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Murphy's Law; Open to all, come and join!
Topic Started: Nov 8 2014, 09:47 AM (452 Views)
Cholula
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Nah, not feeling well enough to pilot today

"Turning to drop vector. Hold on".

Even with gloves on, Second Lieutenant Ford could feel his palms. They sweat into his gloves, making him feel like his hands were in a sauna. He had the external video input in his GM cockpit set to private, so that nobody could see him. At least not yet. He felt the aircraft lurch as the pilots turned the beast toward the island in which he and a few other mobile suits would be dropped.

The training exercise was simple: an air drop, followed by a short Base Jabber ride to the rally point. It was a live-fire exercise, so coordination was very important. His GM III 'Snapping Turtle' was one of four that would be dropped from the plane, an old-but-refit Medea that had been a leftover of the Federation. Even its pilots were braggarts, talking about how many engagements they had been in. They could handle pressure, but could the mobile suit pilots? They were about to find out.

"Approaching drop point. We are at thirty thousand feet. All units, prepare for drop. Step on to your Base Jabbers" the co-pilot announced. Ford would be the second to launch. He had gone over the training virtually, like every other pilot. His success rate was average, and like his peers, he was fast-tracked anyway. After all, the Base Jabbers had control of the flight route when the GM III left the plane, what could go wrong?

A klaxon went off, the hangar bay bathed in a red, dimly-flashing light as the Medea prepared to drop the first Snapping Turtle and its Base Jabber. Ford looked to his left-front as the first GM stepped up on the Jabber, kneeling to lock into the platform for its legs. Even with such a setup, the mobile suit looked very ungainly, he noticed. All of the flight crew in the hangar bay got into position as the GM pilot signaled that she was locked in. After the Jabber pilots confirmed, the hangar bay doors opened, bars snapping to the deck so that the Jabber could launch straight off what had been the door. The klaxons ceased their bleating, and the hangar bay lights changed to a bright-but-good green, which meant that they were ready to launch.

Ford watched, half-listening to the radio chatter as the GM and its Base Jabber were launched from the hangar, sliding down the rails and out the back of the Medea. He lost sight of them for a moment before he saw their shape, slowly descending but moving forward very fast. It was only for a moment he was able to look at this before the klaxon went off again, signaling that it was his turn to jump. He felt his ears ring with excitement as he pushed onto the pedals, moving his GM to step onto the Base Jabber in front of him.

"I'm locked in" he said, looking at his console now as he commanded his GM into the proper launch position. The Base Jabber pilots confirmed this, and the klaxon ceased once again, the hangar bay bathed in green light now. It was at that moment that the first incident of Murphy's Law would occur, although Ford and the rest of them had no idea.

"Launching in three...two...one...launch launch launch!"

At first, the Base Jabber lurched forward, the GM going with it for a few seconds before "it" happened. The right leg locking brace of the Base Jobber was a pneumatic system that, every six months, had to be cleaned and refurbished, according to the manual. This was supposed to be applied to every Base Jobber, not just one that would see continuous action once every week, year-round, in an airborne training unit. But, as the epigram went "anything that can go wrong, will go wrong." The mechanics assigned to perform the semi-annual maintenance had been understaffed, and under time constraints of a personal nature, wanting to go into an extended weekend break a few hours before their work day normally ended. This turned what would have been completed maintenance into a pencil-whipping, not the first of its type, but the first of this magnitude. But, documents were documents. Nobody would ever know that they had slacked off on their duties...because of what happened next.

In the wrong position, the locking brace was unable to endure the sudden change in Gs and the multi-ton weight of the GM as it rocked forward. Of course, the locking brace gave way, and ripped from the base deck of the Jabber, a wave of oily pressure fluid in its wake. The other locking brace, on the left side of the Base Jabber, was in perfect working condition. But it too had aged with time. It could not compensate for the added weight of the GM because of the failure of its left-ward counterpart. In similar fashion to the locking brace on the right, it gave up and was ripped from the deck. Ford felt his GM lean back, which was curious as he was supposed to be viewing forward. When he saw the Base Jabber push out from beneath the GM's feet, he then felt his chest tighten.

In what would, hopefully, not be the last time in his life, Ford uttered the same four-letter word said many years ago, at the time he realized he had been suckered by a recruiter into doing something that might not be in the interest of his health:

"Fuck".

The GM fell back, spurned on by the Base Jabber leaving its underside. The GM fell back, crashing onto the hangar deck. The cannons, folded down behind the GM, were heavy and durable, but the Medea lurched from the heavy weight of the crash, and dipped violently. The bad angle and rate of speed were bad for the GM, as Ford found out. He watched the sky get closer as the GM slid out the back of the Medea. Ford reacted instinctively, making the hand of the GM reach out and grab onto the door handle of the Medea. This was, as he was about to find out, a very bad move...

(To be continued...feel free to jump in, anyone.)
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Vindel Mauser
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Meanwhile In the upper atmosphere a lone Endra cruiser kept itself at a relatively safe distance from Earth's gravity well. The cruiser in question was the Acheron now cruising over the western hemisphere. With the Earth Federation Space Force out of the way Neo Zeon was more than capable of launching any kind of operation at will from space without worrying about running into any serious resistance.

This position of advantage allowed Neo Zeon to now more than ever closely monitor the progress made on the remaining Earth super powers. Surely after the war many of these nations would consider re-armament in order to protect their newly established borders.

On the Acheron briefing room a group of officers and enlisted personal assembled to discuss the sealed orders that where to be opened up after getting to these coordinates. Today Lt commander Jack Saunders of the Royal Guard would be joining them for a special assignment. From the content of the folder the Lieutenant would be inserted deep into ISAF territory to gather information on their mobile suit development program. The scope of the operation demanded a group of two operatives to be inserted via low orbit into an ISAF training facility in the Caribbean sea..

Jack stood next to the vessel Captain attentively reading the contents of the instructions aimed at him directly. Unlike the rest of the enlisted officers he was wearing the white Royal guard robe that was pretty much set him apart from the other officers. Of course there was a reason he was chosen to this mission, ever since the initial formation of the Royal Guard his unit had been tasked with all kinds of deniable black operations conducted in complete secrecy.

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HeadlessSeeker
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Sentinel Michael Grimme sat in a chair within the briefing room of the Acheron looking through the contents of his folder. When he received his sealed orders he was slightly surprised but orders were orders. Just another mission anyways. Michael was currently going through the parts that specifically pertained to him. He would be inserted deep into ISAF territory as well.

Sitting there in the seat he wore his standard field uniform with pilot jacket. He went over every important detail several times wanting to memorize it. He had noticed Jack right off due to his white royal guard robes. Though he didn't pay much attention wanting to memorise the details of the mission.
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Cholula
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Nah, not feeling well enough to pilot today

The Medea was archaic. As a transport platform, it did very well. But it was also known for its instability, especially for its updated role. As such, the pilots of the Medea could only do so much when they felt the aircraft dip its rear, as if someone had kicked the nose of the plane. In the back, the hangar bay was chaos. Ford's GM had turned just in time to grab the hangar deck latch, on a hand-rail designed for mobile suits to grab and pull or push. This was in place in case the door system had lost power or something.

"Jesus fucking christ what was that? Did we get hit by a missile?!" the pilot screamed at his co-pilot, who was shaking and trying to level the plane out. "No, the hangar chief says one of the mobile suits tripped and grabbed the deck! We dropped a Jabber!" the co-pilot stammered back at him, trying to control his breathing. "I can't level the flaps, there's too much drag" the pilot said to the crew in the hanger, which caused even more panic. The two other GM Snapping Turtles had backed up against the hangar wall, as far from the door as possible. The Base Jabbers below them were ready to launch if it got too heavy, even if it meant running over the GM on the hangar door.

"Quick, someone pull me up!" Ford shouted over the radio. His GM was flapping around, holding onto the hangar door handle, contemplating if he should drop his beam rifle so he could grab with both hands. The Medea lurched again, the engines loud and whining as the plane struggled to increase power. He dropped the beam rifle easily after that.

"Let go of the damn door, Lieutenant!" the hangar chief screamed into his mike. His subordinates were giving him looks because he had strapped on a parachute pack without telling them to first. "Are you crazy? I lost my Jabber. I can't fly this thing!" Ford responded, rocking around his cockpit as his GM fluttered with the turbulence.

"You're gonna take this whole damn plane down you idiot! Gaaah!" the chief yelled again as the plane lurched, dipping once more. One of the engines had burned out, and the pilot and co-pilot were now wondering what they had done to deserve this. Ford manipulated the GM's hand to grab the other hand-rail, adamant on staying put. "Let go you fool!" the chief yelled again.

"Nu."

"No? What the fuck do you mean no!?"

"I said nu. I don't wanna."

"What are you, twelve?! You're gonna take us down! Jump and use your boosters or something!"

"This isn't a Hellion, its the Snapping Turtle. I'd run out of fuel before I slow down enough, if I even can" Ford replied, sounding defensive.

The chief looked around at the rest of the crew, who were mulling over the idea of donning parachutes and wondering if they would be a new record statistic: Medea goes down with all hands in a training accident over the Caribbean. All leaves and passes revoked as the area garrison conducts searches. "Well, if my parachute fails, I won't live to lose the pass" one airmen said, trying to sound optimistic. The chief growled and looked at the two GMs still inside the bay, who were still cowering against the wall. He grinned with an idea.

"You, aim your beam rifle at him. Shoot him off the plane damnit!" the chief said, sounding desperate. The GM's head turned toward the man, and if the mobile suit somehow had eyes, the chief was sure they would be wide with surprise. "Sir, but...thats a pilot" the girl inside responded. As if stating the obvious would change his mind. "I know dammit! But if he doesn't let go we all go--DOWN!" The chief swore as the plane lurched again, the pilots saying they had passed twenty thousand feet and were still falling.

"Shoot him! Shoot him now. Aim for the hands!" the chief stomped. The pilot seemed horrified, firing the beam rifle in such an enclosed space at such small targets. Reluctantly she took aim. When Ford saw this, his jaw dropped. "You're serious? Seriously?!" he said, looking back at the chief, who seemed too angry to care. "I have to do it!" the pilot said back over the radio. "You're gonna take us down! Just jump! Your...oh, there he goes" the pilot said. Ford's GM had lost its grip, and was now falling...

(and now the fun part)

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The more Jack read about this operation on the sealed order pack the more he thought of this as a vacation. The intelligence service fellows where kind enough to provide top notch fake IDs and alibis in case things got really complicated bu that was part of working undercover on earth a work he was very much used to.

" The Caribbean, huh? " Commented the LT. smirking at the Acheron commander who went by the name of Jared Stout, a young vessel commander and veteran of the recent Neo Zeon excursion to earth. " With the EF satellites down we don't need to use the Komusai for orbital insertions. I'll start setting up a course to the drop zone that way you'll get more time to get geared up, sir." sub Lt. Stout wanted to make this operation go as smoothly as possible

" We'll do this with the drop pods then it would be so much easier." Quickly the two officers agreed on a drop point that wouldn't get any of them drowned in the warm equatorial sea. The one man drop pods offered plenty of space for extra equipment but Spies like them had to travel light and only carry with them the necessary equipment to carry on the mission.

The sealed orders also contained information about the ' rally point' in the western Haiti from there they would take a ferry to Jamaica. Once their ship reached port they would be contacted by an unknown who would hand them their next instructions. The callsign of this unknown was only known as 'Werner' and upon contact they would have to give a password " Vinimos tan pronto como pudimos."

This would be a two man operation with the Sole objective of information gathering it was imperative for NZ to gauge the weapon development and capabilities of the ISAF even if currently they weren't at war.

As usual the intelligence bureau was kind enough to provide the two operatives with an emergency kit containing: - One 9mm semi automatic pistol.
- Two boxes of ammunition
- Four days' concentrated emergency rations
- One drug issue containing antibiotics, morphine,
vitamin pills, pep pills, sleeping pills, tranquilizer pills
- One miniature combination Spanish phrase book and Bible
- One hundred dollars in pesos
- One hundred dollars in gold
- Nine packs of chewing gum
- One pack of Condoms
- Three lipsticks
- Three pair of nylon stockings.

As an added extra for cold war spooks there was a handy lighter-camera device capable of taking pictures at extreme zoom range and over a hundred hours of video.

" Quite a bundle, eh?" Jack spoke up towards the silent Sentinel who attentively tried to memorize the content and implications of the new directives.
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HeadlessSeeker
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Sentinel Michael Grimme read up on all the necessary information on the mission within the folder. With the rather top notch IDs and alibis it was looking like this mission would have most of the basis covered. He wondered briefly if he would briefly after a moment if anyone would mind him just using his electronic cigarette right here and now. After considering it for a moment Michael decided against it and began to wonder what the caribbean was like in person.

Michael made sure to memorize the password before moving on. He then went over the contents of the emergency kit. Michael noted the usefulness of each item within the kit though understood the emergency nature of the kit. He had a few ideas for gear that he felt would make the mission considerably easier.

When Jack spoke to him Michael looked up from the folder before slowly closing it whilst looking to him."Yeah, quite the bundle." he said with a nod."I already got some solid ideas for gear to bring." he said almost to himself before standing up and walking on over."I am Sentinel Michael Grimme, a pleasure to meet you sir." he stated.
Edited by HeadlessSeeker, Nov 12 2014, 03:03 AM.
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Cholula
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Nah, not feeling well enough to pilot today

Unlike other mobile suits, the GM Snapping Turtle had no semblance of aerodynamics. It was sturdy in build, and very strong. Nobody had thought to make the mobile suit graceful, however. As the crew and pilots of the Medea saw, the mobile suit fell, in a very ugly way. Ford felt his chest constrict as he realized what was happening. Almost as if by instinct, the arms and legs of the GM extended straight out. The GM faced downward as the mobile suit accelerated to its doom, borne by gravity, only to return to it.

Or so it seemed.

"Passing eighteen hundred feet!" Ford yelled into the mike, still in contact with the Medea. They were silent, trying to radio the incident to the base because they could do nothing more. A few felt shame at not being able to help the pilot. Ford pressed a few buttons, jettisoning the heavy chobham shields in a futile attempt to slow his drop. Sadly, his altimeter continued on rapidly, counting the time to impact. Ford fought to control his breathing, wondering if he could somehow up the oxygen concentration in his cockpit: he wanted to die high, not low.

"Flow 2, you still there?"

Ford gasped, hearing his callsign over the radio. He had turned his mike off so that nobody could hear him talk to himself. He almost pressed it into his mouth trying to turn it back on. "I'm here. Who is this?" he said back.

"It's Sled 2, your Base Jabber! Look up and to your left!"

Ford pivoted the camera in the GMs head to look in that direction. The Base Jabber that had slid out from under him was now vertical, as if racing the Snapping Turtle in a dive for death. "Flow 2, we're gonna try and latch onto you. We only have enough time for one try. Try and straighten out" the pilot called out. Ford couldn't believe his ears. Was this his salvation? "Okay Sled 2, just hurry up!" he said, trying to hide the excitement from his voice. In the Base Jabber, the co-pilot was locked on to the altimeter as well, so that the pilot could focus on the GM. He kept calling out the altitude changes.

It became a nip and tuck race of fear and adrenaline. The wind-speed and lack of aerodynamics from a blocky mobile suit and a sled with sub-flight systems made for a big tangle in the air. Tempers flared as grabs and thrusts were missed. Sometimes the GM would grab the Jabber, only to lose it when the wind pushed it wrong. The co-pilot shouted that if the GM didn't grab hold in the next twenty seconds, the Jabber would have to save itself. Ford breathed hard, trying to focus on the whole thing, unaware that they were being watched from above.

One more time, the GM grabbed the Base Jabber. Thinking fast, Ford controlled the GM so that the legs tucked in, as if kneeling. Pulling down, and with a quick thrust from the back, the GM managed to bring the Jabber under it. The legs connected, a difficult task as the locks were missing. But with both hands free, the GM was able to hold on. The hard part would be straightening out in time and slowing down. They could already see the trees and training area below them. It got closer with every passing second.

"Fire everything you've got!" The pilot shouted.

All thrusters on the GM ignited in a desperate attempt to create drag. The Base Jabber was trying to get level as well. "Come on...come on..." Ford gritted his teeth, sweat pouring down his face as he watched the ground get closer and closer. He heard the engines wind and propellant being ignited. The engines, not designed for sustained usage like this, were reaching their limit. Even the Jabber was having difficulty conserving energy.

Just in time, the thrust-to-drag ratio moved into their favor. The Base Jabber carried the GM forward in a fast but controllable descent. They performed a somewhat-soft crash landing, which would no doubt be the most expensive landing of the machines' life. Ford could hear the Jabber crew cheer with relief, and his own heartbeat began to ebb. He didn't even realize he had done something never before done since the creation of the mobile suit. This would go down in history: heavy-ass GM grabs Base Jabber in free-fall, pulls up just in time. Pilot's jumpsuit filled with shit. He could see the headline now.

Ford wiped his face and smiled, thanking God and looking up. When he did, he saw the Medea overhead, dropping the other mobile suits and trailing smoke from two engines, descending very, very fast. Too fast.

"...Fuck..."
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" At ease. i'm Leftenant Saunders of the Royal guard. you can call me Jack. from now on there will be no place for military conduct where we'll be going." Jack was swift to return the salute like a proper officer would. " Make sure to travel light, Sentinel. I'll see you at the landing bay in one hour." There where still a few more things Jack had to plan and discuss with the commander of the ship.

Micheal seemed like the perfect man for the job being an experience career soldier. Undercover work was not something anyone would leave to fresh recruits or anyone without the right preparation and the Zeonic Mobile suit forces where considered an elite force at least the senior cadre.

" I'll be seeing you then." The Lieutenant was quick to leave for the bridge in order to ensure everything would be clear for their deployment. a little bit of extra care would be needed since they where venturing in a turf that once belonged to their most ' beloved' enemies. In reality all that Jack wanted to do was write a last letter for his wife. There was no telling if he would be able to comeback from this one unscathed. Death always arrived when it was least expected and this operation wasn't exactly risk free.

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Sentinel Michael Grimme gave a nod to Leftenant Saunders of the Royal guard after he finished speaking to him. He wasn't to much of a talker when it came to people he didn't personally know. Though if given time he usually opened up but not usually over a mission. After a few moments he would close the mission folder and go collect the gear he wanted to bring.

Michael would be taking with him a very easily concealable pocket pistol with one magazine. A camera gun which was a fully functional camera with a gun hidden inside. It could take pictures and everything but if a hidden button was pressed it would fire a bullet out through the lense. This made it very difficult to detect as a weapon. A sneak suit that could be worn under normal clothing. This would make him very difficult to see on thermals. A pair of casual clothing to be worn over the sneak suit in place of his uniform. A single encrypted long range communicator for a just in case. Some lightweight listening gear and a pair of binoculars.

After gathering this gear Michael would arrive in the landing bay and would ether meet or wait for Saunders. It had been awhile since Michael had last been on Earth. Though he remembered the last time like it was just yesterday. The memories were forever burned into his mind.
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Cholula
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Nah, not feeling well enough to pilot today

Ford zoomed in on the Medea as it came in. He counted the parachutes, but stopped once he remembered that he didn't know how many people were onboard. The plane went on for a bit before crashing, sending up a fiery plume. He felt a sinking feeling now. He felt as if he was fucked six ways from sunday. He looked down at his console as he heard transmissions coming in. His ears burned, and he couldn't quite understand what was being said. A few rattling shakes fixed this.

"All units this is base command. We are ending this training exercise. Stay put and await pickup" the voice over the radio said. It sounded very angry, with doom in every syllable. A part of Ford wished that he had crashed like a stone. In his mind, everything leading up from his joining ISAF to now flashed in his mind, like some sick technicolor replay. It dawned on him that if anyone died, the blame would be on him. All of the costs and damages? Those would be on him too. Even though he was alive, he felt as though his life might be over. He turned on his tracking beacon while he waited for the pickup, the GM's head pointed at the Base Jabber crew below. They had climbed out of the ruined Jabber and were half patting themselves on the back and half figuring out ways to deflect blame.

The console told Ford that the pickups were about ten minutes out. For the life of him, he couldn't think of what to say. He couldn't think of any explanation for what went wrong.
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By now Jack was done accommodating all the items of the provided kit into a small practical leather briefcase protected by a rather simplistic numbers lock. Going undercover in these day and age required him to wear a sneaking suit underneath his casual attire consisting of a khaki pants held by a leather belt, a matching dress shirt in light blue , a simplistic neck tie and perfectly polished shoes. dressed like this he looked just like any other simplistic business man on pleasure or business trip certainly nothing that made him stand out too much.

Upon arrival at the cargo bay he gave Captain Stoutt a handshake and a salute. " please take this letter and see its delivered to my address." Since it was time to go he might as well entrust the letter to his family to the highest ranking officer on the ship. It was also nice to see Micheal had gotten the memo and was now awaiting patiently by his drop pod. " lets get going shall we?" With a smile Jack jumped inside the personal drop pod which was good enough size to accommodate his briefcase.

The on ly things that could go wrong was their pods malfunctioning burning them to cinders upon atmospheric entry or ...

This wasnt the time for doubts and soon the Acheron arrived at the drop point right over the Caribbean. After a rather simplistic countdown to ten their pods where launched from the Acheron bay and fell to Earth like shooting stars.

" oh fuck my life!" Saunders never quite got used to orbital insertions as evident by the panicked way he swore confident no one would be able to hear him.
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HeadlessSeeker
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Michael Grimme would upon seeing Jack get into his own drop pod would turn to his own personel drop pod. Climbing on in he secured his equipment before closing the door. Very carefully he strapped himself in. Exhaling he looked at the ceiling as the countdown began. The moment the pod was launched he tensed before gradually relaxing his muscles. He did his best not to think about what would happen if somthing went wrong.
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Cholula
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Nah, not feeling well enough to pilot today

Half of himself wanted to run. The other half wanted to plead his case. He couldn't think of what to do in this situation. He knew he was in big trouble, but everything was happening so fast. In order to give himself something to do, he ran a diagnostic check of the mobile suit again, realizing that he might be able to find something that would explain the problem. But then again, maybe he was in trouble for holding onto the ship, not exactly the malfunction that occurred.

The Base Jabber crew continued to mill about. Ford could tell they were smoking, and a part of him wanted a smoke too. The transport called over the radio that they were still on their way, and to just sit tight. It was all Ford could do, but in truth he wished he could stop thinking about the future.
Edited by Cholula, Nov 25 2014, 07:42 AM.
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Thankfully the low opening parachute managed to open up in time to prevent Jack's capsule to smash the surface of the water. It was terrifying experience even if this wasnt his first drop and most certainly not the last. At this altitude it was unlikely anyone had seen them. The caribbean was just like any other oceans vast and since it was the edge of ISAF territory with the closest population center located several miles away.

The drop pod parachute system was jettisoned upon contact with the sea and the float system was activated thus preventing it from getting all the way to the bottom of the ocean. Upon opening the hatch he took his sweet time inflating an emergency raft that come with the emergency kit. " I hope that guy landed somewhere nearby." judging by sight alone he could see land to the southwest of his position that was probably the Island of Haiti.

For obvious reason he began purging the air out of the drop pod floats in order to make it sink into the ocean while he got all his stuff on the raft. Before long it was just Jack awkwardly paddling away in his small emergency draft. Strangely enough the sea was calm at this time of the day but that could change anytime and he didnt want to get his nice clothes dirty.
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Cholula
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Nah, not feeling well enough to pilot today

Ford understood the irony quite well when the tell-tale signs of a Medea displayed on his radar. A part of him wanted to go "well, maybe if they sent another Medea, they're not that mad". But the rest of him said "no fool, that's just wishful thinking". He opened the cockpit to take in the warm air from outside. Aside from what had happened, this little island was quite beautiful, at least from where he was located. Down further was the target range, where he would have been if the training mission had gone as planned. But such was life.

He was unaware, for the moment, that some people from space were having their own sort of mission nearby. But considering his debacle, he didn't need any more surprises. The transport radioed him, letting him know they were getting closer.
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Michael Grimme closed his eyes upon feeling the low opening parachutes open and yank the drop pod. Whilst this happened he tensed for a moment before relaxing himself with a sigh. Once the pod hit the water Michael made sure to double check all his equipment. He went off of a checklist in his head. Upon seeing that everything he had taken was indeed alright he gathered it. Quickly he opened the hatch and looked around briefly. Can't see the other pod... he thought to himself before inflating the emergency raft. In the distance he could see some land and decided that is were he would be going. Loading everything into the raft he purged the floats of the drop pod causing it to begin sinking to the bottom of the ocean. With his feet slightly wet his hopped into the emergency raft and watched as the pod went under the water. After a moment he looked back towards land and began to paddle his way towards it. As he paddled Michael tried to keep a low profile.
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