The Bridge

[Davis, E.]

Davis felt that that haul with the stretcher was going quite well. They were tactically a perfect target, but such a thing could not be avoided if they were going to stay efficient with the ammunition. It was a longer march then he would have preferred, but only because he wanted to get into the fighting. The sounds of plasma and gunfire could be heard clearly in the LZ and Davis hated to be left out of anything.

The orders came to break down the ammo into cans, and Davis relayed it, pulling out a multitool complete with pliers and they started to break open the cases right then and there. The wood was stripped away and the cans were broken open, only to be resealed and reset on the stretched. The whole process had taken a grand total of two minutes for the four members of First Team, and Davis reported when they were ready to move again. Sergeant Stone's orders to push Avery up made things more awkward, but Davis felt it was a good choice.

"Avery, get to the front of the line with Sergeant Stone. They want firepower and you're gonna provide it. Have fun. I'll send Furby with your extra ammo as soon as he's free. Fox, move to the back and take Avery's place on the stretched. Let's go first team, we're not gonna be mules just to miss out on the fun."

Waiting for the other two to get in place, they were up and moving before they were left too far behind. Davis picked up speed, knowing they were going to be a target and not able to stay low and move quickly. He had the full front end of the stretcher and was talking in his team's ears before they crested the hill. There couldn't be any hesitation or someone would get hurt.

"Stay low and move fast," he called back to them. "I'll find us cover. Once we get there, get down and we'll asses the situation from there. Now keep up!"

And then they were in it. Davis didn't run at a full sprint, but he was moving fast as the first few stray bolts of plasma whizzed past him. He quickly found some cover closer to the rear and hauled ass towards it, skidding to a stop and setting the stretcher down before looking around. Avery had found a place on the firing line, his LMG kicking away. A tracer sizzled right between a grunt's eyes, dropping the wretched creature. It was all Davis could do to keep from cheering.

"Furby, get up with Avery and get him is extra ammo. He's gonna need it the way we're looking. Stay with him and start working from the back to the front. He may have more lead, but you're a better shot. Don't let him beat you, and make sure he knows he's losing. And stay low when you move. Now get!"

Davis took another moment to look around. Their were crew served weapons still up and running, but he noticed the AIE was down. That was task number one.

"Fox, take these cases of ammo and get that gun back up and running."

"Corporal," Ward replied quickly. "I know nothing about that weapon."

"Damn it Private!," Davis roared, the rank sounding more like a curse than a fact. "I said get it up. Pull some boy scout to help you if you need it, but that weapon system is your responsibility. I don't care if it requires you to stick your dick in the safety to fire it. NOW MOVE!"

He had one other thing to be done before he could join in the fun himself. The ammunition wouldn't distribute itself. Grabbing four cases at a time, he started to move to the crew served locations. No weapons was worth anything without rounds, and he was about to make a lot of friends.

[Stringer, K.]

Stringer lead his fireteam down the ramp off of the Pelican, towing the front right handle of the stretcher holding the spare ammo for the army troops they were sent to reinforce. Once they were fifteen meters away from the pelican, Stringer yelled for his fireteam to halt and kneel, setting his corner of the stretcher down slowly, then scanning the area to the front right, checking his sector. He didn't see any covenant right of the back, but he knew with elites having stealth tech, it was better safe than sorry, and he was going to be the last person these alien sons-of-bitches would catch off guard. He listened as he overheard the battle from the bridge, and from the rest of the city, the sound of automatic gunfire and plasma being the sounds he heard more than anything.

Stringer looked back at the rest of his fireteam, checking to make sure Gray, Silva, and Lawrence were ready for whatever was in wait ahead of the platoon. He knew the covenant got their before them, and so he did not know what to expect. There was not much of a mission brief, other than hearing they got there first and now they had to rescue the army holding the bridges in the city. He knew they would be low on ammo, so he knew the clock was against them to get this ammo distributed to the army troopers and to bolster the defenses.

That's when he heard Staff Sergeant Cruz yell for the platoon to move out, and for first squad to take point. Stringer began to stand and lift his corner of the stretcher, feeling the rest of his fireteam lift it as well. He moved forward, behind second fireteam, giving them a seven meter distance between his fireteam and their own, just in case of an explosive round impacted the fireteam ahead of them. He kept an eye out still for any covenant targets, as the platoon began to approach the bridge.

Stringer saw the rest of the platoon come to a halt, as Durant was motioning for the platoon to do so. That's when he heard Durant come through his headset, ordering the ammo bearers to break open the crates. He also heard that first and second squad were taking the top tier of the bridge, and third was taking the lower. Stringer pressed his PTT and spoke through the headset.

"Omen two-two charlie here, solid copy, out. Gray, Lawrence, break open the container. Silva, provide over-watch. We're carrying the smaller containers up the bridge and handing out ammo once we reach the army troopers." Stringer helped Gray and Lawrence open the container quickly, then grabbed four ammo cans, and began to make his way up the bridge, following first squad closely. He noticed at one point, a fireteam was moving up faster than the others once they were nearing the crest of the ramp. He then saw stray plasma bolts flying overhead, as Stringer began to lower down and walk with a slight crouch to each step.

"Third fireteam, stay low and fast! Let's get this ammo dropped to the troops and engage the covenant!" Stringer followed up one of the marines of first squad, then peeled off when he saw the army positions, seeing the first set of machineguns, as he ran over and dropped the four ammo cans. He saw the army troops began to immediately tear into the cans and grab ammo, manning the machineguns behind the make-shift barricades. He also saw a few cars used as defilades. Stringer decided the sandbags were jammed up machineguns as it was, let alone throw another one into the mix.

"Third fireteam, on me! Move to the abandoned cars! Silva, set up on one that is turned and used the engine block for cover, and light those alien fuckers up! Lawrence, stay with her and provide support! Gray, on me! We're moving forward!" Stringer kept low as he moved from cover to cover, to the forward most army position, taking a pause each time to fire back at the covenant as he had his rifle in the semi-auto position on the fire selector. Once they reached the forward most position, a few army troopers were ducking down to avoid plasma fire.

"Soldiers, what's the status?"

"Almost out of ammo! We need to fall back!"

"Negative! Orders from higher are to hold here! You two head back and get resupplied, and we'll hold this position, now move it!" Stringer saw one soldier nod, and the other move right behind him as the told began to move back behind friendly lines. He got a bit closer to the car he was behind, then quickly aimed up over the vehicle and began to engage targets, firing a trio of shots into a grunt, who dropped down in a pool of its own blood. He then focused fire on one of the elites leading the troops, as the alien brute began to stagger back, its shield shimmering from the impact of Stringer's round. Stringer popped the fire selector into burst, and continue to fire what remained of his magazine into the alien, before hearing a click. The elite managed to survive the onslaught and get into cover, as Stringer dropped behind cover right as plasma bolts began to hit the car.

He hit the button to release the magazine, catching it and setting it on the ground as he quickly took a fresh mag out of his combat webbing, placing it into the rifle and hammering back the charging handle, letting the first round quickly load into the chamber, and then placing the empty magazine into his combat webbing. He knew if they had to stay here a while, there would be a time when those empty magazines would need to be reloaded, or risk having no magazines to carry ammo.

He looked over at Gray, as he made sure she was firing at the enemy and surviving the assault. He then leaned up over cover and was about to fire, when he noticed a grunt come around from behind a car, carrying what was the alien equivalent of a rocket launcher, what most called a "fuel rod" gun. Stringer's eyes went wide as he saw the grunt aim right at the vehicle they were behind, standing and grabbing Gray by her right arm, yanking her so she is spun around.

"Gray, move!" He lead her back towards a car a few meters behind her, running when he felt the percussion of the plasma round hitting the car they were just at, throwing him forward and into the car, his gut hitting the hood and then he fell back onto the ground and laid there only a moment, trying to catch his breathe. He then rolled onto his chest and fired a few rounds back towards the assaulting enemy, then he looked over to check on Gray, worried she may have been hurt.

"Louise, you alright?!"

[Furby, J.]

Furby kept control of breathing as he helped haul the stretcher to the bridge, sweat threatening to pour like a geyser down his pale face. When the order came to halt, he was thankful for the short reprieve, and carefully set his end of the stretcher down on the ground. The order came to break the crates down, and Furby slid one of them over to him and groped for his leatherman.

He couldn't find it. He was struck with the realization that he'd left it behind, back on the ship probably. With a heavy sigh, he looked over at Avery. "Give me your leatherman."

Avery pulled the multitool out of a pouch and handed it over to him. "Here, bro," he said.

The PFC worked the tool. He transfigured it into pliers and used the tool to crack the lid off the crate. The lid popped off with surprising ease and he returned the leatherman to Avery, and then started to remove the ammo cans from the crate, then discarded the empty container.

Corporal Davis ordered Avery up front with Sergeant Stone and the automatic rifleman nodded with a toothy grin, and then bolted off to catch up. Furby organized the cans onto the stretcher and then hoisted his side up. Ward picked up the slack on the other side and, when the platoon started to advance up the ramp, First Team followed. The trek up the ramp was killer, and as the sound of gunfire drew closer, Jayson wondered how in the hell they wouldn't end up being targets for the enemy.

Those thoughts were forcibly kicked aside when the first stray rounds whizzed by. Furby hunched down and kept his feet moving, praying to whichever diety would turn its ear to him that none of the incoming rounds came anywhere near him. To his relief, the Corporal halted and set the stretcher down, apparently assessing the situation at hand. A second later, he was issuing orders.

He wanted Furby to back up Avery and help him thin out the enemy. That was a job he was more than happy to do. "Roger that," he said as he unslung his rifle. He gave Ward a pat on the shoulder and then was off. Jay sprinted, his head down low, across the hardpan and collapsed into cover next to Lance Corporal Avery.

"Hey, bro," Furby greeted. "You miss me?"

Avery laughed as he loosed another burst that ripped into a Jackal's shield, catching it off balance, and giving the soldiers on either side of them the opening they needed to take it out. "Oh, my heart bled for you, brother," came his retort. "Now feed me."

"Comin' right up," Furby said, shrugging off his rucksack. He set his rifle against the sandbags and opened the ruck wide, digging his hand inside. His fingers met purchase and he pulled the long belt of seven-six-two ammo out, reaching for the end of it. Lance Corporal Avery opened the feed to his weapon and discarded the spent belt.

Jay quickly replaced it for him and he slammed the feed shut, wracking a round into the chamber. With that, he resumed firing in short, controlled bursts. Furby grabbed his rifle and pressed the butt against his shoulder, peering down the optic at the Covenant downrange. He set the crosshairs on the furthest target, a crimson-armored Elite, and squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked like a mule against the notch in his shoulder, and the Elite's shields flared a vibrant gold.

The alien stood there, shocked, but quickly recovered. It sprang into action, heading for cover while barking something unintelligible in its native tongue. Its subordinates must have understood it, because all of a sudden there was an increase in the volume of fire towards his position. Avery, forever looking out for him, increased the tempo of his firing, forcing those Covenant to either take cover or fall to a hail of hot lead.

Jay squeezed off a couple more bursts, and the Elite's shields died from two out of the three rounds of the second burst. The last round tore through one of its mandibles, separating it from the alien's ugly mug, and exploded out the back of its head. The Elite's legs went limp, and it sprawled to the ground in a heap.

Furby lit up a file of Grunts led by a Jackal, tearing them to bloody ribbons. The Jackal fired back, the shots going wild, and stubbornly advanced. Jay paused, carefully edging his crosshairs into the notch in the alien's shield, and he let off a burst that caught it in the gut. The bird-like alien staggered back, dark purple blood seeping from the fresh wound, and it hissed in pain. A second burst put it down for the count.

"Red!" Avery announced, wrenching the feed to his GPMG open and discarding another spent belt.

"I got'cha," Furby told him, ducking back down into cover and setting his rifle aside. He pulled another hundred round belt from his pack and placed it into the feed, and let Avery do the rest. There was a fuckton of Covenant to kill, and he had to score more kills than his friend.

[Silva, J.]

Now this was a battle, quite similar to some of the operations during the New Paris Uprising, save for the enemy was a inhuman son of a bitch, with weird guns, weird blood and weird voices. So basically, just a bunch of weird Innies who thought they could destroy Humanity for kicks she guessed. They probably did not bet on the marines turning up to fuck up their day. Silva had been delighted with her order to provide over watch to her team, this meant should she sight a target she could spray it full of lead till it was nothing more that a stain on the ground. 
After all she could not fire the machinegun one handed accurately. 

Hell, she wasn't very accurate usually. Hence why she got the big ass, lead spewing gun, why fire accurately when you have dozens of bullets which to slay the foe with? Silva took up cover where Stringer suggested, flipping her bi-pod mount out and opening fire with machinegun. "Wooo! You want some of this!" The marine cried as the machinegun spat out led. "Come get some!" Her previous combat experience reduced the amount of fear that she felt, sure she was scared but she gathered that all the marines here were scared.
Besides she had a kick ass gun to reduce her fear and protect her from the alien foe. 

She held the trigger down, admiring the way the bullets punched through the Grunts and a Jackal who's weird shield thingy had gone down from the torrent of fire. Needless to say, his shield would not rise again and neither would he. The next moment, Silva lay on her back winded, starring up at the sky as debris rained down, everything sounded distant in her ears, as if someone had put the world onto mute. What the private did not know was a plasma grenade had landed in front of her cover and detonated, the blast knocking her off of her feet. 

She rolled onto her front, looking for her machinegun, spotting it near her cover she crawled to it, her ears still ringing. The ringing vanished when she gripped the weapon once more, the sounds of battle returning in full force. She popped back up, taking up her position once more and resumed firing as if nothing had happened. Thanks to adrenaline she failed to notice that she had been wounded as a result of the blast with a small fragment of shrapnel in her left shoulder which slowly turned crimson. She cut down another Jackal, this one the type that did not use the hand shield things. She did not recall the exact words that the UNSC used for them. "Ce était pour ma maison!" She yelled at the Covenant in her native French, a language that Silva only seemed to use when either really upset or incredibly angry. For those marines who don't know what she said, they would later find out, assuming they all survived the battle that she'd said "That was for my home." Silva very much fought for New Paris. 

[McMillan, J.]

The platoon moved away from the LZ, and Mac trailed behind the Lieutenant and his RTO, his weapon lowered but at the ready. Gunfire echoed across the battlefield from the bridge, and from the sounds of things, the Covenant were winning the battle. The corpsman wondered what he would find when he arrived on the bridge. How many wounded would he need to tend to? Who out of the Marines around him would be the platoon's first casualty.

These thoughts pervaded in the back of his mind, like a whisper that sliced through the quiet air. He knew that battlefield injuries were sometimes the most gruesome. The Covenant's weapons did more than kill, they maimed their enemies. He'd seen soldiers, sailors, and Marines alike grotesquely burned or missing limbs. The sight was burned into his memory, and it was one that he would carry with him to his last days.

The platoon halted at the base of the on-ramp. Jim patiently waited, though part of him wanted to be on the bridge already. There were soldiers up there in the midst of a grim battle, and he was certain their medic had his hands full. He would be able to alleviate some of the pressure from the medic by assisting him in tending to the wounded.

Plus, he wanted to fight. The Covenant had destroyed his homeworld, and he wanted payback. Some how, some way, he would return the favor, and dish out vengeance sevenfold. But right now he knew it would have to wait, on account of the wounded that were certainly waiting for him up there. Fortunately, he knew they'd be on Phoenix III for awhile, thus meaning he had plenty of time to do what he intended to the alien bastards.

The Lieutenant waved the Marines forward, and Mac stood up and followed. He was glad to be on the move, and trailed closely behind the man as they slogged up the ramp. When they reached the top, Mac spotted the medic and the wounded he was tending to. He picked up his pace, hoping to come up beside Durant.

"Sir, permission to -" he started to ask if he could aid the medic, but he was cut off midsentence.

"Go," the Lieutenant said tersely. Mac nodded and sprinted forward, coming up beside the soldier. He dropped to his knees and shrugged off his rucksack, placing it beside him. He pulled his medkit out from the pack and set it down in front of him. "I'm McMillan."

"Hemsworth," the medic replied.

Mac nodded. "How can I help?"

Specialist Hemsworth gestured with a finger at the man in front of him. "This guy's critical. I've given him MediGel and dressed his wounds, but he's got third degree burns and needs to be in a hospital right now. I've given him some painkillers to ease the pain. That guy," Hemsworth pointed to the soldier beside the man he was tending to, "he's a priority. He took a round to the leg, plasma, and took a needler round to the gut. It was a dud; it didn't go off. Real lucky for him. The other two guys are routine compared to these two. Dress that guy's wound and then move on to them."

Mac gave a curt nodded and then opened his kit. He pulled out a field dressing and removed his canteen from his side. He looked at the soldier in front of him, who groaned in pain, clutching his gut. It appeared to already be dressed, so that left the wound to his leg. "What's your name, soldier?"

"Private First Class Chekov."

"Okay, Chekov, I'm Doc McMillan," Jim said as he unscrewed the lid to his canteen. He picked up the canteen and held the dressing with his opposite hand, hand flat and open. Tilting the canteen, he poured water over the dressing until it was nice and moist. With that, he set the canteen down and placed the dressing over the wound to the soldier's leg. "I need you to keep your leg straight, and don't touch your wound. Any kind of constriction will make it worse. Alright?"

"Got it," the young Russian replied.

Mac smiled and moved on to the next soldier. The man looked weary, and there was an obvious wound to his arm. It looked like shrapnel from an exploded needler round. A few of the purple crystalline shards were imbedded in the poor guy's face. "What happened to you?"

The soldier seemed to have not heard him. Mac waved his hand in front of the man's face, and he seemed to snap out of his daze. "Huh?"

"What happened?" Mac asked as he retrieved a pair of tweezers from his kit. He also grabbed a handful of bandages and a tourniquet. He'd used the tourniquet to cut off the circulation of blood to the soldier's arm while he removed the larger bits of shrapnel imbedded in it.

"I was standing next to my friend when he got hit," the soldier responded and gestured to one of the body bags a few feet away. "The round exploded and I was, how you say?... too close. So here I am."

Jim wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so he shut his mouth and went to work. He took hold of the man's arm and wrapped the tourniquet tightly around it. He tugged on it twice to make sure it was tight enough, and then let go of the soldier's arm and picked up the tweezers. Carefully, with steady hands, he went to work removing the bits and pieces of shrapnel.

The soldier winced in pain and hissed through gritted teeth. "Watch it, will ya?"

Mac grinned. "Don't worry, your arm should go numb in a second," he said as he eased a particularly large fragment of crystal out of the man's arm. "Now hold still while I work."

[Ward, J.]

Ward gripped the handle of the stretcher tightly. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as his heart beat against his chest. He looked around, almost as if he expected a Covenant soldier to pop out of a bush. During infantry training he'd imagined this moment - his first combat drop - and he'd always pictured that he would step off into a huge battle.

The truth was: he wasn't sure what to expect. The difference between reality and daydreams were distinct, and so far reality did not live up to what he had imagined. Instead of toting a rifle and knocking down bad guys, he was handling a stretcher packed with ammunition, while the rest of the squad got to do the stuff he'd trained for. Somehow he felt jipped.

Staff Sergeant Cruz ordered the platoon to get moving, and First Squad was to lead the way. Sergeant Stone bestowed the honor of taking point upon Second Team, and so First Team followed behind them. The march across open terrain to the ramp up to the bridge was quiet and uneventful. The only sounds came from the bridge and from Longswords that screamed by overhead.

When the platoon reached the base of the on-ramp, Lieutenant Durant ordered a halt. Jon carefully set the stretcher down and sighed. He wished the Lieutenant would hurry up. The Army were in contact, and he felt like he was missing out on it. Ward had joined the Marine Corps to fight, not sit around and wait.

His wish was granted a couple minutes later. After breaking down the crates and discarding them, the platoon moved out. Ward moved to the back of the stretcher, taking the place of Lance Corporal Avery whom had been ordered to stick close to Sergeant Stone. With a huff of air, he hoisted his end of the stretcher up, and then started moving.

The slog up the ramp was murder. In order to keep the cans from sliding off the stretcher, he and Furby had to raise their end up higher to keep it level. Holding all that weight up at an awkward angle started to wear on his muscles, and they began to shake involuntarily. When First Team reached the top, Ward heaved a sigh of relief.

And then plasma sizzled uncomfortably close by. Adrenaline exploded into his bloodstream and he hunched forward, trying desperately to keep low. Fear tugged at the edges of his psyche as the realization dawned on him that this was it; he was being shot at. He was in the midst of a life or death scenario, and one single mistake could land him six feet under.

Davis stopped and Ward dropped his end of the stretcher, lowering to a crouch and unslinging his MA5B. He double-checked that the safety was off and readied his weapon, breathing heavily. The brutal chorus of battle was a deafening orchestra of deadly instruments, a symphony of death. Part of him wanted to crawl into a corner, ball up in the fetal position, and stay there until the firefight was over.

However, another part of him - the greater majority - wanted to charge forward and close with the enemy. After all, this was it. The very thing he signed up for several months ago. He'd endured boot camp and the infantry training battalion just so that he would end up right here, in this very spot. Jon was a rifleman. Beyond that, he was a Marine.

Retreating was not an option.

Neither was surrendering to his fear.

Corporal Davis's voice was that gentle push he needed to remember to focus, and keep his head in the game. He locked eyes with the NCO as he ordered him to go supply one of the MGs with ammo. Jon glanced over his shoulder at the weapon he was being told to operate, and he realized it was a weapon system he was totally unfamiliar with. "Corporal," Jon replied quickly, "I know nothing about that weapon."

"Damn it Private!" Davis yelled angrily, and Jon recoiled slightly. "I said get it up! Pull some boy scout to help you if you need it, but that weapon system is your responsibility. I don't care if it requires you to stick your dick in the safety to fire it. NOW MOVE!"

"AYE, CORPORAL!" Ward replied smartly. He turned on his heel, grabbed a couple ammo cans, and booked it, his sights on the downed MG and nothing else. A bolt of plasma sizzled by his head, so close that he could feel the heat the glob produced, and his heart nearly jumped into his throat. He kept running, however. He wasn't going to stop. If he stopped now, he'd almost certainly be a goner.

Jon made it to the MG position, and he slid into cover, his shoulder slamming into the sandbags. He set the metal cans of ammunition down and popped the lids open. There were a couple of soldiers in cover with him at the position. "Hey," he called to the soldier closest to him, "I got ammo for the MG."

The soldier smiled, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Holy shit," the man exclaimed. "I never thought I'd be so happy to see a Jarhead. Load 'er up!" Ward hesitated, not exactly sure if he wanted to admit to this guy that he knew nothing about the weapon system. The soldier glared at him expectantly. "Well? What are you waiting for, man?"

Perhaps it was best he come clean.

"I don't know anything about this weapon," Jon admitted sheepishly. The soldier groaned and shook his head at him. Ward felt like an idiot. Officially.

"Here," the soldier said, scooting himself over to the machine gun, "I'll give you the crash course. Gimme the can."

Jon gave him an ammo can.

The soldier took the box and mounted it to the side of the weapon. He lifted the cover over the feed and slid the belt of ammo into place. "This is how you reload," he said. With that, he slammed the cover down and pulled back on the charging handle.

"Now the weapon's hot," the soldier explained. "Now, this is an AIE-486 HMG. It spits out six hundred seven-six-two SLAP rounds a minute, and it'll fuck up a Ghost no problem, and punch through a Wraith's armor with sustained fire. It uses a butterfly trigger."

Ward looked at the soldier quisitively. The soldier noticed, and said, "It's a trigger that takes two thumbs to actuate. The left trigger spools the barrel. You want it spooled up for the highest rate of fire. Right trigger fires the weapon. You've got three barrels, so you'll run outta ammo quick. Good luck."

The soldier ducked down and opened up with his assault rifle. Jon stepped behind the HMG and placed his hands on the grips. He felt powerful standing behind it, and was struck with a sudden eagerness to use it. He wanted to see what it was capable of. Slowly, Ward placed his left thumb over the left trigger mechanism and pressed it in. The gatling gun-style barrel began to spin counter-clockwise.

He paused, ignoring the chaos around him, and turned the weapon onto a horde of Covenant troops that were behind the main line of troops. They would be his first victims, and also his test subjects. He was about to find out what the HMG could do. One of the Covenant troops, an Elite in blue armor, spotted him and turned.

Jon jammed the right trigger down.

The Elite was cut down in a hail of bullets, its shield managing to hold for a matter of a second before it failed and left it unprotected. It staggered back as round after round punched into its body, shredded its innards, and exploded out the back. By the time gravity took over and its legs went limp, its face was grotesquely bloodied and disfigured.

Suddenly, it was like a target had been painted on Ward's chest. The Covenant had taken notice to the evisceration of one of their own, and smartly decided the HMG was a huge threat to their assault. Multiple Covenant troops turned and started firing on his position. In response, Jon shifted and opened fire on those troops that were exposed and within his line of sight.

Six aliens fell under the barrage, a Jackal completely obliterated. Jon laughed, and turned to his next target. "OORAH! GET SOME!"

[Faust, M.]

"Hell yeah!" Faust replied loudly signalling with her arm for her fire team to follow her lead. There was nothing Faust loved more than leading from the front, on point. She was eager to face the enemy in battle, if she led the front she would be the first to the fight and have the honour of killing the first aliens that her platoon met. She led her way up the bridge, a few stray plasma rounds whistling past her, the corporal barely flinching, she hated how she flinched... But memories from her recent wounding as a result of plasma fire were still fresh in her mind. "Move!" The corporal barked, signalling to her fire team to take cover and return fire. 
They made it to the safety of cover fortunately without incident. 

Her fire team began to return fire, Faust popped up firing a short burst the bullets punching through the body of a Grunt, sending the alien falling to the floor dead. An Elite fired a fuel rod cannon, the blast knocking over most of her fire team. With a grown Faust got up, her helmet knocked clean off by the blast. The other members apart from Robin recovered and began to return fire, yet Robin remained suspiciously still. 
She moved over to the still marine, Faust pressed her ear close to Robin's mouth searching for breath. She found precious little. "CORPSMAN!" She yelled. "CORPSMAN!" Faust bellowed again, somehow louder than her original yell. 

Robin didn't display many or indeed any signs of life. Faust however, who hated losing anyone in her fire team refused to accept the possibility that she might be dead. She moved her fallen comrade further into cover, hoping that the corpsman would arrive soon. She struggled to find a pulse but eventually discovered one, though it was incredibly weak and very faint. 
This discovery prompted another call out for "CORPSMAN!" At the top of her voice. Faust hadn't the knowledge or medical skill to deal with blast wave injuries. 

She fire a short burst blind fire over her cover, flinching when she saw Silva get sent sprawling only for the marine to get back up and resume firing, cursing something in French. Ward opening up with the machinegun helped to draw some of the Covenant fire away from the marines and soldiers, with him on a much heavier machinegun result in many, many, many dead aliens. 
She hoped that he wouldn't get hit because otherwise someone would have to run out to his position, check he was alive and then man his weapon in order to keep the Covenant back.

[Flannigan, S.]

Flannigan had started forward to the stand of trees that had been indicated as the Company CP in this AO on his map. Lieutenant Johannson walked a step behind to his left while the marines of First Platoon were spread out around them. With any luck, this hand off would go smoothly and Flannigan could go check on the rest of his marines. Third Platoon and Hernandez would likely be fine, still sitting back at the Battalion CP, waiting for drop ships, but Second Platoon was walking into the teeth of a firefight that he could hear echoing down from the bridge. He was going to lose kids today, but they were saving civilians.

From up ahead, there were shouts of challenge and security lines. They must have found the army CP. He hoped that the two factions of military would keep in mind they were on the same side. Arrogance, pride, and procedure often made these kinds of encounters go poorly. When he was a Lieutenant, there had actually been a fire fight when his marines had refused to stop at an Army picket. No one was seriously wounded, but it was not an experience he cared to have again. He hurried up to the front to find an army private and one of Johannson's marines in a quiet, but animated conversation.

“What’s the story Lance Corporal,” Flannigan asked as he and the LT walked up. He could heard the Gunny in the background directing security details and the like.

“He just radioed for the Major, sir” the Lance Corporal answer quickly. “He said they’ve taken it...on the chin for the last few days.”

Flannigan didn’t miss the pause and glance at Lieutenant Johannson. He was still mixed on his feelings about women on the front lines, it being a topic still discussed among troops, even if the politics of it had long ago been decided. It was hesitations like that, concerns about “sensibilities” and “offending” people, that bothered him the most. It wasn’t the Lance Corporals fault, nor the Lieutenants. Just part of life in a mixed service.

Flannigan’s thoughts were cut short by the appearance of the Major and his security detail. Five soldiers to escort the man seemed excessive, but Flannigan said nothing as he was being escorted by an entire platoon, more or less. He waited patiently for the Major to get close enough to talk.

“Captain,” the Major said with a smile. “We’re glad to see you. I saw some of your marines heading up the bridge already, yes?”

“Yes sir,” Flannigan said. “And we’re here to take control of this CP. Forty four to come through your lines.”

“Count them in Specialist,” the Major said dismissively, pointing to one of the soldiers. “Come Captain, I’ll start walking you through what we have here.”

“Lieutenant Johansson will be taking this over, Major,” Flannigan said with a nod. “I’ve got other matters to attend to.”

The Major nodded and escorted Johansson and her RTO in personally while Flannigan watched his Marines file into the secure area. He had to check on Third Platoon, First Sergeant Zieed and the first ammo resupply, and where Cas Evac would come from. He couldn’t imagine that the Boy Scouts would be in one piece on that bridge. Perhaps even a few of his boys had eaten it already.

“Totino,” he barked, grabbing his RTO’s attention. “Get the First Sergeant with a SITREP on ammo resupply, then check in with the CASH about Cas Evac. If we need to secure a route out here, that’ll be priority one.”

“Roger sir,” the Corporal said, grabbing the handset and going to work.

[Gray, L.]

Gray and the others set off a decent pace, carrying the stretcher. She simply followed her leader's every move, but also kept scanning the area for any sign of the enemy. When the platoon came to a halt, Stringer turned to them and ordered them to break open the crates. Gray and Lawrence instantly broke open the container when bidden to do so, grabbing ammo cans in the process. Standing up the pair of them, along with Silva, quickly followed their leader over the bridge. As they approached the bridge, Gray could the sounds of battle getting ever close, sending shivers running up her spine.

Suddenly stray plasma bolts went overhead, instantly causing Gray and Lawrence to add a slight crouch to their walking position. "Welcome to hell." Gray muttered, causing Lawrence who was just behind her, to smile. The team made their way forward, moving to the first position, resupplying the soldiers as they went. All the time stuff was going off everywhere, Gray gritting her teeth at the sounds.

Eventually Stringer and Gray reached the most forward position, set behind an abandon car. Lawrence and Silva were setting up on another car a bit further back. Gray instantly set up besides Stringer and aiming her rifle, began engaging targets. The first target to drop from her fire was a grunt. Gray had missed the grunt on her first and second shots, but the third shot had got it clean in the neck. Next to fall victim to her fire was an Elite who had lowered it's shield and was caught off guard by her. One by one the enemy fell as Gray and Stringer kept firing in burst at them.

Suddenly Gray spotted a Grunt who emerged from behind a car with a fuel rod gun and aimed at their position. Before she had time to blink, Stringer had grabbed her arm and was yelling at her to move. With fear surging through her, Gray followed Stringer back towards a car further back, running. Suddenly she felt herself being quite literally, sent flying from a plasma round hitting the car they were at. The blast sent her, flying into the side of the car, causing her to smack her head which stunned her and caused her to fall heavily on the ground. Gray lay for a few moments dazed and trying to catch her breath. Suddenly snapping back to reality, she became aware that Stringer was calling over to her, asking if she was alright. "I'm OK, Corporal." Gray called back as she rolled onto her stomach and commando crawled over to where he was, stopping to fire at a Jackle, before reaching him.

Meanwhile Lawrence and Silva were also having a busy time. However a plasma grenade went off in front their car, sending them both to the ground. Lawrence saw Silva pop straight back up cursing in french and rolled over herself, getting up again. She crawled over to Silva and immediately noticed that she was wounded in the shoulder. At that point two soliders returned, having been resupplied. Lawrence immediately asked them to provide covering fire whilst she took a look as Silva's wound. They agreed, turning to Silva, Lawrence said "Silva you have been hit. Stop firing for a moment whilst I have a look at the wound." It seemed to be only minor but Lawrence radioed through to Stringer to find out what to do.

[Stringer, K.]

As Stringer shook off the shell shock, Stringer heard Gray tell him that she was okay, as she was crawling over to him. He crouched down and helped her to her feet, slowly standing up as he helped her up with his left hand, his right holding the BR55 battle rifle as he shouldered and fired it one-handed. He hit around a few grunts and caused them to take cover, then he fired at a jackal, hitting its shield with a duo of burst, unable to hit its arm and hand, the only exposed spots. Stringer always wanted one of the jackals' shields, just to protect him from that one loose round of plasma that might end his life.

As he helped Gray to her feet, he slowly moved backwards while firing at the covenant, firing more suppressing fire than directed fire, as he kept his eye on the targets through the scope. He continued to fire and take step by step back, moving behind the car he just hit moments before. Stringer then heard through his headset from Lawrence that Silva was hit, and Lawrence was requesting orders. He decided to take a second as he crouch down and kept firing with his right hand, using his left hand to operate his PTT.

"Two-Charlie Actual to Two-Charlie-three, if she is no longer able to fight, get her to a corpsman. If she is still combat effective, dress the wound and get her back into the fight. We need ever weapon we got on this bridge, over!" Once Stringer heard Lawrence's reply, he got back into the fight at hand. Stringer stood back up and continued to fall back to cover while firing at the covenant. Once he got behind the next car, he crouched down and looked over at Gray, yelling to her over the gunfire and plasma whizzing over their heads.

"Gray, move two cars back, then get into cover and provide support by fire for my withdrawl. I will come to you once you are able to provide covering fire, got it?" When Gray gave him her acknowledgement, he nodded once and stood up, taking aim over the wreckage they were behind. He began to fire at the covenant, firing burst after burst, giving each burst half a second to conserve what ammo he had left in the mag, which turned out wasn't much. After two more burst, he had to reload, placing a fresh magazine into the weapon and charging a new round into the chamber.

"Louise, go now! Move move move!" Stringer didn't wait to see if Gray was moving, as he opened fire on the covenant. He kept the fire steady, doing as before as he gave half a second to each burst he fired, this time targeting more than firing at the overall position of the covenant, as he hit two grunts and another jackal. The elite was back, this time apparently pissed that the two marines were still alive. Stringer focused fire on the elite this time, stepping up the tempo of his burst. As Stringer fired his third burst, the elite was starting to advance, only to suddenly be cut down by someone's fire from a machinegun. He could only guess it was either one of the many army units, or one of his fellow marines, ending the alien bastard's life.

Stringer then heard Gray over his headset, hearing her say she was set and ready to cover him. He finished the finals rounds in his magazine, then crouched down to replace it with another fresh magazine. He charged back the handle, then let it hit home, before taking two quick breathes. He knew this was it, that he was either about to get back to cover with Gray, or that he was about to bite the dust. He could only hope for the former, as he stood up and yelled, beginning his run back towards gray.

"Bounding! Gray, covering fire!" Stringer began to move, keeping low as he kept a quick run while keeping his head low enough to avoid the friendly, and non-friendly, fire going over his head. He moved as fast as he could, sliding when he got close to the car that Gray was behind, his feet first as he laid down at the end of the slide, then he quickly rolled to his right twice and stood back up, taking cover behind the car, as he patted Gray's right shoulder once, catching his breathe.

"Nice job Gray. Now, let's show these alien bastards what happens when they fire a fucking alien rocket at us!" Stringer aimed over the cover and began to fire once again, this time sending his rage and fury to the covenant with each and every round, feeling his heart beat pounding away at his chest, and his veins filling with adrenaline. He knew it was going to be a long day, and he could only hope his body kept up with all the action. Maybe then, he would have more than a fighting chance against the covenant. He would then hopefully have a chance, with the rest of the marines and soldiers here, to fight back the covenant, and possibly even kick their asses off this world. One could only hope at this point though, as he kept firing.

[Wilkas, G.]

Wilkas for once had separated from Durant, no longer being his second shadow. She was crouched behind an overturned car with an army soldier. The pair of them were taking it in turns to fire at the enemy, one fired the other one reloaded and so forth. Wilkas ducked down, ejecting the spent magazine and inserting the fresh one, she began to move so that she would pop back up when the soldier's head exploded from a beam rifle round, knocking his brain bucket helmet clean off and splashes Grace with the gory remains. She felt her chest tighten with terrible fear and her stomach heaved as it attempted to throw up whatever contents of it remained. 
The marine forced herself to try and take a few deep breaths, her platoon needed her in the fight not paralysed by fear or vomiting her guts up because someone's brains lay all over her.

She tried to remind herself that she had seen the dead before, this was no different. Save for the grim fact that these were the bodies of different people, but they were still being murdered by the Covenant. 
The sounds of something clambering on top of her cover dragged her out from her dark thoughts, she dived forwards away from her cover, her finger pressed down on the trigger, putting dozens of rounds into the Grunt which slid down off of the car, very much dead. Grace took cover with some other marines, she didn't check who she just decided it was better to find something to get between her and the plasma bolts. 

She blind fired a burst from her rifle, it clicked empty so she ejected the spent magazine, her hands shook uncontrollably and she fumbled to grab a fresh clip to place in the rifle. Grace paused after the third failed attempt, counting silently in her head whilst taking deep breaths. Now would be a very bad time to panic. Feeling somewhat the same she succeeded in grabbing the clip before ramming it firmly home. 
Wilkas resumed firing, the world seemed oddly distant, like she wasn't really here. It felt better than way, she wasn't in this nightmarish world of chaos, ruin and destruction. She watched another soldier fall this time the poor devil exploded from needler rounds.

This was enough to knock Grace out of adrenaline filled mind, she retched violently much to her disgust and shame. There could be nothing like seeing a person before the top half of them disappeared into red chunks whilst the bottom half remained. "Oh shit, holy shit!" She swore taking cover, this time staying in cover. That soldier just exploded, how could they hope to stop weapons like that? Weapons that could turn a person from a live being into chunks of flesh?
He just exploded! What a horrible way to die. 

[Durant, M.]

Before the Marines arrival, the situation on the bridge had been deteroriating fast. The Covenant had proven themselves determined to take it from the single understrength platoon that manned its defenses, and they'd come within an inch from succeeding. If Second Platoon had not arrived with ammunition for the crew-served weapons, the battle would have certainly been lost.

However, despite that small tip in the favor of the human team, the battle had not been won yet. The Covenant had gained a lot of ground, and they did so with surprising speed and efficiency. Plasma crisscrossed through the air in wild arcs of deadly fire. Needle rounds soared across the expanse of bridge between the Covenant and the humans, some colliding harmlessly with sandbags and metal, while others met armor and soft flesh.

Lieutenant Durant was huddled behind cover amidst the chaos, his rifle clutched tightly in his grasp, as he witnessed another soldier fall to the thick barrage of plasma. The young man screamed in horrific pain as his skin became charred black, and then sprawled to the ground in a lifeless heap. The stench of meat overcooked berated his nostrils, bringing a sick feeling of revulsion from the pit of his stomach.

He leaned over the top of the vehicle he crouched behind, and spied Covenant troops steadily advancing. Tracers from both rifles and fixed machine guns streaked over his head towards the aliens, managing to put a few to rest. However, it seemed for every one alien that was killed, two more replaced them. The barks and screams of his NCOs, as well as the Army's, were barely heard over the deafening roar of battle.

Thooomb! The familiar drone of a fuel rod cannon resounded, and the resultant explosion somewhere over by Second Squad's position rocked the bridge beneath his feet. Michael stood up and brought his weapon to bare on the nearest targets, unleashing a volley of fully automatic seven-six-two down range.

A Grunt's head exploded in a colorful spray of blue-white blood and bone. The Jackal beside it tried to dodge left, only to receive a gut full of lead for its troubles. The alien clutched its abdomen and staggered back, leaving itself exposed long enough to be put down by someone else. Durant ducked into safety as a trio of needle rounds zipped by overhead.

"Keep up the fire!" the Lieutenant barked into the radio. "Squad leaders, launch forty mike-mikes on targets of opportunity. Over!"

He was about to lean back out and engage when he felt the ground shake again. He looked around, as he hadn't heard an explosion over the roar of gunfire, and then the voice of Corporal Faust drew his attention. "CORPSMAN!" Mike turned, waited for an opportunity to move, and dashed over to where Faust was located.

By the time he reached her position, Sergeant Stone had beaten him there. He looked towards the CCP and spotted Doc McMillan rushing over to them. "What happened?!"

Stone looked up at him, his expression grim. "Plasma grenade," the grizzled NCO stated. "She's out cold, sir."

That was not good news. Durant looked her over and didn't notice any burns, meaning she hadn't been in direct contact with the blast. He was no medical expert, and definitely lacked the training and knowledge that McMillan possessed, but he knew a little something about the anatomy of an explosion. In his opinion, Robin was suffering from a blast wave injury. The concussive force of the blast had caused damage to her internally, and that meant things could turn fatal for her fast.

Durant glanced over his shoulder as McMillan arrived and Stone barked something at Faust, spotting Private Wilkas in cover by some Army troopers. "WILKAS! OVER HERE!" he bellowed. If his theory was proven correct by Doc's professional analysis, then they would require CASEVAC immediately.

The Lieutenant got low as plasma fire nearly got him. Things were getting intense. "Stone! I want your teams to focus their fire on the Elites! Automatic riflemen are to lay rapid suppressive fire! Keep those heathens from advancing further!"

"INCOMING!!" an Army soldier screamed in terror.

Durant looked up and saw a green blob of energy speeding towards him. His eyes went wide. "GET DOWN!" He dropped to his stomach and covered his head with his hands, interlocking his fingers. The fuel rod round sizzled over their heads and exploded harmlessly several meters away.

That alien with the fuel rod was becoming a serious threat. Mike grabbed his push-to-talk and squeezed the transmit button in. "Two-One, Two-Two, someone take out that fuel rod jockey! Over!"

[Stone, T.]

Things were getting dicey, and fast. Sergeant Stone had seen situations like this hundreds of times over the course of the last seventeen years of war. The Covenant were a stubbornly determined enemy, willing to sacrifice any manner of life and limb in an effort to eradicate every last man, woman, and child of humanity from the face of the galaxy. To his knowledge, the Army had managed to hold them back for a fairly long time, and he knew that meant the Covenant must have been getting desperate.

And angry.

The Covenant were not an enemy accustomed to failure. He imagined they weren't happy to have been stalwarted by a species they saw inferior and "an affront to their gods." Unfortunately for them, they would continue to see defeat if the Marines of Oscar Company had anything to say about it. The Covenant might have had a chance of taking the bridge had the Marines arrived later on, but now?

Now they didn't have a snowball's chance in hell. Oscar Company was here, along with the entirety of the Twenty-Seventh Marine Expeditionary Unit. These alien freaks were about to get their shit stomped, and Stone personally vowed to be responsible for the deaths of as many of the alien bastards as humanly possible. They had destroyed Harvest, his homeworld, at the war's beginning. So this fight - like every fight against them - was his chance for some payback.

The Sergeant clicked the radio on and looked to his team leaders. "Omen Two-One ta Squad, be advised: Alpha are ta establish base of fire while Bravo 'n Charlie prepare for movement by fire. Break." He paused to drill a few extra holes in an Elite's dome as it shield flared and died. "We gon' push these assholes back! Ya hear me?! Over."

Stone dropped behind cover and analyized the situation. The Covenant were a few dozen meters up ahead and had no vehicular support to back them up. They were dealing with standard infantry whom may have had the benefit of superior fire power before, but would soon lose that advantage if he and the rest of the NCOs of Second Platoon had anything to say about it. The Army boys were still in the fight... Mostly... And were putting up a decent fight.

There was enough bodies present to coordinate some serious fire on the enemy. If they could regain fire superiority and bog the enemy down, they'd have them by the balls in no time. Thomas wanted his Marines ready to move when that moment came. He would personally lead them across the bridge to eliminate the enemy if he had to.

The Sergeant's attention was taken away from his tactical analysis of the situation by the sound of something hitting the ground and sizzling loudly. He turned his head to the left and his eyes went wide. Set in front of the sandbag position Faust's team was using as cover was a plasma grenade, shining a bright ocean blue. Stone turned his body and brought a hand to the side of his mouth to amplify his voice.

"GRENADE!" he bellowed towards Faust and her team. A split-second later, the grenade shined its brightest and detonated. Stone watched as the Marines of Second Team were thrown back from the explosion. Dust and soot swirled through the air, kicked up from the blast, and obscured his view of the team.

Thomas stood up quickly and emptied his magazine into an advancing Covenant file. He succeeded in killing all but the Elite, whom dived into cover and roared in mighty defiance. Stone thumbed the eject button and moved towards Faust's position, reloading as he moved. Just before he reached Bravo's position, he heard the frantic voice of Faust yelling for a corpsman.

Stone finished reloading and dropped beside the motionless form of Private Robin. He looked her over quickly and saw that she was breathing fast and light, and she appeared to be unconscious. The first thing he did, and the first thing he remembered being tought from his CLS training, was to check her pulse. The Sergeant set his rifle down beside him and removed the glove from his right hand.

He placed his middle and index fingers to the side of her throat, just a few inches underneath her jaw, and felt for a pulse. He found it. Stone could feel his lips curling into a frown as he rested his fingers on her artery. Robin had a pulse, but it was faint. Too faint for his liking.

Just then, the Lieutenant appeared at his side. Thom was certain that Durant could tell just by his expression that things were not well, and he looked over to see Faust standing there, looking worried about her wounded Marine. As the Lieutenant called for Wilkas, Stone locked eyes with Faust. "Corp'ral, don't worry 'bout her right now, ya hear? I need ya focused on the mission right now! Ya got two Marines who need yer leadership 'n guidance right now," Stone said in a tone very much like a father talking to his only daughter. His voice was firm, but at the same time understanding.

He knew what it was like to be in her shoes.

He'd been there many times.

"Now git'cher ass back on line 'n light 'em up," he yelled, this time much more like his usual gruff self. She may not have been satisfied with all that he said to her, but she damn well had better understood that he just gave her an order. He was telling her to go kill Covenant, and Stone knew the woman well enough to know that was an order that Faust would never disobey.

When McMillan made it over to their position, Stone nodded to him, and then the Lieutenant before turning around and heading over to where Third Team had set up. Corporal Skip had set his Marines up alongside a fire team of Army troopers. They were spread out over a distance of roughly ten feet from each other, laying down a barrage of withering fire upon the enemy.

That's when someone yelled incoming, and a fuel rod round soared dangerously close by and exploded. Stone caught a glimpse of the bastard that had fired it, and lit the little stubby bastard with a precise three-round burst from his assault rifle. The Grunt dropped to the ground lifelessly, and just then did the Lieutenant's transmission to the platoon come in over the radio.

"This is Two-One, roger!" he yelled, and then switched back over to his squad's frequency. "Alpha, git that base of fire goin' NOW! Suppressin' fire right down the middle of these split-jawed bastards! Bravo, Charlie, add yer fire ta the mix 'n prep ta push up on my mark!"

Stone had one more person to radio before he lender his own weapon to the mix of gunfire. Just as he was about to press in the transmit key on his PTT, an overcharged plasma bolt struck someone to his left, literally melting his skin away until there was nothing left but a patch of charred hair and skin, and the bone visible from his skull.

The Sergeant paused for just a second to stare at the fresh corpse and then looked away, keying his radio. "Two-Two, request ya provide support-by-fire fer my Marines! Two-One Bravo 'n Charlie are 'bout ta push up!"

[Killinger, J.]

The Major had gotten the order to get the ammunition to the Marines on the front lines. It hadn't been long since he left the Elephant converted into a mobile command center, but it was long enough for the Marines to potentially start needing the precious ammunition. Wars like these it wasn't totally uncommon for someone to empty a magazine into an alien chest to make sure it was actually dead, specifically the elites... and he knew they were on the front lines so, to the front lines, John was heading to deliver the ammo; and deliver he would do in a matter of moments. His small flatbed Warthog spit dirt out as the Major accelerated over the rocks and gravel and onto the nearby road, pitching and jumping over obstacles with a small convoy of Warthogs towing trailers full of the resources they needed to hold their objectives. Two LAAG warthogs, one two hogs' from the front and one in the middle, protected the convoy from small arms fire.

Though they were still hundreds of meters away from the battle the Major could hear the automatic reports from the human weaponry, mixed with the energetic whine of the Covenant's plasma weapons, and knew that the Marine Company had been under heavy combat up on the bridge - and they were driving towards it. The commissioned Marine took the on ramp and started up, towards the fighting. It wasn't long until he pulled his cargo towards the top of the bridge and was meet with a stray plasma round hitting the armor of the warthog - boiling and bubbling the armor away - while scarring and burning the green paint around. The LAAG opened up, a steady stream of .50 caliber rounds firing across the bridge towards the Covenant position, while the Marines near or on the bridge attempted to fight back.

"Hold fire and get a clear shot!" John said over the convoys channel the moment his HUD begun picking up the IDs of individual Marines. The LAAGs ceased, their warthogs pulled to each side of the bridge and starting chewing through more ammo when the shot presented itself. When they had a moment the gunners would duck to avoid return fire. John knew that the LAAGs wouldn't be barking for long, they were tasked to return to the ammo depot with the convoy, which would be leaving nearly as quick as it had arrived. While the Covenant and Marines exchanged fire between one another John was able to pull into a covered position fairly easy, though he took incoming fire that totaled the 'hogs transmission as the heated weaponry melted through the armor and engine. It coasted to a break induced stop. The Marines that had joined him for the trip had already begun to unload the ammunition, storing it behind a barrier that was roughly one hundred and fifty meters away from the Marines.

John switched to O-Companies command frequency, "Omen Actual, Chaos X-Ray. A supply line has been established between the ammo dump and your Marines on the bridge, break. Lone resupply consists of ammunition for MA5, BR55, DMR, M247 and SRS weapons located one hundred fifty meters to Omen Two's six, break. Ammunition resupplies every two hours. Contact me on my personal channel if you need more rapid resupplies, out."

[Davis, E.]

Davis slid to a stop next to the last crew served position, plasma rounds still blowing by with searing heat. Davis was pretty sure his eyebrows had melted at some point in his ammunition delivery job, but there hadn't been time to check. The freaks were pushing hard, and he had to make sure their crew served weapons were all online if they were going to make it through this in one piece. Slamming down a can, Davis tore it open while the Army gunner tore open the feed tray, happy to get a resupply and loader. His loader was out of the fight with plasma burns covering much of his armor. His face looked oddly serene as he lay against the sandbags that made up the firing position.

"We're getting ready to make a push," Davis screamed in the soldier's ear. "Concentrate your fire on your sector and watch for friendlies downrange."

"Roger that," the soldier said, hitting the trigger again and dumping hot lead down range. Davis slapped the soldier on the should and popped up with his rifle, and more importantly grenade launcher, looking for a HVT. Two Elite's could be seen peeking out from behind a car and he found his target. The grenade left his barrel with it's common THUNK and raced for the car just in the speed of human vision. The entire car erupted in a flash of fire, smoke, and scrap metal. The Elite's may have survived, but they were now without cover and without shield. It wouldn't be good for either of the commanding Covenant.

Dropping back into cover, Davis pulled out another 40MM grenade and reloaded, looking for his team. They showed up on his HUD quickly, and he started back towards the ammo stretched. All that was left was the rest of Ward's ammunition, which Davis had left for last on purpose. Pounding back across the bridge, Davis scooped up the six cans quickly and lumbered over to Ward's position as Sergeant Stone started barking orders across the net.

"Two-One-Alpha, good copy," Davis sounded back across the radio, dropping the ammo next to Ward. He started barking his own orders. "Alright fellas, we're base of fire. Avery, keep anything up close pinned or dead. Those Grunts will likely push for a suicide run soon. Furby, point targets, start with Elites. Front to back. We want Bravo and Charlie to have limited contact with those bastards. I'm going to keep Fox running here and add forty mike mike where I can. Fox, cut the middle of this bridge wide open. You can't melt this thing, but be smart with ammo."

The rumble of Warthogs drew Davis's attention away a moment and pulled a grin across his face. The HQ boys were running faster than he expected.

"Belay that. More ammo just showed up. Light up the world Fox!"