Knock, Knock...

[Durant, M.]

1830 Hours, May 1, 2542 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \
Aboard Pelican Drop-Ships en route for UNSC Templar
Location unknown

Three Pelican drop-ships soared through the cosmos towards the floating hulk of titanium-A that was the UNSC Templar in loose formation. Their pilots were weary of the ship's defenses - unsure of whether or not they'd come online and target them. If the point defense turrets came online, then the trio of drop-ships would be on the wrong end of a turkey shoot. There was absolutely no possibility that they'd come out of the situation as anything more than smoldering space debris. Despite the risks, the pilots continued to steer their craft towards the massive cruiser, and within a few minutes two of the three birds would be dispensing their passengers.

Second Lieutenant Durant sat beside Wilkas, the telephone-like handset from her radio pack in his hand and up to his ear, while conversing with Rear Admiral MacArthur over the radio. According to an announcement from their pilot moments ago, they were just about to cross over the imaginary line of departure; meaning, they were nearing the Templar and were likely within weapons range. In just a few minutes they would be reaching their destination. The plan was for First and Second Squad to leap out the back of their Pelicans and walk along the hull of the ship until they found a breach that they could use as a point of insertion into the ship's interior. Fortunately their boots could be magnetized to the hull - meaning the risk of someone floating uncontrollably through space was highly diminished.

"Vengeance Actual, this is Omen Two Actual, be advised: we've crossed the LOD, break." Durant paused and glanced over at Wilkas. Her posture was more rigid than it had been before they'd boarded the Pelican. Since they'd departed the Vengeance, he'd noticed she had grown more and more tense by each passing minute. He knew the reason why. This was her first official mission as a Marine - and possibly the first time she'd experience combat. Being the new gal when surrounded by a bunch of experienced vets was a daunting experience. There was a lot of pressure put on her shoulders, especially considering her MOS and billet, and the salts would be keeping a close eye on her. Michael empathized with her greatly, as his situation had not been too dissimilar from her own when he'd first been assigned to lead Second Platoon.

Realizing that he still had the Rear Admiral on the line awaiting for him to finish his transmission, he refocused his attention on the matter at hand. "Interrogative: what's the SITREP on the Templar's weapon systems? Over."

"Omen Two, be advised: the Templar's weapons remain inert, and we don't detect active sensors. Quite frankly, it doesn't look like anybody's home. Over."

Durant nodded, satisfied to know that they'd managed to approach the ship undetected. However, he had a gut feeling that something was amiss about the situation aboard the cruiser. Out of all the possibilities of what could have happened aboard the ship, only one of them lent any explanation as to why the sensors would not be active. If there had been a mutiny aboard, at least some of the bridge crew would have had to have been spared so that the Templar could be operated (assuming it was not a member of said crew that had incited the mutiny), and they would've had at least passive sensors active in case the UNSC came to investigate what happened to one of their ships. Likewise, if Innies had somehow managed to track and board the ship, they would definitely want the scanners to be on in case the UNSC showed up.

Driving these thoughts to the back of his mind, the Lieutenant settled his eyes on the woman beside him once more. "Nervous, Private?" he inquired, his tone laden with empathy.

Before she could respond, the radio squawked back to life. He placed the handset against his ear once again. "Omen Two... -e advised... SITREPs... five mikes. Over." Michael pulled the handset away from his ear as static blared through it, and stared at it in confusion. He keyed it and said, "Vengeance Actual, you're coming in broken and unreadable. Say again, over."

"Say... Omen Two?"

Annoyed, Durant keyed the comm again. "I say again, you're coming in broken and unreadable. Say again your last, over."

Static blared, and he heard no response from the Admiral. "What in the name of Oden is going on?" he asked rhetorically, the annoyance apparent in his voice. He placed the handset back on Wilkas' radio pack and pressed the 'talk' button on his push-to-talk, which was connected to his helmet's boom microphone. "Omen Two Actual to Platoon, radio check, over."

Sergeant Stone looked at him from across the troop bay, his brow cocked in confusion. "I read ya Lima Charlie, sir," he said across the blood tray. The Lieutenant nodded, and a moment later responses came from Sergeants Mason and Willowby over the short-range frequency. Even more perplexed now, seeing as how the short-range comms seemed to be working fine - but not the long-range - he looked to Wilkas. "Private, when was the last time you performed maintenance on your radio?"

Again, before she could muster a response, she was interrupted. This time by the Pelican's pilot. "Marines, we can't seem to raise the Vengeance. It looks like we're on our own."

Something was definitely wrong.

"Omen Two Actual to Platoon, be advised: long-range comms appear to have been jammed. I say again, we do not have comms with C2 elements, break. Condition One your weapons. Two-One, Two-Two, prepare to deploy. We'll be reaching the DZ in two mikes. Out."

The Lieutenant grabbed his rifle, racked the slide to chamber a round, and nestled it in his lap. The Marines of First Squad followed suite, and in no time at all the pilot announced they'd reached the drop zone. Michael sealed his helmet's EVA mask, the oxygen tank automatically cycling air through the respirator, and stood up. He marched past the Marines on either side of the Pelican's blood tray and halted at the rear hatch. With a thundering hiss the hatch lowered, decompressing the atmosphere from the compartment, and he activated the magnets under his boots to keep from being blown out into space. Durant looked behind him and saw that his Marines had fallen in line behind him, with Sergeant Stone at the helm of the formation, ready to take the leap off of the Pelican.

Mike peered over the edge and saw the gunmetal gray hull of the UNSC Templar below, curiously dented and scorched as if it'd been in a reason ship-to-ship incursion. Tossing the thought out of his mind, he stepped forward and then leaped out of the troop compartment, gracefully floating down to the ship below. His boots made contact with the hull, and he dropped to one knee and swept the area with his rifle just as the others started to float down around him. Once the two Pelicans had dispensed of their passengers, they flew off and regrouped with the Pelican containing Third Squad. Durant pointed towards Sergeant Mason and gestured for his squad to take point, then extended two fingers in the direction of the nearest hull breach. With that, Second Squad moved forward and the rest of the platoon fell in line.

Operation: LOST TEMPLAR had officially started.

[Stone, T.]

Sergeant Thomas Stone sat at the rear of the Pelican, by the hatch, quietly consumed in his thoughts on the mission. As he mused, his eyes shifted between the Marines under his command. Their level of experience varied greatly, from veterans to relatively green Marines. However, he knew each and every one of them could be counted on to carry out his orders and fight to their deaths if the situation called for it. Which, the prospect of combat was one of the 'hot' topics at the forefront of his thoughts. Second Platoon was walking into the situation aboard the Templar virtually blind. They hadn't been given definitive answers as to what was going on, nor knew who their enemy would be aboard the ship. 

If there would be any enemy at all. It was likely, though perhaps a rather small possibility, that they'd find themselves walking through a ghost ship. It wasn't exactly unheard of. There had been a few instances in the past where a UNSC patrol would stumble upon a derelict ship, with no explanation as to what happened to its crew. If left to the whim of scuttlebutt, most would concoct some kind of frightening tale to explain the occurrence. For instance, everyone aboard the vessel had met unfortunate ends, and their ghosts would haunt it for the end of time. He shook his head at thought, knowing damned well that some idiot had come up with the story in order to incite fear in others for his or her own amusement. However, he had a feeling that they wouldn't be encountering a situation like that with the Templar. The voice in the back of his mind was telling him that they'd find some sign of the crew aboard - though, he wasn't sure how they'd find them or what condition they'd be in. 

Honestly, considering the fact that there were noticeable hull breaches across the ship that - according to Beatrice - had been made via external sources, they would in all likelihood be dealing with Insurrectionists aboard the ship. How they'd discovered its existence was beyond him, and quite frankly he didn't care. He'd let the REMFs in the upper echelons of command attempt to figure that one out. His job was to locate, close with, and destroy the enemy. Not to figure out how and why they do what they do. If there were Innies running around aboard that ship, he'd be sure to put repay their efforts of seizing control of it by putting a bullet between their eyes. It was, after all, the least he could do. 

Stone became vaguely aware that the Lieutenant was on the radio with the head honcho in charge of the Vengeance, and his eyes settled upon the woman carrying the pack that made that communication possible. She hadn't said more than two words since they'd boarded the ship - despite very obviously trying to muster up something to say - and she seemed very tense. Such tenseness, while normal, wasn't a very good sign if it persisted. That tenseness could turn to nervous paranoia, which could seriously detriment her combat effectiveness if combat should occur. The Lieutenant too seemed to make note of it, as he questioned her about it. However, due to the fact that he was tied up on the radio, he immediately reverted his attention away from her. 

So, deciding something needed to be said, he spoke to her. "Private, ya look like yer teeterin' on the edge of either pissin' yerself or goin' inta shock," he said, making his observations of her demeanor apparent. "Look, ya need ta relax. Yer a Marine, 'n ya gotta trust that when the shit hits the fan yer trainin' will kick in. Yer our RTO. Ya ain't gon' be runnin' round takin' point or anythin' like that. Yer gonna be no more than ten feet behind the El-Tee, with a bunch of battle-tested Marines beside ya. Just clear yer head, keep yer weapon at the ready, 'n don't think too much. Listen ta the El-Tee, follow him like yer life depended on it, 'n you'll do just fine. Good ta go?"

After her response, his radio came to life... with the voice of the Lieutenant. With his eyebrow arched in confusion at the Lieutenant asking for a radio check, he said, "I read ya Lima Charlie, sir." Several moments later Lieutenant Durant explained the reasoning behind the transmission. Long-range comms were being actively jammed. By who, it seemed he didn't know; however, if long-range comms were indeed being intentionally jammed, than that was not a good sign. It could mean that the Innies found themselves some new tech that ONI hadn't found out about, and that they'd been detected - or a whole slew of other possibilities. Including one possibility he didn't dare want to think about considering what that ship had been designed to do. As there was only one group that he knew of that had the technology to jam radio frequencies. And if they'd somehow found out about the Templar and boarded it, then they were in for a heap of trouble. 

The Sergeant banished that thought from his mind as the Lieutenant ordered them to go to Condition One. Thomas nodded and wracked the slide of his rifle, a metallic click resounding in his ears as a bullet entered the weapon's chamber. He double-checked to ensure that the weapon's safety catch was still set to 'SAFE', and then let the rifle rest in his lap. It wasn't long after that the Pelican decelerated and came to a halt, the hatch to the blood tray lowering to reveal the starry void of space outside as the atmosphere was sucked out from the compartment. The Sergeant stood up and took his place directly behind the Lieutenant as the others fell in line behind him. Stone glanced over his shoulder and spotted Furby standing in front of Private Wilkas. 

He frowned. She should've been up front with the Lieutenant instead of all the way back there. But, then again, if the radio wasn't working then there wasn't much point in her following him around like a lost dog. It's the thought that counts, though, he mused, and then cleared his head. Once the Lieutenant had leapt off the precipice, Stone replaced him at the edge and quickly followed suite. As soon as he feet met with the hull of the Templar, he set the fire selector to semi-automatic and brought his weapon to bare. After a brief scan to ensure they hadn't dropped right smack dab in the middle of an ambush, Thomas crouched down and gestured for his squad to set up a hasty perimeter. Once everyone was in place he focused his attention on the Lieutenant, awaiting orders. 

Durant apparently ordered Second Squad to take point, as he noticed Sergeant Mason and his Marines moving ahead of the Lieutenant toward what he assumed was the nearest hull breach. Stone nodded to himself, then gestured for his squad to fall into a staggered column and fall in behind him. They quickly obeyed and formed up, and Stone quickly caught up to the Lieutenant.

[Wilkas, G.]

 With both the L Tee and the Sargent speaking to her, Grace Wilkas' was unable to respond to both of them quickly. She was not surprised that they could pick up on her nervousness, they where both combat veterans and she on the other hand wasn't. Grace frowned when questioned about her radio's maintenance the equipment had been green to go. The fault had nothing to do with Grace or her radio. She chose to reply to the L Tee first, seeing as he was her commanding officer. "The radio is good to go sir I performed a check on it before the mission" That had only been a short check but a check none the less, for Wilkas' much of her time with the platoon seemed so far to have been spent in the lovely freezers. She racked a bullet into the chamber on the assault rifle and ignored how her heart raced inside her suit. 

 The Pelican had deployed before she could answer Stone's question and she let it slide. Now the time for chatter was over. Grace moved a little slower than the rest of the platoon unable to shake that the feeling that there was something deeply wrong about this mission, it hung heavily over her. Yet the main thing that pestered her mind was the fact that her radio was not functional. Her body itched for her to unhook the thing, take it apart and find the cause of it. However, sadly there was hardly the time for her to do that. By the time she realised that they needed to spring into life and stood up she was a few places away from the L Tee. She should have been beside him like a shadow, it felt wrong to not be there, however as she currently carried a dead weight on her back it hardly really mattered. 

 As they deployed out of the Pelican, her eyes widened slightly her breath almost catching in her throat. It was one thing to see space but another to actually be deployed into it. Shaking off her disorientation, Grace landed awkwardly, her left ankle exploding with a burst of sudden pain and discomfort. She recovered, catching her balance and scanning the area, rifle raised. As luck would have it she had found herself near the Lieutenant. Her training demanded and dictated that she remained within easy reach at all times, even when her equipment failed to function as it should. Grace's pulse was elevated, this was her first mission and she was understandably nervous, a fact made worse by the grim fact that her radio was busted. She did not believe that they where being jammed, her radio had broken and she felt that the squad had been let down as a result of it. Her ankle throbbed painfully, providing her with some real discomfort as she moved but it would not prevent her from functioning.

 The platoon obeyed the orders given Durant, moving soundless across the ship's hull, despite the throbbing pain that lanced up from her ankle Grace managed to keep herself a few paces away from him. Her role when the radio wasn't dead or dying was to remain near him. Grace breathed slowly despite her quickening heart rate, she had given up trying to calm herself it had resulted in her only becoming more stressed. The words of her superiors had gone some-way to calming her down however nothing could completely relax her. Grace failed to see how everyone her could be so calm, it would probably become clear to her if she survived the mission, assuming it went south. As far as Grace could know there could be no one aboard the vessel apart from them and that would probably mean everyone would make it out in one piece. She knew it was unlikely to be that though. Her mind, once she had deployed remained focused on watching her surroundings for any sign or movement that could reveal a potential enemy hiding in ambush, just waiting for the right moment to strike. 

[Furby, J.]

Private First Class Jayson Furby sat back in his seat, attempting to adjust the harnesses that kept him in place. With all the gear that he had on, sitting down had become more of a chore than he'd originally anticipated. It seemed impossible for him to get comfortable, and it was beginning to annoy him. As he messed with the straps, rearranging them and attempting to loosen them some, he still remained semi-cognizant of his surroundings. He couldn't exactly say he was paying any attention to the Lieutenant - noticing that the officer was on the horn with command and not really interested in eavesdropping on the conversation - but he was aware of everything else that went on around him. 

Such as the obvious apprehensiveness of a certain RTO sitting beside their esteemed commander. Furby genuinely empathized with how she felt, recalling the not-so-distant past when he had been in similar shoes. He'd joined the unit shortly after Lieutenant Durant had arrived and taken command of Second Platoon, and his first combat action had been on the botched operation to evacuate colonists from a doomed colony that had been hit hard by the Covenant. It'd also been his first time witnessing the horrific process that had been dubbed "glassing." Jay had had the displeasure of watching a colony be reduced to a fiery hellish wasteland. The atmosphere dissipated with moments of the Covenant beginning the atrocious act... the seas boiled, landmasses scorched and blazing, and thousands of people that they hadn't been able to save wiped out. 

It wasn't an easy thing to live with. 

But he managed to cope, regardless. 

Jayson tuned in to what the Lieutenant as he addressed the entire platoon over the radio, stating that their communications had been jammed. He sighed and shook his head. "Great... so we're all dead, then," he mumbled under his breath. They know we're coming was the thought that shot through his mind like a forty-four caliber bullet. Knowing that there was nothing that he could possibly say that would matter, he simply went about following the order to Condition One his firearm. Furby racked the slide and ensured that the weapon had properly dispensed a round into the chamber of his weapon before slinging it across his lap and undoing the straps that confined him to his seat. He exhaled a sigh of relief as his discomfort instantly dissipated. 

The door at the far-end of the Blood Tray opened up to reveal the breathtaking visage of interstellar space. He stood up as everyone else did and made sure that the oxygen tank strapped to his side was working properly. The last thing he needed was to suffocate to death because he hadn't been paying attention to his equipment. As everyone lined up to exit the Pelican, Furby took his place amongst the group of Marines. He couldn't help but notice that Private Wilkas was behind him, not up the Lieutenant's ass. A grin creased his lips as he moved up closer to the open hatch as the Marines up front began jumping out of the ship. When it was his turn to jump, he didn't think twice about it. He bent his legs and then leapt from off the precipice, somewhat gracefully landing on the hard metallic hull of the Templar. 

Furby's instincts and training kicked in and he sprinted to a position somewhat off to the left and crouched down, raising his rifle so that he could peer just over its optics, and scanned the portion of the perimeter that was part of his sector of fire. Every few seconds he would quickly glance over to Sergeant Stone to make sure he didn't miss any orders passed down to the squad by hand signal. It wasn't very long before he issued the command to move out, ordering the squad into a staggered column. Jay's eyes darted to his fire team leader, who ordered the team into a standard column, and assumed his position as the number four man in the formation. With two other fire teams behind him, his field of fire became the three to five 'o clock while the team leader watched the one to three 'o clock positions. 

The group moved slowly, apparently following after the Lieutenant who'd ordered Second Squad forward. That should piss Stone off, he mused, knowing how much Stone enjoyed First Squad being the point unit for the platoon. As the platoon neared the hull breach, Furby kept his eyes open for any sign of contact. If the shit hit the fan before they were able to gain access to the Templar, he predicted there'd be a lot of Marine bodies floating through space. 

[Cruz, J.]

Cruz sat towards the rear of Second Squad’s pelican where he and Durant had discussed. He gripped the stock on his M90 firmly as he thought of the briefing that only raised questions. Despite ONI supposedly being the modern all seeing eye, they usually had shit for intel. It was a long running joke in the eyes of some of the more experienced Marines. He knew that despite what they had been told of a mutiny, something was amiss. It almost reminded him of the incident on the UNSC STORM a few years back. He hoped that it would not be the same, but a nagging feeling told him otherwise.

Seeing Major Killinger taking a seat brought him out of his thought. It seemed that the pencil pusher would be joining them on this mission. It shouldn’t have surprised him considering the nature of the mission. But at the same time they wouldn’t want the officer falling into enemy hands. In other words they would have to babysit as well. The Gunny sighed as he looked over the young men and women that were in second squad. A poem wrote centuries ago by Siegfried Sassoon, a British poet and soldier, spurted from his lips,

”I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.
In winter trenches, cowed and glum
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.
You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.”

His words caught everyone’s attention and even caught most off guard. The more experienced and older of the squad had an understanding of what the poem meant on a personal level. It amazed Cruz even to this day how a poet long before their time could so fully embody the future’s struggle in mere words. Before anyone could say anything however, Durant’s voice came over the Comms to prepare to deploy. Racking his shotgun, Cruz secured his EVA mask and signaled everyone to check the Marine nearest them. The last thing they needed was for one of them to improperly secure their mask and suffocate.

”Mason when Second goes in, I’ll take point.” Cruz told the Sergeant.

[Mason, I.]

Knock Knock

Sergeant Mason sat aboard the pelican with his men, Gunny, and Major Killinger - the Battalion XO. Most of his men sat uncomfortably because the brass was amongst them. Granted, some of them were most likely nervous about the possibility of there being surprises within the UNSC Templar but having the Major aboard seemed to tense them up a bit. Mason glanced around, taking note of anyone who seemed to fidgeting. Only a couple of the newer Marines. He glanced over at Corporal Rio, which was in the midst of yawning. For many, yawning was an instinctive response to getting nervous. Rio was using it as a technique to hold off any type of adrenaline rush, he'd possibly need that for later.

Years ago, when Mason still got throbbing adrenaline rushes in combat, he would take naps before heading into combat. It would keep him relaxed as well as make the waiting game fly by. Of Course, now that he was in charge of a squad again he simply watched the others and make sure they were doing fine. Being entirely void of any emotion he used to experience made it pretty easy to control adrenaline and nerves, but he kept that to himself.

Cruz’s poetic oration took Mason by surprise, but he recognized and appreciated the poem. It was an old one that he had not read for quite some time. Not since he was young, reading literature in his father’s old library, had he thought of the poet Sassoon. He thought of his favorite of Sassoon’s:

“Dark clouds are smouldering into red
While down the craters morning burns.
The dying soldier shifts his head
To watch the glory that returns;
He lifts his fingers toward the skies
Where holy brightness breaks in flame;
Radiance reflected in his eyes,
And on his lips a whispered name.

You'd think, to hear some people talk,
That lads go West with sobs and curses,
And sullen faces white as chalk,
Hankering for wreaths and tombs and hearses.
But they've been taught the way to do it
Like Christian soldiers; not with haste
And shuddering groans; but passing through it
With due regard for decent taste.”

Mason was about to say something to Cruz when his radio cut in with the Squad Leader's request for a radio check. Mason, as well as the others, noted that Durant sounded irritated. "Omen 2 Actual, this is Omen 2-2, lima charlie, over." All the short range radios came in clear, which led Mason to wonder if there was any type of disruption with the long range. Lieutenant Durant's next transmission answered that suspicion.

"Omen Two Actual to Platoon, be advised: long-range comms appear to have been jammed. I say again, we do not have comms with C2 elements, break. Condition One your weapons. Two-One, Two-Two, prepare to deploy. We'll be reaching the DZ in two mikes. Out."

"Roger that, sir" Mason responded.

He looked around again as he chambered a round into his rifle and clicked the safety on, and repeated the process with his sidearm - then sliding it back into its holster he spoke, "Ready for some fun, marines?" A deafening "Ooh Rah!" was the response he received from his men, which mostly muffled out Rio's "Ooh fuckin Rah Baby!"

"Ready up."

”Mason, when Second goes in, I'll take point.” Cruz said to Mason.

Isaiah gazed back at the Gunnery Sergeant for a second before responding, “As you wish, Gunnery Sergeant.” Mason was curious to know what was on Cruz’s mind, figuring he had a hunch of what to expect.

As soon as their pelican was in position, second squad descended to the hull of the scarred vessel. One by one, the marines landed and automatically scanned the area; securing the DZ. Once they were all in place, Durant motioned for second squad to take point and they moved ahead of first squad.

[Killinger, J.]

Major Killinger, a long time Veteran on the war, simply refused to watch the action from the back of the lines. Killinger was an 'old school' type of commander, one that chose to lead - or at least be - in the front lines like a true leader. Perhaps it was more risky, but there were better officers out there than Killinger so it didn't matter to him. The lives of his men, under the command of Lieutenant Durant, were more important than his own. He took a seat in one of the pelicans Marines were streaming into.

He noticed the Staff Sergeants wondering eye fall upon him, a look of either surprise or concern on his face and knew exactly what the devil dog was thinking. Most Marines expected someone with the rank of Major to be a lean mean typing machine, have a bit of a belly over their belts and have aged eye lids of tireless hours doing paper work - but that simply wasn't the case. John was an experienced officer and he mentally laughed at those who thought differently. He earned his promotions on the front line, not behind the desk on his knees.

Cruz showed his poetic side, and captured the attention of most of the Marines. Killingers eyes however remained on his tactical pad, viewing blueprints of every nook and cranny of the Halcyon Class Cruiser before they entered a potentially hostile area. He recognized that Lieutenant Durant had tactical command for this operation and the Major was, more or less, along to see how the youngster did. Killinger himself was just reassigned to the Battalion as the executive officer but he wanted to see the ability of the Marines under his watch. A personal assessment for every marine being deployed onto the Templar today.

"Major?" A voice came over John's personal communications channel for he and the Lieutenant Colonel.

"Yes sir." The Major replied silently, wondering what his superior wanted.

"I hope you know what you're doing." The Colonel said, a hint of frustration in his tone.

"Trust me, I know what I am doing. Permission to speak freely, sir." John replied. He heard the aged Colonel hum a thought under his breath before giving him the permission to speak freely. "This is how I work, sir. I need to know the abilities of the men under our command and I need to see them myself. Five numbers, a dash, five more numbers and initials on a CSV just isn't good enough for me. Their scores, strengths, weaknesses, military history is all insignificant in my opinion because I've never seen it for myself. I am here to see what they can do right now. If I personally know their abilities I can, in turn, become a better officer for them in the l-" Killinger was saying before the channel screeched with static. He turned the radio off.

Lieutenant Durants radio check was the next thing to come over, followed by the various radio checks. Killinger decided to ignore it, knowing his radio was working and if he was just a moment ago sending a transmission his radio was perfectly fine. He'd address the Lieutenant if the man contacted him, but for now the blue prints on the vessel were just more important. With the lack of information and the very little analyzing of internal passageways during the briefing the Major needed to keep his options open.

"Mason, when second goes in, I'll take point. Cruz said.

How humble, John thought for a moment as Marines chambered rounds into their weapons. John upholstered his M6D and pulled the slide back, watching a bronze casing with a nickle head slide itself into the weapon. He released the slid and holstered his side arm again. He chambered a round for his bullpup BR55HB and let it dangle across his chest with the weapons strap.

The Major sealed his EVA mask and a moment later the rear door opened and second squad stormed out of the pelican. The Major calmly walked forward after grabbing a satchel, entered the zero gravity and floated down towards the scarred hull of the Halcyon Cruiser. He floated past second squad, getting closer and closer to the hull but his target was something else. A point defense gun, receded into the hull, was hiding along the damaged armor plates. If it were to become activated, it would shred the Marine boarding party. The Major engaged his magnetic lock and landing smoothly onto the hull just a meter away from the barrel of the single barreled weapon.

He placed a satchel charge on the barrel of the gun and used adhesive strips to keep them there. After he was done he made sure the signal for detonation was operational and sent a code to Lieutenant Durant. If the weapon became armed the Lieutenant and Major would be able to send a detonation signal to destroy the point defense gun before it did any harm to the Marines.

"Alright," John muttered under his breath. "That's one problem taken care of."

[Cruz, J.]

Cruz kneeled next to the hull breach examining the edges of the breach carefully. Holding his shotgun in his left hand, Cruz slowly ran his right hand over the seemingly unslagged edges feeling the titanium. To the common eye it appeared to be from a charge attached to the outside of the hull, but for those who knew what they were looking for they could tell that wasn’t the case. He motioned to both Durant and Killinger to take a look, hoping either of the two would understand. He doubted they would since they were both relatively new to the unit and did not experience what happened in the UNSC STORM.

He didn’t wait to see if either man moved to look at the edge or not. Instead he hopped into the black hole as Mason was stepping toward the hole. Switching the flashlight attached to the forestock, Cruz did a quick sweep of the area as Second Squad descended as well. The area was absolutely devastated by the blast. Debris was floating everywhere, some of the reinforced glass was blown out, and doors were either knocked off completely or were dented in with no hopes of opening short of explosive charges. That was what his quick glimpse with the flashlight gave Cruz. The most prevalent detail however was the power being out in the section that they had entered; which didn’t come as a surprise. The ship was basically floating on minimal power, in other terms there would be only emergency lights, if there were any lights at all. But that was all speculation in Cruz’s mind as he cautiously moved to the bulkhead that was closest to them.

Cruz pointed at PFC Adkins to help give him a hand trying to pry open the bulkhead. The giant door resisted momentarily before it slowly started to slide apart. The Gunny expected the rush of pressurized atmosphere to shoot through the door, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead a solid objet passed through the opened door. Activating the light on his helmet as well, Cruz saw it was an MP. Sergeant stripes adorned the collar on his uniform as well as the name Boyle. A quick glance showed that the man had been shot several times by several different caliber weapons. The plates in the front of the vest were obliterated by the rounds as was the remnants of an EVA mask.

So it appears that a mutiny is very plausible. Cruz thought as he moved through the corridor.

Cautiously Cruz led the task force down the hall. Beams of light from various Marines lit the walls like some military horror movie. Off in the distance a faint green glow was seen. Cruz’s mind instantly connected the light with a blast door control panel. Using hand signals, Cruz motioned for Private Rodgers and Dunn to make their way to the door. The two Marines gave a quick nod and followed Cruz with a purpose toward the door. Cruz looked at Dunn and tapped his wrist asking for an ETA. Dunn raised two fingers and Cruz nodded before signaling the force to enter a breaching position.

Cruz tapped Dunn’s shoulder and the man hit whatever magic he worked and the door opened with an explosion of atmosphere. Shell casings and discarded weapons flew past as the Marines of Second Squad moved into a pressurized portion of the ship closely followed by First squad. Once the last Marine was through, Dunn closed the blast door with a distinct hiss. Cruz patted Mason on the shoulder as his way of saying “Go ahead and take point”.

[Durant, M.]

Lieutenant Durant cautiously maneuvered behind Second Squad, his eyes darting from one place to another, actively searching for signs of a hostile ambush. Fortunately, as far as he could tell, there was none to be concerned of. The officer watched as Gunnery Sergeant Cruz, whom had taken the helm for the platoon, crouched down beside the particularly large breach in the Templar's outer hull. The grizzled veteran waved Durant and Major Killinger over, whom had just finished rigging what appeared to be an explosive charge to one of the nearby point defense guns.

The action caused some level of confusion for Durant. While, on paper, the move to rig a point defense turret seemed like a sound decision, it didn't exactly make sense given the situation. If the unit had been detected on approach, why would the enemy wait until the platoon deployed to activate the ship's point defenses? In his opinion if the enemy had detected them, they would've simply targetted the approaching Pelicans and turned them into floating space debris - thereby ensuring that no Marines managed to board the ship.

Of course, he wasn't the Major. Perhaps the decision made sense in his mind. Either way, he was in no position to debate with the senior officer.

Lieutenants generally lost debates with Majors.

Snuffing the thought from his mind, Michael approached the Gunnery Sergeant and examined the breach. From what he could discern, it appeared that the breach had been made by some type of high explosive charge. However, the outer edges of the breach seemed remarkably pristine. The titanium alloy did not appear to be scorched like it should have been, and outer edges were finely outlined as opposed to jagged and sharp. He did not know of any human explosive that could create such a... clean... breach in a ship's hull. But, he wasn't exactly an expert on explosives. He left that job to the boys in EOD.

Durant shrugged at Cruz, as if to communicate that he didn't quite know what to make of the breach nor was he aware of what the Gunny supposedly thought he'd see. The Gunnery Sergeant made no reply gesture. He simply leapt down into the perpetual darkness of the ship's innards. So, after patiently waiting for Sergeant Mason's boys to follow the Gunny down; he too jumped down into the dark, lifeless corridor.

The Lieutenant activated the flashlight at the fore end of his rifle and swept it at an arc, scrutinizing the area set before him and his Marines. Unsurprisingly there was significant damage caused by the breach in the hull, which further confirmed his theory of some type of high explosive being used. He glanced at Private Wilkas as she gracefully landed beside him, and issued her a curt nod and a reassuring pat on the back. He was certain her adrenaline was at its peak, and the young woman was likely extremely nervous. He hoped the gesture would calm her down some. The last thing he needed was a casualty due to panic attack. Especially when that casualty would be the platoon's RTO - arguably one of the most important individuals in the platoon - even despite the fact her radio pack was about as useful as tossing a rock with a message taped to it towards the Vengeance. To be honest, without long range comms working, the radio she humped was dead weight. Useless to them.

PFC Adkins and the Gunny opened the first hatch that would lead them into the next corridor. Michael braced for the explosive release of atmospheric pressure, only for it to never come. A single floating corpse made floated towards them, causing the officer to grimace. As Second Squad began to flow into the adjoining corridor, the Lieutenant was able to move closer to the corpse and inspect it.

The corpse was of one of the many Marine MPs that the Spook had mentioned being aboard the ship. The MP, Sergeant Boyle, appeared to have been slain by multiple gunshots to the chest and abdomen, each round from a different caliber firearm judging by the size of some of the holes in the man's armor. It seems we may be looking at a mutiny after all, the Lieutenant mused.

Though, despite the thought, there were gaping holes in that theory. Chiefly among them being why the ship was drifting through interstellar space and not back in UNSC territory, or at least on the way to some human refuge. If there had been a mutiny, obviously one side would have had to have achieved victory.

Unless they weren't looking at a mutiny. Perhaps an Insurrectionist assault? No. That theory had even more holes in it than the last one.

Michael shook his head, ultimately conceding that they would discover the truth behind the mystery of the disappearance of the Templar as they continued to explore the ship. He anticipated there would be plenty of information as to what had happened here stored on some computer on the bridge. That was where he wanted to be.

The Platoon moved through the corridor and the Gunny managed to get the next door open. The explosive decompression of the room ahead took the Lieutenant by surprise. It shouldn't have, as he knew parts of the ship would have retained their atmosphere, but it had. Mike shook off the shock and moved forward with the platoon, briefly checking to ensure Wilkas was still following closely. He noticed that Major Killinger had also caught up with him.

Lieutenant Durant signaled for the Major to stay close, then stepped through the hatch into the next area behind the last man of Second Squad. The room was clear - most of the debris having been sent flying through the hatch when it had opened - and it looked as if the Gunny was offering for Sergeant Mason to take point. The Lieutenant spotted the shimmering light of a hatch control panel down the passageway.

However, his eyes also fell upon another door to the left towards the center of the passageway several meters away. It was slightly ajar, its control panel blinking between a warm crimson and dull green. Looking over his shoulder at Wilkas and the Major, he pointed it out to them. Sergeant Stone, who was at the helm of his squad, also seemed to take notice.

Mike waved for Wilkas to keep close and slowly made his way to the door. He stopped just before it and raised his rifle, checking out the corner of the room that was visible to him. He saw dry, coagulated blood splattered on the far wall. Adrenaline started to course through his veins as he prepared to breach the room.

Durant pointed at Wilkas and signaled for her to cover him as he pried the door open. Upon receiving her acknowledgment, he quickly darted to the opposite side of the door and slung his rifle onto his magnetic backplate. Then he gripped the door and pulled back with all his might until the doors servos gave way and allowed him to completely wrench the door open.

Tearing his sidearm from his armored thigh plating, he raised it to chest level and stepped through the threshold of the door, buttonhooking the corner as he scanned for enemies. The right corner of the room, as he had seen earlier, was clear. He turned his body towards the room and stopped just a few feet from the corner, sweeping from left to right with his pistol. The room was small and there was no sign of hostile contacts.

Only death.

Several bodies of Navy crewmen drifted aimlessly through the air, occasionally bumping into each other. Tiny globules of coagulated blood floated in the air in front of him. The back wall was pockmarked with bullet impacts, and plenty of discarded shell and bullet casings to make note of. Mostly pistol and assault rifle ammunition, but he spotted a handful of shotgun shells too.

The room appeared to have been some type of crew lounge - likely for the ship's enlisted personnel - and it had apparently been repurposed as the sight of a massacre. One of the corpse's had a pistol firmly clutched in hand. It looked as if rigor mortis had set in already, meaning these bodies had been left there for awhile.

Michael looked to Wilkas and signaled the all-clear. When she did the same, he motioned for her to exit and then walked out of the room. Sergeant Stone stood only a few feet away, his weapon trained on the door until he noticed the Lieutenant and Private Wilkas coming out. The man offered him a gesture of questioning. Likely he wondered what the two had found.

Durant shook his head and gave the man a thumbs up, indicating the room had been clear. Then, with that, he motioned for the Platoon to move out.

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace had made sure to stick near the LT, she gripped her rifle tighter and tried to ignore the dull throbbing pain from her ankle. Pain lanced up from it with every fresh movement. She followed Durant through the breach, she managed to land gracefully though the motion caused an explosion of fresh pain that she refused to voice. The last thing the platoon needed was to be slowed down because she had made a poor landing. So Grace kept silent, she saw the LT nod at her and pat her on the back. She assumed it was that he knew she was in pain and was proud that she kept soldiering on. The inside of the ship unsettled Grace, the darkness hid too many unknowns and the lack of air in a place that should of contained some only increased her worry. 

 When Grace made eye contact with the corpse she blanched, her skin going completely white and for a horrifying moment she felt like she would have been sick. Shaking her head, she tore herself away from the sight her rifle trembling. Grace found the decompression blast a total surprise and flinched at it bring her rifle up but lowered it again once she realised that it was nothing to be too concerned about. Spotting Durant glancing at her to make sure that she still followed, Grace forced herself to move and caught up with him and to her confusion she found that the Major had joined them. It confused Grace as now she was uncertain as too who she should follow or give the radio too if she heard anything, the latter was highly doubtful since they were still being jammed. 

 Grace's eyes scanned the room that they entered next. Part of her hoped that they would find a section with atmosphere in. It was hard lugging the radio around with oxygen tanks on an ankle that screamed at each fresh movement. There was a brief moment where she showed pain by stopping reaching down and trying to rub the effected area to no avail so Grace returned to trying to ignore it. She saw the LT's signal, kept close and made her way to the doorway indicated. She stacked up near the entrance, pressing her back against the wall while nodding at him the once in reply, she had to cover him. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, but it was not enough to push back the fear she felt. The door opened and Grace's rifle swept the entrance, the barrel tracking back and forth like a hound in search a scent. She was surprised not to see a larger room but followed Durant in, her heart pounding so loudly she was more that certain that the entire platoon could here it. 

Turning the corner, rifle raised ready to fire Grace felt herself pale once more at the sight of bodies. She hesitated before giving the all clear and left with Durant looking at bit shaken but otherwise fine. The trouble started just when the LT had given the order to move out, at first Grace seemed fine then suddenly she was against a wall trembling shaking uncontrollably. She couldn't breath. Grace started to hyperventilate, having what Durant had feared she might have a panic attack. She dropped her rifle the weapon floating in zero gee and clawed at her throat, gasping, short breaths. She tried to calm herself, honestly she tried yet nothing in her training had prepared her for the horror of war. Or if there had been preparation, then clearly it failed on Grace. She felt herself slide down it, still gasping as she tried to breath. If it wasn't atmosphere-less around her, Grace probably would have torn the helmet off. Her panic attack came on at the wrong place at the wrong time.

The Platoon's Radio Operator was breaking down and that effectively put her out of action for as long as it took her to calm down. If it wasn't for her radio pack being a useless decoration on her then Grace's panic attack would have been a critical loss. She could not help it, honestly she had tried to keep calm however there was nothing she could do. Now her sole focus was on pure panic and the inability to breath. The terror from not enough air ripped through her like a armour piercing bullet, the confined environment of a ship with no air did little to ease her fear. She tried to calm herself down but the instinctual terror of being unable to breath overran anything that her brain commanded. As far as her instincts where concerned, Grace couldn't breath or couldn't get enough air in, panic set in quickly. 



 

[Furby, J.]

Furby kept his weapon in the low ready position, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign that might mean he'd have to use his rifle. So far the area appeared void of any life; however, that fact failed to bring him comfort. Just because the area looked clear did not mean it was, and at any moment the Platoon could unwittingly walk itself into an ambush.


Jayson continually glanced over at his fire team leader, making sure he saw any orders issued to the team. Being at the rear of the team formation, he was responsible for rear security. However, due to there being two other fire teams behind them, that job was effectively null and void. So, instead, he opted to keep his eyes on the right flank. When Second Squad and the Lieutenant entered the ship through the breach, First Squad followed closely behind with Sergeant Stone at its helm.

The PFC was slightly apprehensive about dropping down through the breach. He recalled one of many of the training exercises he'd been a part of during SOI - when his combat instructor had been trying to teach the young, boot Marines about fatal funnels and choke points. Incidentally, the hull breach was the perfect choke point for an ambush. His adrenaline kicked in, and his situational awareness sky-rocketed to an all time high. Jayson unceremoniously stepped off the edge of the hull and floated down to the deck plating below. He bent his knees to absorb some of the shock from the impact and brought his rifle up so that he could scan the immediate area.

Fortunately, like before, there was no sign of contact. The only indicator that there had been any enemy at all was the corpse of a Marine sergeant drifting by them as Thirsty First followed behind the rest of the platoon into the next corridor. The passageway was open and secure. There weren't any further signs that combat had taken place. Gunnery Sergeant Cruz, their illustrious Platoon Sergeant, breached into the next passageway with the help of PFCs Dunn and Rodgers of Second Squad.

The rest of the platoon rushed into the spacious confines of the next hallway, and Lieutenant Durant seemed to take note of something. Furby aimed his rifle at the door, illuminated by the tactical flashlight mounted under the muzzle of his BR55, that had ensnared the Lieutenant's interest. He and Private Wilkas stacked up beside the door, prepping to breach the room. "Wilkas looks nervous," he mumbled under his breath.

The two Marines disappeared into the room. Jayson's finger slowly etched its way onto the trigger of his weapon. If anybody besides the Lieutenant and Wilkas stepped through that door, they'd be receiving a three-round burst of nine-point-five millimeter to the face. A couple tense moments passed by before Jay spotted a blur of movement from the door. He tightened his grip, only to sigh in relief when his HUD identified the culprit as friendly. Lieutenant Durant, followed by Private Wilkas, exited the room looking no worse for wear.

The platoon prepared to move out, and Sergeant Stone ordered First Fire Team on point. As the team moved past him, Furby caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. He glancec over to where Wilkas was standing and noticed she was shaking rather uncontrollably. At first he dismissed it as nerves until he noticed her showing all the signs of a panic attack.

The woman heaved to catch air that her lungs would not allow her to take in. She shook without the ability to control it, and, just... freaked out. She let go of her rifle, letting it float away, as she grasped at her throat. Reacting on instinct, Furby broke formation and rushed over to her.

He slung his DMR and caught her MA5 out of mid-air with his left hand, then placed his free hand on her shoulder as he reached Wilkas. Realizing that sound did not travel in an zero atmo environment, he activated his comms headset and spoke into the microphone. "Wilkas? Wilkas? Calm down! Breathe!" Jayson shouted frantically.

Wilkas did not seem to respond, so he released her rifle and placed both hands on her shoulder, forcing her to look into his eyes behind his face mask. "Wilkas, it's PFC Furby. Breathe. You're gonna be okay. Just breathe."

Jayson sensed other people heading their way and glanced over his shoulder to see Lieutenant Durant and Sergeant Stone rushing over.

"Corpsman! Corpsman! This is Echo Five Sierra, we need a Corpsman over here fer Echo One Whiskey!" Sergeant Stone shouted over the radio. The Platoon's corpsman ran at full speed over to the quickly accumulating group of onlookers. Doc pushed everyone out of the way, barring Furby who refused to leave her side.

"Wilkas, Doc is here. Please just calm down and breathe," Jayson pleaded, praying to whatever deity that would listen that she would listen to him.

Otherwise, she was a goner.

[Stone, T.]

Sergeant Thomas Stone waved his Marines forward as the platoon pushed up towards the site of the hull breach. Despite the great number if things that could go wrong in a zero-g environment (not including the things that could go wrong with the tactical situation), he was very calm. None of this was new to him in any way. This was by no means his first mission where boarding a ship via EVA was necessary. Nor did he fool himself into believing it would be his last. As a Squad Leader he needed to remain calm and collected in front of his men, if only for the sake of everyone's morale.

As the platoon dispensed itself into the ship, Stone took a brief moment to examine the breach. By his observation it was a remarkably "clean" breach. To his trained eye it did not appear as if any type of explosives were used at all. This fact unsettled him somewhat.

If explosives hadn't been used, then some type of cutting tool had to of been. But, maybe he was judging things too early. He didn't know. So, Thomas shrugged and climbed down into the passageway below, leading his squad forward. He barely even acknowledged the fact that a body was floating by him as he stepped through the threshold of the hatch into the adjoining passageway.

The cold reality was this was not the first time he'd seen death. Stone was a Marine of over roughly twenty years in the service. Even before this war had broken out between the humans and Covenant, he had been a Marine. To an extent he missed those days. Life was so much simpler fighting Insurrectionists in his opinion.

Second Squad breached the second hatch with Gunny on point, and a sudden gust of venting atmosphere blew out the next room in their direction. Weapons and spent ammunition spilled out into the passageway, a clear sign that whomever had initially boarded the ship had been met with some form of welcoming party. That confirmed that the personnel aboard the Templar were aware that they were being boarded.

As Stone made his way through the door and cleared his sector of fire, he made several observations. The first being that for all the weapons and spent ammo that had been blown out into the passage they'd just been in, there were no bodies. Secondly, besides a few bullet impacts against the wall, there were few other signs that combat had taken place. Most of the bullet impacts were directed towards the breach, not the direction in which the platoon was headed.

That had to of meant whomever boarded hadn't missed their mark. They surgically eliminated everyone in the room and seemingly disposed of the bodies. That thought sent a chill down their spine. Whoever they were dealing with were highly trained professionals, and extremely good marksmen.

Stone took note of Lieutenant Durant and Private Wilkas breaching into a room along the port wall of the passageway. He waved at the Marines nearest to him to cover the doorway, then returned to watching his fire sector.

A couple moments passed and the duo re-emerged in the same condition that they had been in when they'd gone in. That probably meant the room had been clear. Durant assumed his position between the two squads and ushered the group forward. Stone started to move when he felt a Marine brush by him.

Thomas looked over to discover who had broken formation, irritation welling up inside him when he spotted Wilkas freaking the fuck out. Private First Class Furby was right there with her. "Oh Goddammit," he groaned angrily and stormed his way over to their position.

Then he heard the short range radio come to life, in clear violation of the Lieutenant's order to maintain radio silence, with the voice of Furby attempting to calm down the panicked RTO. She appeared to be in bad shape, and it looked like she was having trouble breathing. "Shit," he mumbled under his breath and then keyed his own radio. "Corpsman! Corpsman! This is Echo Five Sierra, we need a Corpsman over here fer Echo One Whiskey!"

The Lieutenant marched over just shortly before Doc arrived. Stone grabbed Furby by his collar and yanked him away from the Private. He then opened up a private comm channel to Furby's radio. "Git yer ass back in formation! Doc'll handle it!"

[Wilkas, G.]

Wilkas' continued to panic and fight for breath. She felt a hand against her shoulder and her comm crackled into life. "Wilkas? Wilkas? Calm down! Breathe!" Came Jayson's voice, his words did not work. She continued to panic, struggling to get enough air into her lungs. Jayson seemed to notice that it did not work and placed another hand on her shoulder. "Wilkas, it's PFC Furby. Breathe. You're gonna be okay. Just breathe." For what it was worth she tried to simply just breath but she couldn't, she could not get enough air in her lungs. The primal terror of death by lack of oxygen held a dominating position in her mind, calming down and just breathing was going to be a difficult task. Her lungs ached from the effort of trying get enough oxygen into her system but it was failing, their efforts fruitless. Her vision was already blurring around the edges, panicking used up a lot of oxygen in a short space of time.

 Wilkas heard the loud bark of Sargent Stone over the radio. "Corpsman! Corpsman! This is Echo Five Sierra, we need a Corpsman over here fer Echo One Whiskey!" The medic would no doubt be sprinting over here as fast as they could in a atmosphere-less environment with no gravity. The corpsman pushed their way through the gathering crowd and made himself at home beside her. The last thing Grace heard from Jayson before Stone dragged him away were, "Wilkas, Doc is here. Please just calm down and breathe," She swallowed, still struggling, fighting for breath. The Doc placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "Wilkas listen to me you are fine, listen to me Wilkas just try to breathe take a small breath at first" Grace thought he was mad, here she was unable to breath and there the doc was telling her to breathe. The whole problem was because she couldn't.

"Come on Wilkas you can do it! Breathe, just breathe and trust me you can do it" The Doc encouraged, to her credit Grace followed his instructions. She forced herself to take a breath filling her lungs slightly. The Doc seemed to notice this. "Good now exhale and take deep calming breaths and don't panic your safe here the platoon has your back" His words where soft, seemingly kind almost fatherly. Grace exhaled and took deep calming breaths until eventually she could breath normally again, her vision returning to normal. She went to stand up but the Doc kept her down with the hand already on her shoulder. "Take a few more minutes to collect yourself it will be fine" The Doc ordered, yet Grace did not share his certainty in the fact that the platoon would agree. She continued to take deep breaths, keeping herself calmer. Her oxygen level as a result of the panic attack found itself to be lower than the rest of the platoons this should only be a problem if they ran into a fire fight.

 Grace took another breath and forced herself to look at her platoon. Her mind fluttered with shame wondering what they thought of her. Their RTO had just collapsed before them like a house made of cards. She couldn't help it, she tried to stay calm she wasn't like the rest of them. The Doc tapped her on the side of her helmet with his knuckles. "Hey deep breaths you" Grace did not realise that her breathing had changed and she resumed the deep breaths once more as the Doc stood, making his way to the LT. Opening comms with the LT he informed Durant of Grace's situation. "She is stable but I would recommend waiting a few minutes before moving out with her just be sure Sir" He glanced over his shoulder at Grace who was still slumped against the wall she had fell against, breathing calmly. To her lungs the oxygen felt delightful, who would have thought air could have tasted so damn good? Grace felt a burning sensation of shame though, the new girl essentially fell apart before them. Yet she never asked to be a marine, fate made her one and she did try her best. Clearly here though she failed, probably destroying the only chance she had at earning the respect and trust of the platoon.

[Durant, M.]

Durant didn't realize what was happening behind him until his radio squawked to life. His HUD identified the speaker as PFC Furby, and immediately he felt anger welling up inside him like a fiery inferno. Michael turned around and spotted the PFC rushing over to Wilkas. Suddenly perplexed, forgetting his anger for a moment, his eyes trailed over to the Platoon's RTO. Immediately he understood what was happening.

And if something wasn't done about it fast, he'd have a major clusterfuck on his hands.

So, with that in mind, he opened up a direct channel to Sergeant Mason and said, "Two-Two Actual, have your squad push forward and secure the area up ahead. Do not break radio silence. Two Actual out." With that,he killed the channel and turned on his heel, making haste over to Wilkas's position. His infuriation quickly weaseled its way back to his consciousness and if it were not for the fact that he had to use the radio, he would've laid into PFC Furby for directly disobeying orders. Even if the situation warranted it.

Sergeant Stone quickly approached and radioed for the Platoon's corpsman. To the man's credit, he arrived quickly and began attempting to calm the panicked RTO. Stone took the liberty of shooing Furby away and then returned to formation himself.

It took a few moments for whatever Doc was trying to do to work. He surmised that Doc had opened a direct comm channel to Wilkas's headset, so no one could eavesdrop on the conversation. Once Wilkas seemed to have calmed down some, Doc turned to him and spoke to him directly over the radio, informing him that she would be fine and advising him to wait a bit before moving out. He nodded to the corpsman and watched as he marched off, falling into formation somewhere amongst the Marines of First Squad.

Michael glared at Private Wilkas. He wasn't sure if there was anything he should say to the woman. More than that, he didn't know what to say. He hated to admit it, but he was out of his element. Having always been drawn to the warrior culture, to the point of it being his very nature, he had never prepared himself for such a situation like this. Technically, Wilkas episode had shown a major sign of weakness - one, that left uncorrected, could cost the lives of the Marines of the platoon. Though, he knew it would be wrong to fault her for what was a natural stress reaction.

The Lieutenant sighed, completely at a loss at what to do. Knowing that he had to do something, he finally willed himself to initiate contact with her over a private frequency. He paused as the channel went live, a last ditch attempt to come up with the words to say to her. When nothing profound came to mind, he simply decided to keep things simple. "Listen," he started, pausing to ensure he had her attention. "We'll talk about what happened later. But right now, I need you to remain focused and level-headed. You're my RTO, and I am depending on you to have the platoon's back, as well as my own. Stick close to me and don't dwell on the things you see here. Keep your mind focused on the task at hand." It wasn't much, but what he said to her would have to suffice. Before he killed the frequency, he said, "Switch to your auxiliary tank. I don't need my RTO suffocating."

Durant turned on heel and approached the door out of the room, motioning for First Squad and Wilkas to follow. Raising his weapon to the low ready position, he stepped through the door and into the next passageway. At the end of the long, dark corridor was an open door. Presumably left that way by Second Squad. Michael carefully approached it, weapon at the ready, and then stormed into the next room. As Wilkas and First Squad made entry behind him, he swept his rifle around, illuminating the area with his rifle's flashlight.

Lieutenant Durant found himself at the far end of one of the many crew mess facilities aboard the Templar. However, the room appeared to have been repurposed as some kind of defensive position. Several tables were overturned, riddled with bullet holes, and there were plenty of human corpses flying around. Ignoring the abundance of death, the Lieutenant slogged forward, deeper into the chow hall. He swept his rifle left and spotted Second Squad at the opposite end of the room, stacked up along the far wall by a door.

He immediately turned and headed their way. Corporal Rio, whose fire team was at the rear of the stack appearing to acting as a security team, took aim at the Lieutenant before lowering his weapon. Durant nodded at him and then took up a position where he could cover the door in case anyone tried to make entry before Second Squad breached it. He glanced over his shoulder and waved at Sergeant Stone, then ordered him to set up security to cover Second's breach with a flurry of hand signals.

Finally, he made eye contact with Sergeant Mason, issuing him a thumbs up. They were authorized to breach when ready.

[Davis, E.]

Davis had sauntered across the hull of the Templar like he was out on an afternoon stroll. He had enjoyed Zero G training the most, and this outing was no different. He had a few stitches in his stomach, knowing this was his first op with responsibility, but he wasn't going to let it change him too much. He had inspected his fire team before they left the ship, and double checked the EVAs before the airlock had broken. Those were the moments that made him nervous. Oddly, walking in space with nothing but magnets holding him to a hull was relaxing.

The breech they entered was not. It was out of place, though Davis was no expert on it. It just looked wrong to him, but there were experts with and he left it to them. He ensured his team was spread out, ready to lay overlapping fire down when needed. With Second Squad in the front, and the Gunny taking point, Davis's fire team had the rear guard. He hated rear guard, but such was life for a Corporal. It only got better when Furby broke ranks and radio silence. That boy was going to make Davis's life miserable, he just knew it. Thankfully Sergeant Stone was on it before Davis could even react.

The setting got more and more eerie as the moved deeper into the ship. Still no pressure or life support, and plenty of the Navy's finest floating around like left over targets. Davis just glowered at no one, unhappy with this. There was no enemy, no allies, and more importantly, no life support. The scene in the mess was more of the same. Thankfully first squad got called on to cover the breaching operation. Finally something worth doing.

Taking his cues from Sergeant Stone, Davis started motioning his fire team into position. He was still fulfilling the assault roll, and took the center of the line, leaving his marksman the best line of sight. It was a half decent position, but there was simply not enough room to shoot if something started to go wrong.