[C-Deck] The Return

[Durant, M.]

((OOC: My internet access will be severely limited for a few days. Just letting everyone know.))

2021 Hours, May 1, 2542 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \
Aboard UNSC Vengeance, system unknown

The Pelicans were on their final approach. In the preceding time Lieutenant Durant had managed to re-establish communications with the Vengeance and had learned the Templar had been destroyed, and the Covenant had escaped into slipspace. Durant was certain the Covenant had gotten away with the NAV data that hadn't been wiped from the ship's navigational database, which meant that Phoenix III was now at risk of a Covenant attack. While he wasn't exactly happy about that, he had more pressing matters to attend to. Such as the fact that a good portion of his platoon had been lost aboard the Templar.

"Vengeance Actual, this is Omen Two," Durant transmitted from over the pilot's shoulder. He was standing squarely in the Pelican's cockpit. "I have wounded that need immediate medical attention. One priority and several routine. Have stretcher ready. Over."

"Omen Two, roger. A medical team will be waiting for you in hangar C-3. Out," was the Admiral's reply.

Michael nodded and exited the cockpit. The troop compartment was packed tight with the entirety of First Squad as well as a handful of men from Third Herd. Some of the Marines manage to conversate amongst themselves, while others chose to sit (or stand) in silence. No doubt the full weight of what had happened and the losses sustained had taken their toll on those individuals, and he couldn't blame them for their silence. Even he felt the sting of the heavy losses his platoon had taken, though he reminded himself that it was by no fault of his own, and was completely out of his control. The Covenant were to blame for their losses. Not him or his Marines.

The Lieutenant's eyes drifted over to Private Wilkas, who sat to his left by the cockpit door. She had been the quietest out of the group since they had departed from the Templar, and had spent most of the time in flight keeping pressure off her wounded ankle. Part of him wondered if she felt like she had somehow failed him, or thought him to be disappointed in her and her performance. This was far from the case. While it was true in the beginning she had got off on a rocky start, she had more than made up for it since then. She had shown she had what it took to step up the plate, and had fought the Covenant like everybody else.

Not that she had had much of a choice in the matter. The reality of her situation was that she had to either fight or end up in a body bag.

That was probably all the motivation she needed to square herself away.

Lieutenant Durant was torn from his thoughts as he felt the Pelican slow down and begin its descent. The craft jolted as it touched down. There was a hiss of air escaping the hold as the rear hatch popped open, revealing the chaos that had stirred in the hangar bay at the Pelican's arrival. As the occupants of the blood tray filed out of the drop-ship, a medical team approached it with a stretcher at the ready. A pair of the Marines hoisted the still unconscious Corporal Faust up and carried her over to the stretcher, where they set her down. The corpsmen lifted the stretcher up and carried the wounded Marine away, their destination the ship's infirmary.

"Wilkas," Durant called, craning his head towards the young Marine, "Head to sick bay - get your wounds patched up and make sure they take a look at that ankle - then head to my quarters so we can talk."

He noticed the look that suddenly washed over her face. He put on a warm smile and said, "Don't worry, Private. You did good today."

With that, he turned and gestured to his Marines. "Check in your weapons and head to the Crew Deck to stow your gear. After that, consider yourselves off duty." Durant then turned and headed for the armory. He was about to have a long talk with the man in charge of the armory.

[Stone, T.]

Sergeant Stone kept to himself on the long voyage back to the Vengeance. He reflected over their mission now complete, and on the heavy losses the platoon had sustained. Too many good men and women had lost their lives in such a short span of time. As he thought about it, he realized one could easily argue that a severe lack of proper intel was the greatest cause of that outcome.

Had they known more of what they had been walking into, perhaps more Marines could have been saved. Certainly the platoon would have been better prepared had they been expecting contact with the Covenant aboard the Templar. Then again, despite that thought, he knew that no one was actually to blame for the way things had transpired. There was absolutely no way that they could have been supplied with any better information than what they had.

Besides, the past was the past. He couldn't change it, and it would do him no good to dwell on it.

The sudden jolt as the Pelican touched down on the deck of the hangar jarred him from his thoughts. He unstrapped himself from his seat and stood up, filing out of the craft as the hatch opened and stepping to the side to allow his men to move ahead of him. His eyes fell upon the corpsmen who scurried over to the unconscious Corporal Faust and carried her over to a stretcher. He imagined she would be out of commission for a little while, and reminded himself to check on her in the infirmary later.

Upon hearing the Lieutenant's orders, Stone turned to his squad. "Ya heard the El-Tee. Git'cher asses ta the armory 'n check in yer shit," he ordered them, following behind them closely. As they neared the doors to the armory, Thomas quickened his pace until he found himself beside Corporal Davis. "How ya feelin', Corp'ral?"

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace found herself feeling crushed in the cramped troop bay of the Pelican, as the adrenaline began to wear off she felt body shake rather uncontrollably. She was silent, lost in her own private thought. She had somehow managed to survive the battle, despite everything yet so many good marines had died today, some of them where her friends so the fact that she felt a great deal of pride and happiness about surviving, only served to increase the guilt that now began to plague her mind. 

Why was it she still lived when so many others did not manage to? Grace alas found such a question to be one that she was unable to answer. Grace for once wasn't grateful for the silence that hung heavily in the Pelican, giving the place the feel of a morgue. 

She glanced around the Pelican interior before accidentally catching the Durant's eyes and swiftly looking away again. She remembered that the LT had said earlier on the ship they had hurriedly departed on that he wanted to speak with her after the mission was over. The thought of speaking with the LT after the mission filled her mind with all sorts of horrible thoughts, who could say what he would conjure up to throw at her. 

The jolt at the Pelican landed cause a spike of fresh pain in her ankle, which made her wince. She'd remain seated so that she was out of the way for the stretcher bearers thought it may also have been because with her hands shaking still she was suffering major difficulties in unbuckling herself from the Pelican's seat. Finally with a sharp click she was released from the Pelican, she stood up slowly intending to get out of the Hanger quickly and try to avoid Durant's wrath. 

That wasn't to be the case. 

She flinched when Durant spoke her name, reluctantly turning to face him, trying to hide the worry in her eyes. He wanted her to come to his quarters after visiting sick bay, maybe it would have been better to stay on the other ship though with Durant he probably would have found a way to yell at her even in space or possibly death. He seemed to read her face perfectly and his next words surprised her completely. 

"Yes sir, thank you." Grace returned the warm smile, honestly expecting to be annihilated by him when they got back to the ship that currently served as their home in the inky blackness of space. 

She had been about to salute Durant but seeing as he had moved on to address the rest of the platoon she took the opportunity to make, well limp her way down to the Sick bay. Grace would come back later to store her gear and hand over her weapon, the magnum pistol since the rifle... Well she did not have the rifle any more. She would solve her injuries, hand over her stuff and then go see what Durant wanted. 

[Davis, E.]

The rest of the flight had been spent in a conscious coma for Davis. His head tipped back and staring at the ceiling, mulling over Sergeant Stone's words. He did have a job to do still. In fact, he was likely going to be responsible for second team until Faust was back in commission. He had lost Porter, but his team had saved Faust, potentially, and done excellent work in the hanger. For a few seconds, Davis started to feel better about the whole mission. Only for a few though. The loss of Porter, and more importantly that his body was now in pieces floating in space with the rest of the debris would bother him for the rest of his life.

The background chatter on the radio and the sudden change of gravity snapped Davis back to reality. He quickly unstrapped himself before the blood tray even opened, making sure he would be out of the way for when the squads started to unload. He stamped his feet a few times, working to get blood flowing to his toes again. Zero-G with a frame like his made circulation problematic. The corpsmen scrambled away with Faust as a reminder of what he had to do. With the LT announcing turn in and down time, Davis got ready to swing into action.

"Like I've been hit by a Pelican, Sergeant," Davis said with a wry version of his usual smile. "But you were right, there is still work to do. FIRST TEAM, SECOND TEAM, ON ME!"

He started his head count, getting them together and starting to herd his new group across the crowded hanger towards their new target. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Wilkas slinking off towards the infirmary alone. He frowned, knowing how often the RTO fell through the cracks without an NCO assigned to her.

"WILKAS!" he barked. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING! STAND THERE."

Taking a half second to make sure she heard and complied, he turned back to his team. "Furby, unload your shit. Everything that has to go to the armory you give to Jackson. Then make sure that Wilkas makes it to the infirmary. Stay there till I come get you. I don't need troopers wandering around this tub by themselves. Damned LT should have assigned her to someone."

Three bounding strides brought him over to Wilkas.

"Ground your gear," he said brusquely. "Every piece that needs to go back to supply. PFC Furby will make sure you get to the infirmary. You don't need to haul all that stuff around here. We'll get it turned in for you. Go get better. We still need a radio jockey the next time we move."

Hoisting all her gear up with his own, he made sure Furby had her in good care before moving the rest of his increased team towards the Armory. As an NCO, there was always more work to do.

[Cruz, J.]

The only saving grace for Gunnery Sergeant Cruz was that he was sitting next to the ramp on the cramped Pelican. Across from him sat Sergeant Willowby, the man that had lost the vast majority of his squad. Cruz couldn't help but empathize with the Marine. He knew exactly what the NCO was thinking, every combat tested leader did. Which made it easier to deal with the guilt as time goes on. Cruz's train of thought was cut short as a private com was opened between him and Private Boal.

"Gunny, did you notice how the Major looks?"

Cruz looked toward the front of the Pelican and instantly noticed Major Killinger looking as clean and unharmed as when they first boarded the TEMPLAR[/i]. The Gunny also noticed the looks that were on the Marines faces and in their eyes. They were casting the blame and passing judgement on the "battle hardened" Officer. Cruz couldn't blame them, Hell he started to blame Killinger as well. Every Marine on the Pelican was worn down; not just from this battle, but from others as well. Some were going through divorces, others didn't even know if their families were still alive. It was all very taxing on a persons mental and emotional state.

But for someone that was supposed to be in a leadership position past the wire to not do anything was unacceptable.

Cruz locked eyes with Willowby, whom nodded as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. "Boal, tell everyone to turn their helmcams off," Cruz responded. The Marines in the Pelican looked slightly surprised but did as they were told as Cruz and Willowby stood up.

"Marines. You did damn well today. We lost some good peo-"

"A LOT of good people" A Marine corrected Cruz.

"A lot of good people. What matters is that their memory does not fade. That we honor them from now until the day we dance with Death for the final time. Do not feel guilty, though it is inevitable, for most of us did all we could to save as many lives today as possible. Let this not be demoralizing, instead let it fuel the fire that drives you. Let us take a moment of silence as we pray to our respective deities so that our brothers and sisters may pass on to their afterlives." Cruz paused and bowed his head.

After a few moments, Cruz looked at Willowby and nodded at the Sergeant. Both men walked up to Killinger and stopped right in front of him. The Major looked up and opened his mouth but was cut off before he could speak. "You damn pencil pushing desk jockey son of a Covenant whore." Cruz growled before picking the man up by the collar on his uniform and slamming him into the wall of the Pelican. He opened his mouth again, but it was shut by a jab from Cruz.

"Dae ye ken hoo mony fockin' Marines we tint while ye waur aff jackin' aff in a corner tae a deid body?!" Willowby half shouted, his Scottish accent coming out full blast. Once again, Killinger's mouth opened but what words he said were drowned out by Willowby's shouting, "AH DORNT WANT TAE HEAR YER FOCKING EXCUSES!" This time Willowby hit Killinger with a right hook, splitting his upper lip open.

The familiar sensation of landing settled in Cruz's stomach as he and Willowby looked around at the stunned Marines of Second and Third Squads. "Do you not expect your leaders to be there for you and to do everything they can to get you out of a bad situation?" Cruz asked. asked the worn Marines before they all resounded "OORAH!" in unison. The ramp started to lower so Cruz and Willowby dropped the Major to the floor before walking off the dropship, followed closely by Marines who seemed to be slightly rejuvenated at watching an officer be put in his place, although not completely, by their Platoon Sergeant and a Squad leader.

[Wilkas, G.]

"WILKAS!" Davis barked. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING! STAND THERE." The yell made Wilkas jump out of her skin and flinch like she had been struck. Her heart pounded in her chest, the yell caught her completely off guard. Recovering from her fright she spotted Davis and remained stationary as instructed, Wilkas observed Davis prowling towards her like a predatory shark. 

She chewed the edge of her cheek nervously, afraid of what he might say to her. Perhaps he had been instructed by Durant to order her to do something or... Drag her to the infirmary. Though the latter she would prefer if someone would either carry her or allow her to lean on them as she limped over to the infirmary. 

"Ground your gear," Davis said brusquely. "Every piece that needs to go back to supply. PFC Furby will make sure you get to the infirmary. You don't need to haul all that stuff around here. We'll get it turned in for you. Go get better. We still need a radio jockey the next time we move." Nodding hastily in agreement and understanding she slowly began to remove her gear. 

It was a lot more difficult than putting it all on, her hands shaking still from the effects of adrenaline made removing armour difficult. Eventually she managed to remove all of her gear, except her helmet, which she saved until last. 

Reaching up she plucked it off in a single graceful movement, her hair plastered against her head from perspiration. She handed the helmet over to Davis before brushing a few stray strands of hair back into place. Furby appeared and let her lean on his shoulder, which she happened to be immensely grateful. Grace though she was afraid to admit she had become exhausted, the support would be most welcome. 

Furby helped her move towards the infirmary, where she would no doubt receive the much desired and much needed medical attention. Still... After that there was the dreaded meeting with Durant, maybe she would get lucky the doctors would keep her in the medical bay for a while. 

Unlikely, even if that became the case Durant would come visit her in the medical bay. The talk he wanted to have with her left her terrified. 

[Killinger, J.]

What the fuck just happened John thought quickly.

John picked himself up, brought his hand to his mouth and came away with blood. He left the pelican and remained emotionless, and returned to position in front of this 'Willowby'. Again, he tried to punch him but John caught the punch and brought it into his side, pushing his right arm against his throat - pinning the Scottish Marine to the back of the pelican's closed ramp; "Excuse me!" John barked, splitting his gaze over towards Cruz for a moment before returning his gaze to Willowby. "I had more important things to do on this mission! Take your anger out on the Covenant, Willowby, or me, I don't give two flying fucks what you just did. But hit another Marine - any Marine - and I'll personally make sure you don't have the right to the title Marines are given." John said, releasing Willowby - though not angrily - and walked away.

He returned to Cruz. John grabbed his armor and slammed him, like he had done to himself, against the pelicans side. He knew Cruz wouldn't listen but John spoke anyways. "And you. Pin me against a wall again and I'll have you thrown out of a god damned airlock. We're about the same age, Gunny, don't judge what I have or haven't seen." He said before releasing the Gunnery Sergeant. John understood why they were angry, and quite frankly, John had wondered away when he should have been with the Marines. He wasn't even with the unit during the engagements, but it had happened and men had died - he couldn't reverse that.

He addressed everyone by the pelican. "I can't bring the Marines that were lost back, and I take full responsibility for those casualties. Not Durant, but me. Don't blame the Lieutenant, you can blame me much like Cruz and Willowby already are - I don't really give a fuck. But realize my mission was to make sure the NAV data was secured, but I had other personal objectives. Cruz, Willowby, expect a NJP when we get back - my helmet was still recording." John said, removing his armor as he walked away, and eventually removed his shirt as well - revealing two gnarly scars with the replaced skin from plasma that he had endured throughout the war. John may have been a Major, but he had seen his fair share of the fighting - and injuries. He was no pencil pusher, and he hoped what he had just shown the Marines exactly that. 

John had suffered minor injuries, and though his armor was rather clean - as the enlisted men had pointed out - it was damaged. While John was 'exploring' the Templar for dog-tags and additional hints for information he rolled a frag grenade into a patrol and was hit. John used the biofoam to fill the small hole in his EVA suit, but apparently a shard had hit him. John's next stop was to the armory, then the med bay. 

"Assume all you want, Cruz," John said, tying his shirt around his wound and letting the chest piece of his armor dangle from straps around his neck. He spun around to face Cruz again, "But there's a reason I came along." He added, opening up a few of his pouches on his vest and pulled out the dog tags of the deceased Marines he had gathered with the free hand he had. He let the dozens of tags he had collected dangle in the air and he had gathered well over fifty, and looked towards the Gunnery Sergeant. The tags were mixed; Marine and Navy. He remained quiet, slightly angry, but quiet.

They were in a hanger, it was obvious other Marines and Naval personnel were watching, but John didn't care. Regulations had changed and physical contract was actually allowed once again unlike the Marines in the 21st century. 

He stood with his helmet on his hip, ejected the recording from the back and rotated it between his fingers for a moment, staring at Cruz. Oh. Non-Judaical Punishments were a blast. He placed the chip in one of his utility pockets and produced his side arm, ejected the magazine and pulled the slide back to eject a round that was in the chamber before holstering his sidearm. He dropped the the nearly empty magazine and kicked it towards Cruz, as well as two more of his empty M6G magazines. He followed the action by sending his five empty primary magazines towards Cruz as well.

Pathetic, John thought for a moment as he hid the chip on his body and walked away. Absolutely pathetic. "Pick that shit up, Cruz." 

Truth be told, John was livid. If there was one thing he couldn't handle it was disrespect, either to himself or fellow servicemen and woman. 

John was gone by the time Cruz could reply, already on his way to his office. He requested the Lieutenant Colonel to meet him there. But first, he ran into the Lieutenant of the platoon at the armory as John relinquished his primary weapon. John passed the Second Lieutenant with a nod, "Durant, report to my office in thirty." John said as he passed. He entered an elevator and pushed the deck his office was on. It went up and John let out a sigh. He remembered the feelings he felt when he was a Lieutenant. He didn't blame Cruz and Willowby, in fact he respected that they were still human. Some Marines had been fighting so long they had turned into... a machine of sorts. No emotion, no feelings, just a blank expression of the horrors they had witnessed. 

[Durant, M.]

Lieutenant Durant entered the Armory with much less vigor than when he had checked his weapons out only a mere two hours ago. The mission's outcome weighed heavily upon his shoulders, and in his mind, his shoulders alone. The NAV data that had failed to be erased as per Cole Protocol was now in the hands of the Covenant. Now, another colony was at risk of being destroyed.

How many colonies had humanity lost in this war? How many lives had been affected by it? Thousands? Millions? Were another thousand or more condemned to the same fate because of his failure to prevent the enemy from escaping with vital intelligence? These thoughts rocketed through his mind at light speed.

The Master Sergeant in charge of the Armory appeared from the back office and eyed the Lieutenant. His expression lacked any tell-tale sign of emotion, but his eyes - which scrutinized the officer intently - told him the man was perceptive enough to know he had a lot on his mind. Durant unslung his rifle and placed it on the rifle rack, emptying his vest pouches of both the empty and full magazines of ammunition into a nearby dispenser.

He turned around and made his way over to the row of sidearm weaponry and relinquished his M6G and accompanying ammunition. He should have felt lighter with the weight of his weapons and ammo no longer upon him, but instead he felt heavy. It took all the strength he could muster not to drag his feet, especially not with his subordinates nearby.

Michael turned to the Master Sergeant and heaved a heavy sigh, not at all looking forward to the conversation they were about to have. He approached him slowly and forced himself to establish eye contact with the grizzled SNCO. He stopped in front of the man, who looked him straight in the eyes, and said, "We need to talk, Top."

The aging enlistedman offered him a sympathetic smile. "No need, Lieutenant," the Top said. "I'll pay for the lost equipment personally and put in a requisition for new stuff from Supply. Hopefully we'll have the missing weapons and ammo replaced by the time we are ready to depart Sigma Octanus."

Durant shook his head. "You don't have to do that, Top."

The Top smiled. "I know I don't have to, sir. But I am."

Michael didn't exactly know how to respond to that, so he merely thanked him and made his way out of the Armory. He ventured through the maze of passageways until he reached the nearest ladderwell and ascended the stairs to the crew deck of the Vengeance. On the way towards his personal quarters, which also happened to be his personal office, he ran into Major Killinger. Out of habit - the kind instilled by rigorous training - he stiffened and resisted the urge to snap straight to attention.

The meeting was brief. No more than a few seconds. All the Major did was order him to see him in his office in thirty minutes. Durant was slightly caught off-guard and confused, his eyebrow arched to signify this. A split-second later he nodded. ""Aye, sir," he replied, and then resumed his trip to his quarters.

Once he arrived, he went straight to work removing his armor and stowing it in his footlocker. His boots were the last to come off, and afterwards he marched over to the closet across the room and retrieved a fresh pair of cross branch gray fatigues and boots.

He would get dressed and then report to the Major's office as ordered.

[Mason, I.]

Isaiah watched the events unfold on the Pelican between Willowby, Cruz, and Killinger. He could sense the tension from the two sergeants before they even acted. He knew their anger and the reasoning for their actions. He had seen it countless times before. There was an unknown, yet nearly unanimous, amount of acceptable losses and anytime it was crossed, many would want somebody’s head for it. Mason never felt the need to take part in these situations - there was always somebody at fault or making a mistake, not to mention the fact that the enemy was a highly skilled and dangerous one. Heavy losses were bound to happen even when no mistakes were made.

He exited the pelican and started heading off towards the armory but stopped to hear what Killinger had to say. Mason felt it was stereotypical - an enlisted gets pissed and takes it out on a higher ranking officer and the officer gets butthurt and attempts to resume their dominant role. It was silly, but it boosted morale for many. For Mason, it was simply boring. Upon the Major beginning to take off his equipment, Mason slowly drifted away from the group without anyone noticing and made his way to armory.

He stepped into the armory and nodded at the Master Sergeant, “hey top.” The Armorer nodded back, “Mason. I gather the operation didn’t go too well.” Isaiah detached his battle rifle from his armor and handed it to the Master Sergeant, “that’s an understatement.” The Master Sergeant analyzed Mason’s rifle, taking note of the various scuffs and nicks that weren’t there beforehand. “How many did you lose?” Mason sighed as he noted the deaths in his head, “four Marines ascended from my squad.” The Master Sergeant nodded solemnly.

Mason handed in his pistol and headed for the barracks. He had a lot of stuff on his mind - the vision he had, the men he lost, the mission they failed, and how the intel would damage the colonies. 

[Davis, E.]

Davis hoisted his double load of gear and ushered both his team and Faust's remnants to the armory. He was quiet now, breathing like a puffing train as the other lower enlisted had divvied up Furbie's gear while he towed the entire remains of Wilkas's kit. He stood their like a guardian statue while the two teams turned in their weapons and other assigned pieces, waiting patiently and slowly breathing under the weight. Most of them probably thought he was showing off, but his increased heart rate was actually helping remedy the effects of the travel through Zero-Gs.

"I know you're a big boy Corporal," the Master Sergeant said with a smile. "But two sets of gear seams a bit much."

"Got a trooper in the chop shop, Top," Davis said with a small grin. "Also got one who didn't make it back. Pull the sheets on Corporal Davis, Private Wilkas, and Private Porter."

"Which one didn't make it," the Master Sergeant asked, pulling up the information on his TACPAD.

"Porter," Davis said, starting to lay out Wilkas's gear for the Supply Sergeant to inventory and receive. "I would like a print out of his gear list if you could."

"Your not keeping it, are you Corporal," the Master Sergeant asked, running his eyes over the miscellaneous bits of gear that Wilkas had managed to get back. There were some important pieces missing, like her radio and the rifle.

"I am," Davis said sternly, starting to lay out his own kit. "Is there a problem with that Top?"

"Just a poor choice," was all the Master Sergeant said. Davis signed both lists back in, taking the full list of Private Porter's gear, heading back to his bunk. He wanted to drop off a few things before heading for the infirmary. Faust deserved an update on her team, and he had to pick up Furby. Hopefully Wilkas as well.

[Stone, T.]

Thomas stood by while the members of First Squad went about turning in their weapons and ammunition to the supply personnel in the Armory. While he waited, he opened up the pouches of his combat webbing to make easy access to the magazines of ammunition stuffed within them. After that, he thumbed the release on his MA5C and ejected the magazine before racking the slide to remove the round chambered.

When all of First Squad had finally managed to turn in their gear, Stone approached the Supply Sergeant beside the Master Sergeant and set his rifle down on the table first. Next, he removed his sidearm and ejected the clip, placing both down on the table next to his rifle. Finally, he went about removing the ammo mags from his pouches and placing them on the table.

"There ya go," Stone said quietly. The Master Sergeant nodded and typed something into the datapad in front of him. After a moment he told Stone he could go, and so Stone turned on his heel and made his way out of the armory. As he made his way towards the elevator lift up to the next deck, his stomach started to grumble angrily.

I ain't ate nothing's since I woke up, he thought with a smirk. I know where I'm goin' once I get this armor off. The decision was an easy one to make. There were three things Stone loved in life: the Marine Corps, combat, and food. Right now, he wanted to get some grub in his belly before the platoon would be ordered back into cryo.