[C-Deck] One-stop Shopping Spree

[Stone, T.]

Stone hefted the stretcher, weighed down by heavy crates of crew-served weapon ammunition, up in his hands and prepared for the short haul over to the hangar. He waited for Davis to take off, and then kept pace at the back end of the stretcher. Marines ahead of them scrambled out of the way so as to not be run over, a fact which caused Stone to grin in amusement.

They passed through the door into "The Closet," a passageway that connected to the ship's port hangars. A group of Marines stepped aside just in time, although their friend up front got shoved aside by Davis for not paying attention. The pair rounded a corner and stepped into one of the massive hangar bays.

Ahead of them were the Pelicans that Oscar Company would ride down on to the surface of Phoenix III. Each bird sat on a landing pad and was aligned side-by-side to one another. Enlisted flight crews milled about their assigned aircraft, doing final pre-flight inspections of their craft or loading last minute ordnance aboard. The pilots were no where to be seen, most likely meaning they were already aboard their craft.

Stone and Davis hauled the stretcher up a ramp and to the blood tray of First Squad's Pelican. Davis set the front end on the lip and began sliding the ammo crates into the passenger compartment. Thomas grabbed hold of the last crate and shoved it forward, off the stretcher.

With that, they turned around and headed back to the armory with the stretcher. Just as they passed through the door into the room, Stone responded to Davis's plan and quip. "Son, if ya ever suggest such blasphemy agin, I swear I'll toss ya out an airlock," he said with a grin. "Let's load this baby down 'n git'er offloaded!"

Stone dropped his end of the stretcher when they arrived back at the spot with the crates. He moved around it and started lifting the crates, two at a time, stacked atop each other, and set them down on the stretcher. The Sergeant looked over and saw Davis pickong up crates one at a time and chuckled. "Ya ain't gon' let an old salt dog like me out do ya, are ya Corp'ral!?"

[Ward, J.]

Jon never imagined he would witness such chaos before in his life. Marines moved to and fro to retrieve their weapons, acquire ammunition, and prepare for the drop to the surface. The quartermasters in the gun cage moved with expert precision despite the overwhelming numbers of men and women lined up outside the metal partition. Somehow, those people were managing to control the chaos happening within the confines of the armory.

The voices of Lance Corporal Avery and PFC Furby culled his attention. He overheard them commenting on Corporal Stringer and his seemingly gung-ho attitude. They seemed to share a negative opinion of his actions and attitude, and it baffled him. What was so wrong with being motivated, he wondered.

In Ward's opinion, Corporal Stringer was the epitome of what he had imagined a Marine NCO to be. Gung-ho, organized, and ready to fight for right and freedom. Corporal Davis seemed like a good NCO, too. He came off to Jon as a hard charger.

He'd been surprised to learn that Davis was only a year older than him. When Ward had met him, he'd guessed the man was at least twenty-one or older. Davis didn't look nineteen years old. He didn't act it, either.

"I don't see a problem," Ward interjected, injecting himself into the conversation, "he seems like a hard charger to me."

No sooner had the words left his mouth did he realize the error in his ways. He had just inadvertently given Lance Corporal Avery permission to chew his ass, and like a shark closing in on wounded prey, Avery jumped on the opportunity to do so. Jon looked away as soon as Avery was finished, repressing the terrifyingly strong urge to give the automatic rifleman a piece of his mind. The better part of Ward's conscious mind knew that that would be a grave mistake, but there was a small part of him that didn't care about the repercussions.

He was tired of being treated like crap. What was worse was the fact Jay didn't back him up. His so-called "friend" merely sat there in silence, allowing Avery to treat him like the scum underneath his boot. Jon shot Furby a look that could have derailed a speeding MagLev, but he would say nothing within earshot of Avery.

Jon snapped out of it when he heard the bellow of Sergeant Willowby telling everyone ahead of him to move out of the way. Ward pressed his back against the wall and watched as the squad leader and Staff Sergeant Cruz barreled past them through the door out of the armory. A few seconds later, Sergeant Stone and Corporal Davis followed in their wake. He noticed the crates atop the stretchers, and realized they were taking a lot of crew-served weapon ammunition down with them planetside. Suddenly, the excitement and anxiousness to get on the planet and join the fight hit him harder than ever.

He couldn't wait to get his feet wet.

[Davis, E.]

"Actually Sergeant, that's exactly what I'm doing," Davis said, still only throwing one case at a time. His was moving almost as fast as Sergeant Stone's two at a time, and his half of the stretcher would be carrying more weight. "I'm letting you outdo me. I'd hate for you to think you were losing a step. I mean, its common for a man of your age and all."

The crate of ammunition were loaded quickly and Davis gave Sergeant Stone his signature crooked grin. He knew that Sergeant Stone could likely still run him into the ground, but he wasn't about to concede that point without a fight. He expected to be pushed hard on this run down to the hanger, but he was ok with that. He had held up a little on the first jaunt, knowing there would be more. This time, he could get away with being pushed his hardest. After all, he would get a chance to rest up on the dropship.

"Ready to roll when you are Sergeant," Davis said, slapping his ruck back on top. He prepped himself to pick up the stretcher which had to weigh close to three hundred pounds now. They had plenty of ammunition, and people often forgot how much the packaging weighed. It wouldn't be an easy jaunt.

And then, it was off to the races, taking long deep breaths to try and pace his heartrate. He gave out the needed warning calls, but it was only two turns before he was dripping sweat and puffing like a bull. The loud pounding of his feet and ragged puffing breaths did enough to get the needed attention of most people. But he didn't slow. He wouldn't slow. Sergeant Stone would find out what he could do, and perhaps, next time, keep that in mind before commenting. 

That wasn't likely, but it was always good to have goals.

[Faust, M.]

Faust had collected her rifle, the same weapon she had used in dozens of different battles. She and it had become the perfect death dealers, the one without the other was somewhat useless, except Faust could kill others without always needing bullets, a knife worked just as well. She inserted a magazine into it and inspected it. Faust looked to be in more of a bad mood than usual. Course some would say when was the Corporal ever in a good mood?
Such comments would not be said when Faust was in  earshot, less they wished to find themselves to be the first man to enter slip space without the aid of a slip space drive. 

Her team prepared themselves, annoying too slow but that was because of the cues so she elected to not rip their heads off of them for that. She wasn't pleased about the two new faces in her fireteam. Untested, raw, potential problems in battle, she did not care about their records, Faust could have a platoon of ODSTs under her command and she would still doubt their abilities in battle. 
For Faust you had to prove yourself in combat, prove yourself to be worthy of what others said about you. Words were always easy to say, proving those very words to be accurate. Now that was another thing entirely. 

She was ready for battle, just waiting on everyone else to get themselves into gear. She had half the mind to knock the guy who had been trying to serve the platoon faulty radios out, mostly because he was one ugly fuck and she happened to be in a god awful mood. 
Somehow she believed that Durant would fail to appreciate that act and would rather she saved it for the enemy. Though from the look of him, she half hoped that he would beat the snot out of that little bastard. 

Yeah, she knew she was pissed off, knew why too. Faust grew more and more frustrated the longer it took to get ready and prepared for deployment. She itched to spill the blood of their alien foes once more. Preferably in close combat, a privilege that she had been denied on their last mission where she got a horrible gut wound. 
Bye bye Bikinis, thank god. One would have thought that after such an experience, fighting the alien menace at short range would have been the last thing she felt like doing. Wrong. Faust intended to collect one hundred Covenant scalps and enough Grunt skin to make several cushions and to top it off, an elite skin rug.  
Someone had gotten up on the blood thirsty side of the cryopods.

[Stone, T.]

Davis was a cheeky bastard. Stone reminded himself that that was why he liked him so much (though he would never admit that outright). In the Sergeant's eyes, Corporal Davis was a younger, and far more sarcastic, version of himself. The boy had come a long way since he'd joined the company.

The man had risen to the rank of corporal faster than anyone the old man had ever met. Davis was only nineteen years young, and had joined the unit as a no-rank private fresh out of the ITB. Yet in that short span of time (somewhere around a year), the kid had climbed his way up the rank scale with a fiery tenacity and determination. Thomas recalled having doubts about him in the beginning, in large part because of the mediocre scores recorded in his CSV. He had specifically targeted the farm boy solely based on that fact alone.

The memories of his boot days filtered their way into his mind. Then-Sergeant Michael Ward - Private Ward's father - had targeted him for reasons very similar. Had it not been for Ward, Stone was almost entirely certain he would not have became the man that he was today. Ward had pushed him hard, putting him through misery and hounding him for every mistake he made both in and out of training. Thom had hated the bastard in the beginning... and now he respected the hell out of him for everything he had done for him.

Shoving those thoughts aside, Stone grabbed a crate and dropped it on the stretcher. He moved swiftly, quickly transfering the crates from the floor to the stretcher with almost practiced ease. "Davis," Stone began, giving him a steely glare, "I'mma 'bout ta make ya put yer money where yer mouth is."

There was the faintest, almost nonexistent, hint of a grin upon his face. Stone leaned down and grabbed the stretcher by its handles, hoisting it up to waist-level. He waited just long enough to confirm that Davis was ready to go, and then started forward. Since he was in the back, Davis technically was supposed to set the pace.

However, that would not be the case this time around. Stone kicked his feet into high gear, the stretcher pushing against Davis's backside. The Sergeant barked at him to move faster, determined to push his subordinate to his limits on this run. He drew deep, steady breaths through his nose and exhaled sharply through his mouth.

The pair rounded the corner and dashed into the hangar at full tilt. They came to a screeching halt just before the ramp to the blood tray, and they followed their previous routine. Stone helped rest the stretcher on the lip of the troop bay and then helped slide the ammo crates onto the bird. In record time, they'd offloaded the stretcher.

Stone smiled. "Not bad, Corp'ral," he said. "Now let's head back, git our shit, 'n hop aboard this bad boy 'fer the pilot's decide ta leave without us. 'N fer God's sake, son, git suited up!"

[Durant, M.]

The crowd in the armory started to funnel out the door to the armory. The quartermasters breathed sighs of relief as their lines of customers began to disappear. Lieutenant Durant moved over to his platoon with Wilkas in tow, his eyes running over each of them. He saw the usual expressions of repressed fear, determination, and contained excitement.

The detail in charge of loading down the Pelicans with crew-served weapon ammo returned and loaded up together. Sergeant Stone and Corporal Davis had been the first to return, with Staff Sergeant Cruz and Sergeant Willowby right on their heels. Sergeant Mason and Lance Corporal Baldwin returned seconds later. They didn't take long to get squared away, and Durant was about to address his platoon when he heard the crackle of the radio.

Captain Flannigan's voice filtered into his headset. The Lieutenant turned around and grabbed the handset on Wilkas's radio pack and brought it to his ear, clicking the talk key on the side of the handset. "Omen Actual, this is Omen 2 Actual. Radio check, roger. I read you lima charlie. Over." He set the handset back down on his RTO's pack and faced his platoon.

"Marines," he started, clasping his hands behind his back as he spoke, "the call of Oden has been heard. Down below us is a planet in turmoil, and we are the righteous hand that will cleanse it of the Covenant infestation. It's going to be a hot drop into an even hotter LZ - and as always - I want you to stay sharp and fight like I know you can. Oden will watch over us as we venture into the belly of the beast. I don't presume all of us will return in one piece, and there's no guarantee that any of us will come back; but, should either be the case, I want you to know it has been an honor and a pleasure to serve with you, and I will see you on the battlefields of Valhalla."

Durant paused for just a moment, letting his words take their effect. "The Covenant are down there right now and they think they are winning. That is totally unacceptable in my book. We are going to show them the error of their ways. We will drive them back. They are laughing at us! Are you going to take that? Because I sure as hell won't! So grab your rifles, board the birds, and let's kick some alien ass! Oorah?!"

The thundering roar of their voices boomed in the confines of the armory. Durant's thin lips curled in a toothy smile and he nodded at them in approval before turning towards the door and gesturing for them to follow him out. He led them down the "Closet" and into the hangar.

The hangar was alive with activity. Enlisted flight crews were finalizing their pre-flight checks or vacating the area. Engines were coming to life, starting as a low rumbling sound and soon transforming into a steady boom. Mike located the Pelicans tasked to Second Platoon and herded his Marines over to them.

The three squads dispersed, breaking for their assigned birds. First Squad had Five-One-Nine, Second Five-Two-Zero, and Third Squad had Five-Two-One. Durant ordered Staff Sergeant Cruz and Doc McMillan onto Third Squad's bird. Wilkas and him would board Second Squad's Pelican, and the Company XO would have First's bird to himself.

"Squad leaders," Durant called before the three men could board their transports, "we're offloading the ammo first thing when we touch down. Split your team's up. Have two teams exit and establish perimeter security of LZ, and one team to help you offload the ammo."

With that, Durant boarded the Pelican with Wilkas. Second Squad's Marines had already taken to occupying the ten seats, forcing the remainder aboard to stand. Durant shrugged. He grabbed the cargo webbing overhead and stood by the rear hatch of the blood tray.

In a couple minutes, the Pelicans would launch. Operation: FROST DRAGON would officially be a go.

[Stone, T.]

Stone quickly grabbed an MA5C, his sidearm, and the requisite ammo for both before joining the others by the door that ultimately led to the hangar. Lieutenant Durant approached a couple minutes later as the crowds of Marines began to funnel out of the room.

The Sergeant hardly paid attention to the platoon commander's speech. It wasn't much different than the last one, or the one before that, or before that. Over the years he'd probably heard every speech imaginable before an op, and over time he stopped listening to them. His sole concern at the moment was hopping aboard the Pelicans and getting the hell outta dodge. He wanted to be on the ground, kicking Covenant teeth in.

When the Lieutenant's speech concluded, Stone led the way for First Squad as he followed the man out the door. When they stepped through the door into the hangar, Stone started towards the Pelican that the officer had indicated when he heard him call for the squad leaders. He stopped and turned around. He struggled to hear the Lieutenant over the noise of the many drop-ships firing up. "Roger that, sir!" Stone replied.

He turned back around and stepped onto the Pelican. He opted to stand, grabbing the cargo webbing above to keep him anchored in place. His Marines took their seats or found places to stand. Lieutenant Matheson, the Company XO, climbed aboard from behind him and moved to stand by the hatch to the cockpit.

Stone looked at Davis. "Yer team's offloadin' the ammo," he said. He turned his eyes on Corporals Skip and Faust. "Y'all two will be on perimeter security."

He nodded at their acknowledgments and then looked out the open hatch into the hangar. The flight crews bugged out, walking off the launch pad and out the door into the bowels of the ship. That meant they were minutes away from departure, and he grinned as it occurred to him they would be in for a bumpy ride.

[McMillan, J.]

Jim followed the Lieutenant out of the armory and into the hangar. The smell of avionics fuel and the steady, harmonic roar of aircraft engines brought back vivid memories of his time spent aboard the Hopeful. There had been several occasions where he'd been assigned to a trauma team that remained on standby in the hangar bays to pick up wounded disgorged from dust-off flights and wheel them to the infirmary on gurneys. Mac learned rather quickly how the term "blood tray" came about, and it was an experience he imagined he'd never forget.

Not for a long time, anyway.

As he climbed aboard the Pelican that Durant indicated, he was assaulted by those vivid memories in quick succession. He could almost taste the bitter tinge of iron on his tongue, and could easily visualize the compartment bathed in crimson from bleeding casualties. Despite this, he made his way over to the front of the compartment and sat down by the door to the cockpit. Mac strapped himself in and rested his rifle across his lap.

The corpsman watched in silence as the blood tray quickly filled up with bodies, and nodded towards the likes of Sergeant Weatherby and Staff Sergeant Cruz. Once the troop bay was filled to capacity, Weatherby wracked his knuckles on the cockpit door and the rear hatch suddenly hissed shut.

In a moment or two, they would be shooting through space towards the surface of Phoenix III.

[Harrison, D.]

Derek strode towards hangar C-1 with an air of confidence, his headquarters team behind him, following closely. The group split apart upon entering the hangar, each of them already aware of their Pelican assignments. The Colonel climbed aboard the bird he'd opted to ride in down to the surface and took his seat by the exit. He set his rifle muzzle up between his legs and held it there with one hand, his other hand resting in his lap.

Sergeant Mahmut, the Colonel's RTO, sat down beside him. The young Marine seemed to be in high spirits. Whether that was because he would be getting an opportunity to leave the ship or because he knew being the Colonel's RTO was a sure-fire way to remain far away from active combat, he didn't know. Nonetheless, it didn't matter either way. Harrison was just happy to see the man smile.

"Is my net up, Sergeant?" he asked his RTO.

"Yes, sir," Mahmut replied, his voice heavy with a discernably Egyptian accent.

Harrison nodded. "Give me the handset for a moment."

Sergeant Mahmut responded by unclipping the handset from his radio pack and placing it in the Colonel's open hand. Colonel Harrison brought the handset up to his ear and pressed the call button. "Chaos Actual to Company Commanders, radio check. Over."

The first to respond was Captain Bartlett, the commander of Mike Company. "This is Misfit, lima charlie, over." Harrison grinned at the captain's succint reply. Captain Marrett was known for his brevity and presence of mind. Harrison often told the Major that if and when he was to move up the command chain, that Bartlett would make a fine executive officer under Killinger.

"Chaos, this is Navajo, be advised: lickin' chicken. All Navajo elements ready to deploy. Over." Harrison nodded despite November's commander not being able to see it. Captain Alexander was fairly new to being a company commander. After the botched op on Hydra III where November's previous CO, Captain Mullis, had been killed, he'd been bumped up early to replace him. This would technically serve as his first mission as the company's commanding officer, and Derek was intrigued to see how he would perform. Fortunately, he knew the company and its Marines, so he imagined the man would do just fine.

Harrison sighed as he waited on Captain Flannigan to respond. Once he heard from Oscar's CO, he'd radio the Admiral and let him know that his battalion was ready for launch. He was sure everyone was anxious to head down to the planet and take the fight to the Covenant, and he didn't want to keep them waiting for very long. Not if he could help it, anyway.

[Flannigan, S.]

Captain Flannigan watched his men load up onto the Pelicans. They were prepped and ready, if not a little rough looking. He had watched Mike Company load up on their last op. They had looked more disciplined and polished, but they had come back in tatters. His boys were rough, he would grant that to anyone, but they had grit and fight. Second platoon had taken on hidden Covenant head on and managed to hold their own. They were fighters, and that was far and away more important to him than any amount of polish.

The crackle of Colonel Harrison's radio check interrupted his musings. He grabbed the handset off of Totino's pack and then waited. He always called in last, if for no other reason than to be the last voice heard. He shook his head at Mullis's 'licken chicken'. Flannigan had to resist the urge to reach through the radio and rip the officer a new asshole with his voice. Licken chicken was for children and idiots, not officers of the USNC Space Marines.

"Chaos, this is Omen actual. Reading you fife by fife. Omen elements prepared for deployment, Over."

Taking a seat up near the cockpit, Flannigan sat in his seat and pulled up close to the firewall. Their would be plenty of marines coming in and he wasn't about to take up more space than was his due. Mentally flipping his Company channel open he gave a quick verbal push.

"Let's go Oscar Company," he barked quickly. "Those army boys ain't gonna hold dinner for us."

[Wilkas, G.]

So this was it. Time to face the evil alien menace which went by the name of the Covenant again, defend a world, save humanity. Probably just another day in the UNSC marines. Grace stood near Durant holding onto the overhead cargo webbing as best she could. Armoured up and ready for battle she looked different more like a soldier but still far too young to be having to face the horrors of war. Given a choice, she doubted that she would have voluntarily joined the marines or any part of the UNSC. Wilkas never considered being a soldier or in this case a marine as something that she wanted to do with her life. Fortunately for her the UNSC stepped in and made the choice for her. 

"Thanks for getting me a working radio pack sir" Wilkas said feeling that she should thank him, for she had been a few heart beats from collecting some of that guy's teeth. "I was a few moments away from collecting some of his teeth and then taking a working radio by force." She smiled at him nervously popping a chewable mint into her mouth, hoping it would calm her nerves. 
Her second ever encounter with the damned Covenant and it would be a big one if they were invading a planet. 

Wilkas did not believe the religious stuff that Durant did. If there was a god or gods, she believed that they had a long time ago stopped caring about the mere humans and left them to their own devices. If they existed, surely they would do something to help prevent human worlds from being glassed? She used to argue with her mother about religion all the time back home. 
Oddly she missed it now, the arguing because then at least she would be back home, rather than about to face the enemy. 

At least she looked pretty amazing in her uniform, which had already won over a marine. Her smile grew at the memory, focus on the good things, she tried her best to ignore the bad points. It was difficult her mind only wanted to be concerned about the fact there was to be a battle and she might very well die in it. 
No one wanted to die in battle but when the Covenant came to town there always would be a chance that you might fall. 
From what she had heard, it was far better to be die in battle than be taken alive by the Covenant. An ODST in the mess hall prior to freezing told her several stories of battles in an attempt to chat her up, till Cruz came and chased him off. Honestly, she'd never seen a private move so fast before in her life. 

[Davis, E.]

Davis was finally suited up in his armor, his team back with him, and he ran through his last few pre combat checks. He had assigned his team to start loading ammunition in their packs as soon as they got in. He also ran a quick check on the team channel for their headsets. Both voice and silent acknowledgement were gone over, and with a jut of his thumb towards their Pelican he had them start to load up.

"Fox No Go," he said, laying a hand on Ward's shoulder. "You're with me, we load last."

Waiting for the rest of the squad to pile into the Pelican, he glanced over the new guy with a discerning eye. He was green, but he was no dummy. If Davis could keep him from doing something crazy, the boy would turn out to be a good marine. When they were finally loaded onto the bird, he leaned into his ear and started talking.

"Listen, Ward, yes, I know your name. We haven't had the training time I'd want for a new guy like you, but you're my point man for this Op, and that's how it's going to run. Two things I need from you. Listen and trust. Listen to my orders, be where I tell you, when I tell you and you'll most likely come back in one piece. Trust your team. I know Avery can be an ass, but he's good. So is Furby, despite being a girl sometimes. And not a Faust like girl. We're gonna be in a urban environment. Trust we're behind you. It's not easy, but you have to if we're all coming back home, got it?"

Davis slung his ruck on the floor and started loading belts of crew served ammunition into it. He checked to make sure the rest of his team were doing the same before turning back to his work. The sound of the blood tray closing and the engines thrumming to life grabbed his attention. His smug smile spread across his face and he tapped Ward's leg to get his attention.

"Listen up Fox, it's show time."

The first few beats of music started to pour through his headset as the timer on the device he had given to Wilkas counted down. His voice started to talk over it as his prerecorded message played across the platoon net. He continued to shovel ammo into his pack, but couldn't keep his proud smile hidden too well.

"SECOND PLATOON SECOND TO NONE! Welcome aboard the last flight to hell. Glad you could make it. There will be no in flight movie or food, but if you wait a few minutes, I'm sure someone will puke up what they missed coming out of Cryo. So sit back, enjoy the ride, and remember, you wouldn't want to be a part of some good company."

[Ward, J.]

Private Ward moved through Corporal Davis's PCCs a lot smoother than he had expected. The Corporal hadn't jumped on his case for anything out of place, and he hadn't needed to dump any of his stored belongings. After running through the radio checks and hand signals, the NCO ordered them onto the bird. Ward turned around, cradling his rifle in his arms, and was just about to get a move on when he felt a heavy hand upon his shoulder.

It was Corporal Davis. "FoxNoGo, you're with me," his FTL said matter-of-factly. "We load last." Jon glanced at him as he wondered whether or not his team leader actually knew his name. Ever since he'd reported in and introduced himself to Davis, he'd gone by the moniker of "FoxNoGo." He hated the nickname, personally.

After boot camp and SOI, he'd thought - apparently incorrectly - that other Marines would treat him with the respect he felt he deserved. Earning the title of Marine was by no means an easy feat, and his father had ingrained in him a belief that Marines respected each other and others. So far he hadn't seen an ounce of respect from anyone aside from Jayson.

Furby was the only person who hung out with him and talked to him like he was a human being. Davis gave him a stupid nickname and Avery treated him almost as poorly as his DIs did back on Reach. Unbeknowst to his peers, he was frustrated by the way things seemed to be going for him. Jon tried to maintain a cheery disposition and stay motivated; however, slowly, he could feel those feelings draining out of him steadily, drip-by-drip like a faucet leak.

Jon was about to step aboard the Pelican when the voice of his fire team leader drew his attention. Seconds later he regretted the thoughts he'd just had about his present company, as Davis basically informed him that he did in fact know who he was and that he would do fine. He could trust his teammates with his life and they would watch his back. That was the kind of stuff he expected to hear from Marines, and the kind of treatment he wished to receive. "Yes, Corporal," Jon responded slowly, the shock wearing off slightly, "... and thank you."

He smiled. The first genuine smile he'd had in a while. With that now out of the way, and his confidence restored, Jon stepped aboard the Pelican and shrugged out of his rucksack as he took his seat. Immediately he began to draw ammunition from the crates and stuff them into his ruck, as per Davis's orders. Trepidation slithered and coiled up his spine as cold realization struck him like a sudden epiphany. In a few minutes he would be in the middle of a war zone.

His life would be in the hands of the Marines around him, and theirs in his. Jon was a point man. He would be the one to pave the way forward, and would also be the guy directly in the enemy's crosshairs in a firefight. Now, for no logical reason in his mind, he was nervous and deathly afraid of letting his comrades down.

And to add punctuation to his feelings was Corporal Davis. He tapped Ward on the leg and told him it was show time.

But was he ready for show time? Like the Corporal had said: they hadn't spent much time in training. What if he forgot what to do when the bullets (and plasma) started to fly past him? What if he made a mistake and was the reason someone got killed? All of these thoughts, and a tidal wave of more following their wake, sped through his mind at dizzying speeds. Jon looked around and spotted Furby, whom glanced back at him and they locked eyes. Jay seemed to scrutinize him for a moment, and then smiled at him reassuringly.

Somehow that managed to belay some of Ward's concerns. He took a deep, calming breath and then shot a glance at Davis as his pre-recorded message played over the platoon net. Slowly, a smile crept its way onto Ward's face, and a rush of adrenaline brought back his eagerness to head down and take on the Covenant as the message ended and the music began to play.

One thing was for sure in the Private's mind: this was going to be a fun ride down.

[Furby, J.]

"Shit is on, bro."

PFC Furby stepped into the blood tray of the Pelican, breaking for the nearest vacant seat. Behind him was Lance Corporal Avery, still cradling his '247 GPMG like an infant in his arms. "Yeah, man, totally," Jay said with a grin, "time to see how command fucks us on this one."

Avery laughed and collapsed into the seat beside him. Furby unfastened his ruck and dropped it on the floor in front of him. He opened the flap and cracked open a crate of ammo. He would be hauling twice the ammo he usually carried. As the team's rifleman, he was Avery's assistant gunner. That meant he was forced to haul extra ammo belts for Avery's '247, and he also had to load his ruck down with crew-served ammo.

"I thought you liked it in the ass," Avery retorted.

"What?" Jay asked as he set a belt down in his ruck. He pushed it down as far as he could to make room for the rest of the ammo.

"I thought you liked it in the ass," the Lance Corporal repeated. His smile grew wider.

Jay bared his white teeth in a shiny grin. "Only from you, big boy."

The smile suddenly disappeared from Avery's face. "Man, screw you."

Furby shook his head. "Whoa, man, slow down. I like to be wined and dined first."

Avery glared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, suddenly, he broke out into cackling laughter. Jay smiled and returned to loading down his pack. After about a minute he was finished. He picked up the ruck, swung it around, and had Avery help him clip it to the back of his armor.

With that, he placed his rifle between his legs, muzzle up, and laid back against the seat. He looked around the blood tray and saw that everyone was situated and ready. Judging by their faces, everyone was ready for the mission ahead.

The radio sprang to life with static. The static fell away, drowned by the voice of Corporal Davis as his pre-rec message played. Furby thrust his fist in the air at the end of the message, the only sign of "moto" enthusiasm he was willing to display. Some of the others did their obligatory "oorahs" while the remainder kept quiet.

"This is gonna be so fun!" Furby exclaimed in sarcasm.

[Stringer, K.]

Stringer listened to Durant's speech. Personally, he didn't believe in the viking gods, but he did know his history. Warriors having angels watch over them during battle, picking out the righteous to go to heaven, and having the ones who aren't meant to go be protected. He could only hope, if these gods existed, they would watch over his fireteam today and so forth. When Durant said to the company "Oo-rah," he heard several marines, including some of his fireteam, yell back the same. Stringer turned and looked at his fireteam.

"Third fireteam, we're heading into hell today, and its time to kick the demons' asses! Move out!" Stringer turned and began to move with the company, quickly, as they moved down the pathway, towards the hangers. As Durant told the squad leaders which pelicans to load their squads into, Mason barked at his fireteam leaders, including Stringer, to load up onto pelican Five-Two-One. Stringer moved to the ramp as the other two fireteams were loaded up.

"Third fireteam, load up! Third and final squad on, but first off! Get ready for combat marines, because I want this squad to be the ones who gets the first kill against the covenant, for the entire company! Now load up. I want this fireteam at the ramp, and when we hit the ground, you pop anything that isn't human!" Stringer stepped onto the ramp for the pelican as he watch Silva, Gray, and Lawrence load up. Stringer stopped Gray at the ramp by motioning her to stop with an open right palm.

"Gray, I am going to depend on you as my second out there. I know Lawrence has combat experience, but Silva is green. So, its up to us to watch out for the fireteam. If I miss something, point it out or call it out. I'm depending on you." Stringer gave her a smile and then motioned her onto the pelican. As Gray stepped onto the bird, Stringer saw Mason coming and stepped onto the pelican now, standing as he held his left hand up and grabbed the netting above the troop bay, hanging onto it one-handed.

"Sergeant Mason, damn good day to kick some alien ass, Sergeant. I have third fireteam ready to step off first as soon as we hit the ground."