The Bridge

[Furby, J.]

"RELOAD!"

Furby fired off one last round before setting his rifle aside. He grabbed another belt as Avery discarded the previous one, and set it in place. In less than five seconds his weapon was back up and firing, spitting hot lead towards the nearest exposed target in sight. Jay pat his shoulder and scooted back over to his spot, bringing his rifle up.

A file of Jackals pushed forward, their shields in front of them, forming a phalanx while firing their pistols at the humans up ahead. Jay lowered his rifle again and tore a grenade from his vest. He cocked his arm back and aimed his throw. "FRAG OUT!" he shouted and thrusted his arm forward.

He watched as the grenade soared through the air, spinning end over end. It landed just a few feet behind the phalanx and detonated, peppering their backsides with shrapnel as the blast wave sent them flying forward. Furby's lips spread in a toothy grin at the display, realizing that that had been a near-perfect throw. All of his years of GravBall had served him well.

Unfortunately, he wasn't able to admire his handiwork for long. The action with the grenade had garnered the attention of the enemy, and suddenly there was a thick stream of fire coming straight for him. Jayson ducked and returned fire, snapping his scope's crosshairs on target with steady hands. With each squeeze of the trigger, he was sending an alien to the fiery depths of Hell.

Suddenly, Jay felt the ground rock beneath his feet. He got low, so low he couldn't see over the sandbag barrier in front of him, and looked around for the source of the tremor. He saw it. Off to the left of his and Avery's position was where Faust's team had been positioned, and he saw a thick cloud of smoke and soot. It wasn't long before he cleared, and his eyes fell upon Corporal Faust hunched over something.

That's when he heard it. The dreaded call that no Marine - no, no person - ever wanted to hear. Faust screamed at the top of her lungs for a corpsman, and Furby realized then there was someone missing from her group. Harker and Baldwin had returned to their positions and had re-engaged. The only person missing was Robin.

And it clicked. Robin was wounded.

Before he had time to think about it further, orders came down the pipe. The voice of Davis carried across the battlefield. First Team would be the base of fire for a push forward by First Squad. Jay looked over at Avery, whom merely shrugged back at him with a smirk, and then he resumed firing in long bursts.

"Roger," Furby replied, and quickly reloaded before adding his own fire to the mix. The Covenant were determined, but so were the Marines, and the alien bastards were about to learn hell hath no fury like a pissed off Marine.

[Ward, J.]

Ward had never experienced such a rush of adrenaline in his life than now. He felt magnanimous standing behind the AIE machine gun, the gun firing away at anything that so much as moved up ahead. The incessant buzz of the weapon's mechanics as the barrel spun accompanied by the thundering roar of rounds being spat out the muzzle at a rate of six hundred rounds per minute boosted his confidence tenfold.

In his mind, so long as he stayed behind the weapon and it was kept supplied with plenty of ammo, he was untouchable. However false that sense of security may have been, he didn't dwell on it. In fact, the thought never even crossed his mind as he continued to fire away at the oncoming horde of Covenant troops. When a plasma round came too close for comfort, he simply turned the machine gun towards the alien bastard that had tried to take him out in a nonchalant manner, and ripped them to shreds via a hail of bullets.

Even when the weapon clicked empty, he did not feel that he was in any danger. One of the Army boys to his left immediately grabbed another can as he discarded the newly spent one, and reloaded the weapon for him. Within seconds he was firing away again and keeping the enemy thorougly pinned by a wall of hot lead. This isn't so bad, Jon mused with a wide smirk.

Jon had imagined what combat was going to be like in his head millions of times since he joined the Marine Corps, and he now realized that not even his wildest of fantasies had been close to what he was experiencing right now. The euphoria of being the guy behind a heavy machine gun was something that, in his opinion, couldn't be replicated. It almost made him regret his decision in becoming a rifleman.

If he'd gone for the machine gunner MOS, he could have been doing this all of the time. Moving to a position, setting up a medium or heavy machine gun, and slaughtering the enemy in droves. All of that seemed really appealing to him at the moment as he operated the AIE.

When the ground shook from the detonation of the plasma grenade at Corporal Faust's position, Ward hardly noticed it. The recoil he felt through the machine gun was so powerful that he'd honestly mistaken the small tremor for just another instance of felt recoil from the weapon. It wasn't until he heard the voice of said Corporal screaming for a corpsman did he realize that something bad had happened. Something that had caused a Marine to be wounded.

He didn't look to see whom was hit, however, as shortly thereafter the voice of Corporal Davis filtered through his helmet. Jon nodded in his team leader's direction and swiveled the gun round to face a group of Covenant soldiers that were advancing under some serious cover fire from their comrades-in-arms.

Jon thumbed the triggers and the weapon sprang to life again. The Grunts in front were instantly pulverized, bits of gore and blood spraying in a hazy mist. One of their two Elite overseers was thoroughly coated in the blood of its peons, and it stood in dumbfounded awe as Ward turned his gun on it and stitched it across its abdomen. Its shield died less than a second later and it ended up sprawled on the ground, its guts hanging out from what used to be its stomach. The other Elite turned and darted out of sight behind a concrete barrier slab.

As Ward turned his weapon on the hostiles down the middle (while still keeping an eye out for the elusive Elite that had evaded his wrath), the voice of Corporal Davis came again. What he said this time instantly put the biggest smile he'd ever had on his face. "AYE, CORPORAL!" he screamed over the bark of his machine gun, and he unleashed a hellish barrage on any Covenant stupid enough to step out from defilade.

In just a matter of a few seconds he'd cut down at least six aliens, and the rest of the bastards in the center seemed to get smart and stay behind cover where he couldn't see them. That didn't stop him from lighting up the vehicles where he knew there a few of the aliens were hiding, and one of them even exploded after having at least fifty holes punched through it from trunk to hood. "GET SOME!"

[Stringer, K.]

As Stringer kept firing burst after burst of 9.5mm rounds at the covenant, he noticed at one point as he went to reload, someone got a shot on the grunt with the fuelrod, saving him another chance to possibly meet death. Stringer then crouched down as he began to hear the radio traffic coming through his headset, hearing how second squad was to cover the advance of two of first squad's fireteams. Stringer made sure his coms were set to squad-wide, as he then pushed his PTT.

"Two-Two-Charlie to Two-Two-Actual, with permission I will have the second half of my fireteam move up with Two-One-Bravo and Charlie, break. Once they get here, I will have Two-Charlie-Four provide support fire with her weapon, and see if we can thin out these aliens and retake the bridge finally, over." As Stringer listened to Mason reply back, he was thinking of what could possibly await on the other side of the bridge. With the enemy assaulting this heavily, he knew they must have a forward staging area somewhere in the city. Once Mason gave permission to have Lawrence and Silva move up, Stringer switched his coms to his fireteam's.

"Two-Two-Charlie to Two-Charlie-Three, you and Charlie-Four will move up with Two-One's Bravo and Charlie units. Once you get up here, you will set up a support-by-fire position, over." Stringer let go of his PTT, hearing the acknowledgement coming through, as he racked back the charging handle and began to fire once more at the covenant attempting to take the bridge. He knew once they took the bridge, the real fight would begin. He could only hope by that time they finally had the armor support to take the fight to the enemy and then some. Then something caught his attention, coming from one of the other bridges near-by.

Stringer saw plasma fire on a massive scale being lobbed at another defensive position. He knew right then what it was being fired, and what was firing it. Covenant Wraiths, and from the look of the fire, several of them. Stringer could only hope that the troops being fired at could find the cover needed, and avoid the raining hell coming down on their positions. Then it hit him, that if there was wraiths assisting the assault on that bridge, what was stopping them from assaulting the bridge they were defending.

"Two-Two-Charlie to Two-Two-Actual, be advised, I am seeing non-human mortar fire raining down on the bridge to our north-east, over." Stringer could only hope they got off this bridge soon, and if not, that the covenant does not get the idea to assault all of the bridges with armor. If they did, it would be a uphill battle to defend the bridge, let alone take it. For now though, all that mattered was killing the foot-mobiles that were on the bridge, and get accross to have a bit more room to move, and a lot more cover to get behind or in. Once they got to a building with multiple floors, they would be able to rain fire down at the covenant from above.

Stringer decided that since the two fireteams were assaulting up, it was time to turn up the heat. He ducked down behind cover, then he yelled to Gray, taking out two frag grenades and primed them, as he yelled to her to provide covering fire. When she began to fire more aggressively, Stringer stood up and tossed the grenade in his right hand, then moved the grenade from his left to his rigth hand and tossed it too, both grenades landing near a large group of grunts and jackals, as they were shredded apart with the amount of shrapnel coming from the two grenades, along with the concussive force throwing the torn, burned remains of the aliens back towards their rear lines a few yards. He then noticed an elite come out of cover and start lighting up their position with two plasma rifles, charging right at them.

"Oh shit, Gray, light that fucker up!" Stringer began to fire burst after burst quickly, as the elite's shields began to shimmer, but not break, it began to close the distance quickly, coming right at Gray and Stringer. Stringer began to reload as he felt adrenaline flood his veins, dropping the battle rifle when he heard the dreadful clicking of an empty weapon. Before he could reach down to grab his M7 SMG, he saw the elite jump up onto the car they were using for cover, and the elite swing its right arm, slamming Stringer to his left and into Gray, knocking the two of them to the ground.

When Stringer hit the ground, his helmet was the only thing protecting him from having a head injury, as he heard the one sound he did not want to hear. The one sound that no human would want to hear in person at all. It was the sound of an energy sword coming to life, and he knew there was only one outcome at this point as he closed his eyes, seeing his previous fireteam come to life before his eyes, seeing their deaths all over again, and hoping that it would be quick. That's when Stringer felt himself freeze up, as he felt warm blood paint his back.

He noticed however he was still alive, and not in pain, as he opened his eyes and rolled onto his back, just in time to see the elite fall to its knees, clenching at where its chest once was, having been torn apart by human bullets. He slowly got to his feet, as he was still coming to his senses. He just had death meet him face to face, and somehow he was still in this fight and not meeting the big man at the golden gates. With this, he knew it was time to repay who ever, or whatever, was watching over him. He picked up his battle rifle and ejected the empty magazine, replacing it with a fresh one. He yanked back the charging handle, letting go when it when reached back as far as it would go.

Now, he would do whatever he could to keep his fireteam from facing such a horror as what he just dealt with. He had a close call, but who could predict if any of his fireteam would be met with the same luck in such a situation as he just did. So, he wouldn't chance it. He would protect them, and if need be, lay down his life for them.

[Grimsdottir, Y.]

Aboard the UNSC Vengeance

Light from Phoneix III's sun had just begun to stream through the growing crack between the hangar doors when Yvla buckled herself down into the pilot's seat with the flight harness. Simmons, her copilot, was only a step behind her though they were both a flurry of activity. It felt like hundreds of switches were toggled and just as many buttons were pressed before the glorified space fairing taxi was ready for business. One quick glance at the still half open hangar door told the Lieutenant Commander that they still had a good thirty seconds before the ship was ready to scream out of the berthing like a bat out of hell. It also told her that the engineers that designed the Vengeance were morons.

Yvla could have stacked two master's degrees on it.

"This your first combat drop, Simmons?" Yvla withdrew a small music player with modified headphones attached. Either end had been cut so that a few inches of copper wire were exposed; she twisted in her seat to twist the copper wires around an equally modified port on the internal crew communication system. Simmons answered before she finished.

"It is, ma'am."

"You gonn' learn today, boy."

A forced cackle bubbled out of the woman's lips at the response. She arrived to HMM-475 not a week ago and had still been learning the names of her pilots. She knew for a fact Simmons was fresh out of Flight school, though. Within moments her work with the port was complete and she twisted back around to see the doors screech to a halt. A vicious grin pulled her lips apart as she pressed play on the music player. A song that had been sung nearly five hundred years prior played just over the background noise within the intercrewman communications system so that only Yvla and her copilot could hear. Heavy drums and claps beat at a regular pace before the voice of a dead man drifted across their ears, 'you can run on, for a long time, you can run on, for a long time, but sooner or later God's gonna cut you down.'

Four engines roared to life when the woman ripped the throttle forward, and half a second later their weight was thrown back into the seat as the ship screamed forward. Each of the four engines tipped downwards towards the glittering blue orb below at the woman's command, and it wasn't long before red light flared up around the nose of the dropship. That vicious grin grew into a maniacal one as the nose dipped ever closer to one hundred and eighty degrees. A quick glance towards Simmons would have shown the embodiment of pure, unbridled terror. Wonderful. Three other Pelicans quickly formed up behind their leader, insane angle of attack included.

"Alright, Shadowcats, follow me on approach vector 9-7-2. Focus on the Wraiths, copilots. Pilots empty your Anvil's on those inhuman fucks."

They had all been briefed, but reiteration never hurt. Another quick glance towards Simmons told her that the look of fear had been replaced by another, less fearful more motionsick, expression. Had there not been a vacuum between them and the three other ships, they likely would have heard the woman's incessant cackle as Simmons' breakfast came back up for round two.

[Silva, J.]

Silva fired another burst at the Covenant before reluctantly taking cover to have her wound seen to. With all the adrenaline pumping through her veins the marine didn't even know she had taken a hit. The wound wasn't serious, or at least in her opinion was not serious. She looked at the cut with interest, it looked like whatever had caused the wound in the first place decided to stay. "I'll be okay just slap a bandage on it and send me back out it's just a scratch." She listened to the sounds of battle, wishing that she could still be part of it instead of having her wound checked.

Now that she noticed it, the injury stung fiercely like when one brushed past stinging nettles only mixed with demon bees and devil wasps. Of course, she wasn't about to share this information, she could still fight besides they needed every able bodied marine up on the bridge. If she needed to be taken off field she would go after the battle had been won, not before. 
She wouldn't leave her marines behind to fight whilst she got to taken away because of some glorified scratch. 
"Could be worse wounds." She muttered to Lawrence as she saw to the wound, wincing at her touch. Back on New Paris during the Uprising she sadly bore witness to some terrible wounds. The Innie traitors were nothing if not resourceful, after seeing friends killed by primitive traps that had been used to beat great armies back on Earth there were always worse wounds to be had. 

Of course, back of New Paris there weren't any aliens, or alien weapons it had been an old fashioned human on human conflict, bullets and such. Though everyone tried to play it down, especially the UNSC, the grim fact was that despite the best efforts of the security forces New Paris almost fell to the traitors. Almost, the scum still fell to the loyalists and were hunted down like the rabid beast they were. See, the Covenant though monsters were different. Yes they sought to destroy humanity, a fact which she despised them for as it dragged her away from her beloved home world. But, the Covenant however were alien, they weren't human, how anyone could live with themselves and declare themselves the liberators and heroes of a world by firing missiles loaded with incendiaries and mortars armed with gas into civilian populations centres was beyond her. She would never stop hating the traitors just as surely as she would the Covenant. 

If the rebels could be put down like the vermin they were then so could the demonic horde that was the Covenant. The marines had broken the Innies countless time, the aliens would fall like the Innies had. The marines would chase them back into hell, then lay siege before storming it and killing all of the aliens. Perhaps they might even burn their worlds. An ironic end to the war that would be, with the Covenant worlds burning from Human weapons. Lawerence's actions caused a fresh flare of pain to shoot up from the wound and Silva grimaced. "You done? Can we return to the fray?" 

[Faust, M.]

Faust nodded though her eyes revealed that she disliked leaving an injured marine from her fireteam behind. Especially when as far as the Corporal knew, she might be on the verge of death. She still didn't have her helmet on but that failed to stop the blonde marine from barking out orders whilst unleashing a furious hail of fire on the Covenant. "Push them back! Do not let them advance! Kill them! Kill them all!" She finished this string of yells by cutting down a Jackal with the last few rounds in the magazine. She slid back down behind cover to reload, glancing briefly over at the fallen marine. 
Everyone knew Faust hated losing people, she hated it almost as much as their replacements. The Corporal never liked to get to know the replacements, usually because they ended up getting killed, which hurt. Especially if Michelle made friends with those marines. To many good men and women bought the farm now days. 

Faust finished the reload and just popped out to fire a short burst when the army shout reached her. Her fire team hastily took cover before scrambling back to their feet and resuming firing. That green orb of death past way too close for comfort. One of her fire team members took a hit to the shoulder from a plasma rifle, which made them drop their weapon from pain, screaming. "Fuck!" Faust pulled the injured marine down, Baldwin was his name. "Corpsman!" She called out to the Corpsman. "Baldwin take cover and stay down." With that the Corporal moved on to command the last fully functioning member of her fire team. 

An trio of Grunts under the command of an Elite set up a plasma cannon which proceeded to spit plasma down range at the marines. The bridge was a bottleneck for both the marines and the Covenant enemy. Harker it seemed from a quick glance at him to be on the verge of panic. Faust grabbed his arm and squeezed. "Listen to me marine battle is scary, I'm scared and we're all scared but if you run the Covenant will kill you and if they don't I will." Would Faust actually shoot one of her fellow marines for breaking under fire and running away? Probably not but she was scary enough that no one wanted to actually test and find out. 

She grabbed one of her grenades and looked at him. "Harker, on three we pull the pin and toss these bad boys down range." Michelle could still here Baldwin yelling from the pain of his plasma burn. She was torn, she felt it was her duty to protect her fire team, so far of which all but herself and Hark had been wounded, but on the other hand it was also her duty to fight the aliens. "One, two, three!" With that the pins were pulled, the grenades tossed blindly over cover, a few seconds later a duo of explosions coupled with the screams of dead and dying aliens sounded like music to Faust's ears. "Harker those are brave aliens over there." She grinned menacingly. "Lets go kill them." With that the pair of them popped up and fired a short burst before the plasma cannon brought fire on their position forcing them both to take cover. 
"Nien someone waste that mother fucking plasma cannon! A date for the man or woman who kills that fucker and brings me his head!" The poor Elite on the plasma cannon had earned the wrath of Faust. 

[Wilkas, G.]

Wilkas heard Durant's call and her head popped out of cover like a Meerkat's head out of a bolt hole. It disappeared back down a fraction of a second later when a trio of needles came her way. They pinged harmlessly off of her cover. Okay, she took a deep breath and charged out of cover, hunched over to make herself a smaller target and therefore hopefully more difficult to hit. She slid into cover, narrowly avoiding being scythed down by the plasma cannon which the Faust was yelling murder about. At Durant's command she went prone, hearing the blast she cautiously got to her feet. In her mind they should get their wounded and get the hell out of here, this must have been what hell looked as well as sounded like. 

For a precious few moments it looked like that the relatively green marine might break yet she stayed. She couldn't abandon her friends and comrades, especially after some of them already spilled their blood for this world. She doubled checked her rifle firing a wild burst over cover. Her bullets hit nothing but made the Covenant take cover, she ducked back down swiftly, eager to not be wounded or killed. 
It felt right to be near Durant again, that had been her place back in basic to doggedly follow the LT where ever he or she might lead them. While behind cover she searched for the marines, trying to recognise who was injured, who was alive and who... Who had died.

Wilkas tried to shut out Baldwin's screams of agony. They reminded her of her first mission where Faust took a terrible wound to the gut which probably would have slain a lesser marine. But Faust was as tough as she was scary, she happened to be one of the scariest people that Grace knew. Of course she would never say such a thing to the face of the Corporal. She liked being alive.
She fired a long burst over cover, blind firing for she feared being blown apart by needle rounds or hit by boiling, burning blasts of plasma. It was much safer to remain in cover where it happened to be distinctly harder for them to hit her. The sound of the enemy fire chilled her to the bone, the effects it had on the human body left her utterly terrified.

She shook visible, why wouldn't she? Grace was terrified, by all rights the anyone would be fleeing in terror and panic from such horrible sights and sounds. Yet, marines were not just anyone. They where the best of humanity, the shield and sword against the darkness. To be a marine was to be part of a warrior brother/sisterhood stretching back in the ages. Everyone was scared in war yet you stayed and fought for the marines beside you. 
Her gun clicked empty, with a repeat of her last reload attempt. She tried to get a hold of her nerves, a task made severely difficult by the fear inducing sounds of the alien weapons. 

[McMillan, J.]

Mac had just finished plucking shrapnel from Private Otto's arm when the shrill screams of Corporal Faust reached his ears. He looked towards the proverbial front line of battle as a waypoint winked into existence on his HUD, leading him to the woman. The soldier in front of him followed Mac's gaze and then sighed. "I'll be fine, Doc," Otto said. "Doc Hemsworth will take care of me."

Jim nodded and, after grabbing his things, jumped to his feet and bolted forward. He kept his head low as plasma fire streaked overhead, and moved with surprising swiftness as he followed the waypoint to Corporal Faust's position. "Corpsman up!" he bellowed when he was near, and he spotted the wounded Marine on the ground in front of Faust. Lieutenant Durant and Sergeant Stone were there too, all of them huddled around her.

"Make a hole," Mac barked, falling to his knees beside the static form of Private Robin. He placed his medkit beside him carefully and opened it wide, ready to get to work as soon as he knew what was going on. From what he could tell, Robin had somehow been knocked unconscious, and there appeared to be other serious issues that needed addressing. "What happened?" the Corpsman asked Durant as Corporal Faust and Sergeant Stone ran off.

"Blast wave injury," Durant said. "Plasma grenade went off and threw her back several feet."

That was news that McMillan wished he hadn't heard. Blast wave injuries were extremely difficult to treat, and there wasn't much that any first responder could do to to help without more sophisticated equipment. Equipment that could be found in a hospital - not on a battlefield - and definitely not here. Jim sighed and nodded his head.

He removed the glove from his hand and checked her pulse. Like her breathing, it was faint. He frowned. That was a terrible sign, and his first theory as to the cause of that was internal bleeding. For the most part, her exterior appeared relatively unscathed. There weren't any deep cuts or abrasions that he could see, and to be honest, those were the least of his concern.

Putting his glove back on to shield it from the blistering cold, Mac gently placed his hands on either side of Robin's head, just underneath her jawline. He took great care to be gentle as he tilted her head back so that he could open up her airway to allow for better inhalation of oxygen. Very gently did he open her mouth just enough to allow air to be taken in via her mouth, and then he slid back from her and turned his gaze to the Lieutenant.

"Sir, I'm fairly certain Private Robin is suffering from severe internal damage," Mac informed the platoon commander, "and possibly some severe head trauma. I can't be sure, but she could be suffering from a concussion or possibly swelling of the brain. To be frank, sir, I don't have the equipment to treat her. She needs CASEVAC or she's not gonna make it."

Just then he heard Faust screaming. She was again calling for a corpsman and another waypoint popped up in his field of vision. Not another one, he couldn't help but think in frustration. He glared at the Lieutenant for a moment. "Call for CASEVAC, sir, and look over the Private. I've got more wounded to attend to. CORPSMAN UP!"

Jim jumped up and was at Faust's position in a flash, his medkit clutched tight in his grasp. He spotted Lance Corporal Baldwin leaning against the sandbag barrier, crying out in pain as he clutched his steaming shoulder. Jim kneeled down in front of the Marine and started retrieving the necessary tools from his kit to deal with the plasma wound.

"Baldwin, right?" Mac asked.

The Lance Corporal nodded and mumbled something through gritted teeth. "Okay, move your hand," he ordered. Baldwin moved his arm and Mac could see that the round had managed to burn through his armor and heat dampening layers, reaching soft, unprotected flesh. His skin was black and gray, with a leathery texture to it that was indicative of a third degree burn. Jim shook his head and sighed.

This was going to be a bitch to treat. Mac grabbed a rag from his kit and his canteen, dousing it in water until it was thoroughly moist. He took the rag and pressed it against Baldwin's wound. Baldwin, in response, gritted his teeth and cried out in pain. "Ow, that fucking hurts," he spat with some degree of effort.

"You're a Marine, aren't you, Baldwin?" Mac asked while grabbing a tube of MediGel.

Baldwin nodded, somewhat hesitantly. "Yeah, I am."

Jim smirked. "Than quit being such a baby."

The look on the Lance Corporal's face was priceless. Baldwin seemed both confused and taken aback by the corpsman's callousness and lack of empathy towards him. Jim merely shrugged at him and squeezed a strip of MediGel across his gloved index finger, and then removed the rag from the man's wound and applied it gently to the charred skin. Again, Baldwin winced in pain, but this time he did not cry out.

It seemed his pep talk had garnered the desired results. Jim grinned and placed the rag back over the wound. "You should be fine for now. Can you fight?"

Baldwin slowly bobbed his head up and down. "I think so."

"Well, then, I'd get to it," Jim stated bluntly. "Your team is down one Marine already, and I hear you guys are about to be making a push forward. Corporal Faust is gonna need you on line."

With that, Mac packed up his things and left Baldwin sitting there. Private Robin was in critical condition, and he wanted to check on her status as well as find out whether or not CASEVAC was on the way. Because if it wasn't...

Then Second Platoon would be down one Marine...

[Upshaw, J.]

Military life wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Being an Inner Colony kid, John heard stories of the glorious battles the UNSC waged, and won against insurgency. Then, everything changed when the Covenant attacked. They weren't fighting Outer Colony assholes who set off Havok nukes in heavily-populated areas, they were fighting a genocidal alien race that glassed every planet they conquered. He wasn't sure what was worse.

First Kholo, glassed. Then Hydra III, glassed. It seemed that UNSC Marines were nothing but a hurdle for the Covenant to hop over before they reached their goal. Helpless was an accurate word to describe the way he felt about this war, but he'd be damned if his comrades knew it. John was a Designated Marksman, the oversight in his fireteam serving primarily as a counter-sniper of sorts, getting in first to get eyes on long-range targets, those that could cripple his fireteam, to take them out first. If his job made him guardian angel, then his BR55 was 950 effective meters of divine intervention.

Despite heavy losses with the last two conflicts, he kept on swinging with November Company, who, during Operation: FROST DRAGON, was assigned directly adjacent to Oscar Company' AO. Himself, as well as twelve other November Marines, were tasked to work as a patrol squadron operating on the border of these two AOs, keeping the two updated on changes within their respective areas. Heavy armor, possible HVTs, whatever came their way, First Squad was supposed to ring the bell.

First Squad touched down with the rest of Third Platoon, but broke off a wide left, patrolling areas between the bridges designated 'Bridge One' and 'Bridge Two'. Bridge One belonged to Oscar Company, but Bridge Two was theirs. Not that it mattered to John, it was all UNSC ground. But if they located any anomalies near Bridge One, they were supposed to report it immediately. John's Squad Leader split up the Squad to their respective Fireteams, who were supposed to keep comms up and, essentially, keep communicating the entire time to minimize confusion and subsequent ambushes.

"Man, there's no way you fucked her." John retorted over comms, shaking his head in disbelief to the others in his fireteam, who only chuckled.

"Yeah? Why don't you ask her, Lance Corporal?" His Squad Leader responded with a sarcastic Southern-U.S. accent.

"I don't fucking believe it. She has the biggest stick up her ass, there's no way she'd take it out for a piece of shit like you, Sergeant."

"If she took it out for you, maybe she'll let me take a crack at it, ay boss?" A man with a Hispanic accent belted in return, before several other silent pings of acknowledgement went off in the squadron's HUDs, as if identifying with the Hispanic man's statement, which resounded with laughter from John and his fireteam. Then silence. Nothing had come back on comms from the other two fireteams, seperated by walls of foliage.

"First Squad, sound off." John ordered. He didn't have the authority to do so, but the Marine figured that, given the circumstances, no one would mind. He looked over to his Fireteam Leader, a man who's only real superiority to John was that he enlisted at sixteen instead of seventeen. He turned to his comrades, shaking his head.

"Not sure what the fuck is going on, but it'd be in our best interest to assume the worst..." he exhaled, hands shaking slightly, "Let's set up a sniper's n--" his order was cut off by a needle from a needler going through his leg, prompting a scream of agony and slur of curses. John immediately raised his Battle Rifle, scanning for the target that shot, but he figured said target must've been hidden in the foliage. He cursed out, "Fuck! Grab him!" They were too far from cover to sprint for it, not with one wounded. Instead, John utilized his quick-detach buckles to drop his pack to the ground, firing off several bursts from his BR55 into the brush until he could find a moment to bring it to his front, lying behind it to utilize it as a makeshift barrier.

As if on queue, his fireteam followed, dragging their Corporal to behind John before dropping their packs to join him. While one fireteam member tended to their fallen leader, the other worked on breaking through the frozen ground to dig a foxhole, increasing their chances of survival in the otherwise barren tundra.

John kept laying down the fire towards the wall of foliage he knew the Covenant was behind. All it would take was a well-placed plasma grenade to end them, and he would do his best to keep any Unggoy from lobbing them. He ducked down to reload for a moment, turning to the teammate digging the foxhole, "Get on comms, we're gonna need MEDEVAC." The Marine nodded, taking a break from digging to reach for the handset, making sure to keep his head down, though not too close to the currently in-agony fireteam leader. He sat John, who was holding the line from the still-unseen enemy. As he waited for handset to ping on, another needle came, hitting the second Marine in the foot who imemdiately dropped the phone to grab it in pain. John cursed, "Keep fucking digging!" before reaching over to the handset holding it in place with his shoulder as he kept on the fire, "This is Echo-Three-Uniform of Navajo-Three-One-Bravo, Requesting immediate CASEVAC at Grid Ten-Tango-Dash-Five-Eight-Eight-Five-Zero-Dash-Five-Three-Niner-Zero-Three. I have two Marines hit by a Needler, but I can't see anything. Say again, no sight on targets, how copy, over?"

A second passed before a reply came, "Solid copy, Echo-Three Uniform. Gonna have to hold out, our nearest squad is five mikes out, over." He paused, wanting to curse out, but he knew that he needed to keep morale up, "..Acknowledged, five mikes to our pos. We're down in the riverbed between Bridges One and Two, over."

The Covenant hadn't advanced beyond the treeline. Had they gone around? Going around the only real wall of foliage in the riverbed would do nothing but expose them, he knew they were either going down behind the treeline, or behind some kind of cover. He kept his sights up, totally in the zone, not focusing on anything but the battlefront before him. Looking down on his belt, he grabbed a frag, pulling the ring before using his right hand to lob it as far as he could towards the treeline, doing his best to minimize their cover. It exploded to reveal a deployed energy shield and a patrol of Kig-Yar Snipers, led by one Sangheili, injured (presumedly from the last two conflicts), armed with a Needle Rifle. "They're holding back for some reason." He let his BR-55 down to check on the Marine digging the trenches, who had, sometime between then and now, collapsed onto the E-Tool from blood loss, a pool of red beneath him. He leaned over to check - still pulsing. He was out, but barely. He looked at the Marine checking their FTL, who only shook his head solemnly, "There's nothing we can do about those fuckin' needles, man...watch our left flank. If they go right, they gotta go on the frozen river. Heavy fucks'll probably break the ice."

He mounted back up to see the snipers had spread out amongst remnants of foliage, ducking down to keep out of this archangel's sightline. He knew Kig-Yar were flimsy. One burst to their fucking skull is all it'd take to take them down. The Sangheili would be a different story. "I count five tangos. Four Jackals and an Elite, all snipers. Must've used a coordinated strike to take down the rest, no wonder we didn't get any warning. Keep your head down if you can help it." He saw movement and let off a burst, hearing the cry of pain from and Jackal. "Hit one, can't tell if he's down or not."

Minutes passed, watching each other like hawks with zero progress. He decided to take the offensive and pepper them with fire. It couldn't be long before the cavalry arrived. During his onslaught, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. It came too quick to notify, but it was another Jackal armed with a carbine at his left flank. He knew the moment he looked away, he'd be dead. Instead he tapped his squadmate, who leaned out to look, only to take a needle through his helmet to collapse onto their FTL. He cursed out, hitting the corpse's helmet angrily.

John ducked down to empty his mag, reloading to pop back up and notice the snipers were advancing. He was alone now, and they would probably simply try to overwhelm him. He kept down, dropping his rifle to draw his Magnum, leaning out slightly to the right of his little wall of rucks, laying down fire and hoping that one made contact.

As they got closer, suppressing him with Needler fire, he heard several timed bursts of a Battle Rifle, and the Sangheili went down. There was commotion amongst the exposed Jackals who seemed to redirect fire, John took the opportunity to vault over the wall in time to see that the Elite was down, along with two of the snipers. While the two were distracted, he fired at the farther sniper (still a point blank shot) to take him down before bringing his boot down on the nearest Kig-Yar's leg, snapping it with a wail before punching him down to finish him off, effectively killing him from shock. John panted, hustling back to check the only remaining Marine's pulse to find that he had passed, shaking his head to the Marines that approached from his flank. He leaned down to grab their tags, picking up his rifle to regroup. Third Platoon acted as had acted as the quick-reaction-force, and saved his ass.

Minutes later a Pelican touched down, to which Marines from the QRF helped John all twelve of his squad up on stretchers. After watching his comrades' corpses be air-lifted out of the AO, he would hoof it with Omen One back to Oscar Company's Command Post, a large metal tent in the middle of a grove, surrounded by MG nests and Army patrols. Immediately he attempted to locate command, wanting to get back in the shit more than anything else.

[Gray, L.]

Gray listened as Lawrence and Stringer communicated through the headsets, keeping pressure on the enemy the whole time. Gray heard Stringer yell at her suddenly to provide covering fire for him. She acknowledged him and did as she was bidden.Once she was in place, Gray let rip with a hail of bullets, mowing down the enemy. When Stringer got back to her and told her that she had done a nice job, Gray simply looked at him and gave him a small smile. "Thanks Corporal." she said softly, though by now her expression was emotionless. It was almost like she had shut all her feelings off and had gone into survival mode.

The battle wore on and all around there were casualties, both enemy and allied forces. Time and time again, Gray saw marines and soldiers alike fall. The radio chatter was also near constant and Gray was seriously starting to wish every curse that she could think of upon the Covenant. With her getting more and more wound up inside, this enemy would soon find out that they really had picked the wrong marine to mess with. Once Gray heard Stringer yell at her suddenly to provide covering fire for him. She instantly began to fire more aggressively, providing cover for him as he took out a bunch of the enemy with hand grenades. Then seemingly from nowhere, an Elite charged their position. Stringer yelled at her to fire at it and Gray was about aim and fire, when the Elite swung it's arm into both her and Stringer, sending them to the ground.

Gray slammed into the ground with the force of the hit. Though she was wearing a helmet, her head had hit the ground hard and everything went black. She was only out cold for a few minutes and during that time, the Elite was killed in a hail of bullets. When she came round after those few minutes, she found that her head and body were really hurting." GOD DAMN THAT REALLY FUCKING HURT. YOU BASTARD ELITE" she yelled angrily as she groggily rolled on to her stomach and looked for Stringer. Thankfully he seemed none the worse for the encounter and was up and firing again, a short distance away. Gray crawled towards him slowly as she was still very dazed. By the time she reached him, the grogginess had eased enough for her, to just about be able to use her weapon. Getting shakily to her feet, Gray positioned herself beside Stringer and again let rip with bullets, hoping that every single one of them would find their targets as anger surged through her system.

Meanwhile Lawrence had heard Silva's comment on her injury, listened to Stringer's advice and decided that Silva was still able to fight. She quickly got to work treating and bandaging the wound. As she worked, she heard Silva mutter something about how her wounds could have been a lot worse. Lawrence stopped and looked at Silva for a moment with an expression of sadness in her eyes. "Yes they could have been." she said softly, remembering the injuries that she and Gray had received back on New Madagascar, plus all the other horrific injuries and people being killed, that they had both seen back then. Shaking her head slightly to rid the memories, Lawrence went back to treating Silva. Soon she was finished and looking at Silva, she said quietly "There all done." just as Stringer spoke to them again over the radio. Their orders were to move out and push up to provide covering fire for two of First Squad's fireteams. Lawrence gave her acknowledgement to Stringer and looked at Silva to see if she was ready. "You ready Silva? If you are, then lets go." Lawrence said quietly, before leading the way over to where they needed to be, scanning her surroundings constantly and firing at any movement from the enemy side of the bridge.

[Flannigan, S.]

"Omen actual, this is Omen one seven, over," came the call over the headset. Flannigan cued up his personal earpiece for the company net.

"This is actual, go ahead, over."

"We have the package. ETA of tree mikes from our location. He's requesting to speak to command, over."

"Send him to me, over."

"Good copy, over."

"Actual out," Flannigan said, smiling that Johansson remembered who outs a radio conversation. He imagined that she wasn't given that courtesy enough. 

"You actually keeping him, sir," Totino asked, Zieed grinning at the question. He had seen this happen before.

"Corporal," Flannigan said with a smirk. "Third Herd reported that he held out on his own against a Covenant hit squad. The kid killed a batch before we had boots on the ground. I'm taking him. And if Alexander in No-Co wants to be a whiny bitch about it, he can have a taste of my fists. I get good people and then I keep them. That's why Oscar is the best."

"Yes sir," Totino said, obviously unsure of what else to say. 

The sounds of increased chatter outside of the tent told Flannigan what he needed to know. He motioned to Totino who walked out with him, leaving First Sergeant Zieed in charge of the Company CP.

"Lance Corporal Upshaw," Flannigan said, interrupting anything the new man could say. "Fill up on your ammo in the tent, then you're coming with us to the bridge. Welcome to Oscar Company. Hope you're ready to kill some more of those split jawed bastards."

Flannigan and Totino waited by the stretcher full of MREs for Upshaw to come back and then set out towards the bridge. Flannigan was coming bearing gifts, and it made him happy that he had more for them than just food.

[Upshaw, J.]

John waited outside the metal tent at Parade Rest, his left hand clasped at the small of his back, feet shoulder width apart, and his BR at his right toe, pointed outwards with his right arm fully extended to point the barrel away from him. He was waved inside and John followed Totino inside, raising his arm to salute the Company CO, opening his mouth to report in before shutting it as Flannigan seemed to already have a plan for him.

"Yes, Sir. If I may make a request, put me in the front. I want the Covenant to know my name when they're tripping over each other to get back to their Phantoms."

He nodded in acknowledgement before hustling over to the ammo crates to fill up each mag. If he survived a hit squad practically single-handedly, he could hold out on a bridge with back-up. He removed his helmet, reaching into his plasma-burned ruck for a grey balaclava, inspecting the skull on the front slightly. The balaclava was Merino wool. Unlike traditional balaclavas, this one had subtle seams around the eyes and down the face to maintain peripheral vision and minimize adjustments. Using a white marker, he sketched on a skull with high cheekbones and five elongated columns (or 'teeth'). After a quick inspection and touch up of the marker, he donned the mask, clipping back into his helmet to join Flannigan and Totino with the MREs.

He looked down curiously at the MREs, but said nothing, electing to, instead, assist the two with the stretcher so the CO wouldn't have to (he knew he'd get shit for it later) and began to hustle towards Bridge One.

He slung his BR-55 over his shoulder, which clicked into the magnetic support on his back, before moving over to carry the CO's end of the stretcher, he relaxed and, for the first time in hours, had time to reflect on what happened earlier. He inhaled and exhaled, shaking slightly. Men died, he knew that. There was nothing he could do about that. Despite having been at Kholo and Hydra III, he had never been so close to it personally. He knew it was unlikely he'd get that close again without meeting him in-person, and knew he'd have to be a better shot to prove himself to his new company.

Especially the fuckin' animals in Oscar. He knew he'd be perceived as less-than-lethal, but he'd assert himself early on to avoid such a discrepancy.

[Durant, M.]

Lieutenant Durant ducked as an overcharged pistol shot fizzled by overhead. He spotted the culprit, a Grunt, standing out the open in blind defiance. Michael turned his weapon on the stubby little bastard and plugged him full of hot lead. With that dealt with, he disappeared behind cover and turned his attention back to McMillan.

The Corpsman paid him some grim news before departing to tend to Lance Corporal Baldwin's wounds. Private Robin was unconscious and had possibly suffered a head injury, most likely a concussion. That could mean a great number of things, chief on the list being that her brain could be swelling up inside her skull. If the swelling was left untreated, the likeliest outcome was death.

If only to make matters worse, McMillan had seemed certain that the blast wave had caused some internal damage to the lithe woman. If she was bleeding internally, then Robin could end up bleeding out. This was news no officer preferred to hear, and he knew that whatever action was to be taken needed to be swift.

Mac had suggested CASEVAC, and that was exactly the course of action he was going to take. Robin needed to be in a field hospital surrounded by specialists that possessed the proper equipment to diagnose the problem and fix it before she suffered irreparable damage. Those were resources that McMillan did not have at his disposal, though if need be, Durant was aware he could improvise.

Just then Private Wilkas appeared by his side, acting as his shadow once again. Michael turned and snatched the handset from off her pack, putting it up to his ear. He leaned forward as a stream of plasma soared overhead, trying to stay low as to not be the platoon's next casualty.

"Chaos Tango, this is Omen Two Actual, be advised: requesting immediate CASEVAC be dispatched to my pos. Break," he barked over the comms, nearly screaming so that he could hear his own voice over the staccato of gunfire. "Nine-line to follow. Over."

To his genuine surprise, he received a response almost instantaneously. "Omen Two, Chaos Tango, standing by to copy. Over."

Durant felt a smile snake its way across his face. He was happy to discover that the POGs back at the battalion's mobile headquarters were on top of things today. "Roger," he replied, and quickly recalled the nine-line procedure in his head, "Line One: One-Zero-Tango-tack-Five-Four-Three-Five-Six-tack-Eight-Five-Eight-Six-Niner, break."

He paused to take a breath and give the RTO on the other side of the radio time to copy down the grid coordinates. An explosion sounded off in the distance. It sounded like a frag grenade and not Covenant ordnance. He hoped it had killed off a few of the alien freaks bearing down on his Marines.

"Line Two: Radio freq Five-Eight-Three-point-One-Seven, contact Omen Two Actual, break. Line Three: one alpha, two bravos, one charlie, and two delta. Break," he continued. He had glanced in the direction of the CCP and included the Army's wounded in the third line. He figured it would be best to get the wounded off the bridge to free up McMillan and the Army's medic to handle anymore wounded that they may suffer before their engagement was over.

He keyed the mic again. "Line Four: Delta. Break. How copy, over?"

"Solid copy, Omen Two. Over," the RTO at the mobile command center responded. Durant set the handset back down on Wilkas' pack and then he turned to his RTO, locking eyes with her. "Stay low and stick close," he said to her sternly. He could see that she was scared, but thankfully she seemed to be handling it much better than she had before on their last op.

With that, Durant prepared to move, just as Major Killinger and the resupply convoy left the bridge to continue their supply mission. He wanted to be in a better position where he could maintain sight of both squads and the enemy so that he could properly lead his platoon. The Army boys were spread out thin across the line, but they managed to keep up a heavy volume of fire on the enemy. It seemed that the Covenant were no longer able to continue with their advance, a fact he was greatly thankful of.

Slowly, the combined force of Army and Marines were starting to gain the upperhand. The Covenant's numbers were trickling down one-by-one, and it appeared that soon the humans would regain fire superiority. If they regained it before the bastards could call for reinforcements, his Marines could move in for the kill and push the Covenant off of the bridge.

"Move on my go," Durant said to Wilkas, tucking his rifle across his chest. He spotted a location in the middle of the bridge that offered him decent defilade and a relatively unobstructed field of view of the two squads and the enemy ahead. In his head, he counted down from three, and then screamed "Go!"

Michael bolted forward with astonishing quickness, ducking and weaving between spots of cover towards his destination. A needler round crashed into the side of a car he had just ran behind, telling him there was a Covie with a bead on him and Wilkas. He just barely managed to slide into cover in the spot he had picked out when a trio of plasma rounds exploded against the cinderblock barriers that dominated the position.

Mike groped his push-to-talk and keyed the mic as he settled into his new position. "Two-One, execute push! Two-Two, suppressing fire! Cover Two-One's push!"

[Stone, T.]

A wise man once said that "God works in mysterious ways," and Stone normally found himself in agreement with that statement. There was no reasonable explanation as to what possessed Him to create the Covenant, but he understood that they were there for some kind of purpose. What that purpose was exactly was far above his pay grade. Perhaps they were there to test humanity; to prepare them for the coming trials and tribulations that were to come in the future.

He didn't know.

He did know, however, that sometimes his ways weren't as mysterious as people made them out to be. In fact, he believed that it was through God's hand that Major Killinger had arrived on the bridge with a supply convoy armed to the teeth with LAAGs. The gunners on the Warthog's opened up on the Covenant downrange, unleashing a heavy barrage of withering fire upon them.

The added firepower provided by the vehicle mounted machine guns was just the kind of thing Second Platoon and the doggies needed to turn the tide of the battle in their favor. Thomas watched as Covenant troops were literally torn to shreds by the hailstorm of twelve-point-seven millimeter rounds. He witnessed this with a cruel sense of satisfaction.

And then he remembered that his squad were about to push up. He needed to stay focused and make sure his Marines were ready to take the fight to the Covenant. So, with confidence that the enemy were actively trying to stay down and out of sight for the moment, the Sergeant darted over to Third Team's position. "Skip!" he called out, getting the team leader's attention.

Stone crouched down beside him. "Before ya push up, I want ya ta pop a forty mike-mike ta the far left side of the bridge. See that squadcar over yonder with the flashin' lights?"

Skip nodded. "Yes, Sergeant," he said.

"Drop a round on that bad boy, 'n then pop another one ta the right of it a little ways. Then have yer whole team push up 'bout fifteen meters 'n cover Faust's team as they bound up. Trackin'?"

"Tracking, Sergeant," Skip replied calmly.

Stone nodded with a smirk. He turned on his heel and made his way over to Faust's position, pausing for just a moment behind cover as a Carbine round narrowly missed his shoulder. He popped up, fired a burst in the general direction of the shot's origin, and then quickly finished making his way over to her team's location.

"Corp'ral," Stone began, pausing a second to give her team a look over, "Skip's team is gonna move up first after lobbin' some three-oh-one rounds on the Covie's right flank. When they're set in their new position, yer team will move up ta the right of his team, 'n then you'll cover 'em as they move further up. Oorah?"

After hearing Faust's reply, Stone had one more person to talk to. He moved with a little bit more caution over to where Corporal Davis was located, as the supply convoy had left in the midst of his chat with Faust. When he reached the farm boy's position, he got low and tapped the man on his helmet to get his attention. "Davis, when I give the order ta push up, I want ya ta lob a couple forty mike-mikes on the far right. I want ta channel those assholes inta the middle of the bridge so Bravo 'n Charlie can box 'em in 'n pincer 'em. Like I said before, yer team's base-of-fire. Tell yer boys ta keep the fire heavy. I don't want Bravo 'n Charlie ta git shot ta shit."

With that, he turned and left, returning to his position nearby Faust's team. The Covenant were no longer attempting to advance further up. Major Killinger's supply convoy had done an excellent job of pinning them down, and now the freaks were busy trying to regain fire superiority, something that Second Platoon was simply not allowing to happen.

Suddenly, Stone's radio sparked to life, and the voice of Lieutenant Durant burst in his ear. "Two-One, execute push! Two-Two, suppressing fire! Cover Two-One's push!"

Thomas keyed his radio. "Two-One here, roger!" Stone stood up some and opened fire on the Covenant. He exclaimed, "First Squad, push forward!"

Immediately, Corporal Skip sprang into action. He stood up from his spot behind cover and turned his weapon towards the abandoned police car on the far left side of the bridge, directly to the Covenant's right. He spent all of a second angling his shot, tilting the barrel of his underslung M301 Grenade Launcher upwards, and squeezed the trigger. The weapon sounded with its characteristic THOOMP, and a split-second later the police burst into flames as the 40mm round landed on top of it and detonated.

Skip launched his second shot roughly ten feet to the right of the first, the explosion catching a Jackal and two Grunts behind a road barrier, blowing them to bloody smithereens. "MOVING!" the Corporal shouted, and together with his fire team alongside him, he charged forward. He made it up to the maze of abandoned vehicles that dominated the area ahead of the Marines' defensive positions and ducked behind them, his team following suit.

"SET!" Skip exclaimed over the roar of gunfire.

"FAUST! MOVE!"

[Davis, E.]

Davis simply passed a thumbs up to his squad leader, not even bothering to talk over the sounds of automatic fire. The push was coming soon, and he had a few last second orders of his own to pass on. He grabbed three cases of ammunition for Ward's MG and commenced to linking them. There had to be almost a thousand rounds linked up by the time he had finished. Hopefully that would be enough to keep the Private running at full tilt.

"Avery, Furby, reload. They're getting ready to push and I want full firepower going down range. No pausing in the middle because you ran out."

Davis laid out three grenades next to him, ensuring they were clear of his webbing and clearly accessible. Nothing worse then fumbling with a grenade while in a rush. He was fully loaded and fully prepped, waiting for the call from higher. He popped up and put another 40MM grenade on a juicy piece of cover and was reqarded with the roar of defiance as an Elite, shields in full gold bloom, rolled out into the open. Machine gun fire tore the bastard to pieces under Davis's lopsided grin.

Then the call came, making things even more intense, if that were possible. Every piece of available lead rained down on the bridge as Davis watched Charlie bound forward. Following orders, he put a grenade right over the top of the fire time, smashing it home in some cover that shot a handful of grunts into the open. Three were already dead from the explosion and shrapnel. Oscar company was hammering the fire home, and Davis was glad to be a part of it.

"Keep it up team," Davis shouted into his mike. "More hot lead, more purple blood!"