Hibernation

Prologue:
War for Riches


Chuckles



“Watch it!” Jerry Roland shouted, spitting the dirt that had been sprayed onto him by his comrade sliding into the arable soil directly in front of him. The fact that the soil was arable at all was a miracle, considering that the sun barely ever shone on this horrible place. Nothing but dirt and hills, yet, nothing but dirt and hills was obviously enough to kill and die for. Jerry’s superiors had told him and his battalion to hold the mountain at all costs. No reason had been given, no reason had been needed for Jerry to suit up, grab his Pulse Rifle and sleep in a small, uncomfortable trench dug in the foothills of the mountain for the last three days. For coming here and fighting for whatever this mountain was worth, was worth overtime for Jerry, times had been hard for his family and him, and desperation had set in.

“Sorry!” The man muttered back, hefting his sniper rifle over the mound of dirt in front of them, then he grabbed an extra scope from his pocket and shoved it into Jerry’s chest. By the time Jerry looked at the sniper, the man was already adjusting his own sighting.

“What is this?” Jerry flipped his body, so he was leaning on the mound of dirt in front of him with his back.

“A scope.” The man replied curtly, adjusting the position his sniper sat on in the mound.

“I bloody know that!” Jerry punched the ground. “Why did you give it to me!”
“Twenty meters up, my spotter was sniped right between the eyes. Congrats, man, you’re my new spotter. Put it on your rifle!” Jerry shrugged, and did as the sniper said. Being stationed in the foothills of the giant mountain wasn’t exactly the best place for a close-combat infantryman.
Jerry feebly poked his rifle above the mound and saw that the battle was going sorely for this army, otherwise known as the Loyalists. The “freedom fighters” (Jerry had heard them called many more explicit things by his comrades) were expert marksman, even if their designated combat role wasn’t as a sniper, they had obviously been trained better in the techniques of guerilla warfare. As he saw how his comrades were getting slaughtered, he swore violently under his breath, as he acknowledged that the freedom fighters had thrown guerilla warfare to the wind, and were surprisingly efficient in open combat.

“Shoot!” Jerry shouted at the sniper beside him, frustration setting in.

“Where!?” The sniper cursed as well.

“They’re all over, are you blind?” Jerry was about to tear the sniper out of the man’s hands and start firing it himself when the sniper rocked and a small burst of light came from the muzzle of the gun as the bullet shot out. “Thank you!”

A low hum filled the air, and instinctively, Jerry checked his belt to make sure he hadn’t accidentally activated one of his spare grenades. When all was fine in his own belt, he scanned the battlefield with his newly owned scope, aside from the fact that the battle was going poorly, everything was fine, nothing out of the ordinary, considering they were in a battlefield.

And then, when he was examining the sky, he saw it, a slight reflection. Which was odd, the air was filled with clouds, fog, and the smog of war. There was no sunlight, and it was too early for one of the planet’s two moons to be showing in this region. Perhaps it was nothing, there were missiles flying all over the place, after all. But then, a missile blew in midair, and a flying mass of wreckage came down only a kilometer in front of them.

“Get down!” Jerry realized what was happening a split-second before it did, he grabbed the sniper and yanked him down to the bottom of the trench by his collar. Spy-planes, at least twenty of them all painted a smoggy black-grey, came out of the smog in the air, finally close enough to be identified. Bullets fell onto the Loyalist-side of the battlefield, taking out their key defensive positions in one fell swoop. Jerry himself felt the thud of bullets hitting the ground around him, loosed dirt flying on-top of him.

Once the hum of the planes died away into the distance, Jerry and the sniper pulled themselves up, luckily, neither of them had been hit. The few survivors on the front-lines were being killed before they could stand up, cheers were emerging from the other side of the battlefield as Jerry’s enemies ran across the battlefield, destroying the masses of disoriented troops that stood in front of them.

“What do we do now?” Jerry asked, picking his Pulse Rifle out of the dirt, “We could make a stand.” A small group of others close-by were all emerging from their cover.
“We wouldn’t last ten minutes, they’d have us zeroed is we did,” The sniper shook his head, and pursed his lips. “I think we’re done for the day.” The sniper climbed out of the trench and, crouched, held his hand to help Jerry up.

“I never even got your name,” Jerry let himself be let pulled out of the trench.

“Call me Stanford.” The sniper motioned for the other nearby survivors to follow them.

“No first name?” Jerry started to lope, the freedom fighters were gaining ground faster than thought.

“You haven’t earned it yet,” Stanford smiled a smile with both sarcastic and conceiting qualities. Jerry grimaced, there was nothing to be smiling about, the battle was lost, the day was lost, they would most likely be demoted to servants if they ever got back to their orbiting fleet.

But the truth was, with no supplies or transportation, they were stranded, stranded on the nearly uninhabitable planet of Nova Terra.


Chapter One: Mining facility





He was crouched in his trench, bullets zoomed overhead, some hitting the dirt and spraying him with mud. He risked a peek over. The gloomy distance was pockmarked with muzzle flashes and the crackle of gunfire. He aimed his Pulse Rifle over the top of the trench and fired half his magazine in short, five round bursts. A Cheyenne gunship flew over his position and fired missiles at the enemy position. He cheered as they began retreating, many falling to the hail of bullets and explosives. He scrambled over the trench, and he was not alone. The entirety of the rebel army was running towards the loyalist’s shattered position, firing wildly and pumping their fists in the air. The day had been won, for the first time in four days of continuous fighting over a barren landscape; he cracked a stiff, mud caked smile. Private Conrad Pressfield had survived.



The inside of the Free Colonial Movement’s base on Terra Nova was bleak and grey, overhead lighting doing nothing to brighten the place up. The rebels had taken this base from the Colonial Marines after fighting a week for it. The signs of the battle were still everywhere Commander Ribalt looked. He walked past an intersection in a corridor; he looked down the left turn and saw a large hole blown into the wall, and several bloodstains on the walls and floor. He ignored the sight and continued on his way to the head of his military operation. He stopped outside of a grey door, in the grey corridor of the grey building, and knocked smartly on the cracked glass of the door. He heard a voice on the other side. “Come in!” He opened the door and walked inside, shutting it again behind him.



Sgt Wallace stared across the bleak landscape at the only discerning feature of the surrounding area. A huge mining facility. Wallace moved towards it, a team of men with him. His job was to check it for hostiles. He reached the door; it was locked from the inside. He signalled and a charge was placed on the door. He walked back to a safe distance, and the charge was detonated. There was a bang and a bright flash, the spray of rocks and dirt showered them and they ran inside. There was nothing.



Ribalt stood before a highly-polished desk. Behind it, a man in his late 50’s was sipping brandy from a small glass. He held out a hand mid-sip for Ribalt to sit down on the only seat available. Ribalt obliged, and continued to watch as the Head finished his drink. He gave a refreshed sigh and cleared his throat. “To what do I owe this please Commander?” Ribalt passed a video chip across to the Head. He picked it up and placed it in the computer next to him. “So, what is the video of?”



“It’s the battle Sir, the one for the mining facility.” The Head turned back to the loading screen of the computer, a new interest in his eyes. The video started, from the helmet cam of a soldier. The Head watched, a smile growing larger on his face with every passing second. The enemy retreated, his men charged, they cheered and celebrated. The Head clicked the video off.



“You were successful Commander? This is excellent news! When can the men start drilling?”



“As soon as the site is declared all clear. We’ll need an extra 200 or so men for the perimeter?” The Head nodded eagerly.



“Of course, of course! I’m so happy with you right now, I could kiss you! But I won’t. Instead, you have yourself an extra ten APC’s and any request you need to ensure we can get down to mining Platonium straight away.” Ribalt smiled, and shook the Head’s hand.



“It was a pleasure Sir, thank you for your assistance.”



“And thank you for yours Ribalt. See yourself out, would you?”

Offensive Bias wrote:"We've taken the mining facility! We've done it!"

"Sir, the machines have unearthed something... A cavern."

"The explorer groups have reported a large series of tunnels. It's like a maze down there."

"The explorer groups have split up. They'll report findings when they come across them."

"We've lost contact with group four, the others are falling back to regroup."

"Three and five are down, we think the chamber is compromised by the loyalists."

"Team one reports they have pushed further in, they've found a large inner chamber. They found hundreds of strange objects."

"Team one is down. The others aren't reporting in. We did recieve this garbled report from team two."

*Static* "HELP US! THEY'RE EVERYWHERE! *Gunfire, screaming.* NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" *Strange screeching, transmission cuts out*

"Sir, we need to clear that chamber..."

Coming soon. Hibernation.

What a nice and cryptic prologue, I hope the story will be good

Nice teaser, cant wait to read

hmmmm, so we have TWO teasers now? I will like to see how this turns out.

the decent...

I hope it isn't as cliched as this. My god, that whole static radio cutting out with gunfire and screaming shit is unbelievably cliche.

Oh well, apparently I'm not allowed to judge things until they're done, but still, that's some pretty nasty bargain-bin style cliche.

Ziggy wrote:I hope it isn't as cliched as this. My god, that whole static radio cutting out with gunfire and screaming shit is unbelievably cliche.

Oh well, apparently I'm not allowed to judge things until they're done, but still, that's some pretty nasty bargain-bin style cliche.

By now, I believe Ziggy should be the Crimson Critic.

Ziggy wrote:I hope it isn't as cliched as this. My god, that whole static radio cutting out with gunfire and screaming shit is unbelievably cliche.

Oh well, apparently I'm not allowed to judge things until they're done, but still, that's some pretty nasty bargain-bin style cliche.

-.-

Offensive Bias wrote:

Ziggy wrote:I hope it isn't as cliched as this. My god, that whole static radio cutting out with gunfire and screaming shit is unbelievably cliche.

Oh well, apparently I'm not allowed to judge things until they're done, but still, that's some pretty nasty bargain-bin style cliche.

-.-

Chin up OB. =D

More reason to make this story a great one. ^_^

liking this OB, looks great.

Okay, the prologue and chapter one are up, take a look and tell me what you thought. And this was a co-write with Chuckles, so wherever it says Chuckles, that means it's his chapter.

It's pretty good, but be careful of cliches and cliched structures. Declaring the characters name in the very first sentence, unless executed perfectly, is pretty damn cliche. Otherwise good.

Ziggy wrote:It's pretty good, but be careful of cliches and cliched structures. Declaring the characters name in the very first sentence, unless executed perfectly, is pretty damn cliche. Otherwise good.

That wasn't my chapter, but ya know.