The taste of blood is the first thing Elizabeth senses as she regains consciousness. She groans as she pushes herself up, saying, "I think… I fell off my chair..." Her vision is still swimming, and she presses her hand against her head, trying to cradle a headache, only to find her palm covered in blood. Uncertain about what's going on, she looks around and sees the entire CIC in complete pandemonium. Klaxons are still blaring, but they sound distant and muffled as tinnitus lingers. With great effort, covered in wounds and bruises, she climbs back into her seat to get a front-row seat of their imminent destruction.
She doesn't recall what happens next, but training simply takes over. Much like how soldiers reload their weapons without a second thought, like a machine, her hands dance over the controls, unlocking safeties before triggering emergency thrusters. Trihydride tetrazine and hydrogen peroxide violently mix, causing an explosion near the ship's bow, forcefully leveling the lumbering vessel. However, there isn't enough propulsion to get the Prometheus back in the air. Elizabeth is already losing consciousness but manages to quickly deploy the ship's heavy landing gears. The moment it's fully out, the ship slams onto the ground, and she hits her head on the console once again, blacking out.
He groaned as he sat up, wondering if he had dislocated his shoulder. It felt like it, but he could move it, although it was painful. As the ship finally settled down, all power went out, and orange emergency lighting came on. He groaned as he stood up in the darkness, barely able to see. "Anyone who isn't dead, speak up!" Bill called out, still in pain as he began walking around. He heard numerous voices replying to him. "Engineers, get me some light to work with here!" Repairs would be their top priority now, and hopefully, the enemy wouldn't find them.
"I'll give that a what? Seven out of ten?" he laughs, trying to lighten the mood. His team chuckles in between groans of pain, some attempting to regain their footing. "Get up, boys. Our SOEIV pods may have gained several million tons in weight, but we still got on the ground in one piece. Check your gear and be ready to move out!"
Viper had experienced rougher re-entries before. Although his body armor held up, he felt some bruising, maybe a rib or so, from slamming into the wall earlier. He checked his armor and weapons one more time, a battle rifle and pistol, before rallying the rest of the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers.
Major Victor 'Viper' Rodriguez was a commanding presence among the 129th Shock Troops Battalion. He stood at an imposing 6 feet 3 inches, with a well-built, muscular physique that reflected his rigorous training. His skin was tanned from hours spent in the field under the suns of various planets. He had a rugged, square-jawed face, often covered in a day's worth of stubble.
Viper's close-cropped, jet-black hair and piercing, steely gray eyes gave him an intimidating aura. A prominent scar ran down his left cheek, a testament to his many battles and narrow escapes. Despite the scar, his rugged features were offset by a captivating and authoritative gaze. He wore the iconic ODST armor, painted in a distinctive dark green camouflage pattern, emphasizing his readiness for covert operations. The armor was heavily customized, featuring various pouches, holsters, and insignias that marked his leadership.
Vega's quick thinking allowed him to survive the crash with no injuries. Experience and intuition made him strap himself securely into a Warthog in the hangar. The vehicle's strong suspension absorbed most of the shock, and the belts kept his body from being strewn about. When the ship finally settled, he unbuckled the straps and climbed out of the vehicle, only to find countless people struggling to even get their bearings. "Attention!" he shouts at the top of his lungs, hoping the soldiers will remember their training and help them focus.
Soon he is approached by a non-commissioned officer. "Sergeant, get some of the men to form in groups. I want you to start sending squads to search the ship and help carry the wounded to sick bay." The man frowns at him, as if the order doesn't make sense, clearly still concussed. A few seconds later, the man finally salutes before walking away to do his duty.
Colonel Nicholas Vega is a formidable and distinguished figure among the ranks of the 201st Marine Brigade. Standing at a solid 6 feet 2 inches, he possessed a commanding presence accentuated by his robust and well-built physique. His well-defined muscles hinted at his rigorous training and military discipline. His skin was lightly tanned from years of service in various planetary climates. He boasted chiseled, angular features, sharp, steely blue eyes, and sported a short, neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard that added an air of ruggedness to his appearance. His dark brown hair, flecked with hints of gray at the temples, was kept in a tidy military buzz cut.
"Lieutenant!" Irons shouts as sparks and small fires erupt from various panels and consoles. It takes damage control teams some time, but they finally manage to force the bridge door open after it jams in place. Men carrying tools and fire extinguishers begin working around them. Other personnel start carrying the wounded officers out of the room. Nathan is carrying Mitchell when the captain calls for him.
"Sir!" he calls out. He isn't doing so well either. He can feel his leg trembling, doing his best to ignore the pain. Elizabeth has a pulse. "Thank God," he tells himself, but he needs to carry the unconscious Ensign to the infirmary as soon as possible.
"I want a status report from Dr. Bennett." Irons turns his attention toward Ethan as he continues to bark orders. "Commander, report." He groans as he can feel a constant pain in his back. He thinks maybe it's just the ailments of old age, but the pain lingers. He sits back down and watches Ethan try to clear debris from a console.
"Uhm… Most systems aren't responding.” Even the machine the Commander trying to access isn't being as helpful as he would have hoped. “Primary and secondary power grids are offline. Auxiliary is running at forty percent capacity. Weapons, AI, communications, sensors are all down. Life support is working, but it's not in great shape. Let me just…." He presses several buttons. "Anti-grav drives are now offline, diverting power.” They don't need artificial gravity now that the ship has landed.
Lights begin to flicker as more power enters the grid. Irons looks at his surroundings and finds his hat on the floor. Leaning down isn't a good idea; the pain stabs at him as soon as he reaches for it. He clears his throat, not wanting his crew to know he's in pain. He dusts off the cap before putting it back on his head. "Can you get our doors open?"
Checking and typing something, "No, Sir. But I lifted the lockdowns with an override. People should be able to manually open the hatches now." He then presses the button for the intercom, several times even. "Damn it, the intercom is also down." His hand feels sluggish for some reason, and he begins to flick it several times, only realizing that he has sprained it. Clearly, adrenaline kept Ethan from recognizing this.
Irons tests the intercom console on his chair to double-check, but still, nothing. "Commander, get me Chief Donovan and find me the other section leaders. We might need to evacuate this ship." Ethan salutes swiftly, hurting his wrist as he does so before finally leaving the bridge. Irons checks his side to make sure there's no piece of debris stabbing him or something. Luckily there's nothing, just a nasty bruise. He grunts as he lowers his shirt back down, clearing his throat before calling out, "Apollo." Still no response; the holotank remains offline.
Nathan was already limping when he finally arrived at the infirmary. There were far too many wounded, the hallways littered with people, leaning against the wall, some with makeshift beds as the medical staff did their best. Of course, people with severe wounds were prioritized. Elizabeth clearly had a head wound and was taken by nurses and corpsmen as soon as he entered. Limping around, the Lieutenant Commander made his way toward Dr. Laura Bennett. “Ma’am. Captain Irons is requesting…”
Before he could even finish, Laura grabbed Nathan by the collar of his suit, her hands covered in blood making the tactical officer reel away for a bit. But with his damaged leg, he could not resist as the doctor placed him on the other side of the gurney. Soon she grabbed his hand and shoved his fingers into a hole on the patient's neck, “Put pressure here!” into the man's carotid artery to stop the bleeding. She hurriedly prepared tools to save the man's life.
Nathan could only stare in horror, petrified and unable to move his hand, still feeling the warm blood flowing. The generator loudly hummed in the background, prioritizing power for various medical devices. It was the only thing he could perceive as the doctor began patching this patient up.
“All of my Auto-Doc beds aren’t working. I’m using a bunch of flashlights duct-taped together instead of surgical lights. I don’t have any equipment or tools aside from these scalpels I found scavenging through first aid kits, and you have your fingers inside someone’s throat. So please enlighten me how important whatever Irons sent you here for.” Dr. Bennett glared at him angrily, clearly in no mood to talk.
Nathan opened his mouth to speak at first but ended up simply nodding as he read the room. Assisting the doctor as best as he could.
Irons watched as damage control teams did their best to restore the ship's functionality. He monitored the progress on a screen, turning off atmosphere processors as soon as openings became available across the ship. Large bay doors were manually opened, allowing fresh air to breeze in, replacing the stale, sterile air of the starship.
From his peripheral, he saw movement. It was Commander Hayes, followed by several people. Irons stood from his seat and turned to meet them but only saw new faces. "Where's Laura? Bill?"
Ethan tried his best to salute, but the simple splint on his arm made the action difficult. Irons quickly saluted back, seeing the commander struggle. "We have a number of casualties, Captain. Dr. Bennett is temporarily indisposed, performing her duties. As for Chief Donovan..." Ethan pulled out a handheld radio from his pocket and passed it to Samuel.
Fiddling with the knobs and buttons of the device, the radio soon came to life. It had been a while since he had used one of these. Irons worried if over-reliance on the latest technologies would be a problem. He brought it up to speak, but before he could, lights began turning on all around them. Cheers from the crew echoed throughout the ship as hallways and rooms became illuminated with artificial light. Consoles began to turn on one after another. Even temperature and environmental controls began breathing cool air within the vessel. However, it all came to a screeching halt when the lights shut off again, and the disappointed groans of the crew resonated throughout the ship.
"Goddamn it!" Donovan shouts, his voice audible through the radio.
“Bill!” Irons calls out on the handheld.
"Huh? Who is this?! What do you want?! Fuck off! I'm busy!" not even checking who it was as he shouts as the sound of tools and fire extinguishers is present in the background.
Taken aback, Irons continues, "This is Captain Irons. Give me a sitrep of my ship, Master Sergeant."
"I said 32! This is a 33!" he shouts at his assistant who seemed to have given him the wrong tool before answering, "Primary power grid is intact but all the fuses are fried! Secondary is FUBAR. Capacitors were somehow still holding power, causing the outage earlier."
"I need power to the bridge. Can you at least get Apollo online?"
"Hold the goddamn light steady! Here! Here! Point it here so I can see!" followed by rattling of tools, tapping against a surface, "Yeah. I need to discharge the capacitors first, replace the burnt out fuses. Maybe in an hour or so."
"Can we get this ship airborne again?"
"Maybe in six to nine months, I don't know. One problem at a time, Captain." Bill turns off his radio and focuses on his work.
Samuel can do nothing but stare in disbelief when the Master Sergeant drops the connection. He sighs finally before turning his attention to the senior staff before him. "So... what now?"
