[C-Deck] The Escape

[Davis, E.]

Davis and his fire team were actually the deepest into the hanger before Dunn started his reckless charge towards the departing dropships. From their position, First team was in a shooting gallery as the Covenant turned their attention to the charging private who had seemed to loose his mind. Davis actually noticed the yellow dot in his HUD's mini-map before he actually saw Dunn. The commands from the higher ranking NCO's also get his attention, and Davis was quick to relay the order.

"CUT HIM A PATH!" he screamed, letting out a whoop, his grin starting to stretch wide as the Covenant turned away from him, giving him free access to whatever target he wanted. "CUT 'EM ALL DOWN!"

As fast as he could empty a magazine, he had another one in, giving no care for ammunition at this point, only targets and making sure Dunn didn't get shredded on his flight across the hanger. Rounds pounded out staccato notes from his rifle, matched and harmonizing with Furby and Avery. It was over faster than Davis was ready, watching the bright flash in space and the tumbling dropship. It was another life lost, but, for whatever reason, it didn't feel wasted to Davis. To take down a dropship in space was something unheard of to a Marine, and Davis could only nod his approval to the floating body out in space.

With the left over covenant that they were cleaning up, Davis took a moment to scoop up the empty magazines that sat around his feet, tucking them away to reload back aboard the Vengeance. It was the call from the LT that brought him back to the moment. He couldn't see what was happening, but the tone in the LT's voice screamed fear and danger. Seeing the man turn tail and run, Davis shoved Furby towards the door, skipping any verbal command. He reached back and drug Avery three steps closer to the door while he started his own flight. What few steps he may have lost, he more than made up for by half pushing, half throwing Avery in front of him. They were the furthest fire team from the door, and while Davis was among the biggest marines in Second Platoon, he didn't move like it. He didn't dare look back, simply setting his sights on the door and running as fast as he could.

Just in front of him Avery stumbled, fighting hard to not face plant on his run across the hanger. Davis reached out and hauled the Private back to his feet, forcing the Marine to keep pushing forward. Every muscle in his arm screamed as he reefed the falling man back to his feet, but he only grimaced as they both righted, continuing for the hanger door.

[Bukar, O.]

Gunnery Sergeant Bukar was a Marine with many years of faithful service under his belt. Over the last decade he had seen more combat engagements with the Covenant than he had cared to keep count of. In that considerably long span of time he had seen some crazy things that men and women did when subjected to the stress and pressure of heavy combat. The war, like any of the wars that had occurred throughout history, did things to people. He had seen too many good men and women break under the pressure and do things that they wouldn't normally do if they still possessed all their faculties.

This was one of those circumstances. Omar had just put down another pair of shield-wielding Jackals when one of the Marines seemingly went apeshit. The young man charged blindly through the Covenant lines with a grenade held firmly in his grasp. At first the Marine's intended target had been unclear, but as he charged past dug-in Covenant troops, realization slapped the veteran Helljumper across the face harder than a ton of bricks innocuously concealed in a women's purse.

Omar knew the chances of the Marine succeeding in his venture were astronomically low, but that did not concern him at the moment. What did concern him was the fact that the enemy seemed to direct all of their attention towards this single Marine in a desperate attempt to put a stop to his endeavor. Bukar opened a private COMM channel with Brutus and bellowed, "Cover that Marine!"

And cover him they did. Bukar zeroed on a trio of Grunts firing wildly towards the Marine with their plasma pistols and opened fire. He watched from behind the weapon as the tracers zipped through the air and pierced through the first Grunt's chestplate. The stubby alien spun around from the impact, blood and bone exploding out its chest. Bukar pumped the other two Grunts with .390 rounds and began to search for another target.

Only there weren't anymore. The Marines had hastily capitalized upon the advantage the lone, crazed Marine had given them and wiped out the remaining Covenant threat. Omar lowered his weapon and turned towards the massive open hangar doors just in time to watch the Marine float towards one of the Spirit drop-ships that had fled before the primed grenade in his hand detonated and the brief spark of fire engulfed him. To his genuine surprise, the crazy bastard had succeeded in his efforts, as when the explosion dissipated Bukar's eyes fell on the drop-ship, its running lights flickering off as debris from the craft's cockpit floated about. Damn, he thought. That man would've made a fine Helljumper.

His attention did not stay on the disabled drop-ship for very long. A flicker of static off in the distance summoned his gaze, and it took all the discipline he had to keep his jaw from slamming to the floor. The stary void shimmered and then the sleek purple-and-white skin of a Covenant Corvette materialized into existence, its bulbous prow parallel with the Vengeance. How he had not known that there was a Covenant ship outside the whole time the Covenant had been aboard boggled him, but it wasn't something he could think about at the moment. All across the ship's hull, its turrets sparked to life and started to charge up. Dull pinkish-crimson orbs of light morphed into bright sapphire balls of energy as the seconds ticked by.

Before the Gunnery Sergeant could say anything, Lieutenant Durant took the words right out of his mouth. In the Templar's current state, those plasma batteries would cut through its hull like butter and tear it to shreds. They needed to bug out most ricky tick or they would the Templar would become their unmarked grave.

"Follow them!" Bukar shouted to Brutus over the external speakers as he pointed towards the Marines.

"Roger!" Brutus replied, and booked it towards the exit the Marines were taking.

As he and Brutus made their way out of the hangar, the Gunny opened up a channel to Lieutenant Durant. "Omen Two, you're gonna wanna tell your evac birds to be sittin' pretty in that hangar when we get there or we might not make it outta here!"

[Stone, T.]

Sometimes Stone wondered if life would ever cut him a break. After fifteen years of fighting the Covenant uglies, he would have hoped for at least some miracle to happen. Maybe the Covenant would get sick of some disease and die, or humanity would somehow convince them that killing them was actually a bad idea and that they should all return to whatever shithole planet it was they all came from and fuck off. But, it seemed that he, nor the rest of humanity, was that lucky.

Instead, men and women had to fight and die because these alien shitheads found them to be some kind of affront to their gods. What kind of shit was that? So many good Marines had perished by the Covenant's hands, and many more had been permanently scarred by their encounters with them.

And it seemed that Private Dunn, one of Mason's men, had completely lost his damn mind after watching the only two members of his fire team die in front of him. Hell, one of them had even apparently sacrificed his own life to save the poor bastard. Stone watched with some measure of disbelief as the young Marine booked it across what he had deemed the "No Man's Land" of the hangar in an attempt to take out one of the retreating drop-ships.

Thomas would have opened fire on all of the enemy troops that had turned to put a stop to his suicidal crusade, but it seemed that everyone else had had the same idea and were taking care of the problem well enough on their own. Which, was perfectly fine by him, because it meant he could conserve what little ammo he had left in case the Covenant somehow had more surprises up their sleeve.

"Keep up the fire, he's almost in the clear!" the Sergeant screamed over the staccato of gunfire to his men. Sure enough, Private Dunn leapt from out of the hangar and soared through the vacuum towards one of the escaping drop-ships. The detonation of the grenade in the private's hand momentarily obscured his vision, and so he did not know until a couple seconds later that the crazy bastard had succeeded in his last mission. The sight of the floating hunk of space debris that had once been a Covenant drop-ship spurned a wicked smile to crease the Sergeant's aging features.

That smile, however, was quickly erased a second later. The three hundred meter long hull of a Covenant Stealth Corvette popped out of thin air, and its plasma batteries started to charge up in preparation to open fire upon the Templar. He had seen what a single Covenant ship was capable of in a ship-to-ship engagement before, and those occurrences had been with ships in far better shape than the one they were presently aboard. The Templar didn't have a chance in hell of surviving multiple direct hits from a Corvette's weapons.

So when the Lieutenant ordered everyone to fall back, Stone was more than happy to oblige. He turned on his heel and bolted for the door, stopping just short of it to ensure all of his Marines had vacated the hangar before he would leave. Second and third teams hauled ass past him, Corporal Faust being helped along by the platoon's corpsman. First team, however, was lagging behind.

"Unless ya wanna be on this hunk of shit when it gits torn a new asshole, I'd urge ya ta get a fuckin' move on!" he exclaimed, hoping to put a little bit of pep in their step.

[Furby, J.]

As far as Furby was concerned, things had been going fairly smoothly when Private Dunn had lost his shit and embarked on his fool's gambit to go out with a bang. He'd already snagged quite a few kills, and had been really making some headway when the Covenant focused their attention on the rogue Marine.

"What the shit?!" he exclaimed in momentary disbelief. The shock quickly wore off, and Furby went back to doing what he was best at. He opened up on the nearest targets that had mistakenly turned their backs to him, and reduced them to bloody corpses in a manner of seconds. Beside him, Avery and Corporal Davis let loose with their own barrage that cut down the majority of the Covenant still left. Jayson lowered his rifle as he realized there weren't any enemies left to shoot at. "Well, that was fun," he said with a grin. "Hey, Corporal, think I could snag a plasma rifle and take it back as a trophy?"

Before the NCO could answer him, things went south so fast it took Furby's brain a few seconds to catch up to what was happening. He glanced over in the direction of the hangar doors and spotted what had caused everyone to nearly shit themselves. "Oh shit!" he said, and then felt the fat hands of Corporal Davis's shove him in the direction of the exit. Jay didn't need anymore motivation than the threat of his life to get him moving, and move he did.

He saw Sergeant Stone standing at the door ushering them to get a move on. "You don't gotta tell me twice," he shouted back at the grizzled veteran, and rushed through the door into the hallway beyond. While he hoped they could make it off the ship in time, there was this terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that they weren't going to make it.

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace had still been struggling with the radio pack in a desperate but in-vain attempt to fix the damaged radio. The equipment was far more valuable than she was and it had absorbed all of her attention, the gunfire, the whine of plasma weapons and the yells of both sides blending into the background noise as she focused her mind. Wilkas felt a hand lift her up off of her feet, yelling at her to run. She bundled up her equipment, sheathing her knife and sprinting as fast as she could. A marine ran past her and slung an arm around her waist, helping her to run faster and keep pace with the rest of the platoon. 

She did not know what they where all fleeing from but Wilkas intended to keep up with the others as best as she could. Grace prayed that Durant would not need her radio any time soon since it was currently out of commission. A fault which she believed to be largely her own. She moved as fast as she could with her injured leg but Grace was lagging behind despite her best efforts to keep up with her fellow marines, even with the help of one of them. 

Judging from the reactions of the fellow marines, whatever they where all fleeing from, it had to be terrible. She prayed even though she did not believe in religion that they would all make it off of this ship alive and in one piece. Grace continued to lag behind, she and her marine escort soon finding themselves at the back of the retreating platoon. A position Grace did not want to be in, she would have been able to run faster if she did not insist on holding onto every part of her radio. Even though at the moment it was little better than scrap since it did not function. 

She refused to shed her radio pack, that piece of equipment was far more valuable to the platoon than she happened to be in her eyes. Without her radio, the platoon would find itself unable to contact command. She held onto the radio out of sheer stubbornness, there was no way that she would let go of it. No way could she let go of it. Without her equipment what use was she to the LT and the rest of the platoon?

[Davis, E.]

Davis was at full tilt, putting his weight into Avery to keep the boy's legs pumping. They crossed the hanger in record time. Knowing both of his boys were in the clear, Davis took on last look over the hanger. Everyone was out and he followed the herd down the hall, his thoughts turning for a moment to Porter who was still lying in his blood in the former mess hall. It was a pity the boy would never receive his proper rites in burial, but it couldn't be helped. They all might need rites if things turned any further south.

Catching up with the Medic, who was wrestling with the limp, dead weight of Faust, Davis reached over and scooped her out of the Medic's arms. The Corpsman shot him a dirty look, but picked up his step. It didn't stop him from still giving Davis commands as they moved.

"You be careful, Corporal," the Doc said. "If you bunch her up too much you could tear the wound back open."

"If she doesn't get off the boat, she'll be dead anyway," Davis said, starting to breath hard under the added weight, his feet still pounding as his legs ate up the distance to the other hanger. "Just shut up and keep running. You can save her again later."

Davis was in the rear, something between a raging bull and a mother hen. His face kept turning a brighter shade of red from the exertion, but he still kept shouting and urging the other Marines forward. In the back of his mind, he kept waiting for the first impacts of plasma to rip through the unshielded ship. Taking another quick breath, trying to suck in oxygen, he glanced at the mini-map in his HUD, trying to determine how much further they had till they were free.

"KEEP RUNNING," he bellowed, seeing Avery glance back. "IF I CATCH YOU I SWEAR TO WHATEVER GOD EXISTS OUT HERE YOU WILL WISH YOU DIED ON THIS SHIP!"

[Durant, M.]

The short run back to the first hangar had been stressful, because every second that ticked by Durant expected to be thrown off his feet from the force of a plasma bombardment, or dead from a direct hit that cut through the hull. Luckily, neither such event had occurred yet, and he found himself tumbling through the doorway into Hangar C-1. His platoon started to file into the large, war-torn space after him, and immediately the Lieutenant turned to Private Wilkas as she burst into the hangar.

"Private, get on the horn --" he stopped midsentence as his eyes fell upon the damaged radio pack in her grasp. He knew instantly that it must have been damaged when that Spirit had opened fire on his position, the thought reminding him of the splinters embedded in the back of his neck. Without the radio there would be no way for him to contact the two remaining Pelicans and let them know where they were to pick them up.

Before he could think of anything, or bark any orders to his platoon, Durant nearly lost his balance and had to press himself against the wall as the entire ship lurched from what he already knew to be a plasma bombardment. He could hear the explosive decompression of the decks below them as atmosphere was vented through fresh breaches in the hull. He also knew the Templar wouldn't last long if the Covenant continued to fire on it.

Suddenly, an idea struck him as his eyes fell upon the wrecked remains of Third Squad's Pelican. Every UNSC transport was equipped with an emergency radio pack in case the craft were to be shot down and its communications equipment fried. If he remembered correctly, it would be located in a small locker in the troop bay.

"Wilkas, on me!" he bellowed, already on his way towards the Pelican. "The rest of you, prepare for immediate evac! It's gonna get crowded on those birds!"

Durant stormed into the back of the Pelican without checking to make sure Wilkas was with him. His eyes danced over the blood tray's interior until he found what might have been what he was looking for. He marched over to the small metal box mounted to the wall beside the bent cockpit doors and tore off the cover. Bingo, Michael thought triumphantly.

Michael grabbed the small radio pack and hefted it out of the container, placing it on the floor between him and Private Wilkas. "Private, switch the radio over to the UNSC E-band and give me the handset. We're getting off this ship."

[Wilkas, G.]

Wilkas slid to a halt in the hanger, gasping for breath. She heard Durant and saw that he stopped mid-sentence. She felt herself swallow her throat suddenly feeling really dry. Grace believed that Durant intended to chew her out there and then for the fact that her radio wasn't operational at the moment in time.

That might mean she would get them all killed because she failed to protect her equipment from the enemy.

The ship lurched suddenly catching Grace off guard and she tumbled to the floor, dropping the damaged radio with a clatter. She yelped in pain as she fell awkwardly onto her injured leg. Shaking her head she forced herself to get back onto her feet, just in time for Durant to bellow her an order. She rushed after him, ignoring the burning, fiery pain in her leg as she ran.

She clambered into the Pelican just in time for Durant to hand her a radio pack. She knelt down next to and followed his order. Quickly she witched it over to UNSC E-band and handed him the headset. Her hands where shaking uncontrollably from adrenaline and fear. She focused on the task at hand, ignoring the slaughterhouse that was the inside of the Pelican. Wilkas did not want to look upon her fallen comrades out of fear if she did, her stomach would force her to throw up again.

She held onto the small radio pack tightly, a force of habit really. Grace was so used to looking after them even if today she did not exactly excel at being the UNSC's finest radio operator, that when given when she automatically cared for it as if it was her own.

If it wasn't for the fact that Durant was now holding onto the handset, she may have tried to sling it onto her back, since her own radio lay discarded on the hanger floor where she had dropped it.

[Mason, I.]

“Dunn, you bad ass mother fucker,” Corporal Rio muttered in astonishment.

Mason gazed at the wreckage for a moment. He was certainly going to remember this act of bravery - or insanity.

The hangar was covered with Covenant corpses and two out of three dropships were obliterated. With only a handful of Marine casualties, it was quite apparent that the enemy had underestimated the competition.

Mason wasn't really looking at anything in particular - his eyes had wandered away from the floating debris and were scanning the emptiness aimlessly. His mind seemed to have left his body and he was deep in thought. Visions of Kholo flashed through his mind. He was on board the little vessel with his deceased son laying at his feet. He was looking out at the planets surface growing further away. A covenant vessel blasted a large beam into the surface - etching a permanent symbol. Faith.

He was slightly confused, these memories were not intentionally brought to the front of his mind.


Mason looked down to his feet, where his son was sprawled out. His son was no longer there. “Are you going to join us this soon?” Mason knew the voice instantly. He slowly turned around - his eyes widened slightly upon seeing the pair. His father and his son were standing shoulder to shoulder in their respective Marine dress uniforms. His father’s uniform was heavily decorated with various accolades. His son’s was still fairly blank. His father looked much younger than he was at the time of his death. His son still had the smooth looks of a young man. Both of them shared the same piercing blue eyes, same towering height, and same sturdy frame that ran in the blood.

“Why am I hallucinating?” Isaiah asked.

“Perhaps your hallucination has a purpose, father.” Joseph replied.

“Then I fail to see the purpose.”

“Son, you have a choice to make,” Marvin spoke. His voice was much more gruff than his grandson’s.

“Which is?”

“You either lay down the burden you so desperately try to repress or you overcome it.”

“How?”

“Recover your humanity, and live with the grief,” Joseph spoke.

“Or?”

“The ship.”

“The ship?” Mason asked. Another voice echoed in his mind, “the ship!” Mason looked back towards the ship hovering over Kholo. It appeared to be much closer than before. His surroundings faded - leaving him staring at the mammoth vessel. “The ship!” Rio yelled again, “we have to get off the ship!” Mason turned to see the hangar empty of everyone except him and Rio, “Go!” Mason ordered, “I’ll be right behind you.” Rio hesitated before running out of the hangar. Mason turned back to the ship - there wasn't much time left. “Am I joining them?” he muttered to himself. He reached up and found that his eyes were damp.

Reluctantly, he turned around and sprinted after the rest.

He caught up to Rio and the tail end of first squad just as they were approaching their pelicans. “Let’s get off of this high tech piece of shit,” Mason shouted at his squad as he climbed into their pelican.

[Durant, M.]

Michael accepted the handset and placed it over his ear, clicking in the transmit button. Part of him was doubtful that he would be able to get a transmission through to anyone, what with the problems his platoon had been suffering with communications beyond a short distance. He prayed to the gods that the Pelican's were still holding position relatively close by, and that the signal would reach them. Because if not, everyone in Second Platoon would die.

"Mayday, mayday," Durant began, the transmit button pushed in, "This is Omen Two Actual broadcasting on UNSC E-Band. We need immediate evac! I say again, we need extract now!"

The Lieutenant released the transmit button and held the handset with a white-knuckle grip. The lives of his platoon were no longer rested squarely upon his shoulders, but upon the shoulders of the pilots. He waited with baited breath for some type of response - any kind of sign that told him that they had received his transmission and were on the way - and at the same time made his amends to the gods. Durant wasn't accustomed to the emotions he was feeling. For once, he was actual afraid of dying. Afraid that his life would be over.

Perhaps it was because he had no choice in the matter. If he were to taken by the Ferryman, he wanted it to be on his own terms; in the midst of a fight. At the moment he was not in the midst of battle, as the Covenant had proved too cowardly to fight his Marines in a straight up fight. There was no honor in being blown to literal bits by a Covenant ship. The enemy were trying to rob him of an honorable end to his life, and a chance at transcendence. He could, and would not, accept that fate as his own.

Maybe Private Dunn had had the right idea...

"This is Echo Three-Five-Three, on approach for emergency pick-up," came a somewhat static-filled reply through the handset. Those words were music to Michael's ears, and he couldn't help the massive grin that suddenly graced his usually rock solid features. He dropped the handset and waved at Wilkas to follow him back out into the hangar proper. The rest of Second Platoon had gathered around near the landing pads, their expressions a mixture of calm indifference and unadulterated fear. Durant marched over to them, the smile still plastered across his face.

"Marines, the Pelicans are on their way." No sooner had those words left his lips did the roar of a pair of aircraft's engines echo through the hangar. Durant looked over his shoulder and spotted the two Pelicans leveling out in midair before making their descent onto the landing pads below. The wheels touched down on the metal pads and the engines revved down but remained on, the rear hatches opening to admit the Marines. "Let's go! Get on board those Pelicans, Marines!"

Durant took the helm and stormed up the steps onto the pad, headed for the nearest Pelican. He stopped at the back of the bird and stepped aside to allow his Marines to dash up the gangplank into the drop-ship. Sergeant Stone ushered his men onto Echo-353, and they plopped down into the crash seats and strapped in. Sergeant Mason and his men had split off to board the other bird. Sergeant Willowbay and what was left of his squad divided themselves up and boarded the pair of drop-ships. This left very little room on the interior for the craft's occupants, but given the circumstances no was about to complain.

Durant was just about to climb aboard Echo-353 when he spotted the platoon's corpsman carrying Corporal Faust up the steps. In everyone's rush to climb aboard the birds, no one had thought to help the corpsman with loading the injured corporal onto the bird. Durant started towards the sailor. Suddenly, the entire ship shook violently, the Covenant Corvette having fired another volley at the Templar. There was a terrible grinding noise before the sound of something metal tearing loose from whatever was holding it sounded. The corpsman's eyes shot to the ceiling and his eyes widened. He used all the strength he could muster to toss the unconscious Corporal away from him before he was crushed by a thick metal support rafter that had dislodged from the hangar's ceiling.

Michael stopped dead in tracks, shocked at what he had just seen. He stood there staring at the spot that had been occupied by the corpsman just mere seconds ago, unable to move. It wasn't until his radio crackled to life with the frantic screams of the pilot telling him they needed to bug out now that he was brought back from his stupor. The Lieutenant rushed over to Faust's unconscious form and scooped her up, cradling her in his hands as he turned on his heel and rushed towards the Pelican. He stomped up the gangplank and set the young Marine down as gently as he could manage, then marched over to the cockpit door and banged on it three times. "All aboard! Go, go, go!"

The gangplank retracted and the rear hatch sealed shut as the Pelican ascended into the air. It shot forward and out of the hangar, jetting away from the Templar at maximum speed. Durant grabbed onto the overhead cargo netting for dear life, hoping that they could get away in time. Several tense minutes passed by in utter silence.

Suddenly, the ship's intercom crackled to life. "We're clear! On return vector to the Vengeance."

Everyone relaxed, and Durant heaved a heavy sigh. They had escaped an almost certain death by the skin of their teeth.

((OOC: Everyone can post now, wrapping things up for this thread. I'll have a new thread up on the Vengeance soon for everyone. Welcome to the intermission! Let's see some character interaction, folks.))

[Stone, T.]

What're ya waitin' fer? A written invitation?! Git aboard that bird!"

Stone stood by the open hatch as his men climbed aboard the Pelican. He waited until the last man boarded before he clambered into the blood tray and found the last available seat. Plopping down into it, he placed his rife between his legs -- muzzle up -- and strapped in.

A handful of Sergeant Willowby's Marines filed into the transport, making it crowded. They stood in the center aisle, tightly packed, and seized hold of the cargo netting above their heads. "Hope y'all ain't got problems with tight spaces, he shouted over the roar of the engines. Lieutenant Durant and Private Wilkas were the last to climb aboard.

The Major 'n Gunny must be hitchin' a ride with Second, he mused as the rear hatch sealed shut and the Pelican ascended into the air. The sudden weightless of zero gravity overcame him, and the shift caused his stomach to churn. He hated working in space.

The pilot soon announced that the Pelicans had escaped the estimated blast radius of the Templar. Stone relaxed. His eyes shifted to the occupants of the troop bay, specifically his Marines, and he smiled. "Not too shabby, First Squad. Outstandin' job."

Stone turned his head and looked at Corporal Davis. "That goes fer you too, son. Ya can pat yerself on the back," he offered him a smile that he knew the man couldn't see behind his breather mask. Though, as he spoke again, his voice took on a more somber tone. "I'm sorry 'bout Porter. How ya takin' it?"

[Davis, E.]

The Corpsman had demanded Faust back when they reached the hanger, and rather than get into a pissing match with the Navy medic. He turned to his team while they waited for the LT to get them a ride. As the shudders of death passed through the ship, Davis got Avery and Furby's attention. He was going to keep them alive as long as he could, even if it was a futile gesture.

"Seal up those suits," he said, prepping his own for the possibility of losing atmo. "Even if this thing becomes nothing but debris, we might have a chance of being found by the Vengeance. When the LT gets us a bird, you're still going to want to be safe till we clear the blast radius."

Leaving them, he turned back to Sergeant Stone, looking for any further instructions. It was a futile gesture as the Pelicans roared into the hanger. Pushing his team up the ramp after the LT, he made sure they were all loaded up, standing across from Sergeant Stone, stepping in to take the last seat across from his Squad Leader. Strapping in, he finally relaxed, knowing he had done everything he could on this run. He closed his eyes, resting his head back while they left the artificial gravity of the Templar for space. Sergeant Stone's voice brought him back to reality.

"I did everything I could do Sergeant," Davis said, though his voice didn't sound as confident as his words. "The boy deserved better than to be cut down by sneaking running cowards. Hope space is a good enough resting place for him. He was a good Marine."

Davis laid his head back again, no longer paying attention to anything. His body was tired, his mind exhausted, and when they got back aboard the ship, he had more to do to make sure his team was taken care of and geared down properly. For the next twenty minutes though, he was on his own, with someone else to worry about the rest of his responsibilities.

[Stone, T.]

Stone shifted uneasily in his seat at Davis's words. A frown creased his face as a sigh escaped his lips. He had heard those same hollow words said to him before over the years, and he knew exactly what must have been running through the young corporal's mind. It was by no means an easy feat to cope with the death of a subordinate, and much worse when that subordinate was someone you considered to be a friend.

Thomas looked away briefly as he searched for the right words to comfort the NCO. This wasn't his first rodeo, and he had sadly become accustomed to this kind of thing. It was not something he was happy to admit, being so used to consoling one of his subordinates on the death of another. But, it had become a necessary -- and normal -- part of his job.

"Davis," Stone began, choosing his words very carefully, "shit happens. Ya can't control who lives or dies, 'n ya can't choose the way in which they kick the bucket. If ya sit there obsessin' over how Porter ate it, yer gon' drive yerself Batshit crazy. Trust me, I know."

He exhaled a heavy sigh before he continued. "I ain't sayin' ya gotta like it, but ya do gotta accept it 'n move on. Yer young, 'n if ya wanna stay feelin' young ya jus' gotta accept that what happened, happened. At the end of the day, there was nothin' ya could do ta stop it. It was jus'
his time ta go."

The Sergeant clasped his hands together, and debated whether to say anything further. He felt he needed to end the subject on a positive note. He wasn't quite sure if it would have the desired effect, but he knew that in time it would make the young man feel better. "Instead of obsessin' over somethin' ya couldn't control or prevent, think about this: yer alive ain't ya? Look beside ya. Avery 'n Furby are still kickin', ain't they? It's 'cuz of yer leadership that they are alive. Ya did good t'day. Ya did yer job, son. Ya ain't failed nothin'. Oorah?"

Thomas leaned back in his seat, but did not break eye contact with the Corporal. "Right now, ya got bigger shit ta worry about. Focus on that."