared for the landing craft, which made their approach almost as swiftly as the fighters had. The three large craft swept in low as they closed to their targets. The first Gryphon rose up at the last second, bringing itself along the rooftop of the General Population building. The weapons officer poured concentrated phaser fire into Turret 7 as the deployment hatches of the shuttle all burst open, allowing Strike Olympus their entry points onto the rooftop not even a full meter below their feet. Once the marines were deployed, the gryphon rose upwards, moving over the skylight of the building. Once the craft was sure it was within the perimeter of the glass frame, it crashed downward, it's belly crushing through the reinforcing bars and shattering the glass in one fell swoop and it dropped altitude with nearly wreckless abandon. The weapons officer carefully fired through the building, suppressing anyone that looked like they needed it, but staying clear of prisoners. The deployment hatches burst open once more as the shuttle nearly hit the floor, stopping low enough that the marines could simply walk out if they wanted to. Granted, it was more luck than anything that had stopped them there.

The second Gryphon, meanwhile, had moved out to the east courtyard of the prison, sweeping low between the buildings to keep from giving too much of a target profile. The craft swept in low and set down quickly into the open yard. The flight officers concentrated suppressive fire with the phaser banks as the deployment hatches popped open, letting the biting cold air fill the cabin of the transports, giving the marines inside a taste of the external atmosphere that waited for them outside. Everything seemed to be going as planned at the moment. But no one ever really knew if that was a good thing.

TAG: Marines!

| Lt Bethany 'Voodoo' Moondark
| Shuttle > Gen. Pop. Main Floor

There was a slight jolt as the shuttle crashed through the reinforced window that let light into the main area of the prison giving the marines all the warning they needed that they were about to be deployed. Uncoupling their safety straps the marines stood, gathering their weapons and making ready to step out of the protective inner hub of the shuttle and into hell.

As the hatches burst open the first of the marines piled out and moved to cover taking advantage of the confusion and fear of the shuttle bursting through the skylight and shooting up the place. The majority of the prisoner had obviously hit the ground or dived for cover of their own but it wouldn't take long for them to recover and start attacking the team of marines.

So the marines moved quickly and within heartbeats all grunts were out and the shuttle was ascending back to the relative safety of the air rather than hang around here and risk being attacked by desperate prisoners wanting to escape while the going was good.

“Smoke 'em up boys” Beth yelled as her booted feet crunched over broken glass and she slid into cover behind an overturned table. She keyed her comms “thanks Ice Queen, don't forget our return ticket” Beth joked as she scanned the main floor of the prison block that held the general population of the prison. The political prisoners that they were here to rescue were being held in a separate section and they would have to neutralise those prisoners they encountered as they fought their way through this building to B block.

With a couple of quick hand signals she ordered a couple of fire teams to start sweeping towards their destination while another couple of teams swept out to take down any clusters of guards still at their posts dotted around the main living and dinning area.

Less than a minute after their shuttle had bashed its way through the skylight and the 'Hell' team were moving towards their target, each marine giving cover for their partner as they swept through the cells on route towards their target building.

| Corporal Ziva 'Demon' Creed
| Roof, Main Building

As her shuttle destroyed tower 7 Ziva had her own team piling out of the back of the shuttle, each member of 'Olympus' team moved to their assigned location on the rooftop of the main prison building.

Ziva slid down on her belly at the each of the roof top, near the now smoking hole that had been the defensive tower on this building, her spotter and fire team partner sliding to a halt beside her. In a well practised manoeuvre Ziva deployed her sniper rifle and placed her eye to the high-tech scope on the top of it, her cheek resting against the cold barrel while her partner pulled out his equally high-tech binoculars and started sweeping the area around the main gate looking for targets for Ziva to take out.

“Demon we got four guards at the gate and they are looking sleepy” he grinned not taking his eyes off the targets.

“Got them” Ziva said softly taking a breath in as she adjusted her aim, she exhaled slightly before she stopped breathing altogether. The crack of her rifle echoed off the surrounding mountains four times in rapid succession before she let out the rest of the breath.

Watching through his binoculars 'Sandman' held up one gloved hand as he observed the cluster of four guards drop to the ground star patterns in their own blood and brains now decorating the gate.

Ziva high-fived him without taking her eye from her scope as she scanned for other targets. The fact she had just killed four people gave her no pause, this was her job and whether it was her training or her upbringing that desensitised her to taking someone's life, or a combination of both, made her a marine who wasn't going to choke when it came to the time for her to do what they hired her for.

TAG: any

====Redemption Bridge=====

Lt. Hatter lowered the speed of USS Redemption as the neared the Ambassador Class vessel.
With Redemptions greater size it would be ridiculously easy to over shoot the vessel and miss optimum firing angle for all the larger of the two's weapon systems.
"Dropping speed to 1 half impulse sir, and staring to roll 60 degrees to port." Jess shouted across the noise of the bridge. It was hopped with the tilt of the ship that the phaser banks on the saucer hull would be able to get a decent, accurate shot at the vital systems to knock out the star ship.
It was a risky move as it meant tilting the underside of the ship towards other ships of the opposing sides front line.

Hatter held onto the console for dear life with the tips of her fingers as the ship shook with yet another impact hit the shields, making Redemption shudder slightly.
"2 more ships in bound on a course for us Admiral. They'll reach us in approximately 5 minutes. Still 2 minutes to target and closing."

=====San Fernando Valley, Earth=====

Janice Richards, newly resigned head of Starfleet Intelligence, sat before a three-screened computer console. Her fingers literally flew around a holographic command interface as she furiously worked to stay ahead of the Cyber-warfare experts fighting to shut her out of the Earth Defense Grid - a piece of sabotage that was nothing short of a master stroke.

Though she doubted she'd be going down in history as a hero or genius for it.

One by one the scattered network of hackers she'd employed to throw off the Federation Police Service augments went dark. Eventually she was the only one left, fighting loyalist starships with one hand while staving the police's trace efforts with the other.

She had to keep the goons off her back for as long as possible. Her weapons platforms were the thing keeping The Home Fleet from regrouping - keeping her friend's attacking fleet alive.

Fifty glowing lines of code was all that kept her safe. In the time it took her to leave a pair of Galaxy class ships dead in space, four lines of code vanished.

Fourty six lines of life left to go.


======Redemption Bridge======

As Tactical poured everything their ship had into the Ambassador's defenses, Wood started thinking about their next move. Hatter's warning echoed starkly in his memory. His fore weapons would not be ready for their arrival, which meant he would need to put his aft arsenal to bear as fast as possible.

Time to test this ship's limits.

"Helm. When I give the word I want you to manually put the port impulse engines to full power and at the same time put the starboard ones to full reverse. I want you to swing our arse to those oncoming ships!"

{hatter}

Through a still falling, glittering cascade of broken skylight the marines flowed, exploding first from their transport and then seamlessly rushing out to cover angles, overlap their fields.. and stomp seven kinds out of any fool dumb enough to do anything but obey their command to lie down.

On the tiers above them narrow door slots and entrenched peep holes suddenly got filled by the shadows of inmates desperate for clarification. In the walls the lights and alarms that had been warmed up as the towers first tried to futilely respond ripped out their blazing wail and doors with complex magnetic locks sealed tight.

None of which slowed down Hell team in the slightest. With the ease of extensive training and individual experience gained in the recent holo sims each individual element began their assigned roles and wasted not a moment worrying about anything outside that laser-light focus. So even as designated marines dropped from the, now rising, transport that brought them onto the higher levels others calmly sprayed a wall at a predetermined point with a carefully prepared aerosol and then moved aside to let the techie connect their box of tricks to the junction within.

Tier doors crashed open bouncing against over-charged rails and the marines on the tiers were there to herd-shout-cajole the still blinking soon-to-be-former prisoners to the walkways, stairs and doorways that would take them out to the evac point.

So far they there nearly three minutes in and all was going to plan.

Which lasted just long enough for the alpha fire-element to reach the doors to the canteen they had planned on using to traverse into the secure B block...where they encountered the fully geared and readied ‘situation response team’ of over-muscled augments already apparently engaged with some sort of prisoner disturbance.

“Boom-supress!” Tybalt ordered from his place third in the file, summoning up a trio of the twenty millimeter utility rounds from his fire-team’s underbarrel launchers… and a well aimed fusilade of phaser light along with it.

The prison’s SRT were outfited in top of the line gear, able to ignore with impunity even the most malicious of inmate inventiveness; no shank or zipgun would get past their armour or penetrate their vests, no airborne pathogen slip around their masks, and no amount of sheer brute strength would match their drilled teamwork. None of which really mattered for crap against photonic stun grenades and high intensity phaser shots.

clustered as they were for mutual support the entire SRT went down like tenpins, most not even fully aware of the angle they were being shot from. Of the two ‘spares’ one had managed to use a comrade’s body as an armoured meat shield and the other had somehow simply been lucky enough to get the same effect unintentionally.

Which is when they were treated to the difference between the ‘driven’ aggression of angry inmates and the drilled violence of trained elites. The one on the right literally lighting up as a phaser-firing muzzle was pressed to his arm supporting his shield, the one on the left knocked clear from his feet by a treaded boot then likewise shot at point blank even before the world stopped spinning.

“Medic!” Tybalt demanded over the scrambled coms, even the quickest look about the bloodspattered room they had entered telling that there were far too many people lying oddly for this to be normal, and far too much red stuff on the floor for it to be healthy.

“You lot up” he continued, trusting his people to double check the fallen SRT while he dealt with the jumpsuited prisoners, his voice now shouted across the trashed hall using the very same tones that he had barked across dozens of parade grounds and training assemblies, “groups of six” he demanded, “carry the injured as the medic releases them” he ordered, before at last turning to someone whose face match one of the ‘primes’ they had been drilled to look for, a vulcan intel officer who had been swept up in carpathia’s purges. “All here?” he asked.

“Some were taken to see the governor” the unfortunately named P’Rikk replied, believing his information to be accurate.

“Move into B Block is scrubbed!” Tybalt replied once more over the coms, “Evac from here through secondary file” he declared, already turning to the wall that separated the main room from the kitchen… and the wall that made up its rear structure.

| Canteen
| Prison, Earth

At the familiar voice yelling out for a medic Beth moved from her position covering the rear of the team, passing that task over to 'Haggis' as she moved forward towards where the shout had come from. A smile hovered on her lips as she realised her legs had started moving even before her brain had finished processing that she'd heard the call, it was a Pavlovian response, when the grizzled Sergeant yelled in that voice she obeyed.

As she moved into the canteen proper she realised why she had been called over. The blood staining the polished floor and the fallen forms spoke of the violence that had occurred here even before their assault had begun on the prison. The marines must have interrupted a riot in action.

Leaving those in uniform to the attentions of her team mates Beth moved to each of the fallen prisoners. A few she shook her head over after taking a couple of moment with each to determine that they were no longer breathing.

Those who were just unconscious after being stunned with a phaser or knocked unconscious she just administered a stimulant to to bring them around. Once on their feet she told them to follow the others.

A couple of them needed a little more treatment before being woken up. Beth autosutured two head wounds with something that very much resembled a staple gun to stop the bleeding until she could get to somewhere to treat them properly. Another with a bad knife wound to the abdomen she tore open a small silver pack and poured the pink powdered contents into the wound, which looked to froth and foam before the quickgel hardened effectively sealing the wound for the moment. She didn't hold out much hope for the man but recognising the meanings behind several of his gang tattoos she wasn't going to cry over that.

Tag: Tybalt, any

"Helm. When I give the word I want you to manually put the port impulse engines to full power and at the same time put the starboard ones to full reverse. I want you to swing our arse to those oncoming ships!"

"Yes sir." Jess answered, feeling another impact on the ships shields. "But can we make it quick Admiral, or we're gonna be toast!"

Lt. Hatter struggled to keep the large ship flying straight, as each impact lowered the shields slightly to the point of buckling and shaking Redemption and her battered crew about. The seconds seemed to creep by, and while the whole of the bridge crew could see the ship off to the port side, and the 2 enemy starships bearing down on them from the front, Hatter knew that she was one of the few who could see the actual distance, both by her instincts and the ever decreasing numbers impact gauge on her console in front of her.

Up on giving the word, Jessica engaged the impulse engines, port at all ahead and starboard at full reverse.
"Hold on everybody, this is gonna be close!!!"

Redemption shook about as the port side presented fully towards the oncoming vessels, each firing volley after volley of phaser shots, followed up by the impact of photon torpedoes against the hull. "Come on, come on.... " Jessica willed the huge hull of redemption around into a 180 degree turn, which was difficult enough as it was, but with the restricted space, plus dropping from 1 quarter impulse speed to a full stop and reverse was enough to test even the best of pilots. In a combat situation, as currently in, the manoeuvre increased in difficulty by at least 40 per cent.
"I hope you're not intending to do that again any time soon sir. Thrusters are all but gone, starboard impulse engines are shot, port is down to 40%, and most I can give you outta the warp drive is warp 6. I suggest we get moving outta here as soon as we can Admiral, or we're going nowhere but a bunch of matching cells sir!" Lt. Hatter suggested as the huge bulk of Redemption completed it's turn.

====Redemption Bridge=====

Wood shifted his stance, planting his feet slightly offset from one another to shift his centre of gravity upon Hatter's warning to hang on. He of all people knew what happened when Artificial Gravity, High Power Manouvres and Inertial Dampeners mix and get confused.

Sure enough, a significant centrifugal force pushed upon the crew, almost knocking the Admiral off his feet.

"I hope you're not intending to do that again any time soon sir. Thrusters are all but gone, starboard impulse engines are shot, port is down to 40%, and most I can give you outta the warp drive is warp 6. I suggest we get moving outta here as soon as we can Admiral, or we're going nowhere but a bunch of matching cells sir!" Lt. Hatter suggested as the huge bulk of Redemption completed it's turn.

"I have no intention of ending up in prison again," Wood responded with a growl in his voice, "Prepare for a one second Warp Jump. When we drop out use what you've got left to turn as back to face them again. Engage on my command."

{Hatter}

"Set aft torpedoes to proximity detonate 300 meters from enemy hull. Fire full spread when ready. Concentrate Phaser fire on the closest ship."

Orange Phaser beams lanced out at one of five ships now bearing down upon the Rebel Flagship, scattering against it's shields in a blue burst of glittering light. The phaser fire, though powerful by Federation standards, would do little to stop that closest vessel - a Nebula Class Starship - from reaching weapons range in seconds. Wood hurriedly inputted commands to two nearby ships on his PADD, which also served as his battle map.

"Ready!" The Officer at Tactical reported before hitting the 'fire' button on Torpedo control.

On the viewscreen came a blinding burst of light. One of the Rebel ships, Bellerophon, succumbed to the Home Fleet's onslaught. A stark reminder of the situation at hand.

And how important Janice Richard's control of the Orbital Defence Platforms was to their survival. Fully half the Home Fleet's strength were focused on neutralizing that threat from what the Admiral's map was showing him.

"Helm, Engage!"

{Hatter}

The two nearby friendlies also engaged Warp Engines in what was really a reverse version of the famous Picard Manouvre, used to create distance rather than close it in this case. It would buy his ship a breathing space if nothing else.

Redemption painfully moved herself to face the oncoming enemy ships once more. Defiant and Intrepid slid into formation on either flank.

Now it was time to do something truly insane.

"This is what we're going to do," He said with as much confidence as he could muster, "Defiant and Intrepid will fly ahead of us, Fire a single torpedo each and break upward. Redemption will come in close behind and fire everything while Defiant and Intrepid bear down upon the lead hostile from above. They will shoot to take out the ship's EPS junctions," Wood paused to hastily access and send those co-ordinates to the two ships in question, "We engage tractors and drag that ship behind us as we plough right through the hostile formation. Intrepid and Defiant provide cover fire for our passage."

"Helm. Tactical. Engineering. I'm going to need you to work like you've never worked before to keep us together through this. If it works we'll come out within the kill-zone of Platform Beta 3, which should get some of this heat off our backs for a moment. We will be leaving just as soon as our guys are egressing..."

Wood met his bridge crew's eyes one by one, "Lets do this."

{All}


---------Earth Spacedock---------

Vice Admiral Frank Allenbrant, commander of the Loyalist Fleet, shook his head at the Battle Map before him. Unlike his opponent on board Redemption, Allenbrant had a wall-sized holographic image on a vast, safe, Starbase to gaze upon. That consideration alone just served to increase his growing respect for his adversary.

With a little help from someone on Earth, this Admiral Wood had succeeded in dividing Allenbrant's forces - then scattered them with an impressive display of courage and tactics.

What drove these Rebels to fight so passionately? Was this really the product of a belief in values?

Allenbrant's orders had been simple enough - end this rebellion today. His strategy had been simple - encircle the much smaller Rebel fleet and take out the lead vessel first. By all rights he should have succeeded.

But the Rebels refused to play fair. Or die.

Panicked communications from his fleet told him their will to fight was starting to fade. The Rebels seemed to be knocking out his ships at a stunningly lopsided rate versus their own losses.

The orbital defenses were the key. Designed to keep an attacking fleet at bay, those self-powered, heavily armed and armoured platforms - representing the cutting edge in Federation technology - were showing how good an investment they are.

Yet his casualties were almost non-existant, his losses in ships about 40 disabled and counting. What were they playing at?

His side of the battle was too confused to gain control over without a withdrawl. It hit him he needed to do something - and that was it.

"Order the fleet to disengage and regroup around Fleet Actual." Earth Spacedock, in English.

Allenbrant's Operations officers turned and looked at him aghast, "But sir," One of them protested, "The President himself was clear..."

"I know!" Allenbrant barked, "We've lost control of the battle and need to regroup. Now relay my order."

The distinct lack of ayes told the Vice Admiral how they felt about his instruction - and the likely consequences. He didn't care about that right now.

"Hail the USS Redemption," He added to the further disgust of his officers, "Right now."

{all}

| Canteen
| Prison, Earth

"Fire in the hole!"

A large bang announced the appearance of a hole through the back wall and into the blocked off kitchen area, a billow of dust blew out of the new 'door' and within moments, at the wave of a hand, the first marines were moving through and securing the other side.

"Clear!"

"Everyone through the hole" Beth cried from the rear as she helped to carry one of the more seriously injured prisoners across the canteen to the hole in the wall. It turned out that the person she was carrying wasn't a criminal but a diplomatic officer who had apparently crossed Carpathia.

The information the marines had been given about this facility had said that the political prisoners were being held in a separate block but it seemed, from talking to the few people she treated, that those politicos who Carpathia really wanted rid of but couldn't kill himself were housed in with the general population of the prisoner. Beth could imagine how long some of the softer members of the political group lasted in with the scum of the Universe.

Their hopes of finding everyone supposedly sent to this prison still alive were dwindling fast.

"Haggis how you doing with getting into their computers?" Beth asked the Marine hunched over a computer terminal in the kitchen.

"Am in, I've shut out their access to the cameras, door locks and computerised security measures, and have a program running through the files looking for names of prisoners with no matching criminal record" Haggis reported as he activated his radio =^=Sarge there's a group of guards holed up around the corner ahead of you, it looks like they have some serious firepower=^= he warned Tybalt.

"Nice work Haggis clear us a route through to the Governor's office and block their reinforcements from us" Beth ordered handing her patient over to some of the other civilians to carry freeing up her arms for her carbine.

TAG: Tybalt, any

=====Starfleet Academy,Earth, 2364=======


The Office of the Commandant was a well appointed affair, filled with the paraphernalia of military learning. The Room was dominated by a large oak desk upon which sat a computer console, a model of an Excelsior Class starship and a small bronze statue of Zephram Cochrane. Large leather seats were placed on the other side, offering visitors a view out of the large windows overlooking the San Francisco bay. Paintings of previous Commandants adorned the walls, along with several smaller images of famous exploratory starships.

The Commandant sat at his desk, coolly appraising the two cadets sat before him.

"Your instructors don't seem to understand," He said after letting them stew for a suitably long time, "What makes you two think you can just do whatever you think is right without regard for the protocol you spend hours each day studying. Do you think we teach you these things so you know what to ignore?"

Cadet Commander Wood glanced at his 'partner in crime', Cadet Subcommander Richards, and met the Commandant's glare, "You also have been teaching my squad the strategies of historical leaders like Napoleon, Alexander the Great and James Kirk."

"Your point?" The Commandant arched an eyebrow.

"All of them took the standard doctrine of their times -the equivalent of our protocol - and made their own rules. To win. Alongside Starfleet protocol - and with respect, it is good and right at heart - you have been teaching my Squad to be a new generation of leaders who want to win. Not make lawmen happy."

"All right," The Commandant said, "Define 'winning'."

Richards stepped up to the plate, "Doing what is right. If that means protecting a pre-warp civilisation from an invading warp-capable species known for genocidal policies, then that is what we do."

"Which is what I think landed us this talk." Wood added.

The Commandant failed to either confirm or deny that observation, "So the Prime Directive is nothing more than a guideline in those circumstances? Is that how you see it?"

Wood shook his head, "Sir, the Prime Directive is there to protect developing civilisations from accidental - or deliberate - contamination by interference from more advance people like us. We acted in the spirit of that Directive. Our entire strategy was designed to keep the invading force from ever reaching Transporter range of the Sheth homeworld. We saved their kind without them being any the wiser - avoiding both deliberate and accidental contamination at the same time."

"And you agreed with his decision and supported it?" The Commandant asked of Richards.

"I trust him." She answered simply.

"Do you stand by your actions, Wood?"

Wood nodded resolutely.

The Commandant sat back in his head and sighed, rubbing his temples. Wood and Richards exchanged a nervous glance as the uneasy silence dragged on for a full minute.

"Well done." The Commandant spoke barely above a mutter.

Wood blinked, "Sir?"

"You and your squad were created with this bright idea that we could sow the seeds for the next generation of leaders - Captains, Admirals and so on," The Commandant said, "Though I dont think anyone would have done it if they knew how much of a pain your squad would have been! Have you any idea who has been watching you? The amount of times some of those sentients have wanted to pull the plug? Especially when you buck protocol like a new-generation James Kirk.

Your program has made me grey before my time and the ones who didn't like it will make sure you're marked. One day you will have to take a stand against sentients who can't see past the book - maybe even do it without a shred of support from anywhere else.

I've done you a damned bad service. But maybe you'll do the Federation a damned good one."

The Commandant tapped some commands into his console.

"Congratulations." He said with a wan smile, "You've passed your final exam. God help you."


======San Fernando Valley, Earth, Present Day=======


Janice Richards, former head of Starfleet Intelligence, watched the last of her network of operatives go dark. Soon Carpathia's FPF freaks would pinpoint her location and come calling. There was still a small window where she could run, if she left this very moment.

"Open a holo-channel to Admiral Wood, USS Redemption." She instructed her computer bank, "Tap directly into Redemption's emitter matrix."

She could see on one of her many monitors that the Loyalist fleet was disengaging, most likely to regroup. Good time for a chat.

The Computer interrupted her thoughts, "Channel open in 3...2...1..."

Proximity detectors started to send shrill warnings on her monitors. The goons were here. Swallowing back the fast rising terror, Janice took a deep breath, "Matt..."


======USS Redemption Bridge=====

Vice Admiral Allenbrant appeared on Redemption's viewscreen at the same moment as Janice appeared before Wood. The gravity of her situation was clear from her expression.

"Matt..."

Wood pointedly ignored Allenbrant to focus on Richards.

"I'm here Jan," He said, his tone soft, "What's wrong?"

"I've only got a moment. It wont take them long to overcome my defenses. I'm burning up the Data Networks so they won't regain control of the platforms for a while, I'll leave this link open 'til last. So we can talk - well, so I can say one last thing."

Realising this was not a simple report, Wood's heart sank hard, "I don't care about that. Jan you've got to get out of there. They'll kill you!"

With a shaky smile she nodded, "I know."

"Then run! I'll come get you!" Wood could feel tears welling up and his voice strain to screaming pitch, "I'll turn that planet inside out! Move it!"

"You can't give me orders any more. I resigned." Her hologram took a step closer so she could reach out and caress his cheek, "I just called to tell you something important - at least to me."

He felt liquid trickling down his cheek, right through the photons and forcefields representing his dear friend, "Why won't you run?"

She ignored his question as an explosion sounded in the background, "Remember the good old days? Man, we were good, weren't we?"

"Yeah," He sniffed, "We were brilliant. Bloody brilliant."

"The burn's almost done." Her expression clammed up as she fought the urge to break down, "I wanted you to know. I always l-"

Richard's image vanished, leaving a heartbroken Wood staring Allenbrant in the eye. The Vice Admiral's image shook as an explosion rocked Earth Spacedock. In the background a panicked voice could be heard informing him that the Voth ships were escaping - with the Voth inside them.

"Wood?" Allenbrant kept his tone respectfully low.

"Yeah. What?"

Allenbrant gestured behind him, "You did all of this to free them?"

Wood sniffed, "Not just them."

"The Away teams to the surface." Allenbrant did the math, "So the rumors were true."

"Yep." Simple answers were the best Wood could really do. He didn't feel like doing anything except curling into a ball to nurse the massive pain in his soul.

Allenbrant allowed an awkward silence to fall, lasting a full minute, "I think enough sacrifices have been made today," He finally said, "Don't you?"

"What?"

"I'm ordering my fleet to cease-fire. You and your away missions can get out of here. The Home Fleet won't stop you."

Wood felt more than a little overwhelmed but managed to croak, "Thank you."

Allenbrant offered a thin smile and a nod, "I would hurry. I doubt all of my Captains will feel the same way and the Government will send for more help the second they realise what I've done."

"We can get you out."

"Nah," Allenbrant shook his head, "There comes a time when a sentient has to stand for what is right. I'll make mine right here, thanks. Now get out of here."

{all}

Bavarian Alps Prison on Earth ---  

Doctor M’Lynn Calvert (Ensign) was sitting in her cell, reclining on her bunk, reading her datapad on medical plants from various planets when the prison alarms sounded.  She was half Caitain and half human.  She wore the orange jumpsuit of a prisoner.  Her white mane of hair had two cat white cat ears with black tips on the top of her head instead of human ears.  Her blue eyes had the slitted pupils of a cat.  A few black spots were on either side of her face.  Her pluffy white tail lay limpy on her cot.

She was glad that when she had heard she was reassigned to a prison on Earth that she had sent all her personal items to her parents for safe keeping.  She hadn't anticipated trumped up charges of treason to make her a prisoner.

Suddenly the building shook violently.  Sparks sputtered from the electronic cell parts then died.   M’Lynn was not one to sit around waiting if she could help it. She grabbed her black shoulder bag, which contained her medical kit.  The prison warden allowed her to keep it as long as she treated the other prisoners and didn’t try to harm the guards.

M’Lynn moved silently down the corridor as did other escaping prisoners.  But she stuck to the wall and at intersections she stopped and listened briefly, turning her cat ears forwards and back.  When she was sure it was safe, she darted to the next location.

M’Lynn heard the shout for medic.  Suddenly an arm went around her throat and blaster was pressed against her temple.  She stiffened.

“Hold it right there or the doc here gets it!” Shouted the guard holding her hostage.

M’Lynn was tired of being a hostage.  Her Caitain instincts kicked in.  This wasn’t wise but enough was enough!  

“Hiissssssss!” M’Lynn hissed in anger.

“Shut up pussy cat!” Ordered the guard.

She hit the guard’s arm that held the blaster with her tail, dislodging it away from her head. Then she bit into the other arm, which was holding her, digging in her fangs.

“AAAAhhhhh!”  Screamed the guard, letting go of her.

M’Lynn hit the deck, landing on her hands and kicked him in the stomach with both feet, throwing him against the wall.  M’Lynn rolled out of the way and to her feet in case he came after her again or the soldiers needed a clear shot at the guard.

(Response USS Redemption Marines)

Ensign (Doctor) M'Lynn Calvert