[x] Repulsor Transport (0/180) (37 Roll + 15 Skill = 52) + (25 Roll + 15 Skill = 40) + (64 Roll + 15 Skill = 79) + (59 Roll + 15 Skill = 74) = (245/180)
Overflow assignment in full turn.
[x] Assault Location: "The Laugh House", Contraband Production Facility
Objective: Raid for trade materials, particularly credits, AA turrets if feasible
Commit Forces: Hunters, Viscerators, Scanners, Combine Soldiers
2 Dice used, Rolling with Advantage: (26 Roll < 88 Roll) + 5 Skill = 93 = +3 Bonus
Combine 93 vs Hutt 47, Combine Crit Success! +1 Bonus
Scanners Attack Roll 7 + 4 Bonus - 1 Conditions = 10
Viscerator Swarm Attack Roll
20 + 4 Bonus - 1 Conditions = 23
Combine Soldiers Attack Roll 11 + 4 Bonus - 1 Conditions = 14
Hunters Attack Roll 11 + 4 Bonus - 1 Conditions = 14
Hutt Enforcer Attack Roll 2 + 1 Bonus - 1 Conditions = 2
You watch the assault as it happens, flicking through the various feeds.
A fog had come in with nightfall, covering the swamp in a thick blanket of mist, appearing almost black and barely visible set in the cold starlight. Furtive creatures scurry into roots and furrows as a group of six blue lights pass overhead, a sudden gust of exhaust tearing into the topmost branches as the Dropships fly by and land at the first clearings they find.
The Transhuman Overwatch forces disembark from the Dropships, which set their limbs down extinguishing their engines rather than returning to the Citadel for the time being. A final round of equipment checks pass by as a few of the soldiers glance at their destination, a few hundred meters ahead.
The target shines as a beacon of artificial white light in the sea of fog, illuminating pillars of steam and chemical waste products rising up into the atmosphere.
"
Team leaders, report squad status."
Each Ordinal gives their report in turn as the Scanners close in on the facility ahead of them. A squat thing, composed mainly of Durasteel-prefab corridors, walkways and concrete, surrounded by dingy shacks for housing the workforce population.
AA batteries dot the creaky scaffolds along the outside edge of the processing plant, tended at this hour by Enforcers that are mostly inebriated, judging by their stumbling about. Only a handful are alert enough to notice as the Scanners float up and start snapping pictures, casting rays that look almost like lightning in the mist.
"Heyy, heh- hey! It's onea them droids that was in the city!" One drawls with a wide grin, prodding at his fellows while drawing a blaster. The Scanner simply retreats back into the fog as the drunken Enforces start firing into it, missing wildly and no doubt rousing the attention of their compatriots, drawing it away from the real danger that lurks in the shrouded rows below.
The slumbering factory slowly wakes as your Hunters, unburdened by the fog, take out the spotlights with a volley of flechettes before moving on to the Enforcers themselves.
"
All units, apply forward pressure. Angel team, deploy Viscerators. Inject, restrict, sever."
Bleary workmen scream as they watch an Enforcer get dragged into the mist by dark blue pincers, cowering in their huts as yells and blaster fire echo all around. The first pulse shots echo into the night as the Transhumans make their entrance to the fight.
A shrewder bunch of Enforcers try to dismount one of the AA Blasters, aiming the improvised casemate down the alley. The heavy blaster barks out red bursts past a squad, perhaps seeing things in the mist, or merely trying to suppress the team.
"Helix Two, extractor out." The soldier growls, tossing a grenade past the barricade.
"Frag!
-" Is all the gunner gets out before the grenade blows apart the barrier, scattering shards of the broken weapon everywhere, along with it's operators. The Transhumans advance on the facility proper, leaving the Hunters to clear away any stragglers in the shanty town.
Some of the braver workers pick up the Enforcer's blasters, and the smart ones watch the result from behind grimy glass as the bodies drop, missing chunks.
Soldiers line up at the base of the main structure, opening up the doors to allow the Viscerators entry. More yells are heard from within the halls of twisting pipes and grated flooring as the Viscerators disrupt what had been an approximation of a firing line. The Soldiers armed with close-range weapons advance after the swarm, taking out the bloodied gangsters in their path upwards.
The sounds of pulse-fire begin to die down outside, as Saber team moves up to the 'office' overseeing production here. A Wallhammer tries the door, pushing at it.
"Entrance is clamped. Saber Six, ready charges." The Ordinal signals for the other soldier to come forward.
"THE CRA- -ARDS ARE ALMOST- -RE DO YOU KRIFFING HEAR ME!?" The boss, presumably, shouts expletives into a commlink with futility, given that another squad has already taken out the facility's relay device, and it will take too long for the commlink to reconnect.
The door explodes inward, silencing the man's cries as a dozen Viscerators swarm the room, spattering the blood of a couple already-languishing Enforcers on the windows. The boss tries to level a blaster-pistol at the Wallhammer with a shaky grip.
"Hostile is unskilled, pressing advantage." Wallhammer rushes in, taking a shot in the shoulder before cracking the stock of his shotgun over the man's head. "Clear."
A rotund, older human male, dressed in slightly cleaner clothing than his subordinates cowers under the Overwatch soldiers, holding his head in pain as the Saber Ordinal approaches, picking him up by the neck.
"You. The credits."
"S-So you're just a bunch a-a kriffing
thiev-" The Ordinal just glances over his shoulder, and the Wallhammer unfastens a stun baton.
"-Alright, alright! T-They're in there!" The boss points with a shaky finger to a spot behind his sheet-metal desk. The soldiers find a safe, and the boss soon supplies the access code. Uneven stacks of the Republic credit chit lie within, along with what you recognize to be the Hutt's own, local currency in thin slips of gold.
"Kriffing bastards won-" The man's muttering is silenced by a single pulse shot, and the Ordinal steps up to the office's windows.
Silhouettes of Hunters and the other Transhumans can be seen in the fog, rounding up the remaining worker population as red dots of Viscerators and Scanners patrol overhead. Others gather up the drug stockpile, taking it out in crates to the Dropships on commandeered repulsor-loaders.
"Overwatch. Sector is clean, Primary objectives secure. Multiple non-hostiles secured, indications of forced labor assignment. Awaiting advanced directive." Saber Ordinal radios in.
Resources Gained:
73k Credits
Strategic Resources:
108 Giggledust Crates
2 Mixed Species Pops available
Select an order:
[ ] Recall
All objectives have been attained, there is no need to linger further. Leave the Hutt's workforce to their own devices.
[ ] Capture
With the Repulsor Transports finished, you could take the workers back to the Citadel, for eventual Transhuman augmentation or simple storage until such a time as you have need of them. However, the Shells are likely already mustering a response to the attack in spite of severing their communications, and transporting all the workers will take a while.
[ ] Terminate
You cannot allow the Shells any more information on your capabilities than you have already given them. The Overwatch will eliminate all witnesses.
[ ] Inoculate
The Combine will doubtless have dominion over this world in the near future, and the simple act of distributing medkits to the wounded in this moment may help to prevent civil unrest in the long term.
[ ] Write in...
(AN: Simple voting this time around, half hour moratorium with the vote closing at noon CST this Monday. Next full turn is still in the pipe.)