Hazzard's Recon
Hazzard's Recon
Summary: Hazzard and his spotter set up and watch.
Date: 25 ACH 12/08/08
Related Logs: Recon

Gleason played by Lakis


Nyx Airfield Leonis - Surface

26 ACH 6735 Souls

An Airfield stretches out to the West. It is also claimed by the enemy. From this vantage point the small, metal objects move around near the entry gate.



While Ramiro is moving with one group to check out one area. Hazzard and his small group is making their way to the northwestern end of the Airfield. Taking a different route, they pass up the wooded area and continue their movements slow and easy.

In the darkness, Hazzard leads his spotter through a zig sack patter, trying to avoid the deep snow to make as little tracks as possible in a half crouched position. The trekk is made in silence, with a pause now and then to scan the area visually and by sound.

With the wind kicking up and blowing snow around, it helps to keep cover as tracks seem to cover themselves with drifts. The Cylons don't seem to have a blackout order, so points of lights are seen along the runway. As they get further along the ridge toward the western end, moving metal deathmachines can be seen there.

Hazzard is on the prowl for a good enough place to setup an Observation Post, high ground and a clear line of sight is the ticket aslong as it can provide cover to hide their silhouettes. Spotting the movement down there, he pauses and motions by pointing towards his eyes and then with a full hand down in the direction of the deathmachines. Another handsignal to indicate that it is time to move even more slowly and utilize all cover possible.

Pvt. Gleason, taking up the spotter position with Hazzard, moves along as he is told. He added a few notes as they continue along. Four tin cans seen on the west end so far. No tower. No raiders.

Finaly Hazzard finds a spot he deems fuctional and lays down in the snow covered ground. The rifle is placed beside him as he looks over his fire position. "Target points..West, end of field the last light..range? Center. Eighteen lights in, range? East, building with four lights up..range?" he murmurs softly as he picks up a few braches and places them before him, working up a little screen his hide the barrel of his gun. Finaly he brings his rifle up and looks out over the area through its optics. "Wind and speed." he whispers.

Gleason moves in also, getting scrunched down in the cold snow. Not that it could get much colder than standing up at this point. He settles in his elbows and bring up the binoculars. A slow scan starts in, "No human heat sources. West. Range 2500. Lights. Range 2740. Building. Range 3190. Wind NNW, 10 to 15." He continues looking along the closest area to them and then back out again. "Three other contacts, SW."

Trusting in his Observer, Hazzard pulls his hood down further, to shield any heat signature and to blend in further with the enviroment. Only using the scope as his only means of watching the world. The movements of the rifle is subtle, slowly tracking along the enemy territory down below. "No solution." he murmurs ever so softly, to indicate he doesnt have a shot most likely due to range. In lack of anything better to do, he takes a moment to study the three contacts in the southwest. "We keep OP for one hour, then relocate, unless given another option." he whispers once again.

"Copy that." Gleason also settles in, it's liable to be a very long and very cold night. Except the gods may be on their side somewhat. Snow is an insulator and as they lay there, the wind picks up and drifts it over their bodies. Movement continues as the tincans do their sentry duty back and forth. The cold not bothering them any.

As the snow slowly drifts over their positions, hiding them even further. Hazzard makes the needed adjustments on his scope to calculate for the wind direction and speed. Only now and then does he shift, moving one part of his body at at time to stir to life back into his cold limbs. Now and then he asks for confirmation on the wind and its speed, since it never hurts to be ready if things comes to shove.

Gleason keeps him updated on movements of wind and speed. Just in case. As the weather begins to pelt icy rain on top of the snow, visual is screwed for awhile. Still no heat sources, but the Cylons are stupid either. There is a flight movement, but it is hard to make out. "No joy..frakking ice."

Hazzard pulls his rifle back in under him and grits his teeth. "Pull back, thirty yards..set up temporary shelter.We'll be here for a while. Drink something warm..stay frosty." he murmurs as he reaches over for the binoculars. "I'll keep first watch." he whispers.

Ice encrusted snow, they are almost like a pastry filling about now in this small hollow. Gleason starts to move and then holds up. "Wait..it's moving west.." he lets out a long breath he didn't realize he was holding and his hands are shaking like a leaf.

Hazzard brings his rifle back, slowly and brings it up to check through the scope. "Talk to me…" he murmurs as he tracks the gun towards the western parts.

The heat off the heavy raider is easier seen now as it picks up speed and disappears over the mountain tops in the distance. "Off radar now.." Gleason moves his binoc's back to the three sighted areas before, "Seems calm. They aren't moving anywhere. Think they may have some base elsewhere?"

Hazzard curses softly under his breath. "North west, thats our LZ..frak." he murmurs ever so softly and brings a gloved finger up to his throat to activate his comms but halts himself. "Radio silence..frak me..Soo do we stay or do we find the base." he murmurs, thinking out loud.

Gleason is silent, he sure as hell isn't going over there. Too much movement. Not that he is going all mutiny if the Corp says move out though. Scanning the area again, he does a slow sweep. Then there is a pause and he moves back. A muttered curse follows. "Three o' clock, right below us. Heat signatures."

Hazzard doesnt make sure a drastical shift as to turn fully in a ninty degree angle just yet. "Talk to me gleason..range..what are we looking at?" he whispers as he continues to sweep the airfield, making mental notes of what he sees down there. The flight of the Raider is checked with a time, so he can make a proper report later on.

"I've got three. Moving slow. They are headed for the gulley below us. Range 500 yards," Gleason frowns, and moves his binoc's up to see if they are spotted. "Possibly escaping, doesn't look like they've been spotted."

Hazzard slowly shifts in his position to bring his rifle to bear, so he can see for himself what he is looking at. "Wind and speed..Range 500." he murmurs as he reaches up to make the needed adjustments on his scope. If he needs to fire, it'll be a short shot after all.

Who or whatever it is, they are definately trying to move fast, but stay out of sight. They disappear and then reappear again. Their movements taking them farther to the east along a small gully. Gleason sweeps back again and then notices, they aren't going to be along for long. Three Tin cans are in movement following tracks. "Don't even breathe wrong..they've got company."

Hazzard licks his lips, looking over his various options. He is under order not to engage the enemy and this is not a rescue operation. But the people down there are humans, survivors..or worse, his own team mates. "Soo, we either stay frosty..or we engage and risk court martial." he murmurs softly. Finaly he brings a finger up to activate his lash 'This is Karma Three, I've got three toasters inbound on three refuges..I request, permission to engage..over' Hopefully it will reach the Raptor and transmit to anyone who is higher up in the food chain.

Breaking radio silence. Let's hope things are scrambled like they should be and its just some white noise. Gleason sits silent and tensed. He isn't sure if he wants to hear a green light or red. After what seems like forever, the word comes over, "Do not engage."

"Red light." Hazzard murmurs as he tracks the 'survivors' and most importantly the three Cylons for a moment longer. Trying to detach himself from any humanity, and the urge to save his fellow humans he slowly turns his rifle back towards the airfield. "Stay frosty Gleason, they are already dead as far as we are concerned..Leonis is a dead planet." he whispers, trying to convince himself it was the right thing to do.

Gleason almost opens his mouth to protest. How can they just let them die like this? It's possible he even whispers it and doesn't realize it was done. But, before he can actually realize that, the sound of a cylon handcannon goes off. The rounds breaking the night wind and all the young private can do is duck his head.

Hazzard glances towards Gleason and arches an eyebrow under his hood. "Private..The day you hear a round, it is not hitting you." he murmurs. "A whine past your head, it is close and time to duck." he whispers. Lying down it is hard to duck further, soo Hazzard remains where he is. "Eyes on the hunters, designate them as Mark One." he whispers. "Keep me posted."

Gleason nods and raises his binoc's to look around again. Keeping an eye on those centurions that followed the small group. It isn't long before they are moving off again. Snow and ice swirling around them and that one red eye in movement. He relays the information quietly.

RAPTOR-G_103 zooms by overhead.

RAPTOR-G_103 comes in for a landing.

Hazzard shakes his head slowly as he lays there, tracking some of the moving cylons down on the airfield. "Private..we wont do much more use here, lets haul ass back to camp.." he murmurs after he checks his watch and then brings his rifle in under him once again. "Objections?"

It doesn't seem like the Private has any objections. The three tincans are out of sight again and moved off to wherever else they are patrolling. Pulling up out of the ice encrusted snow, he starts to move out with the Corporal.

Speaking of moving out, one of the Genesis' raptors comes into view at the pickup site, banking as it smoothly descends. There's a burst of vectored thrusters before it sets down; not a perfect landing, maybe the pilot's a little rusty when it comes to the trundlebugs. The hatch is thrown open with a hiss and a thunk, and said pilot clambers out — identity mostly obscured by his flight suit and helmet.

Hazzard slowly rises up into a crouch, keeping his rifle at the ready and nods his head towards the private. The fact that the wind has obscured their tracks of coming here, by now leaves him little choice but to try and back track as good as he can. Compass and a map will show him the way, as he zig zags between trees and large patches of snow.

Having been out in this crap for over six hours, Gleason is ready to head back to some sort of warmth, food and coffee. An urge makes him want to move down where those three were seen. If they were shot or some miracle happened. He only watches his team mate though and follows.

In the mind of Corporal Hazzard, the three poor souls are already filed back into the back of his mind along with the rest of the intel for the report to come. Once he is at a relative safe distance he picks up his pace just a little to get some heat into his body once again.

The raptor's pilot doesn't venture away from the ship, or out onto the airstrip. Arms drawn around him to stave off the chill, he loiters near the bottom of the ramp and beneath cover as he awaits the team's return.

Gleason picks up his pace too, keeping his breathing even until they get close to the pickup area. His gaze takes in the area though, making sure they weren't spotted and followed.

<Trait Roll> Hazzard rolls Stealth and achieves a degree of Good (4).

Closing in on the pickup, Hazzard comes to a halt and looks around the area. Making sure their not followed, and that they dont need to draw attention away from the pickup bird. Satisfied, he nods his head towards Gleason and then slowly moves forth. If there ever is to be an ambush he'd place it by the pickup bird. Spotting the Pilot, unarmed with his arms around himself to keep warm, the Sniper shakes his head ever so slighty and makes his way forth, using the shadows of the night and the various cover to approach Micah and the Raptor.

<Trait Roll> Micah rolls Awareness and achieves a degree of Poor (1).

Gleason comes up on the Raptor and pilot and makes his way forward as the sniper does. Something makes him smile as Hazzard goes into more quiet mode of approach.

It's likely not Hazzard's approach that gains the pilot's attention, though perhaps a second set of footsteps; completely missing the stealthy marine, he takes a step so that his back's to the raptor, and draws his sidearm smoothly. Nothing like chattering teeth to frak with your aim. Seeing that it's only Gleason, he slowly lowers the weapon and nods the man a greeting. "Took you long enough. Where's the rest?"

Keeping the rifle in his right hand, Hazzard pulls up an item from underneath his suit. What ever it is, its long about ten inches and its dull black. Coming up to the Raptor, not to far from Micah himself who stands there with his back against the bird, he taps the dull black metalic item against the wing. "You just \Keeping the rifle in his right hand, Hazzard pulls up an item from underneath his suit. What ever it is, its long about ten inches and its dull black. Coming up to the Raptor, not to far from Micah himself who stands there with his back against the bird, he taps the dull black metalic item against the wing. "You just bought the farm, Ensign..Now, lets hussle shall we?" he says in a soft gentle tone.

The private just grins now and moves to get into the Raptor, kicking off some snow as he does so. Atleast it is warm! "Take the long route, they have movement tonight, sir."

The sound of a second voice a few feet off to his right, from where there appeared to be nothing a moment ago, has Micah reacting on instinct. It's dark, and difficult to rely on sight, but he brings the M57 swiftly up and to bear upon Hazzard; ever so briefly, his fingertip twitches at the trigger. "You frakking do that again, an' I won't be the only one buyin' the farm, mate." He lowers the weapon and darts a look toward the grinning private. And then, with a grunt and a double-check of the immediate vicinity, starts trudging back up the ramp.

You climb into RAPTOR-G_103.

Hazzard tucks his knife back into its sheet under his suit and easily makes his way up on the wing. The safety of his rifle is checked one last time and then he shakes off some snow from that dirty ghilie suit of his before he head into the Raptor

Hazzard climbs into the ship.

Micah climbs into the ship.

Hazzard makes his way into the Raptor and shakes his head slightly as he moves over to sit down. The rifle is placed between his legs as he straps in.

Micah holsters his sidearm and fetches his helmet from the pilot's chair where it was stowed, before he climbed out. The hatch controls are accessed briefly, air pressure checked, and helmet tugged on. "You boys find much out there?" he asks conversationally as he settles in to commence pre-flight checks.

Gleason sits quiet now. "A little.." he answers in a low tone and half a mutter.

Hazzard simply looks over towards the Pilot from under his hood, as he brings out a package of gum from a pocket and fishes out a stick before he offers the pack to Gleason.

Micah doesn't press for any more information. Maybe he was just trying to make small talk, the way people do to fill awkward silences. "Uh huh," he murmurs after Gleason speaks, and the ship's engines rumble to life. The DRADIS is watched carefully while he straps himself in, and begins the launch with a roar and a tremble of the raptor's frame.

Micah takes off.

Gleason looks to the pack and shakes his head, sending a small spray of melting snow. His gloved hands wrap around his weapon also and he stays silent for the ride back.

Micah flies the ship to North.

Micah flies the ship to Mountains.

Hazzard brings the back back into a pocket, idly chewing as he sits in silence. Idly tapping his firing finger against the barrel of his gun.

Micah flies the ship to Ft. Bachus.

Micah brings the ship in for a landing.

The trip back to base camp is conducted mostly in silence. If one can call the interior of a raptor silent, that is. After a short half hour or so, the bird touches down at the makeshift landing site; this one's a relatively smooth approach, for someone who's more accustomed to flying a viper stick. "Home sweet home," Micah mumbles into his helmet, powering down the engines and unstrapping himself from his seat.

"Thanks for the ride, sir," Gleason unstraps and gets up, waiting for the hatch to open and then he heads off toward the bunker.

Hazzard unstraps aswell, and hefts his rifle back up in both hands as he idly chews on his gum. The brooding silence between the Sniper and the Spotter may indicate a certain state of mind or current state of emotion..And the slight shudder that passes through Hazzard now and then may give a clue to what that reason may be.

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