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Author Topic: From the Firefly 'Verse: A Quirk of Fate  (Read 1318 times)

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From the Firefly 'Verse: A Quirk of Fate
« on: March 08, 2009, 07:36:58 AM »
“Status Sergeant Kirk?”

Quirks didn’t spare the time for a dirty look at the call box.  “Skinnin’ up!” he shouted as he slip-locked the vac seals on his boots and rose, visually checking his glove seals.

“Shake it out man!  We’re looking at a gorram f’n zset storm here!  Two-six just got dusted!”

Quirks vented an elaborate stream of profanity and glanced at the monitor as he locked on his helmet.  It was a furball, a dozen boats maneuvering insanely around the supply ship that was coupled to an asteroid converted to an Alliance repair station.  He turned and hustled toward his station, a large bore gun with four smaller gatling guns around it.

“Sergeant, move your ass, you’re the last gorram gunner on station, I expect better!”

“Shut it lieutenant,” Quirks snapped back at the co-pilot.  “It was put on my party duds or fix the O2 center, those of us with real human brains want oxygen to feed to it.”

“Don’t piss him off,” Captain Carter warned him.

“I’m the fraggin’ officer,” Lt Weeks grumbled.  “Why do I have to kiss his ass?”

“Because he’s the one with the…” Carter horsed the controls.  “Evasive!” He shouted and barely avoided a piece of junk transport, it was streaked with red and looked like it was parked in an asteroid storm.  As he cranked hard on the controls to get behind it.  Alarms screamed at them.

“Radiation!” Weeks reported.  “Bastard’s reactor shielding must have scragged.”

“Damn!” Carter reversed his controls and threw the boat into a hard turn, bringing the main battery to bear.  “Lock him up, missiles, we don’t want to get too close!”

“No lock!” Weeks shook his head in the armored vac suit.  “I almost flashburned the targeting sensors trying.”

“Quirks!” Carter called back.  “I’m going to line it up for you.”

“Copy,” Kirk replied, unlocking his safeties, his sight glowed orange, darkening to red before he flicked it off.  “Sighting manually.”  He swung his barrels and started walking shells from ass to nose, 80mm armor piercing from his main gun, the same ammo in 20mm from the 8-barreled Gatling guns.  He saw flares from the engine followed by explosive decompression of the engineering space before it was out of range.

“Got a piece, Cap,” Quirks reported.  “What the hell is that thing, its pure f’n zse!”

“How did you miss it?” Weeks shouted, looking around wildly as Carter threaded them through the weird menagerie of space junk aimed right at them.

“I didn’t, kiss my pi gu monkeyboy,” Quirks replied evenly as he opened up on another that was coming right in at him.  Quirks laid down a barrage, two shells a second from the main gun and 80 more per second from the smaller guns.  He watched the plating at the nose strip away, the pilot’s view ports vanished in splinters and a body was sucked out in pieces.  “Roll out!”

“Got it,” Carter acknowledged as he threw the boat into a corkscrew turn.  He glanced at his vewscreen to see another of the boats of the relief force snared by what looked like a harpoon.  “Snapshot,” he ordered weeks, home on rad and launch!”

Weeks set it up as quickly as he could.  “Hold fire,” Carter ordered a few seconds later, “too late.  Set up the shot and wait for my order.”

Weeks clenched his teeth and blushed furiously under his helmet, knowing that bastard in the back was laughing at him.  Quirks was too busy to laugh, Barton, his gunner was locking in a long stream of ammo hoppers for his guns as he flicked emergency cooling for his guns to prevent slagging the barrels.  Only his straps kept him from being thrown into the bulkhead behind him.  He could feel the atmosphere vent and was thankful that his suit was fully charged, but the boat was still moving sideways.

“Bastard rammed us,” Carter called back.  “Report!”

“Kirk and Barton ok,” Quirks called in as he loosed another burst at a boat that flashed by.

“Boggs ok, Cheebo is down hard.”

“Rusharan, on the way to Cheebo.” The medic reported.

“Farris, Che, report!”

Silence.

“I’m on it, Cap, keep it to the firewall!”  Quirks pulled Barton over.  “Short bursts and don’t hit anybody friendly!”  He lurched across the heaving deck.  Grav was failing.  Fragging wonderful.  He reached the hatch for the airlock that connected troop bay two to his station at number one.  The door was sprung hard and the port was frosted over.  He scraped at the polycarbonate and was rewarded with jagged metal and black space.

“Cap, pod two is humped, Farris and Che missing, same for twenty grunts, looks like we’ve been rammed.”

“Copy,” Carter called back.  “How many grunts are left?”

Quirks looked back at the soldiers strapped into inertial seats and tossed a thumbs up, they all answered the same way.  “Twenty, Cap.”

“Copy, we’ve got fired in the engine spaces, I’ve vented but the O2 plant is feeding it.  We’re pissing fuel and main batteries are failing.  We’re going to land this pig on the rock and clear the tangos out of the freighter.”

“Roger that, I like my landings hur bao duhn (sunny side up) if you don’t mind.” Quirks agreed and opened his personal weapons locker, strapping on his combat harness and checking with his hands to insure pistols, grenades, knives and mags were all in place then took out his main dance partner, Wanda, the Bitch Goddess of War.  A 12.5mm squad assault weapon with a 25mm grenade launcher slung under for insurance.  She was named after a psycho he’d met out on the rim that branded her initials on his ass when he was trying to sleep.  She could throw a mean punch and suck start a troop transport.  Whatta gal!

“Brace for landing!” He called over the grunts’ freq and took a good hold on the ‘Oh Shit’ rail.  Seconds later the pod was torn loose as the boat hard-landed and skid over the irregular surface.  He swore as he bounced off of the bulkhead and scrambled back to his feet and staggered aft, rousting Barton and then the soldiers.

“Go do that ground-pounder thing,” he told the special forces sergeant.  “They’ve broke into the freighter.”  He glanced to the gunners port.  “I’ll arrange some cover fire and be right with you.”

He saw the doubt in the sergeant’s eyes and grinned.  “Move your butt!”  He turned to Barton and together they slaved over emergency power from the useless life support unit to the guns.  “Over our heads!” He cautioned the young private, “you shoot me and I’ll scrag your next fitrep and then shoot you in the goolies.”

Barton grinned and swung the guns over.  “Power cells won’t last long.”

“When they go dry shag it to the rest of the boat and see who’s alive.  Don’t be stupid, you’ve landed in a killzone.”  He waited for Barton to nod and shouldered an oversized ammo pack and, connecting the ammo feed and air line to Wanda and followed the troopers.  He glanced up to see several burning spots in the sky above and hurried on to join the grunts.  Why should they have all the fun?

He paused to look at a body, kneeing to study what his eyes couldn’t believe.  A disfigured and deformed face, scarred and twisted.  What the hell was this?  He pointed the big bore down and clicked the barrel cam before touching off one round that exploded the gruesome head, helmet and all.  Sloppy of the grunts not to clean up.  He hurried on and joined a team at a maintenance airlock.  He pushed aside the man trying to bypass the lock and applied power to the lock servos, burning them out as he forced the door motors into overload, they ripped open and vented trace gasses.

He let them go first, he had the scars to prove he had done all of this before and followed when they blew the inner door.  Bodies in the corridor, they were ripped apart, his hand involuntarily reached for the medpack before he checked himself and knelt to look one of the dead over.  The Alliance uniform was drenched in blood, the eyes bugged out and the torso tore wide open.

“Bare hands,” Quirks said over comm.  “It’s a freakshow.”

Hands tightened on their weapons and they spread out in the corridor.  There was a flicker of light and Quirks tilted his barrel up and loosed a pair of three round bursts that sprayed a figure in a raggedy-assed suit across the overhead.

“What the hell are you carrying?” the SF sergeant wondered.

“Wanda.”

“She’s a real bitch!”

“You have no idea,” Quirks replied before acknowledging the flashing light for the emergency frequency.  “Kirk.”

“Quirks, Carter,” his pilot said tersely.  “Withdraw immediately, blow the docking clamps on that tub and fall back to this location.  Orders from Fleet.”

He slaved the guard freq over to the grunts’ net.  “Acknowledging Fleet order, pull out and cut it loose.”

The SF sergeant nodded and signaled them out.  “Somebody humped the bunk,” he said to Quirks as they set cutting charges, the team surrounding them, guns in a circle pointing outward.

“More than a bunk,” Quirks set the timer and started toward the busted boat at a good clip.  “We won’t see the inner rim for years.”

“Bie Woo Lohng?” (a blunder of great magnitude)

Quirks looked at him and nodded.  “Some lio coh jwei ji neong hur ho deh yung duh buhn jah j’wohn (stupid son of a drooling whore and monkey) screwed the pooch and we’ll be in the black so long that we’ll start to look good to each other.”

“No offense, but if I get hard up enough for a kai tze, I can do better than you.”

“Aww,” Quirks sighed.  “I’m crushed.”

“Cap, something bad happened here,” Quirks said as he secured the last of his gear for transport.

“Nothing happened here,” Carter said quietly.  “We took a meteor hit to the cockpit that killed Lieutenant Weeks while you and I were fixing the O2 plant, we took a lot of damage and were rescued by fleet.  You got a chip in your cannon?”

Quirks stared coldly at the captain for a moment and reached behind him and slipped out the gun cam chip and passed it to his pilot.  “I’m going back to the Core, Sarge.” Carter said quietly.

“Me and Barton?”

“Barton is going to the Imperator, you’re going back to Fleet Rescue.”

“Rim duty for me, Bart gets the black.”

“We all have our duty,” Carter said as he turned and left.

“You got that right,” Quirks grumbled as he reached back past the pistol at his hip and slipped the vid chip from his pistol and rolled it between his gloved fingers.
« Last Edit: March 15, 2014, 01:36:58 AM by Lord Palatine »

 

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