Hey, folks!
We’ve all seen it. Most of us have felt it. Some of us can’t escape it. Good Hits come for everyone they can get their flaming, explosive claws on— and so, once again, I’m gonna turn up the soil and ask you to spill your stories of the worst/best you’ve seen!
I haven’t played in a while, but CM’s come back on my radar recently. It’s been long enough that I’m looking forward to playing again! Stories like these get me reinvigorated to go through the wonderful, hilarious shitstorm all over— and so, I’ll start.
More than once, we’ve had a few intentional “miscomms” perpetrated by the Colonial Liberation Front— but few ever reach beyond a glorified prank call. Fake orders, disinformation, a flank that never comes, just to get the boys crying wolf so they’re devoured next time they raise the alarm and get disbelief in return.
Not this time.
No, this time, a CLF Operator had managed to get something very valuable from a radio pack, indeed— FOB coordinates. Once you have a radio pack, you can call any others… so, why not call Bravo and raise for the coordinates?
With the frenetic pace of supply, resupply, and very probable excuses about losing coordinates and confirmations, it was all too easy. The Bravoid didn’t think twice, figuring it must be someone from Shipside who was about to send down another package of bullshit for them to unpack alongside the genuinely lifesaving and powerful equipment that Requisitions can offer.
Instead, the Innie took the coordinates where they could REALLY hurt— straight to CIC. In the best of times, the members of Command have a lot on their plate. You can’t watch everyone, nor read every single line from every Marine— though, quite a few of our finest can put up a damn good impression that it’s possible. Still, mistakes can be made, especially when they’re green and overwhelmed, or if the XO isn’t around.
Suffice to say, when the fresh-out-of-the-academy Staff Officer got a call from the planetside, their pulse must have already been quite high. It’s a lot for one man to consider; the entire war front, flaming and firing, bleeding and dying. The screams over comms mixed with ephemeral bouts of courage and war-whoops.
They hadn’t been losing, per se, but it was chaotic as ever, and the frontline had reached Big Red’s northeastern podlocks— a notorious stalling point for many a force of Marines, big or small. The Hive was just beyond— in the labs. They could smell it. They could feel the frantic scuttling of each of the bugs, feeling the noose closing…
Really, the Innie didn’t have to put up much of a deception at all. CIC was expecting OB coordinates, but were too green to double-check who they were from. A raucous, excited Marine exactly fit the bill, anyway! After all… the Front’s gotta keep momentum. They couldn’t stall forever.
The Staff Officer hit the big red button. The Bravoids never saw it coming. In one of the greatest instances of GOOD HITS I’ve ever seen, a Colonial Liberation Front member managed to annihilate the USCM’s forward outpost in a matter of two phone calls and a handful of minutes.
Deadchat went batshit crazy. The kill count was in the double digits, with several instant permas, all of the ammo cooked off almost immediately, and the fortifications were absolutely obliterated. The rest of the fight is hardly noteworthy— the damage, far past done. Still, I think about it and laugh, because HOLY SHIT GOOD HITS!