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Post by Alasdair MacUspaig on Feb 24, 2019 20:36:01 GMT
Location: Taggart's Point, Reach, Epsilon Eridani system Time: 0630 local time, 01.06.2977, Terran Calendar
Reach. Bastion of humanity's military might for centuries, twice reshaped to support the species that now dominated the region. Alasdair knew the world well, and had an attachment to it rivaled only by his allegiance to Terra itself and his love for the long-burned world of Beacon, where he'd lived until the Kromus had set him on the path he now walked, and continued to tread. Alasdair continued to look out from the transport's viewscreen at the landscape below as they neared their destination, deep in thought over recent events. He, like many, had thought initially that the war had ended years ago, and like many in the Confederation military, had been less surprised and more angered at an enemy that simply refused to die.
A subtle shift broke the Æsir from his train of thought, informing him that the transport was nearing its final destination, prompting him to grasp a crash bar to lift himself from his seat as they landed. Even without his armor, Alasdair was not a small man, standing at six foot four inches with a weight of roughly three hundred pounds, yet he moved with a nimble grace of someone half his size, which helped greatly in the narrow walkways on the shuttle, enabling him to disembark the craft quickly and easily, hauling across his back a single duffel of personal effects. In his free hand, he carried a datapad, currently displaying his recall orders and report date. No doubt he would be briefed on the personal weapons and assorted military hardware he'd had to have shipped separately for storage and registration, but that was hardly at the forefront of his mind. The Kromus War had been a costly one, after all, and the Siege of Krom had seen the end of many of the Confederation's best, men and women Alasdair had come to see every bit as much family as those he'd lost on Beacon. Now here he was, more than a decade later.
"Identification and orders?" a rather weary-looking clerk prompted some time later as Alasdair approached the woman's desk.
"Master Sergeant Alasdair MacUspaig, reporting on recall orders to the 117th Special Operations Regiment," he answered as he handed the datapad over, along with a sliver of iridescent material, taking care to speak in a more standard dialect. He said nothing more, however, in part due to fatigue from the change in day cycles transferring from Mars to Reach, something akin to a phenomenon known as jet lag, but also because there really wasn't any need to speak more, and was likely better to not, given the sensitive nature of his assignment. As he waited for further instructions, the Æsir's mind wondered to what the future might bring. The Kromus War had been one of the most bloody conflicts humanity had fought since the Second Machine War, after all, and now it appeared that not only were the Kromus still capable, their flagship, the _Cunning Death_ had also survived.
"Alright, so it says here you need to report to Delta Barracks. Do you need directions to get there, Sergeant?" the brunette asked, breaking into the supersoldier's musings.
"Negative. I know where they are," he grunted as he reached to take his orders and identification strip back. "You have a good day," he added as he started off to leave the processing center. He still found it mildly amusing that the headquarters building for the Confederation Army's most elite soldiers bore such an innocuous name, though he knew the history well enough. The real question hanging in his mind, was one that had been looming ever since he'd received his recall orders. How soon would he and his brothers and sisters in arms be deployed once more? Whether he would he survive this conflict or not didn't bother him, though. He'd seen enough of death that by now, it was simply a fact of life, eventually, it would be his turn. He simply planned to make the reaper work for his soul.