acts_of_gord: (I did not hear you say that.)
[personal profile] acts_of_gord
There's going to be a lot of swimming very soon. Gordon's good with that. Maybe not all that enthusiastic about it, though. He's read about Irukandji syndrome. It's almost enough to make him wish for Xen leeches instead.

Almost.

It's a night swim, is the thing. The only way they could reach the Combine desalination plant undetected during the day would involve Pi portaling the Borealis directly alongside the rig and dropping them off faster than the Combine could shoot them all down. Alyx has the machine up and running again, but nobody wants to take a chance on Pi's current stability. And for all that people in the Resistance occasionally seem to think he's the Messiah, walking on water is not in his portfolio. So... they have to get to the rig under cover of darkness, through jellyfish-infested waters, and creep aboard undetected. And then pretty much put an end to the existence of anything on board with a pulse. Alyx won't be there, and the stalkers won't have any other way out.

He'll handle that part himself, if he can.

For now they've driven here from the Borealis They've got a dark equipment shed near the shoreline ready so that the handful of them who'll be going can get their eyes used to what lies ahead. They're all in their dive gear, as far as he knows. He's got his HEV suit and his helmet on. Hopefully it'll stand up to the jellyfish like it's done to the Combine. This is going to be a very short trip otherwise.

Date: 2011-06-28 10:01 pm (UTC)
boston_bruiser: (Default)
From: [personal profile] boston_bruiser
The odds are stacked against them for this one. They're outnumbered, outgunned, and going in practically blind with barely any lead time.

Voodoo wishes he could say that that's the way he likes it, but he's never been a very good liar. Not even to himself.

He holds the stopwatch up to his eyes. The clock face is barely readable in the dark, but they're about 20 minutes in. 20 more to go.

Date: 2011-06-29 09:38 pm (UTC)
boston_bruiser: (Default)
From: [personal profile] boston_bruiser
For Voodoo's money? It's Jimbo. Again.

Say what you want, but the man's got pride.

Voodoo half-considers telling him to quiet down before shrugging it off. After all they've been through, he rates humming whatever he damn well pleases.

Okay, whatever they damn well please. Because from the sounds of it, the soloist has an accompanist now.

Date: 2011-06-30 04:07 am (UTC)
boston_bruiser: (Default)
From: [personal profile] boston_bruiser
Jan does indeed have an ear for music. If the fact that a couple other people have picked up the tune by now is any indicator, that is. The volume's not overbearing, or even loud - it's more "informal caroling" than "drinking song".

I'm always traveling, I love being free/And so I keep leaving the sun and the sea...

Voodoo checks the stopwatch again. Ten minutes left.

But my heart lies waiting over the foam/I still call Australia home...

Date: 2011-06-30 04:52 am (UTC)
boston_bruiser: (Default)
From: [personal profile] boston_bruiser
Voodoo, for his part, taps out the tune on his knee, trying to clear his mind as best he can. A tense trigger finger's no good to anybody.

And someday we'll all be together once more / when all of the ships come back to the shore...

There'll be the post-battle shakes afterwards, of course (if there's an after). There always will be, so long as he does this for a living.

How long that'll be is another matter entirely.

I'll realize something I've always known / I still call Australia home...

The room falls silent. There's no applause, no whistling, not even nods of acknowledgement among the group. Someone sniffles.

It feels like an eternity before Voodoo checks the stopwatch again. 45 minutes. They're ready.

He clicks the stop button and sets the stopwatch aside.

"Let's go."

Date: 2011-06-30 05:59 am (UTC)
boston_bruiser: (Default)
From: [personal profile] boston_bruiser
Voodoo's already up and patting himself down for any loose gear. There's none, of course - his MP5 is slung and secured to his side, and his pistol is secure in its holster. If there was one thing BUD/S beat into him it was attention to detail.

He turns to the shed door and pushes it open. There's a new moon tonight, but the stars are out in full force, dotting the sky like some kind of astronomical blanket. But it's no time for sightseeing.

"Follow me." Voodoo starts across the sand, his boots sinking deep into it with every step. He can see the Sergeant Major's contingent down the beach a little ways, and heads for it, cradling his diving mask in the crook of his elbow.

It's not long before they reach it. Shephard himself has what looks to be a M40A1, and the rest aren't too shabbily armed, either. Voodoo clicks his tongue twice to get their attention. "Hey. Anything new?"

Date: 2011-06-30 02:54 pm (UTC)
hecu_marine: (brotherhood)
From: [personal profile] hecu_marine
Shephard is very, very good at sitting still and being quietly observant; he's had to practice since he was six and got taken on his first hunt. He shakes his head. Nothing new, no changes- all systems are go as far as he and his are concerned.

Date: 2011-07-01 05:42 am (UTC)
boston_bruiser: (Default)
From: [personal profile] boston_bruiser
Voodoo nods, then turns to the raiders. "Like I said, Team Four is first in. After that, it's Team Five, then Team One, then Team Two. Team Three, you bring up the rear. Good luck."

And with that, Voodoo dons his diving mask and fins, pausing momentarily to hook up his rebreather to the mask. The rig hisses to life, and he breathes in the sweet, desert-dry air. The connection's good - so far, anyway.

He looks up to see Nari and Brandon walking into the surf, the others forming a line behind them. He joins up with Freeman as the line walks into the water.

Were he someone else, he'd probably find this a good place for an out-of-context Shakespeare quote.

Date: 2011-07-01 07:21 pm (UTC)
boston_bruiser: (Default)
From: [personal profile] boston_bruiser
After the surf's up to his neck, Voodoo pushes off with his feet and slides headfirst into the water. The initial loss of gravity's still jarring, but he recovers and scans the water ahead of him.

It's pitch black, for one. He can barely see the pair ahead of them. A jellyfish floats by, something tangled in its tentacles. It's too dark to make out exactly what - not like it matters, anyway. For now, he just focuses on his technique.

Date: 2011-07-02 05:05 am (UTC)
boston_bruiser: (Default)
From: [personal profile] boston_bruiser
Voodoo can sympathize somewhat. Night dives have never been a favorite of his - of anyone that he knows, really. The swimmers are essentially in a vacuum, and like they say, nothing fills a vacuum like imagination.

Or, you know, something really long and scaly and probably carnivorous brushing by your shins. That works, too.

Honestly, Voodoo's as grateful as the next man that the rig's close enough for him to make out the sentries still on watch - time spent thinking about how to take them out is time not spent thinking about what the hell just brushed past his shins. Again.

Date: 2011-07-02 05:42 am (UTC)
boston_bruiser: (Default)
From: [personal profile] boston_bruiser
For the first time in his life, Voodoo's speechless.

He looks at the crowbar. Then at the water. Then back at the crowbar. Then back at the water. Then at Freeman.

Holy shit.

To say Voodoo's eyes are the size of dinner plates would be somewhat of an exaggeration. Think half-dollars. He's been on a hot evac more times than he can count, but taking on a crocodile with a crowbar...

He doesn't know about the "Doctor" part, but one thing's for sure: Freeman's one crazy son of a bitch.

Date: 2011-07-02 08:13 am (UTC)
boston_bruiser: (Default)
From: [personal profile] boston_bruiser
Unfortunately, with the HEV suit being airtight, Voodoo can't hear him, and it's too dark to read lips, so he settles for a shake of the head as he resumes swimming.

It's not that far to the rig - a few minutes more, and Voodoo's pulling himself onto the grating. He takes his mask and fins off, then pulls on his headset and shoulders his MP5. He flips the fire selector to semiautomatic and makes his way to the stairs, carefully stepping over a pair of dead Combine soldiers on the way.

Puncture wounds on the backs of their necks. Severed their spinal columns. Assholes never felt a thing. Chalk up two for Team Four.

Date: 2011-07-02 06:37 pm (UTC)
boston_bruiser: (Default)
From: [personal profile] boston_bruiser
Voodoo certainly wouldn't, but he'll save the thinking for later. He flattens himself against a wall and peeks around the corner - sure enough, it's a two-man Combine patrol, headed straight for them. If they see him, they don't show it.

They're patrolling along the walls instead of staying in the middle. Stupid.

He unsheathes his tomahawk and gets Freeman's attention. Two-man patrol, he mouths. Coming our way.

Date: 2011-07-03 04:31 am (UTC)
boston_bruiser: (Default)
From: [personal profile] boston_bruiser
To anyone watching, what happens next would probably look like an illusion or magic trick. One moment, the soldiers are strolling along the wall - the next, they're gone.

Anyone listening, however, might just barely pick up the dull thwack of a tomahawk severing a spinal cord.

Voodoo grabs the soldier by the shoulders just as he's about to fall, then gently lays him on the ground - no need to have him crumpling to the ground and making even more noise.

Wait...are those wires?

It takes a closer look, but as it turns out, no, those aren't wires. They're electrodes, along with what look like some kind of tubing.

"What the fuck?"

"Messed up" doesn't even scratch the surface.

Still, they've got a job to do. He can ponder this when they're not neck-deep in Combine troops.

A cursory patdown reveals nothing besides some ammunition and a grenade, both of which he pockets. The weapon (a nasty-looking submachine gun) gets kicked into a particularly dark corner.

Date: 2011-07-03 05:18 am (UTC)
boston_bruiser: (Default)
From: [personal profile] boston_bruiser
Voodoo doesn't say anything. Instead, he shoulders his weapon and makes his way down the hall with Freeman. If they're on schedule, the last two teams should already be on their way to the first floor. Four and Five are probably already holding position on the second floor, which means they've got to hurry.

For such a vital installation, it's got remarkably crappy security procedures - their trip up to the first floor, aside from taking out the patrol, is uneventful. Once there, Gordon and Voodoo make a beeline for the comms array. It's behind another bland nondescript steel door, locked by what looks to be some kind of screwed up retinal scanner, but it's a futile effort on the part of the designers - the antennas copiously mounted to the side are what gives it away.

This is it. This is really it.

Voodoo takes out a door breaching charge and plants it on the door, taking care not to upset the blasting cap or detcord. He takes one side of the door and Gordon the other.

He keys his radio.

"All teams, report in."

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