UNSC Forlorn Hope

[maxii1]

Expeditionary Operations Support
Military Intelligence Division.
UNSC The Forlorn Hope



A Brief History Lesson…

MID had always had a presence onboard the Forlorn Hope, as a scouting ship and frontier frigate the vessel had always been relied upon to record and explore all possible revelations about the enemy.

The EOS had been set up to provide support to officers fighting on the ground, the sector would receive and analyze all available information and would formulate tactics, assault plans and generally keep the soldiers well informed.

Originally under the guidance of Major Batten, it is now commanded by it’s chief operative Nigel Lennox who seeks to make an active presence on the battlefield as well as just an active difference.


Current Staff:

Chief Technician: A. Baines
A man whose extensive knowledge of all thinks computer related has made him an essential asset to the team.

Data Analyst: Robert Marlow
Attention to detail has helped Marlow to spot anything unusual or interesting in reports and visual imagery relevant to the battlefield.

[Soulstep]

Lieutenant, Junior Grade Peter Graham UNSC Forlorn Hope Navigation Officer

As there was still no sign of any Covenant retaliation for now, Captain 'McMad' had granted a few of the bridge crew a chance to stretch their legs and wander around the frigate for a while. Peter chuckled, the old guy knew how to keep morale up.

Whistling casually through the corridors, Peter had his eye caught by the EOS team onboard the ship. Captain Lennox had been sent down to take command of the assault, and so now there were only a couple of guys working on.... whatever MID worked on. Peter didn't know much about these guys, his main concern was making sure the ship pointed the right way, and to dodge as much of the plasma and lasers the Covenant spewed their way as humanly possible.

[maxii1]

EOS Analysis Room
Alexander Baines

The Technician swore loudly "Lennox, the data your sending is wrongly formated, I mean, no real problem just a headache this end for me".
Baines paused looking up at the Young Navigation Officer he smiled a greeting and ended his communication with the Captain with a "Get back to you soon"

Various Live Feeds where shown on different visual devices, whilst radio chatter filled the air.

"Hiya Pete, get you a coffee or have you just come to browse?" the man asked.

[Soulstep]

Lieutenant, Junior Grade Peter Graham UNSC Forlorn Hope Navigation Officer

"Hey Alex," Peter grinned, walking in and rubbing his neck. "Just browsing. Though looks like you guys could use a cuppa," he said, glancing at the mountain of work these guys had to deal with. "Bloody hell, havn't seen that much paperwork since the academy."

Strolling to the coffee machine and grabbing a pair of cups, he asked, "What do you guys want?"

[maxii1]

Alex Baines
EOS Section

Alex smiled and relaxed a little in his chair "Now that is an officer that knows how to treat their men" he smirked towards Marlow; another worker that joined in the laughter "I'll take mine black, two sugars, hell you need 'em just to make the stuff drinkable"

"Look at this mess down there, we have a few troopers going AWOL and setting up a bomb as a diversion without recieving orders!" spoke Marlow as he read aloud onscreen the comm. chatter adding "I don't think I've ever heard Nigel swear".

"Thats the sign that it's all FUBAR" Baines quipped up.

"Can't exactly feed that conclusion back down to the fighters though can I?" Marlow stated, grabbing a coffee from Graham "Cheers".

Alex turned to Peter "Hey, if you have a moment pull up a chair, we could do with a hand adding waypoints to help the fighters navigate to the objective, care to help out?" before sipping his tea.

[Soulstep]

Lieutenant, Junior Grade Peter Graham UNSC Forlorn Hope Navigation Officer

Handing the drinks to Alex and Marlow, he felt a bead of sweat appear on his back as they mentioned Lennox swearing. Something to make that man swear at all, never mind and open channel, had to be really tits-up.

"Alright," he nodded, sliding himself into one of the chairs. "Just tell me where you want these guys."

This console was different to his own back on the bridge, but then again, he had reconfigured the navigation controls after 2 days aboard the frigate.

[maxii1]

Alexander Baines
EOS Section
Chief Technician


Baines took a quick sip of his coffee and instantly felt the caffeine make a difference, his natural adrenaline and now this artificial rush combined to make the man feel on edge, alert and battle ready.

“Okay, pretty much this schematic data on the ship’s layout shows the original layout of the assault carrier, then that screen next to it shows the current condition of the walkways, we scanned the ship and now just have to mark with an x the no throughways and non passable routes to the objectives” Baines paused for breath momentarily.

“This joystick here controls the camera’s movement through the Graphical Representation of the ship, I know the layout is a bit rushed and lacks proper rendering, but hey it’s a firefight, can’t code to perfection under these conditions”

At this Marlow rolled his eyes and went back to monitoring the live visual and audio feeds from the place.

[nex]

Lieutenant Darian Fawkes UNSC Forlorn Flight Bay

Lieutenant Darian Fawkes sat on the floor of the troop tray of the pelican, his back resting against the sidewall, and his knees pulled up to his chest. One hand rested on his flight helmet which lay to one side, and the other was gently running through his hair. With a sigh, he glanced out the open hatch at the rest of his flight crew that lay scattered about the pelican and the flight bay.

On the far side of the pelican, nearer the door, the diminutive figure of his young co-pilot lay sprawled across the seats.

Their crew were on standby, in the event of anything happening ground side where support would be required immediately.

It was however, very much to their objection though, as it meant they were unable to venture too far from the pelican.

The dismantled parts of a M90 Shotgun lay neatly spread out on a small khaki ground sheet, accompanying the overbearing presence of the burly gunner, Staff Sergeant Lee Carson,as he deftly and delicately cleaned and oiled each separate component in turn, before replacing them back on the sheet. The sight of that man with a gun would make a man's blood run cold. Fawkes was thankfully he was on his side.

Cassie Lamora, the crew's medic looked on disapprovingly from the crate she was lying against. She despised the man's trigger happy attitude, especially off duty. It was only the times he'd saved them all from certain death that kept her from voicing her objections. She'd just content herself with disapproving looks.

A groan drew his attention back to the figure opposite him, as he tried to straighten up, rolled over, and with a low metallic clang, slid from the seats to the floor of the troop tray.

"Ow." The figure complained, sitting up, and rubbing his head with one hand.

It took all his willpower not to burst out laughing there and then. But from outside, he could tell Lamora lacked his restraint.
Ignoring her, Troy turned back to him,
"How long have we got left?"
"Two Hours". He'd been counting down the time just like everyone else. The time before their shift ended, and another pelican crew could go through this same torture. His answer seemed to confuse the Petty officer, who checked his own watch with a look of puzzlement evident on his face.
"But it was only two and half hours before I went to sleep?"
"And what does that tell you?" Fawkes responded, a sleight hint of a grin playing across his face.
"F***."

[maxii1]

Captain Paul Nikon
Forlorn Hope Hanger Bay


After the surgery that had seen his wounds repaired, Nikon had insisted that he was put back onto active duty. He had already flown a few sorties and had dropped off a few of the troopers that had made up the first wave of the attack.

He sat on a chair, relaxing on its fully reclined back, resting against his flight jacket; a World War 2-era brown leather coat.
“Don’t get too comfy” warned a passing engineer that was heading towards Nikon’s pelican.

Nikon sighed and stood up, grabbing his jacket and putting it on. He headed towards the nearest source of coffee; it turned out to be the Forlorn Hope’s Chief Engineer Frank Umber who gladly shared a thermos with the Super Squadron Leader.

Umber stated why he was here “Layton told me about some issues with the hanger’s electrical points, a few surges apparently” upon which he returned to work with a screwdriver and taking a panel off the wall.

---

His Squadron was currently on station; if the troopers needed a quick exit from Target Hades then Super Squadron would see to it that they where home in time for tea and medals.

“Language Troy Nathan! I’ve got a good mind to make you clean your mouth with soap using language like that!” exclaimed the Captain with a smile, checking in on Fawkes and the rest of the crew of R-025.

A few onlookers from the other pelicans including Rocco Evans laughed at this, one of them heckled “Perhaps we should cut his hair, as a suitable punishment”

Nikon shook his head at this “Okay Super, get back to it”.

[nex]

Lieutenant Darian Fawkes UNSC Forlorn Flight Bay

Darian Fawkes was about to make some witty reply, when he was interrupted by a loud voice from outside the pelican.
“Language Troy Nathan! I’ve got a good mind to make you clean your mouth with soap using language like that!”

Fawkes casually, almost lazily managed to raise a hand to his head, forming half a salute, to acknowledge the presence of the superior officer, from his position on the floor.

He could hear the heckling and mocking calls from the other crews outside over Nathan's reprimand.

One distinct voice called out “Perhaps we should cut his hair, as a suitable punishment”

"If you cut his hair, he loses all his mythical powers strength." Fawkes quickly quipped back.

It was more than customary, it was almost tradition, for the flight crew to banter a few unfriendly words when they were grounded. Nothing was meant by any of it, it was just in the name of a laugh. Afterall, it helped to pass the time.

Captain Nikon shook his head at this, before waving off the crews
“Okay Super, get back to it”.
"Get back to what sir? Sleep?" Nathan called out, as he clambered to his feet.
"Stow it boy. Just two hours left..." He replied cautiously trying to tone down the Petty Officer's attitude. The last thing he wanted was for him to get into more trouble. Friendly banter was one thing, but insubordination was another.

"If your bored, you could always run that engine diagnostic. Or oil the landing struts. Or even fix the cupholder you broke. Or any of those other things you've neglected."
Nathan was about to interrupt, with some verbal obscenities, when Carson beat him to it, continuing the list;
"...the rear gun mounts need to be tightened and oiled..."
"...I'm sure you could restock the first aid kits..." Lamora continued where Carson left off.
"Or, if you're really, really bored, you can repaint the warstripes." Fawkes finished off. It was becoming almost rehearsed between his crew, that whenever someone complained about the lack of activity, to just list the problems on their next gripe Sheet.

They'd get done by the normal engineering crews at the end of the shift, depending on the urgency. But if one of them chose to do it now, it would definitely get done.

He could see Nathan swear under his breath, as he fetched his case from the overhead locker, and made his way to the cockpit, stepping over Fawkes's outstretched limbs.

[Soulstep]

Petty Officer Third Class Mark Harrington Whiplash 3 UNSC Forlorn Hope Flight Deck

Ever since the previous Whiplash squadron had been almost completely annihlated by a misjudged nuke, Mark had been promoted to squadron leader, and had been put on standby onboard the Forlorn Hope for escort duty in case any Pelicans would be entering a hot zone. So far, they had not done anything.

Mark rubbed his head as he sat on the wing of his Longsword, still designated Whiplash 3, despite his and his crew's promotions. He idly smirked as he watched the banter unfold between the crews of Super squadron, both the guys and gals he was ordered to look after, and the guys and gals who had pulled this very Longsword out of a combat zone when it got fried by the nuke's EMP.

[maxii1]

Captain Paul Nikon
Super Squadron Leader
UNSC Forlorn Hope: Flight Deck

“Harrington, how are you and your men?” called the captain as he marveled at the new Whiplash Squadron with their fresh crafts and crews, their eager, somewhat bored faces evidently eager to face action.

Nikon paused to tap the wing of Whiplash Three, “Electronics all sorted out? Because if it isn’t well, Umber and Layton are close by”

Paul turned to an inquisitive Fawkes, “My, me and Mark here could tell you a pretty good story about what happened in the last mission” he grinned at Harrington.

[Soulstep]

Petty Officer Third Class Mark Harrington Whiplash 3 UNSC Forlorn Hope Flight Deck

"Ready whenever you need us, sir," Mark replied, swinging himself onto the ladder leading up to the Longsword's wing, and sliding down.

Grinning, he turned to face Lennox. "Working like new, sir. EMP didn't hit us all that hard, don't know how, but it at least meant we could manage 6% power, which helped a ton during repairs."

Twisting his head to face Fawkes, he chuckled. "We could sir, but you'd just end up taking all the glory again."

[maxii1]

OOC: Following on from the post in the main mission; Lennox wants us to start ferrying the wounded from the battlesite.
---

Paul Nikon
Forlorn Hope Hanger Bay

“Harrington, I don’t think we’ll need the whole of Whiplash to provide cover, but I’d like you keeping us secure” he spoke to the Leader of the Longsword Squadron.

Some of the pilots and crews stood attentive expecting a pep-talk, they where to be disappointed “This ain’t a mothers meeting, lets get to it!” he exclaimed with a smile, jogging lightly to his pelican.

“Engines on!” exclaimed his Co-pilot Lydia Gibson.

“Yeah I noticed” he replied as he entered the cabin, “Layton, you stay with Umber and fix the electronics of the bay” he told his crew chief, who normally manned the mounted machine gun.

“Okay sir” came the reply.

Nikon grinned to Gibson “Well Then” he started to speak, pressing a few buttons and pulled on his joystick lightly, moving over to the opening Hanger Doors.

[nex]

"30 Minutes left. I can almost taste the freedom." His co-pilot had become increasingly irritated; and indeed annoying, as their shift had wound on. But at last, they were almost off duty, and some other poor crew could go through the same tense wait. The prospect of not being limited to hanger was a relief to all involved. He'd probably savor an hour or two in his quarters.

“Fawkes, Evans, Westbrooke, Gibson. We’re on call. Medical Evac.” The officer's voice rang loud and clear across the bay. The next sound was the outbreak of activity as everyone involved sprang to, and began prepping their flight. Heaving himself off the blood tray, he managed to scoop up his flight helmet and pull it on, as he straightened up.

"...Seriously? You have got to be kidding me." Even from where he stood, he could see Nathan's expression; the jaw dropped in shock, annoyance and disappointment combined. Fawkes couldn't help but chuckle at the situation. Passing him on the way to the cockpit, he slapped him the shoulder;
"Those are the breaks kid. Suit up and get moving." He hastily replied, gesturing out the back with his thumb.

He slid into the front seat, and began running preflight checks; checking fuel levels, coolant pressure and a wide variety of electrical systems.
"Intakes clear. Covers removed." His copilot called out from the back of the Pelican, where he was tasked with removing the covers from the engine's air intakes. The covers stopped dirt or dust forming a blockage in the intake when the Pelican was grounded.
"Copy. Stand clear, engine start." He paused for a second to give him time to stand clear before keying in the ignition. The sound of the engines thundered through the small craft, before it balanced out to a steady drone in the background.
"Engines on." Nathan confirmed visually for him from the outside.
"Copy that." He said, this time switching to his headset comms, as the sound of the engines muted bass droned out his voice.

As his co-pilot headed up the ramp and slid into the seat next to him, he watched as the engines of other pelicans flared into life, as well as the ungainly shape of one of Whiplash's Longswords.

Some of the crews had waited for further instructions, before being prompted into action by the captains orders.

"Stretchers and medical supplies loaded." Lamora commented, strapping into one of the crash seats behind the cockpit.
He counted to five in his head, then sealed the rear hatch.

A second later, Carson seated up opposite her.

"Carson, LZ should be secure, I'm gonna need you to assist on site orderlies as required."

A grunt and a nod was the only reply he got. It was the only reply he expected to get. The trooper wasn't known for his long conversations.

"Romeo's Rolling. Clearing the hanger door in five."

[Soulstep]

Petty Officer Third Class Mark Harrington Whiplash 3 UNSC Forlorn Hope Flight Deck

"Yes sir!" Mark saluted, before sprinting towards the rear hatch of the Longsword.

"Yuri! Are we good to go?" he called down the craft, his voice echoing and seriously annoying the engineer.

"Yes, yes we are. Just like we have been for hours. Are we going yet?" The Russian yelled back. Evidently, he wasn't very patient.

"Alright, good. Ralph! Steven!"

The two other crew of Whiplash 3 almost immediately arrived beside Mark, and they boarded the Longsword together. "Lennox wants us on escort duty, have the rest of the guys prep for launch in case shit hits the fan." Mark ordered as he strapped into the pilots seat. Though they were all the same rank, Mark was generally associated as being the leader. Yuri didn't like it much, but then he didn't like anything.

"Captain, babysitting detail is ready to go," Mark joked, warming up the engines.

[maxii1]

Captain Reginald McMillan
UNSC The Forlorn Hope
Location: Bridge

McMillan swore loudly “Vlad, get our weapons ready” He turned to his weapons officer, the man nodded and set to work activating the MAC and other mounted weaponry on the exterior of the ship.

Reginald released he was missing his Navigation Officer “Graham, get the bloody hell back here pronto” he radioed to the man, smiling as he made the announcement over the interior tanoy system, his message bouncing down the corridors of the ship, resonating down the gangways.

After pausing for a little while he added “Oh and the rest of you better get to battle stations” his tone sounded far too calm for a battle, so for good measure he activated the warning siren until the noise started to annoy him at which point he turned it off.

The Comms. Officer shouted about the Connecticut and Beijing wanting to move up. Mcmillan nodded to his second in command; Captain Hastings to take over at the helm.

McMillan picked up the small telephone that he insisted on using for communication with outside contacts “Yes, no, no I can’t allow that, even with both ships that manoeuvre wouldn’t work” he paused, biting his lip “Listen Captain, I am the 172nd Squadron Leader, you’ll do as I say” he was evidently cut short in what he was saying “Equal rank, yes I’ll grant you”.

The Captain grimaced “Don’t move up Stan, stay in the pack, you on the left, the Connecticut on the right, we’ll be alongside the others, our combined fire power” he ceased talking. “Stan, Stan?” Reginald banged the receiver down.

“The Crazy SOB is taking the Beijing away from our cluster of ships, thinks he can flank the entire Covenant Armada with the aide of the Connecticut” McMillan looked incredulously.

“Do you want us to follow him?” asked David Hastings at the helm of the ship, his hands fastened on the old wheel that was mainly there for decorative reasons.

“I want him to do what he’s bloody well told, he’ll end up killing all his crew and payload if he continues that way, bloody gung-ho mentalility!” McMillan threw his Coffee Mug outside the bridge, it crashed into the passageway, the guard at the door woke up quickly, weapon pointed at the remaining china fragments.

After covering his face with his hands and taking a long deep tired sigh, Reginald McMillan issued his next order to his Squadron; “Alright, Alan take the Connecticut and hold Stan’s left flank, I’ll get his right, Martina you keep the Venice back, I need you to be ready to take out any contacts or if the worst comes to the worse, be ready to send out rescue parties”

He turned to a freshly arrived and out of breath Navigation Officer “Get us up to speed with the Beijing, I can’t have that bastard take point, I sure as hell can’t trust him to not get his silly ass killed”