| Jovian APAworks | Volume 1, Number 5 | April, 2001 |
Even here, far away from the ruins of the capital, it was still dark. The carsh of the Gilgamesh had thrown hundreds of tons of dust and soot high into the atmosphere, leaving the planet darker than before. Kurztenheim was hundreds of kilometers away, but they had heard the thunder of its death, saw the fireball burning below the horizon. Jupiter had done this, along with their Republican allies.
Here, in storage depot like this all over Federation territory, were the tools that would exact the Federation’s revenge. Justice for all.
The old quartermaster looked up as the door opened, bringing with it its inevitable cargo of fine red dust. You could never get away from that dust, even under a dome. It was everywhere, fine enough to get through most filters, swirling in through airlocks, collecting in your lungs. As the young man approached the supply desk, the old man behind the counter started to hack and wheeze, that fine red dust working its way out of his body. With a harsh, gut-wrenching sound, he spat up a wad of red-tinged phlegm, and with practiced ease lobbed it at the grimy spittoon in the corner behind the counter.
"Ahh, a new recruit." The younger man just nodded, his prominent adam’s apple bobbing up and down with the movements of his head. He couldn’t help but glance at the spittoon, a large glass jar that unfortunately wasn’t grimy enough. He swallowed nervously, trying to hide his revulsion.
The old man pretended not to notice. He’d been on Mars a long time, long enough to remember when the corporations had controlled everything, a desperate drive to harvest enough profits. And that meant cutting costs, including life-support and filter equipment. Red Lung was rare now, but once it had been all too common. Another thing he had to thank the Federation for, his health benefits. That, and they made sure the trains ran on time.
"You’ll be needing yer basic kit, then." He rummaged around under the counter, finally reappearing with a battered datapad.
"Regular infantry?" the old man asked.
"Y-yes, sir." Came the reply.
"Boy, don’t call me sir. I work for a living." Turning to the carefully-stowed racks os equipment behind him, he consulted the pad as he continued to speak. "Met the rest of your fire-team yet?" The basic organization of the Federation Army was the three-man fireteam. Their weapon load-out depended on the task at hand. A regular patrol unit had two rifles and a heavy weapon. Assault teams carried two heavy weapons, while the third member would generally carry a rifle or a commando rifle.
"Yes, si- I mean, yes." The boy was starting to lose some of his nervousness.
"Hmm, please step into the scanner over there." The quartermaster pointed to an open grid-work booth near the far end of the counter. "I need to get your size."
As the boy complied, the old man continued to speak.
"You a heavy-weapons man? Or a rifleman?"
"Rifles, though I’m cross-trained in chainguns." A fine network of red lasers played over the youth’s body, and the quartermaster’s datapad beeped. Looking at the numbers, he walked down the rows of black bodysuits, until he found what he was looking for.
"First thing you need is a desert survival suit. If you’re ever cut off from supplies, one of these things can keep you going for days." Placing the suit, with hood and facemask on the counter, he marched back down the rows, finally grabbing a set of fatigues. "Just don’t think about where the water’s coming from." His grin was big and infectious, as long as you ignored his red-stained teeth.
The young man walked back to the counter as the older man threw a heavy-looking long coat and boots on top of the rest. "That’s yer basic kit. Survival suit, fatigues an’ armor-coat. That thing’ll stop a rifle round."
"Damn. I almost forgot." Opening up a cabinet at the end of the racks of clothes, he pulled out a breather mask, along with its respirator and filter. Adding a pair of goggles from the drawer underneath, he brought the collection back to the counter.
"That’s yer basic kit! Rebreather, mask, and safety goggles. The goggles also have a limited light-amping capacity."
The young man gathered up the gear, and headed for a change room near the door. While he changed, the old quartermaster suffered through another coughing fit, which eased up only after he lit up a smoke.
Hearing the grunts from the change room, he started speaking again as he rounded up some more equipment. "Havin’ a problem in there?"
The reply was somewhat pained. "Just with the uhh,.. the you know."
"Boy, you don’t need to put the catheter in now. Wait until you actually go out on patrol." He had a great deal of trouble controlling his grin. Almost everyone did the same thing, with similar results.
A few minutes later, the young man re-entered the room, looking rather sheepish. With the coat over the rest, and the heavy-looking armored boots, he was starting to look like a soldier. The breather and goggles dangled from his left hand, while his right busied itself with the buckles and clips of the coat.
Federation Infantry Combat Dress. Acts as a desert survival suit. Without a helmet, it provides an armor rating of 24. With the Helmet, that goes to 30. Mass: 7kg Cost: 2000
"An’ here’s the rest of yer kit," said the oldtimer, handing the youth a duffel bag. You’ve got yer load-bearing harness in there, trench knife, radio, binos, shelter half and tarp, and this:"
With that, he presented the young man with a large sword-like object. "That’s yer cutter. All Federation troops carry one. It’s like a hummer-axe crossed with a sword. You can open up an exo-suit with one of those babies."
ACC: 0 DM: AD+24 Range: Close Combat ROF: n/a Ammo: 20 Cost: 1400/10 Wt: 2.3
"Good Luck, boy."
Houses three equipped troops. Comes in three section: Tent, tarp and air/dust lock. Each part, with accompanying poles, fits into a small tube carried on the back. Also part of each tube is a filter/respirator section, that, when combined with the other two, filters and compresses the air for the tent, allowing the soldiers to remove their breathing masks in the tent.
Each section weighs 2 kg, and the whole thing costs 600 credits.
A solid pair of auto-focus zoom binoculars with a built-in active/passive rangefinder, low-light ability and inertial compass. This is often the only piece of sensor gear provided to troops.
A long-bladed combat knife, made of high-strength steel. Useful for more things than just killing.
ACC: 0 DM: AD+5 Range: Close Combat ROF: n/a Ammo: n/a Cost: 80 Wt: 0.5
A good, old-fashioned collapsible shovel. Can also be used as a saw, a hammer and a hatchet. If used as a weapon:
ACC: -1 DM: AD+7 Range: Close Combat ROF: n/a Ammo: n/a Cost: 50 Wt: 1.3
This compact weapon, caseless like most Martian designs, is the standard issue sidearm in the Martian Federation. It can be equipped with a optional laser spot for 30 Cr, which add +1 ACC out to 50m.
10mm Pistol ACC: 0 DM: +20 Range: 7/14/28/56 ROF: 0 Ammo: 20 Cost: 350/5 Wt: 1
The RG-4 is the standard infantry weapon in the Federation. It carries 135 rounds of 5mm caseless ammo across the top of the gun, and 6 rounds of 20mm HEDP behind the pistol grip. The 20mm launcher can be set for anti-personnel or anti-armor work, though that has to be chosen before the gun is fired.
5mm Rifle ACC: 0 DM: +19 Range: 60/120/240/480 ROF: 2 Ammo: 135 Cost: 800/30 Wt: 3.5 20mm Launcher ACC: +1 DM: Varies Range: 40/80/160/320 ROF: 0 Ammo: 6 Anti-Personnel Mode: DM: 22/10 Area: 6/20 Anti-Armor Mode: DM: 80 Cost: 30 each
K, for kurz, or short, marks this gun as a commando weapon. It is also used as a Personal Defense Weapon (PDW) by rear-echelon staff, due to its handiness. Aside from the shorter barrel, it has much the same features as the RG-4.
5mm Rifle ACC: 0 DM: +19 Range: 40/80/160/320 ROF: 2 Ammo: 120 Cost: 1100/30 Wt: 3.5 20mm Launcher ACC: +1 DM: Varies Range: 30/60/120/240 ROF: 0 Ammo: 6 Anti-Personnel Mode: DM: 22/10 Area: 6/20 Anti-Armor Mode: DM: 80 Cost: 30 each
A sniper rifle by any other name. The AM-3 fires a larger, heavier round than the RG-4, and lacks the 20mm launcher. But, unlike most sniper rifles, it can fire in full auto mode.
8mm Rifle ACC: +1/+2 DM: +34 Range: 100/200/400/800 ROF: 1 Ammo: 50 Cost: 1100/30 Wt: 6 The second ACC stat is for using the bipod.
Feeling that the standard chaingun lacked firepower, Ares came up with the T-800, also called the Terminator. Firing 7mm rounds from the backpack 4000-round cassette, the T-800 can throw up an astonishing amount of fire.
7mm Chaingun ACC: +1 DM: +28 Range: 50/100/200/400 ROF: 4 Ammo: 2000 Cost: 5100/200 Wt: 9 + 20 for backpack
A simple tube-based disposable anti-armor launcher, one is carried by every member of a fire-team.
70mm Racket ACC: -1 DM: +160 Range: 50/100/200/400 ROF: 0 Ammo: n/a Cost: 350 Wt: 7
| Jovian APAworks | Volume 1, Number 5 | April, 2001 |
Jovian Chronicles is © 2001, Dream Pod 9, Inc. All rights reserved. Jovian APAworks is not affiliated with Dream Pod 9 in any way. Submitted material remains the property of the creator.