Ward, J.
Marines
"Semper Fi, do or die!"
Posts: 81
Character Gender: Male
Character Age: 18
Character Race: Caucasian
Character Nationality: American
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Post by Ward, J. on Sept 30, 2014 12:26:57 GMT -5
The sudden shift in gravity was a tell-tale indicator that the elevator had reached its destination. The double doors parted seamlessly into the wall, and Lieutenant Durant led the batch of new arrivals out into the corridor beyond. During the ride up, Private Ward's thoughts were directed towards his new unit. Excitement and nervous anticipation welled up inside of him as the seconds ticked by. He wondered what his fellow squadmates would be like -- and, more importantly -- what his new squad leader was like.
He'd watched a lot of war films in his time, and he couldn't set the image aside of a tough-as-nails sergeant with plenty of combat experience under his belt. The picture in his mind was of some tough looking Marine in service uniform giving his men some inspiring speech about how he'd train them to be the best, and that he wouldn't let them die in the field without his express permission. Jon wasn't quite sure how true to life that image was, but it stuck.
Jon only half-listened as Lieutenant Durant pointed out several points of interest to the new Marines nearby where they'd be living aboard ship. His mind was almost entirely consumed by the idea of meeting the Marines of his squad that would become his fellow brothers and sisters-in-arms. Beyond that, he wondered when he would finally get the opportunity to see combat.
Ward joined the Marine Corps to fight. He volunteered for the infantry, and he wanted to be on the front lines in the thick of the fighting. He wanted to go toe-to-toe with the Covenant, and part of him wanted vengeance for what they did to his father. Because of those alien freaks, his father had lost his legs.
And so he planned on returning them the favor. Somehow, some way, he intended to do it. And he was certain there were plenty of Marines aboard the ship that would be more than happy to help him accomplish that goal.
Finally, the group arrived at the stretch of corridor belonging to Second Platoon. His platoon. That thought alone filled him with more excitement than he could handle. He would be surrounded by the very best that the UNSC could offer. The toughest, hardest group of warriors in the galaxy (aside from the infamous ODSTs).
And now, he was one of them.
By the time the Lieutenant had arrived at First Squad's living quarters, Ward was almost grinning from ear-to-ear. This was it. The culmination of years of hard work and studying. Everything he'd learned, from both before he enlisted and afterward, was about to be put to good use. It was a dream that had suddenly come true.
No sooner had the platoon commander and platoon sergeant left them did Ward walk through the hatch into the squad's berth. He led the way for the others that were behind him, and he moved with noticeable pep in his step.
This was it.
The moment of truth.
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Stringer, K.
Marine Recon Scout
Fire Team Leader
Posts: 155
Character Gender: Male
Character Age: 22
Character Race: Caucasian
Character Nationality: American
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Post by Stringer, K. on Oct 1, 2014 20:55:32 GMT -5
Stringer stood there in the elevator as he and the rest of the new arrivals as they waited for the elevator to get to where they were going. Durant told them it was B-Deck, which was essentially the crew deck. Stringer knew most ships had the same layout, minus a few things or a few changes here and there. It was just a matter of getting to know where everything was for certain. Once he learned most of the layout, things would move smoothly when it came to navigating the ship.
Stringer stood there as he waited, glancing over at Gray. He suggested they stick together, but for now he would keep his "flirtations" to a minimal. He told her that the corpsman had nothing and to just relax, and see what the man did. If the corpsman did try to be a reg-nazi, he knew all they had to do was say it was nothing, so that was the plan. For now, Stringer would be a friend and a fellow marine to Gray. He didn't tell her that he was flirting with her in the pelican, but he figured she knew. The fact she was still being friendly was a good sign for Stringer.
When the elevator came to a stop, Durant stepped out with Cruz, and Stringer followed with everyone else. The chow hall was first, followed by a recreation room with games and a movie room. Stringer didn't think too much of entertainment like that. It wasn't something you could carry out in the field, so he didn't care. He managed without, but it might be nice for the long days on a ship, should it come to that. When they came to second platoon's berth, and right across was the showers and Head.
When they stepped into the birth, Stringer listened, as he then found out that he, Gray, and two others named Silva and Lawrence. Stringer nodded when told to report in to either Sergeant Mason or Corporal Rio. He lead the way into the common area of Second Squad's berth. When he stepped inside, he saw the usual layout. A long rectangular room, doorways on the left that were only covered by curtains essentially, tables in the common area, and a television in one corner of the room.
When Stringer stepped in, it didn't take too long for someone to take notice of him and the three others behind him. A marine stepped up to the group, a confused look on the marine's face.
"Who are you?" Stringer looked at the marine and stepped forward.
"We're the new assignments. We're looking for Sergeant Mason."
"Well he isn't here right now."
"Alright, what about Corporal Rio?" Stringer caught the sight of another marine looking back, then standing up from his seat and moving towards them, the marine previously watching the news on the television.
"I'm Corporal Rio. Who the hell are you?"
"Corporal Rio, I am Corporal Stringer. Reporting for duty, via new assignment. Where do we need to bunk Corporal?"
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Davis, E.
Marines
Fire Team Leader
NJP? Why yes, I think I'll have some....
Posts: 235
Character Gender: Male
Character Age: 19
Character Race: Caucasian
Character Nationality: American
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Post by Davis, E. on Oct 2, 2014 5:50:13 GMT -5
((This was a joint post by myself and Wilkas, made via PM and then posted by me.))
"YOU WEREN'T DISMISSED PRIVATE," Davis boomed. She dared cop an attitude with him? After he had let her off easy and everything. Davis stalked over to the door to cut her off. "I told you to speak, so you speak Marine. You want to lose your mind and forget rank and everything else, I'll see to it you never forget. Now speak, before I PT you into a puddle."
Wilkas looked at him, her eyes held a furious fire and an observe might have believed that she was on the verge of striking him. "No not with anyone of rank now I have finished talking with you sir so with respect." She put added emphasis on the word respect as if the word was poison. "Am I now dismissed because I have nothing more to say to you."
"Not even close Private," Davis said with a snarl. "I get that you're still a boot and on top of that you don't want to be here, but too fucking bad. You don't just get to spout off whenever it suits you, your highness. Name of the NCO who did your counseling session. You claim they messed up, we'll see. And Flutter Kicks. Go. Maybe when you can't move out of your rack in the morning, you'll think twice about your place."
Davis pointed to the middle of the padded floor where they had just done their hand to hand training. A small voice in the back of his mind taunted him for going soft on Wilkas to start with. He should have just ground her down to nothing for being late. Instead, he tried to be the nice guy, help her out, listen. All those things you were "supposed" to do to make a better marine. Instead, he got a face full of attitude. That wouldn't be happening again.
"On the contrary sir I long ago accepted that this is where I am a marine in the UNSC it was like Staff Sergeant Mikonovialka, my SDI, said; "there are two ways out of his platoon: either you graduate or a body bag." Staff Sergeant Cruz was in charge of my counselling session we were interrupted by Durant's arrival as he requested the Platoon Sergeant's presence."[/b] If the dumb brute couldn't understand that fact well that was hardly Wilkas' problem. Here she was telling the truth yet he was too blind to see it.
Wilkas found herself laughing, she didn't mean to but it came out. "You honestly think any level of PT will bother me? My training was harder than the actual combat I faced!" Grace Wilkas had enough of dealing with the Corporal's bullshit. "This isn't about me voicing the truth this is about me being late, which I apologise for but if you are going to believe I am lying at least go talk to Staff Sergeant Cruz first because that was who I was seeing!"
She dogmatically refused to start doing the flutter kicks. "Maybe you should think twice about being a corporal as there is more to leadership than just shouting, threats and physical punishment!" Wilkas retorted furious at the Corporal's petty actions and poor choice of words.
"Really," Davis asked incredulously, "You're in that good of shape. You're about to find out. And this stopped being about you being late as soon as you copped an attitude, Private. This is about you knowing your place. It doesn't matter if I'm right or wrong, I'm in charge. You've got an issue with how I do my job, you can take it up with anyone up the chain after you do what you're told to do. Now, Flutter Kicks. That's an order, Private, and one I'm well within my right to give."
Davis walked away from her, to ensure he didn't just strike her. He was on the brink of full blown rage, and while striking her wasn't technically illegal, it was certainly frowned on.
"No sir."Grace responded. "The private refuses to follow that order sir!"
"Refuse," Davis said turning back around on her. "You don't have that option, Marine. But since I'm in a good mood, we'll go with one you won't refuse. Get your ass down to Staff Sergeant Cruz's billets. You say he made the mistake, we'll see. And then after that, perhaps he's got a spare of paperwork for an NJP. Congratulations, you avoided physical punishment. I'm sure this will work out way better for you, Private. And don't tell me he's not there, we'll wait."
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Furby, J.
Marines
Fire Team Rifleman
Posts: 123
Character Gender: Male
Character Age: 19
Character Race: Caucasian
Character Nationality: Canadian
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Post by Furby, J. on Oct 3, 2014 14:36:37 GMT -5
Jayson laid in his rack, his head propped up by a pillow, as he sifted through the 2542 edition of Car & Pilot magazine. There was an article on this year's MLX sports car that had caught his attention, and he read through the article with piqued interest. The more he read about it, the more he wanted it.
It went from zero to a hundred in six seconds and came with plenty of high-end accessories. Despite how much he'd kill for the vehicle, it costed more than he made in a year. Hell, probably more than Stone made in a year. The MLX was a car for the rich and powerful. Something that, while well-to-do, Furby's family was not.
The almost whisper quiet snik of the door to the room opening tore the PFC's attention from the magazine in his hands. He moved it to the side and looked outside of the compartment, noticing a handful of individuals step inside First Squad's berthing area. It immediately hit him that they were probably the new replacements for the Marines they'd recently lost. Most of them looked to be greenhorns fresh from training. Only one of them held rank out of the group, and he stood behind some private whom appeared to be extremely belt-fed.
Jay climbed out of his rack and stepped out of First Team's compartment. He scrutinized the group up close before speaking. "Hey," he said, getting their attention, "who the hell are you guys?"
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Post by Durant, M. on Oct 5, 2014 18:16:51 GMT -5
Lieutenant Durant walked Staff Sergeant Cruz to his door and said his goodbyes before turning and marching to his own room next door, at the end of Second Platoon's berthing area. He stepped through the door and removed his cover from atop his skull, and set it on his desk across the room. Now that the new arrivals had been left to report in to their squad leaders, he could finally get to work on the plethora of other things that demanded his attention.
The first thing he did when he sat down at his desk was power up his datapad. The screen came to life, a picture of a viking warrior staring up at him the first thing his eyes laid upon before the individual applications blinked onto the screen, overlaying the background image. He smiled and opened up his messages to check for notifications that might have been sent to him.
His brow arched when he saw the top message in his inbox was from a Navy lieutenant. Why's a Navy lieutenant messaging me? he thought, curious. He tapped the message with his index finger and it opened. Durant skimmed through the message, only to find himself even more confused than before.
He reread the message. It said:
Lieutenant Durant,
What the hell kind of outfit are you running? I encountered one of your Marines earlier this morning in the ship's passageways. She claimed to be off to some team training or something. When I encountered her, she failed to properly render me a satisfactory salute.
I repeatedly ordered her to salute me until she managed to render a half-way decent salute. As an officer, you should understand the importance and significance of the hand salute. It is a sign of respect, which I'm afraid your Private Wilkas lacks severely. Your Marines should be motivated and carry themselves with pride in themselves and in their appearance. Not roaming the passageways like they're back on the block. I'm unsure of whether the failure is yours or solely upon her, but I expect better from you Marines.
See that she receives remedial training. Obviously, she failed to learn a few things in boot camp.
With respect,
LTJG Leiberman, H.
Durant stared at the message for a moment longer, debating whether or not to respond to it. Truthfully, he was at a loss for words. He hadn't the faintest clue on how to handle the situation, as this was never something he'd been taught how to handle.
However, he was certain of one thing: Lieutenant Lieberman was definitely in the wrong here. Not himself, nor Private Wilkas especially. The regulations aboard ship were much different than on a planet-side posting. The rendering of the hand salute to officers was not required unless executed during official military functions or formations. It was the same as rendering a salute indoors. One is not required to salute indoors, unless for the purposes of reporting in to a new command, or official military functions.
Despite knowing that, he wasn't quite sure how to phrase that into a message in a way that would not come off as disrespectful. A Lieutenant Junior Grade was the equivalent to a Marine first lieutenant, thus meaning Lieberman was a higher ranked officer than Durant and his superior.
He sighed, shaking his head. It was times like these that reminded him precisely why he hated being away from combat. On the battlefield, everything was much simpler. There were less formalities and red tape to worry about. His only responsibilities in the field were accomplishing the missions handed down by the upper echelons of command, and ensuring the safety and well-being of his Marines.
Aboard ship or in the rear areas? Things became woefully more complicated. Especially when interacting with the general populace of the Vengeance, whom more often than not, had never been dropped into a hot AO before. It was frustrating, because he had to make nice with a whole bunch of people and play politics with the vast majority of them.
And Michael hated politics.
Politics was for politicians, not the men and women of the armed forces. Not for people like him who were bred to fight and win humanity's battles, from space, air, land and sea.
Suddenly, Michael's datapad beeped, derailing his train of thought. He glanced down and saw that it was a message that had arrived in his inbox. With a few taps of the screen with his finger, he opened the message and realized it was a notification. Two of his Marines from First Squad had been checked into the infirmary.
"What the hell is going on?" Durant thought aloud. Was there some kind of cosmic force influencing events today? Had there been a full moon somewhere in the galaxy that was affecting people? There had to be some sort of logical explanation for all that was happening, but damned if Durant could figure it out.
"I get the feeling today is going to be a bad day for me," Durant murmured under his breath. Time would only tell if he was right.
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Mason, I.
Marines
Squad Leader
Posts: 174
Character Gender: Male
Character Age: 39
Character Race: Caucasian
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Post by Mason, I. on Oct 6, 2014 23:31:58 GMT -5
Mason took the unlit end of his cigar and briefly dipped it into his bourbon. This was one of Mason’s favorite attributes of fine cigars - the bourbon would dampen the cigars and the flavor of the bourbon would become infused in the smoke, therefore allowing a perfect mix of the flavors from both. This could not be done with cheaper cigars because they were not wrapped tight enough, nor were they made with whole leaf tobacco; the bourbon would saturate the cigar upon contact and make for a miserable smoking experience (as if smoking a cheap cigar wasn’t miserable enough).
A similar technique was discovered, centuries ago, when personal vaporizers were invented. An individual could waft the propylene glycol/vegetable glycerin mix vapor onto the top of a chilled beverage (usually wine, port, or sherry) and because the vapor is not heated it would simply float atop the liquid - absorbing the flavor of the beverage. While it was enjoyable to some extent, the propylene glycol would slightly alter the natural taste of the wine - sometimes in a very undesirable fashion.
Mason took another drag of his deep colored maduro cigar as he listened to Stone tell his story of Harvest. For whatever reason, Mason had remained unaware that the sergeant was from the fallen planet. He rotated the cigar slightly between his fingers as he thought of a way to respond. Harvest, to Mason, had always been a pivotal moment in his life - but he could hardly imagine how much more of an impact it was to someone who had actually been born there.
His mind wandered back in time to when he was a corporal onboard the CMA Heracles. He was part of a supplemental company of Marines attached to the Colonial Military ship. Mason quickly shoved the memories away before the more gruesome scenes came to fruition. “That’s a hard thing to live with, Stone. I was onboard the CMA Heracles during First Contact,” Mason responded. The CMA Heracles was synonymous with Harvest.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Corporal Rio nodded as Corporal Stringer introduced himself. “Welcome aboard Corporal. You’ll be assigned as third fireteam leader. The marines who entered with you,” Rio said as he gestured to the other newcomers, “will be your team members.”
One of the marines already present made a strange coughing noise and a few others laughed and Rio suppressed a smirk. The cough was muffled heavily but it seemed to sound something along the lines of “beaver team”.
“Anyways,” Rio continued after a momentary pause, “your bunks are behind door number four.” Rio pointed to a doorway at the end of the berthing area - there was no actual door. “You can decide who sleeps where. All of the bunks in there are up for grabs since a series of misfortunate events wiped out all of third team on our last mission. One guy straight up got killed, the prior team leader dove on a grenade to save others, and the other guy..”
“Went kamikaze on a covvie dropship,” PFC Adkins blurted out.
“Holy shit on a stick!” Rio exclaimed, glaring at the private, “is your fucking name Corporal Rio? Because I could have sworn that was my name! I must be losing my fucking mind. Am I losing my fucking mind?”
PFC Adkin shifted to parade rest and responded, “no corporal! I apologize corporal!”
“Beat your face,“ Rio responded, pointing to the ground - to which Adkins promptly started doing pushups. Rio turned back to Corporal Stringer, “As the village idiot said, the third guy went batshit crazy and cooked a grenade in his hand while chasing after a dropship. It was fucking phenomenal.”
“Anyways, as you can guess, I’m the assistant squad leader slash first fire team leader. It’s too bad you guys didn’t get here sooner, you would have had a better opportunity to become familiar with the squad and run through some of our squad leader’s insane training courses. Rumor has it we'll be gearing up for another mission soon, though.”
Corporal Rio pointed back to third team’s doorway, “for now you can get your bunks assigned and squared away.”
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Ward, J.
Marines
"Semper Fi, do or die!"
Posts: 81
Character Gender: Male
Character Age: 18
Character Race: Caucasian
Character Nationality: American
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Post by Ward, J. on Oct 7, 2014 0:51:00 GMT -5
No sooner had Ward stepped into the berthing area of First Squad, did someone address him and the other new Marines of the squad. Jon glanced to his left and spotted a Private First Class standing in the entrance to one of the compartments. The PFC's name tape above the right breast pocket of his cammies read "FURBY."
Odd name, Ward thought as he turned to face the man. He stood relaxed and at ease, as he wasn't required to stand at parade rest for anyone under the rank of Corporal. "I'm Private Ward," Jon said in a matter-of-fact tone. "We're the new assignments to First Squad."
He paused for a moment to look around. The berthing area for the squad was roughly the length of a squad bay, and the area he was standing in was what he assumed to be some type of common room. There were chairs placed in front of a vid screen mounted to the wall, and a table nearby with a couple chairs around it.
To the left were the doorways to the berthing compartments. However, there weren't any actual doors there. Just a horizontal bar running across the top of the entryway space with a single red curtain on it for when the Marines in the compartment needed privacy for whatever reason. At the end of the room was a fourth, smaller area with a curtain that he assumed to be the living quarters of the squad leader.
Jon turned his attention back to the PFC. "We were told to speak to either a Sergeant Stone or a Corporal Davis, PFC," he said. "We're supposed to report in to them."
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Stone, T.
Marines
Squad Leader
There's nothin' I love more than killin' me some split-jawed bastards!
Posts: 116
Character Gender: Male
Character Age: 39
Character Race: Caucasian
Character Nationality: American
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Post by Stone, T. on Oct 7, 2014 2:09:56 GMT -5
Stone continued to puff away on the cigar in his hands, images of his time spent on Harvest post-First Contact flashing through his mind. He remembered those days as vividly as he could recall the events that had transpired upon the Templar. The beginning of the war had been a very confusing and trying time for him and the many other Marines he'd served with.
When First Contact had happened, nobody knew what was going on. It took the UNSC months to figure out that it was under attack by a highly sophisticated and advanced coalition of different alien species; when it finally did, ONI swooped in and covered the whole thing up for a long time. No one knew anything about what was going on.
The news outlets had been claiming that Insurrectionists were responsible for the total comms blackout at Harvest. When Stone was assigned to the fleet led by Admiral Cole to retake the planet, he wasn't informed of the truth until days before the operation began. Even in the midst of the Harvest Campaign, the public were being told that it was Innies that were responsible for the fighting. It wasn't until 2528 that the truth became widespread news and public knowledge.
His first combat action against the Covenant had been a frightening experience, and one where many Marines lost their lives. The brass had originally anticipated the war to be won in five years. That assumption had been lightyears from the truth. The Harvest Campaign had taken five years to complete. Five long, bloody years.
Harvest, for many people, became Hell personified. When Stone first laid eyes on the aftermath of the Covenant's first attack on Harvest, it had been heartbreaking. His home world, the place in which he'd grown up, had been irreparably destroyed. The cities were nothing but hallowed ruins; mass graves where thousands of people had lost their lives. Of the many people whom had managed to get off Harvest during First Contact, his family had not been among them. They perished with the planet.
Thomas was brought back to reality by the sound of Mason's voice. He looked down at the cigar in his hand and realized he'd let some of it burn away. Shaking his head at himself, he brought the cigar to his lips and took a deep drag of it, savoring the taste before exhaling. What Mason said took him by surprise, and he instantly looked up at his friend. "Really?" he asked, somewhat in disbelief.
Stone had heard about what had happened shortly after the First Battle of Harvest. The Colonial Military Administration dispatched three ships to investigate the sudden loss of contact with Harvest. What they found was a single Covenant ship in orbit.
When the small battlegroup attempted to make contact with the alien ship, they received a declaration of war as its response before it opened fire on the three ships. The Heracles was the only ship that made it back, and it was badly damaged. Thom could only imagine how horrible that day must have been for Mason. "That's... I'm sure that won't one of the best of days fer ya," he said, his voice low and monotone.
He sighed and took another swig of the bourbon he'd poured himself. The icy cool burn at the back of his throat was enjoyable for him. It let him know that he would probably end up trashed fairly quickly. Harvest Ice Bourbon was pretty strong stuff. "Harvest was my home, 'n seein' what those split-jawed freaks did ta it... well, it's somethin' I'll never quite fergit. No matter how damn hard I've tried."
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Stringer, K.
Marine Recon Scout
Fire Team Leader
Posts: 155
Character Gender: Male
Character Age: 22
Character Race: Caucasian
Character Nationality: American
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Post by Stringer, K. on Oct 7, 2014 22:41:59 GMT -5
Stringer stood there listening to Corporal Rio. When he learned that he was being assigned as a fireteam leader, it did come as a bit of a shock. Even more so, that he had three female marines in his squad. Stringer also heard the cough muffling a comment about his fireteam being a beaver one now, and Stringer would deal with that momentarily. As Rio mentioned where they would be sleeping and how they were all freed bunks, he noticed the comments about the previous fireteam.
Namely, how one became a kamikaze. How one does that, Stringer will never understand. He was not about to ever needlessly throw himself into the arms of death, nor would he let any one of the marines now under his command. As Rio had the marine who spoke out of term doing push-ups now, Stringer saw right away they were more strict on this ship. Something he would have to look into for sure, especially with his new command. He never had command of a fireteam, but Stringer did always like to take point, and sometimes with his previous group he would take command for a brief time.
For now, Stringer would take it step by step and see how it goes. As for Corporal Rio, he said they just missed a bit of the squad's training, which was a shame, since Stringer knew this would be when, if not a combat mission, they would meet everyone else and get to know the rest of the squad, and possibly the company. For now, Stringer and the rest of his fireteam would have time to get settled in. Stringer looked back at the three women behind him and motioned them to their bunks.
"Third fireteam, go on ahead, I'll catch back up. Corporal Rio, a word?" Stringer motioned the man over and away from the three new marines, as he spoke a bit low.
"That man making that comment about it being mostly a female fireteam. I personally can't stand that shit. I had a female fireteam leader before I came here, and she was the only other one besides myself that survived an engagement. These Marines may be women, but they will probably kick more ass than some of the male Marines here." Stringer made sure to say the last sentence loud enough for the one marine who made the beaver squad comment, looking dead over at the man.
"If I was not now a fireteam leader, Marine, your face would be hamburger for that comment. Understand me?!" Stringer didn't wait for a response, as he looked back at Corporal Rio.
"I'm not one for usually punishing a Marine in the manner of making them work out or something, but I will have to definitely get used to that idea. For now though, I am going to go get settled in, and then hit the showers before I head to mess. Been a bit since I ate an actual cooked meal and not an MRE." Stringer walked away after hearing the last of what Corporal Rio had to say, then he walked over to the marine who spoke out about his fireteam. Stringer closed the distance as the man stood up, getting right in his face.
"I suggest you hit the floor and keep hitting it till Rio over there says otherwise" When the marine didn't move, Stringer shouted "now" as loud as he could, and he saw the man drop and start doing push-ups with the other marine. Stringer nodded to Corporal Rio once more, who seemed to understand, as he then moved to his fireteam's berth. When he stepped inside, he saw his footlocker in one of the corners. He looked at the three female marines and nodded as he stepped in.
"Ladies, I don't think the Marines in our squad will be giving you or myself anymore trouble. For now, get settled in. From what Corporal Rio has told me, we may be seeing combat soon enough. As for these bunks, I did come prepared for all of us." Stringer moved to his footlocker and punched in the lock code, the locks popping open and the trunk raising open. Inside were four sheets, digital woodland camo, that he managed to get from his old fireteam's bunks. Woodcrest was okay with him taking it, and his other two squad mates wouldn't be needing them in the afterlife. Stringer took out a roll of duct-tape, and began to tape one of the sheets over the lower left bunk in the room.
"Whoever wants it, can have the bunk above me. I prefer sleeping low anyways." Stringer taped the sheet so it covered the opening to the bunk, then he offered the roll to anyone in the room.
"So ladies, who wants to go next? Its about the only other piece of privacy that you will get as far as in this room goes. I can step out when needed, since I am the only male here, so you will have that too." Stringer waited to see who might take the tape next.
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Silva, J.
Marines
Posts: 46
Character Gender: Female
Character Age: 22
Character Race: Caucasian
Character Nationality: New Parisian (French)
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Post by Silva, J. on Oct 8, 2014 8:29:47 GMT -5
Silva had been quiet for sometime, just listening to what everyone had to say and taking everything in. She was the first to answer Stringer's question. "I do not mind having the bunk above your's Corporal." She spoke in her heavily French accented voice. "Privacy does not really concern me. Several weeks with sweaty, greasy guys and girls in foxholes there are kinda few secrets."
She grinned seemingly friendly before her smile faded and she said a bit sternly. "Just don't read my letters without my permission... Private, family stuff you understand? Right?" It was Silva's only real point of conflict with others that she disliked other people reading her letters.
She decided to introduce herself. "I am Janet by the way." Janet held a hand out for him to shake or for any of her squad mates to shake. She dropped her duffel bag near the side of the bunk bed before climbing up onto the top of her bunk bed testing to see how comfortable it actually was. The bed happened to actually be quite comfortable, much to her surprise. The beds in the militia base were like lumps of stone covered in fabric, this made a nice change of pace.
"Surprisingly comfortable." Janet admitted to no one in particular, settling down on the bunk bed and propping her head up with her left arm.
"Any of you ever been to New Paris? Because if you have that is where I am from." Silva smiled, her eyes lighting up as she remembered her beloved home. She still felt a element of homesickness, this being the first time she was actually away from her home planet. She reached into the pocket which she stored a photograph of her family. "This is my family." Janet explained showing the photograph to them before introducing each member of her family in turn. "This is my Mama, my Papa, those terrible monsters are my brothers and the beautiful lady at the back is my sister."
Now that introductions where out of the way, Janet folded the photograph back up and put it back in her pocket. She rolled over on her bunk and stared up on the ceiling, with a quiet sigh she closed her eyes. She missed her family terribly.
"Yeah.. That's my family... They're great." Janet said trying to sound happy and friendly, yet she came off sounding like she was on the verge of crying. For Private Silva it would be difficult for her to adjust to not being on the same planet as her family any more.
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Post by Flannigan, S. on Oct 8, 2014 19:52:37 GMT -5
Captain Flannigan made his way down the corridors of the ship, his neural lace still filtering through the Operations Order and trying to piece together one for his own leadership. He had several people to check in on, and the first on his list was Lieutenant Durant. He wanted to make sure that his new troopers had been safely delivered to their NCO's and get several questions answered. Zieed was up in the infirmary now, checking on the troopers who had been checked in. Perhaps the Lieutenant could shed some light on the situation.
The sounds of quiet marines hiding away in their quarter's greeted Flannigan's ears. He really wanted to demand more training of them, but being as Second Platoon was high on the Colonel's list right now, Flannigan figured he could give them some time. From the sounds of it, action aboard the Templar was gruesome to say the least. The reports of one of the Privates going kamikaze was both depressing and inspiring, but above all, it spoke to how hot the action had been. Flannigan was proud of his boys, and intended to pass on the Colonel's praise at the closing formation.
Rounding the last corner, Flannigan strode forward to Lieutenant Durant's door. The memories of his previous rage at the altercation was Staff Sergeant Cruz flared back up as he ran through his itinerary of questions. How no one had felt the need to at least inform him was still a sticking point, but he was doing his best to treat it professionally. This encounter would be no different.
"Lieutenant Durant, it's Flannigan," he called after rapping on the door with his knuckles. He double checked his uniform for Irish Pennants (he hated that term) and any other signs of dishevelment before meeting with his fellow officer. He knew it wouldn't take long, as he always kept his uniform immaculate. He now just had to wait for the door to open.
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Post by Durant, M. on Oct 8, 2014 22:27:53 GMT -5
Durant frowned, running his hand through his close-cropped, prickly hair as he stared down at his datapad. He had set the thought of the message Lieutenant Lieberman had sent him aside, his focus directed at the notification he had just received. Two of his Marines from First Squad had somehow landed in the infirmary, and he was very interested to find out who they were and what had happened.
He had an idea who one of the Marines were; but, the other one was a mystery. In the event that it was something serious, he wanted to know about it. After the whole debacle with Cruz and Major Killinger, and being totally blindsided by that, he'd vowed to be on top of the happenings within his platoon from then on.
Just as he was about to stand up and head down to the infirmary, there was a series of knocks on his door. Durant instinctively looked up towards it, and was about to announce that it was open, when the familiar Irish brogue of the company commander filtered through the door. By the Gods, what now, he thought pessimistically.
Michael stood up and made his way over to the door. He pressed the button on the keypad beside the door and it raised up into the ceiling. "Morning, Captain," he greeted, though his voice lacked any enthusiasm. He stepped aside and gestured for the officer to step inside the room. "Please, come in."
As his superior stepped inside, the Lieutenant made his way back over to his desk and grabbed his chair, pulling it around to the front of his desk. He shifted the other chair around to face his chair and then stood beside them. He wasn't sure whether or not the Captain would want to sit down or not, and he wanted them to sit across from each other without a desk between them.
It felt wrong to sit behind his desk with his commanding officer on the other end.
"Care to sit, sir?"
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Post by Flannigan, S. on Oct 11, 2014 18:38:02 GMT -5
"Thank you Lieutenant," Flannigan said, taking the seat. He was calm and relaxed as he started. "I just wanted to stop in and talk a moment Lieutenant. Just got out of our Battalion briefing, and first, I wanted to inform you that we have a leadership meeting after final formation tonight. Platoon Leaders and Sergeants. You'll be briefed on the next op on Phoenix III. Pretty standard stuff."
Flannigan paused a moment, shifting in his seat. Why were barracks chairs always so uncomfortable? Likely to keep the enlisted men from sitting too long, but this was ridiculous. The chairs in the briefing room were posh by comparison. No wonder the enlisted side always disliked the officers. It came with the territory, but it was frustrating at times to say the least.
"Now that official business is out of the way, we never got a chance to talk after your last op before they through you boys back in the freezers. Any troubles you're having? Any things I can give you some guidance on? I can't imagine there is much. You've proven a solid leader so far Durant. I'm glad to have you under my command."
The questions about why he had been left out of the loop on the Killinger incident still boiled in the back of his mind, but Flannigan truly meant what he said. He had a good leader coming up here, and while there were some issues, he was certainly happy to bring the young man up, helping him navigate the issues and politics of being an officer.
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Post by Durant, M. on Oct 12, 2014 3:05:06 GMT -5
The Lieutenant sat down as he listened to Captain Flannigan give him the rundown. He'd been aware of the battalion briefing regarding their next mission, and had expected there would be a leader meeting sometime later on. So when Flannigan informed him that there would be a meeting after the evening formation, he nodded. "Roger that, sir," he replied.
Durant shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It wasn't the chair that was uncomfortable. It was the fact that his commanding officer was sitting in front of him. Whether this meeting was for business or pleasure, he felt like he was under a microscope, and everything he did was under scrutiny.
He'd felt like that before many a time. When his family would have over their "friends" and business associates, he'd been told to act and talk a certain way while they were present. The entire time they were there, he was under the scrutiny of either his parents or their guests. It'd been a terrible feeling, and had led to his severe discontent towards his parents.
Michael was taken by surprise when Flannigan complimented him and his leadership. He smiled weakly at him in return, still on edge. "Thank you, sir," he started, pausing as the Captain continued. He inquired as to Durant's needs.
Instantly the thought of the message popped in his head, as well as the issue of the two Marines in the infirmary. "Well, sir, there is something I'm not quite sure how to handle," he said, thinking of how to explain it. He reached over and grabbed the datapad. "I received a message regarding one of my Marines. A Navy lieutenant by the name of Lieberman claims that the Marine in question failed to render a satisfactory salute... and, well, here."
He brought up the message on his 'pad and handed it to Flannigan. "I'll let you read it yourself, sir."
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Post by Deleted on Oct 12, 2014 9:43:14 GMT -5
Harker had been through this all before, the bewildered shock of being assigned to a new unit wasn't there this time. That kinda thing only happened to the Boots, he'd already been on a few pumps against the covenant aliens so he was used to good guys being shifted around. He'd heard good things about Oscar company though, guys in his old unit used to talk about them like some sorta super alien killers or some crap like that but he never really fed into the hype. Everything got exaggerated in the Marines, someone shoots an alien with a pistol then next thing you know he strangled it with his bare hands, then he did all that while surrounded and cut of from the team. It was all most likely just exaggeration but their official service record was still pretty top notch.
He looked around at some of the other new transfers to the unit, a lot of them were boots fresh out of training and he could barely contain his smile. They looked so stupid how motarded some were, a salty Lance Coolie could easily spot the boots in any unit and there was one next to him that looked like he was about to crap himself from nervousness, Harker just nudged him with his arm and quietly spoke to him "Relax boot...they can smell fear, I could smell you the second I got on the ship. Straight up kid just keep your head down, don't volunteer for anything and try not to stand out, those are your best chances for survival". To Harker it didn't really matter if a person was older than him or not, if they were a boot he still referred to to them as kid. Boot was one of those proverbial Marine Corps terms that referred to someone who had never seen combat or any sort of deployment and it wasn't based on rank, he'd seen boot Corporals and Sergeants and especially boot Officers.
He followed the rest of the FNGs as they met the rest of the guys, true to his advice earlier he stayed quiet and kept his usual wit in check. There would be time enough for that after he'd settled in but for now he just made a bee line for an open bunk and was about to throw his stuff down on it when a Boot Private stepped in front of him and claimed it, "Ya right boot...back up, that's my rack" Harker liked the bottom rack because he could hang things above his head at night and there was less chance of falling out of the rack at night. The Private turned around with a look in his eyes like a deer in headlights, Harker grabbed the kid's stuff and dumped it off the rack "You can have the top one Boot, once you have a pump or two under your belt then you get to pick your rack".
It might have been considered mean but to Marines it was tough love, that's the way things worked in the Corps and if you didn't toughen up real soon then you either got your teammates or yourself killed and he wasn't about to die because of some boot. First thing he wanted to do was catch a nap, one thing he'd learned on deployment was that a grunt can sleep anywhere and if you have a chance to sleep then take it because it was one of the precious few things you had.
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