[A-Deck] The NAV Data

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace listened quietly to Durant's speech, it did little other than enforce the sheer gravity of their situation. It failed to make her feel more confident in what lay ahead, she possessed no intention to die in battle, ideally preferring not to die at all. The fact that the Covenant likely had them outnumbered did nothing to help her morale, maybe she lacked the actual stomach for an real conflict, one where dead was dead rather than lying down in a field until the war game ended. Grace checked her ammo counter, she knew that the weapon was loaded but such a movement saved to provide her with a small measure of comfort. At least she could fight still. 

Suddenly she was aware of Durant looking at her, he gave her a warm smile and she returned it with a uncertain smile of her own. There was plenty to think about already in this mission, most of it about how easy things got to her and how swiftly she could collapse under the strain. At first Wilkas' believed that he wished to speak with her then and there, but instead he led the way out of the room. Grace before she even realised it was already following him. Her training made sure that she stayed close to him. When Durant halted, Grace stopped too, dropping to one knee with her rifle raised searching for any hidden threat. She could see nothing, lowering her rifle slightly, confused as to why they had stopped for. Wilkas however trusted Durant's experience and remained vigilant. 

The flickering light caught her attention and she brought her rifle back up to her shoulder, the silhouette confused here and she remained unsure on how to act. Fire at it? Or merely stay with her rifle raised and finger hovering over the trigger? Sergeant Stone, however answered her silent question for her, roaring in his typical Southern brogue. "Contact right! Cov'nant down range 'n camouflaged! Engage!"

Wilkas went prone and crawled over to the table that Durant had flipped over. The hissing of plasma over head, was drowned out by the bark of Durant's rifle. Grace gripped her rifle tight in a white knuckle grip, she pressed herself lower to the floor seeking as much cover as she could. 

The weight of fire and probably a good deal of fear kept Grace Wilkas' supressed, she could not think of anything other than staying down. Being shot at it training was one thing but plasma fire, the noise was terrifying. Where as some people when terrified would have screamed out, bolted or otherwise found some means of showing their sheer terror, Grace was silent, muted by her fear and trapped by her loyalty to her comrades. Grace knew that she should fight, her platoon was fighting how could she remain any different? Being so close to Durant, Grace did not notice that the marines had already suffered some casualties.

Forcing herself up, she fired a wild burst, missing the foe. A moment later, she dove back down behind the table as plasma fire impacted out it was screamed past her. She cowered behind it, holding her rifle against her chest. Grace closed her eyes, shaking visibly and her instincts leading her to desire nothing more than run or find somewhere to hide. Wilkas, did not however accept such an instinct, she remained where she was. Grace could not do this, she would have screamed out but muted there was no way for her to voice it. The noise and sheer terror created by a real battle was something that no amount of training could truly prefer someone for, Wilkas reluctant as a soldier for her already it was far too much for her to cope with.  

[Stone, T.]

Stone stood at the fore end of the bridge, leaning against a chair of one of the work stations, ignoring the gruesome visage of the body in it slumped against the console. His rifle hung from his right hand, and his steely eyes watched everyone in the room. When the Lieutenant ushered everyone over for one of his speeches, the grizzled veteran waved the others over to him and stood by Corporal Davis, placing his rifle on his shoulder. He had a feeling he knew what was going to be said. He hadn't spent the last few months under the man's command without learning a few things about him.

The man was crazy, no doubt about it. While most people chose to believe in God, or preferred to remain unattached to the fallacies of religion, Durant believed in something much more obscure. For some reason he'd come to worship Norse mythology, and when the man gave a speech, it always sounded like he was preaching. Stone had nothing against religion, and there wasn't anything inherently wrong with it, but he'd long ago stopped believing there was some deity watching over him.

The simple, and most obvious question he had, that many shared with him, was: if humanity was created in God's image, who created the Covenant? How did thy fit into the good Lord's master plan. There were, of course, many theories and explanations, all of which sounded like nonsense to Stone.

At the climax to the officer's speech, Thomas ordered his men to fall in behind the Lieutenant as he took the helm. Stone fell in line behind Wilkas, keeping his mind clear and focused. If the Covenant were on board, then the Marines of Second Platoon would be in for a hard fight.

The El-Tee led the squad through the corridor and into the chow hall. His men spread out, as to not bunch up, and followed their seemingly fearless leader as he headed for the door across from the one they'd entered through.

Something drew the officer's attention inward, deeper into the chow hall. Thomas followed where his eyes were and saw nothing at first. Until a light flickered for a moment in the back of the room. Standing under the light, was the outline of a figure easily seven and a half feet tall. The silhouette was all that was visible as the active camp unit tried to compensate for the sudden light, and in that moment all of the Sergeant's years of experience were culled.

"Contact right!" he bellowed, snapping his rifle onto the target. He announced the Covenant shrouded by their active camp and started firing.

The Elite's shields flared, killing the active camp module, forcing it to materialize into view. Stone bolted for a support column and used it as cover, just in time as a barrage of fire soared past his position. The rest of the squad spread out, seeking cover wherever available. Thomas leaned out from behind the pillar and let loose, firing into the horde of aliens with impunity. A Jackal in the back of the room fell to the barrage of screaming hot lead, having not had the time to deploy its personal shield device.

A resounding thud caught his attention, and Stone saw the burnt body of Davis's point man lying on his back, very much dead. The aging warrior murmured a litany of expletives, and decided that this firefight had to end quickly. "First Fire Team, move t' the right 'n align her fire t' the left! Try t' get an angle on these assholes!"

While Davis did as ordered, Stone ordered the other two teams to deploy along the center of the line and to the left, the latter firing right. He loosed another burst before an idea hit him, and he looked over to where Lieutenant Durant and Private Wilkas were located. Noticing the young Marine seemed too petrified to shoot back, he cursed.

Summoning up his courage, he booked it from behind the pillar and made his way over to them. When he was a few feet away, he combat slid into cover next to Wilkas. "Private?!" he shouted. No response.

"Wilkas!" he yelled, delivering a hard smack to the side of her helmet. That got her attention. "Stop fantasizing 'bout all the dick ya could be gettin' if ya were a civilian back home 'n git her head in the game!"

He chastised as he tore a grenade from his combat webbing. He showed it to her. "I'mma toss this to the right, right in the center of those assholes. When it goes off, I want ya t' open up 'n keep firin' 'til yer mag is dry. I'mma move up 'n try t' flank these fuckers. Ya don't do this, 'n I die. And I will haunt ya until the day you fucking die. Clear?!"

He didn't wait for a response. Thumbing the primer on the grenade, he stood up just enough to be able to aim his throw over the table and shouted, "FRAG OUT!" He tossed the grenade and watched it spin end over end until finally it crashed against the floor and bounced over into a group of the aliens, whom were too distracted to have noticed what had landed in their midst.

Three seconds later, it detonated in a brilliant blaze of orange and black. "COVERIN' FIRE!" Stone shouted over the gunfire, picking himself off the floor and breaking for cover several meters up ahead. With the butt of his rifle against his shoulder, he fired wildly into the mass of aliens.

Just as he reached the pillar he'd chosen to use as cover, the magazine ran dry. Stone ducked into cover, and with practiced precision swapped the spent may for a fresh one. He peered around the corner and noted there were still a little over a dozen enemies left. At least eighteen by his count, including five Elites.

This was going to be a tough fight.

[Wilkas, G.]

The shock of a hard, sudden smack against the side of her helmet seemed to knock Wilkas from her state of paralysed fear, her eyes opened to see Stone in front of her. She wanted to voice her object to the comment of his, but before she could think of replying he'd swept on, pulling a grenade and showing it too her. Again before she could think of a response the Sargent had moved on, throwing the grenade with a cry of "Frag out!" Grace knew that she had little choice now but to return to the fight, after all Stone was counting on her to cover his back and make sure that he didn't get killed... How she wished he had picked another marine instead of her. 

At the command "Covering fire" Grace forced emerged from behind the cover, appearing at the left end of the table rather than above it as before. She opened fire, her finger pressing down on the trigger, emptying the magazine. The rifle clacked empty and Wilkas ducked back around behind cover, narrowly avoiding a burst of plasma fire. Ejecting the spent magazine, she fumbled in her ammo pouch for a fresh one, finding one a few seconds later and ramming it home with a satisfying click. Grace was just about to lean back around to open fire when a blue green orb landed barely a few inches away from her and Durant. "Grenade!" She was dimly aware of someone shouting, herself surprisingly. 

Making a decision, she flung herself at Durant tackling him and hopefully either knocking them both out of the blast radius, or if not that at least shielding him from the blast. The grenade shined brighter before detonating in a bright ball of burning, searing energy. It shredded the table, warping its metal from the heat and turning parts of the table into deadly secondary fragments.

Grace rolled off the LT, she seemed to be fine yet tackling him had left them both exposed in the open. She glanced around for her rifle, unable to find the weapon having dropped it in her haste. She drew her side arm and opened fire with that instead, in a futile gesture of covering fire to try and keep the aliens pinned down. With her adrenaline pumping Grace did not feel the pain in her left leg from splinters of ragged metal and the burns from the plasma grenade. It could have easily have been the other way around, if Stone hadn't knocked her out of her terror, she would have more than likely not either noticed the grenade and been killed as a result of it... Or Durant would have been the one doing the tackling rather than her.

A plasma round struck her in the right shoulder, spinning her around and sending her sprawling face down onto the floor. At first it appeared that she was dead, the shock and impact of the wound causing no movement from her apart from the gentle shifting of her armour to show that she was still breathing and for all purposes still alive for the moment. For the Covenant at a distance, as long as Grace remained prone and as still as she was, she could pass herself off as dead.

[Davis, E.]

Davis didn't feel any better after LT's speech, but it meant that his sixth sense was still in place. All this time of wandering around on eggshells had been wearing, but nothing bothered him more than thinking that his gut was misaligned. The sound of his father's advice all those years ago had almost faded as he began to doubt his gut the longer things seemed normal. As normal as a deserted, battle filled ship was.

The sound of Sergeant Stone was enough to snap Davis out of the slight mental lull of memory. He reacted more out of instinct than thought, taking five hard steps before he dove head first towards what would pass as cover. Three green bolts of plasma flew over his head as he slid in behind a support strut. I reality, it was very soft cover, but it was better than none at all. He turned back to check his team just in time to see Porter get cut down. Rage welled up momentarily, but the situation was too volital to run off half cocked. He had two more men to get home safe.

Sergeant Stones call to flank right was all the more guidance he needed. Motioning to Avery to lay down cover fire, he popped out long enough to put a 301 round down range, letting some explosives buy them time. Between the frag and Avery's cover fire, Davis sprinted ahead, gaining some ground on the flanking objective.

"FURBY, COVER, AVERY, MOVE!" he bellowed, poking out from behind cover to empty rounds down range. A single green bolt of plasma shot past him, burning his shoulder with the heat, though not actually hitting him. He swore under his breath but didn't flinch, hammering away with more rounds and dropping a Jackal in the process.

"RELOADING," he called, dropping behind cover, as the sound of explosions, bullets, and plasma continued to rip through the Mess Hall. A smooth reload had Davis firing again in less than two seconds, sending angry bursts of lead toward the Covenant.

"FURBY, GET YOUR ASS UP HERE!"

[Furby, J.]

When Lieutenant Durant issued his speech to the platoon, Furby hardly listened to it. The only thing he really picked up that was worth his attention was the confirmation that the Covenant were on board. He nodded to himself, happy to finally know what the hell had happened aboard the ship. How the Covenant had found and boarded the ship was still a mystery, but those kinds of questions were far above his pay grade and he honestly didn't care to know the how's or the why's of the situation.

Durant led the Marines into the chow hall, apparently taking them on a short cut. However, fate proved the short and easy route was not exactly the safest one as the Southern drawl of Sergeant Stone echoed through the room, announcing there were Covenant to their right in the large room.

Furby reacted purely out of instinct, sprinting for cover and dropping to his stomach, his BR pressed against his shoulder as he sighted in on the first target through his ACOG optic. The beauty of the enemy's active camouflage system was it only worked if they moved slowly and didn't fire their weapons. Weapons discharges, or being hit by incoming fire, seemed to automatically deactivate the system.

Furby set his sights on an Elite down range barking orders to his fire team. Jayson's finger curled over the trigger piece and pressed down on it, the weapon bucking as it fired in semi-automatic. The bullets harmlessly bounced off its shield, but he knew it wouldn't last long under a sustained barrage. He kept firing until it failed, then watched with a cruel grin as its brains were vented out the back of its head and it sprawled to the ground.

Orders from Davis caught his attention, and he thumbed the fire selector to burst and opened up with suppressive fire. The aliens down range in his line of fire spread out and sought cover, and Furby spied Davis moving up out of the corner of his eye. In all the commotion he hadn't noticed that Porter had gotten it, and he briefly wondered why his fire team leader hadn't given him any orders.

When he glanced to his left, he saw the reason. He cursed under his breath and then swept the thought aside as his team leader barked at him to move up. Jayson jumped to his feet, praying to whatever deity that would hear him that his teammates suppressive fire would be enough to keep him from getting shot, and bolted for cover to the right.

He settled into cover behind a support beam and set his sights down on the enemy on the left. "SET!" he screamed, beginning to fire at the enemies up ahead.

[Durant, M.]

All hell had broken loose in the chow hall. The Covenant had fortified their position at the other end and maintained a steady stream of fire that threatened to cut down any of the Marines who stood out in the open for a moment too long. First Squad had somehow managed to spread itself out without receiving further casualties, and only now were they starting to beat back the spectral horde that confronted them.

Durant found himself on his back, having been rolled away from the table forcibly by Private Wilkas as a grenade landed nearby. She had just saved his life and now, having seemingly lost her rifle, was firing madly towards the enemy with her sidearm. They were both out in the open now, easy targets for the Special Operations Covenant troops ahead of them.

The Lieutenant rolled onto his stomach and snapped his rifle on target, unleashing a volley of red hot lead that tore through the air towards the aliens. A Grunt that had been attempting to advance was cut down by the spray, coating its Elite overseer in its phosphorescent neon blood. Michael loosed some more bursts meant to pin the enemy down long enough for him to find more suitable cover.

Unfortunately, there wasn't anything that he could find other than a support strut or a table. Jumping to his feet, he bolted over to Wilkas and grabbed her by the shoulder, picking her up and bringing her to her feet before gesturing towards another table directly to their left near the Marines of Second Fire Team.

He dashed over and flipped it on its side, ducking behind it as an overcharged pistol shot sizzled by. He felt Wilkas slide into cover next to him, and he momentarily glanced at her, giving her a curt nod as thanks for saving his life.

Durant peered over the table and noticed Third and First Fire Teams had begun to do a number on the enemy. Bodies lay strewn everywhere, and it seemed that there were only a few left. Maybe a dozen, or perhaps a few more that he couldn't see from his vantage point. Either way, their numbers were more manageable now.

However, it seemed the Covenant would give them no quarter. As the Lieutenant brought his weapon to bear upon the hostiles down range, a flash of movement demanded his attention. A Grunt charged towards their position at full tilt, a steady stream of fire meant to suppressive the Marines soaring above its head. In the grasp of both hands, which were outstretched to the sides, were glowing orbs of light.

"KAMIKAZE!" someone yelled, obviously noticing the charging Grunt.

Three other Grunts followed in its wake, each heading for a different group. The voice of Stone cut through the sound of battle like a throwing knife through the air. "TAKE OUT THOSE SUICIDE GRUNTS 'FORE WE'RE OVERRUN!" he exclaimed.

Michael licked his lips and took aim with his rifle on the Grunt he'd first spotted. It was charging directly for him and Wilkas, a wild look in its beady eyes. His index finger fell to the trigger, and he applied the slightest amount of pressure as his crosshairs fell on the spot between its eyes. Fire erupted from the muzzle as the weapon bucked in his hands, the bullet racing through the air so fast that the human eye could not track it.

A coin-sized hole suddenly appeared between its eyes, followed by another in the back of its skull. The bullet then pierced the methane tank on its back, igniting a spark that engulfed the stubby alien in bright flames. The tank detonated a split-second later, a pair of secondary explosions as the grenades cooked off following a nanosecond after that.

Similar scenes were occurring around him, though Durant's focus was directed elsewhere. The remaining Jackals and Elites charged forward in line, firing wildly at any place where they suspected a human to be hiding. They were attempting to overrun the Marines in a last ditch effort to end the fight.

They wished to engage in close combat.

We need to end this now, Durant thought. He keyed his push-to-talk and spoke into the boom mic loud enough to be heard over the chaos happening before them. Probably too loud for some people. "Target the Elites and do not let up until they go down! Do not let the enemy reach your positions!" he shouted, and acquired aim on one of the Elites that lead the charge behind a wall of cannon fodder.

He opened up on it while screaming, "Wilkas! Follow my tracers! Engage!"

The Covenant were covering a lot of ground quickly.

Things were about to get dicey.

[Wilkas, G.]

Wilkas grimaced as she was pulled up to her feet, her left leg burned painfully when she put weight on it. She followed his gesture to the table and dashed over there with him, Grace however moved slower than Durant had, slowed down by her injury. She narrowly avoided being hit by the over charged plasma bolt and slid into cover nearby, ejecting the magazine in her pistol and fumbling for a new one, her hands trembling visibly. Wilkas returned Durant's nod as she slapped home a fresh clip. Her right shoulder throbbed but there was no time to spare in the battle for her to pause and take stock of her injuries.

Not will the Covenant kept coming. Grace popped up with her magnum from behind cover, firing until the clip ran dry. Ducking back down she hastily reloaded and emerged once more cut down a Grunt with a well placed head shot. Hearing Durant's order she ceased fire for a fraction of a second, following the tracers before opening fire on the targets indicated. She wasn't sure really how much damage her pistol would do but such thoughts where not important, not while your platoon was about to be overrun.

The weapon clicked empty, Grace ejecting the spent clip hurriedly tried to reload. In her haste, with trembling hands she dropped the magazine and struggled to pick it back up before finally succeeding and finishing reloading at last. The Covenant where getting far to close for comfort now. Wilkas tried to resist the urge to give into panic, taking her time to select a target, one of the elites at the back of the rapidly approaching wave of alien death. Her finger squeezed the trigger and she opened fire.


If the Covenant managed to get much closer soon it would not be necessary for any of the marines to aim. If the Covenant got close the fire fight would rapidly become a blood bath. Grace did not want that to happen, so she kept on firing it did not matter if she killed or not, the fact that she was retaliating in some manner helped her wavering courage somewhat. However what did not help it was how the Covenant just seem to keep on coming regardless of how many that her fellow marines laid low. Seeing the aliens just keep coming made her want to run away, but she couldn't desert her friends and with her injured leg... She would not be running far or fast.  

[Davis, E.]

Davis didn't have time to take stock after his team gained the flank. Cover was poor, but they had the angle and the firepower to cut down the Covenant. He was spitting lead at them as fast as he could, saving grenades for when he saw Elite shields blink down. Avery and Furby both did their parts, with the three of them screaming back and forth to coordinate reloads and movement to better cover as it became available. Davis didn't know if the firefight had gone an hour or five seconds, at this point, he was just focusing on killing.

He had just rolled behind a new set of cover, cursing his scorched shoulder, when he heard Sergeant Stone's cry. He popped up, pulling the trigger on his rifle as soon as he was close to a target. The first burst missed the charging Grunt, but his second landed all three rounds. The first burst caught the knee, followed by two more up the ugly alien's chest. It fell to the floor, twitching twice, before it didn't move again. Davis spared it a cruel grin, spraying more supressive fire down on the enemy while Avery called for a reload.

A jackal turned the wrong way, giving Davis a clear shot. Its mistake was rewarded with a three round burst to the head, he followed it off with the rest of his clip and another grenade. The explosion cooked off an alien plasma grenade, catching several more of the bastards in the crossfire. Davis spared another cruel smile, glancing over quick to check on his team. Both of them were still standing, and both were still in position. He turned back, about to call for a reload when he heard the sound of pounding feet. An Elite was bearing down on him, eating up space between them with large strides of reckless abandon. Davis pulled the trigger on his rifle out of instinct, but new it was bone dry.

"Come on you ugly bastard, I've got yours right here!" Davis screamed, dropping his rifle. He felt the catch of the combat sling before his weapon hit the floor. Dropping his right foot back like a boxer, he pulled his K-Bar in a back grip, knowing it was a futile gesture, but he wouldn't go down without a fight. Not today, not ever. He spit once, preparing for his last fight.

Rounds came from his left, supposedly from Avery and Furby. The Elite stumbled under the onslaught of lead, even though the shield held. It turned and bellowed at the other members of First Team, bringing its plasma rifle to bear. The shield deteriorated, and rounds started to rip into the monster, leaving small groves and splatters of neon blood. The creature started firing back and Davis had one desperate bid to save his team.

"TAKE COVER," he bellowed, running towards the Elite. Getting a table for extra leverage, he leapt towards the commanding alien, his K-Bar cocked over his head. The bullets stopped in time, and the Elite was too busy looking for vengeance against the weapons fire to notice. With a wet skitch the K-Bar slid home in the Elite's head. The alien's knees gave way and it slid to the floor. Davis followed suit, using the dead alien for cover as he reloaded.

[Stone, T.]

Plasma exploded against the side of the support column, inches away from Stone's hardened features. He ducked down and sprayed a sustained burst around the corner blindly before retracting the weapon and checking the digital ammo counter. He had a little under half a magazine left, and if this firefight didn't let up soon, he'd be bumming ammunition from the others to stay in the fight. He briefly debated reloading, his train of thought suddenly interrupted by one of the Marines from Second Team exclaiming, "KAMIKAZE!"

Thomas peeked around the corner and spotted a line of Grunts running madly towards their position with primed grenades in their hands. "Aw shit!" he murmured, rounding the corner and depleting his magazine into the oncoming wave of suicide troops. Ducking back into cover as plasma rounds threatened to barbecue him, Stone thumbed the release and inserted a fresh magazine into the receiver. Locking the bolt forward, he leaned out from cover and opened fire.

It was at about that point he noticed the giant split-jawed freak charging headlong towards Corporal Davis. The Sergeant tried to lay down some fire in hopes of deterring the behemoth or taking it down, but no dice.

What Davis did next caused a great deal of pride to well up in Stone. The Marine unsheathed his combat knife and, in a blur of motion, took down the alien with a fatal stab to the dome. Having taken notice of him, the Covenant unleashed a volley of plasma towards the Corporal, who jumped behind the body and used it as cover.

Stone knew that that wouldn't last long. Ripping another grenade from his bandolier, he mashed his thumb down on the primer and flung it at the enemy. This time they were more prepared, scattering apart even before the grenade had hit the ground. Whether it killed anyone or not was not Stone's concern, as all he was looking for is a lull in the fire.

He had his opening now, and he took it. Thomas charged over to Davis's position and grabbed hold of his collar, dragging him into cover. He looked down at the Marine with a grin. "Son, yer momma would be really pissed off if she saw ya pull a stunt like that," he said. "Good job."

[Furby, J.]

Jayson Furby snapped his sights on one of the Elites in the back of the room. He aimed directly at its mouth and let loose, his rifle bucking as it spat burst after burst at the alien behemoth. Its shield held the torrent of lead at bay for a couple of seconds before dissipating. The nine-point-five millimeter rounds tore through its skull and blew off one of its mandibles in a gory display.

A smirk pursed his lips at the fresh corpse. He was about to move on to another target when a swarm of Grunts launched a suicide rush towards the Marines, plasma grenades cupped in their hands. Jayson cursed and fired wildly towards the incoming horde of suicidal aliens, managing to drop a few, the resulting explosions cleaning up the mess left by his barrage.

The sound of Corporal Davis's voice drew his attention for a brief moment. He craned his head in the NCO's direction and watched as he took an Elite charging at him head on. Davis leapt through the air and planted his combat knife in its dome. Furby blinked his eyes twice, trying to decide whether or not he hadn't just been imagining what he had just seen transpire.

He hadn't.

"Holy shit, Corporal," he exclaimed in surprise. "That was bad-fuckin'-ass!"

A stray bolt of plasma landed a few inches away from where he was, snapping him back to reality. He brought his rifle to bear on the Covenant bastard that had been aiming for him and pumped three large, circular holes in its chest. In the back of his mind, as he continued to engage the enemy, he hoped that this engagement would end sooner rather than later.

[Durant, M.]

The suicide charge by the Grunts had been the last trick up the Covenant's sleeve; a desperate attempt to gain the upper hand over the Marines. The stubby aliens had charged across the chow hall with plasma grenades lit in their hands, and hadn't made it more than halfway across when the Marines cut them down almost all at once. The unfortunate truth for the Elites in charge was that more than half of their teams had been lost in the charge.

Now, there was only a small handful left to be dealt with. Lieutenant Durant noticed this and grinned. Throughout the course of their firefight with the alien attackers, the Marines had only suffered a single casualty (not counting Wilkas). The death had motivated his men to put the Covenant down for good.

Michael settled on the senior most Elite and filled his chest full of red hot lead. He went on to kill most of the remaining Covenant, his men taking down the stragglers he missed. The chow hall fell into eerie silence as the storm that had come had fallen passed. Dents and dings from bullet impacts pockmarked the walls in the back of the chow hall.

Likewise, behind the Marines the walls were covered in scorch marks from the plasma fire that the Covenant had thrown at them. The center of the chow hall was littered with alien corpses, multi-colored phosphorescent blood oozing from them into large pools of liquid.

Durant stepped out from cover and surveyed the devastation with a cruel smile. He turned his eyes away from it to inspect his Marines, noting the general aura of relief that emanated from them that the fight had reached its climax. His steely blue eyes rested upon Sergeant Stone for a moment, who looked back at him and nodded curtly.

"Let's move out," Durant ordered. "I'm sure Second and Third are waiting on us."

Michael turned and led the way out of the chow hall, turning left upon entering the corridor beyond the threshold of the door. A door parted ways in front of him, revealing the ladderwell that they had used earlier to reach this deck. He walked to the edge of the landing and leaned over the precipice, checking to ensure the floor below them was clear.

"Davis, you'll be on point with your team when we get down to C-Deck."

((OOC: Make your final round of posts and then I'll make a post on C-Deck where we've arrived and we join the other squads down in the hangar. Once everyone has posted here, I'll lock this thread and move it into the records.))

[Wilkas, G.]

The sudden end to the fire fight caught Wilkas off guard and she scanned the room expecting more Covenant to emerge at any moment. When there appeared to be none forth coming she holstered her side arm and slumped down behind the cover provided by the table. The pain of her wounds began to emerge, the dull burning ache in her right shoulder and the liquid agony that shot up from her left leg. The wound on her leg didn't appear to be that bad yet with the fabric darkened by blood and the slivers of sharp metal fragments sticking out of it, made the wound look rather gruesome to Wilkas. 

Her hands still shook frightfully, whether from adrenaline or relief that she had somehow survived the fight it was impossible for her to tell. Grace was still alive and that happened to be a good thing in her opinion, especially when she had believed that she wouldn't. Still one fight down, many more to go. At the order to move out, Wilkas would have preferred to stay stationary, here was safe, here was secure anywhere else on this ship wasn't. Yet her comrades where waiting for them, she couldn't disappoint them by staying put with dozens of alien dead. 

With a heavy sigh she braced her left arm on the table and hauled herself up, it was time to go. With Wilkas wounded the squad wouldn't be doing too much running any time soon. Well not that Wilkas could run with them at the present unless on of the marines scooped her up and carried her, a fact she did not wish to happen any time soon. She could walk, well that was a lie she couldn't walk easily. One of the marines ran over to her, Grace was deeply ashamed to not recognise him nor his name as his offered a shoulder for her to lean on. It would make the walk a little easier. 

Wrapping her left arm around the other marine, the pair began to move. Grace may have gritted her teeth against the pain but she refused to cry out about it no matter how much it may have hurt. "Thanks" She whispered to the unknown marine making a mental note to try and find out who he was at a later date, generally when she wouldn't find asking the question rude. 

((OCC: If anyone wants to have their character as the marine Wilkas failed to recognise feel free to put it in your post))

[Furby, J.]

Adrenaline still coursed through Jayson's body as the firefight came to an end. He looked about the chow hall at the bodies of their now vanquished foes, a sick and twisted grin upon his face. Several of the bodies had been his handiwork, which he was proud to claim responsibility if anyone were to ask about it.

Getting to his feet, he heard the lieutenant's order to rally up with the rest of the platoon. Furby was just about to fall in on Corporal Davis when his eyes fell upon Private Wilkas, who looked particularly disheveled from the combat she had just experienced. When she started to walk, he noticed the limp in her gait, and saw the wound to her shoulder. Something welled up inside of him, where it came from he didn't know.

Jayson hurriedly walker over to the young woman and offered his shoulder for support. She accepted the offer, wrapping her arm around his shoulder and used him as a crutch. "Thanks," she said to him.

He smiled warmly at her. "Hey, no problem," he replied. "I'm Jay... er... Furby. PFC Furby."

He looked away from her and focused his attention in front of him, following the others out of the mess hall. Outside was a corridor that stretched in either direction for several meters. Lieutenant Durant headed left, and so Furby followed him. Stepping through another door, Furby found himself in the ladderwell room from earlier. He shifted his weight to provide Wilkas some more support, and then set for the stairs.

[Stone, T.]

When the firefight came to an end, Stone stepped out from cover and did a quick sweep with his rifle of the makeshift battlefield ahead of them, eying for any signs of further movement. He concluded there were none after a few seconds and nodded his head approvingly, then looked towards his men.

Most of the Marines were either quietly admiring their handiwork, congratulating themselves on a job well done, or cracking jokes to relieve the tension that they all had felt during the fight. The slightest hint of a smirk wrinkled the sides of his lips. The look was quickly replaced by his normal expression of stoicism. The lieutenant barked orders out, and it was Thomas's job to make sure they were executed to the letter.

He never disappointed.

"Alright, shitheads," Stone bellowed, attracting the attention of the Marines. "Quit lollygaggin' about 'n git yer heads in it. Davis, yer team's ta travel behind the El-Tee 'til we git ta C-Deck, then yer takin' the helm. Keep yer eyes peeled 'n don't git cocky. Let's move out!"

With that, the grizzled Sergeant took to following Durant out of the chow hall and down the corridor that led to the ladderwell. He kept his rifle pointed upward, at the ready in case another alien freakbag decided to pop out and say its greetings. When the squad passed through the door onto the landing, Stone gestured for his men to spread out and secure the area.

There were four doors into the junction, and only one they had come out of. That left three doors that the enemy could rush through in an attempt to ambush them. He wasn't about to take any chances of the Covenant catching them with their pants down, especially when the aliens they were fighting weren't regular Covenant military. Spec Ops troops were deadly in close quarters engagements.

When the area was determined to be clear and the bulkhead doors secure, Stone started on his way down the ladder after the lieutenant. He hoped Second and Third Squad were fairing better than they had so far.