The Bridge

[Wilkas, G.]

Wilkas let out a sigh of relief when the Covenant where finally wiped out. She took a deep breath attempting to calm her frayed nerves. The private kept her rifle pinned against her chest in order to disguise the fact that she was shaking uncontrolably. The RTO could not recall any time in her life where she had been this scared, no terrified. Those Hunter things terrified her, she wished that they where as easy to 'kill' as the target mock ups of them back on Earth. She swallowed her throat dry, trying to keep up the appearances of a calm soldier rather than a frightened girl but failed at both, despite the alien menace being completely gone, Grace looked scared beyond all measure. 
Stone's words knocked her out of her thoughts, she shook her head quickly as if to chase away her fears. "Thank you Sargent." For a second there Grace almost called him Stone but decided to go with the much safer option of Stone, for Stone was one scary SOB. 

Grace felt herself stiffen with Durant approached them, honestly right now the private wanted to just sit down. She began to fumbled with her rifle, ejecting the spent magazine, her hands shaking still uncontrolably so that she struggled to reload her rifle. It was embarrassing really, she felt her cheeks flush with colour. Wilkas knew how to reload but with her body not agreeing with her, it seemed to be an impossible task. 
She closed her eyes forcing herself to take several deep breaths so that her hands stilled somewhat so that she could finally ram home the clip and reload the rifle successfully. She only hoped that the others failed to notice how long it took. At the very least, her actions today might have successfully dispelled some of the doubts that the other marines possessed about her. 

Hopefully anyway. Grace doubted she could ever be like them, or truly be a marine but she could do her very best to be her very best and support them to the best of her abilities. At least the radio did not get hit this time, which reminded her to check on the dead weight just in case by some stroke of poor luck it had taken at hit. She knelt down, taking the radio off of her back so she could examine it. 
Grace ran her hands across it's casing, her eyes staring intently at it checking for any sign of damage to it. 

Fortunately there was none, so hopefully it would still work. Not like that broken radio that the guy back on the spaceship tried to issue her with. The Lt and the rest of the platoon would not have been very happy about that if they had got to the ground, only to find out that their radio did not function at all. 
It would have been a very bad day to be the RTO. 
With a small smile on her face she picked the radio back up, awkwardly putting the straps over her shoulders before standing up. She realised the others might have wondered what she was doing so she said hastily her cheeks flushing with colour. "Radio works I was just checking that it was good to go."

[Stone, T.]

Stone took a long, satisfying drag off his cigarette. He surveyed the battlefield set before him, now devoid of hostiles. It was strange to think that not that long ago - maybe only a few days - this bridge had been alive with commuter traffic. The civilian populace went about their lives, totally oblivious to what was about to befall them in such a short span of time.

He wondered how many people had perished on the first day of the Covenant assault. How many people had met their end far too soon? A hundred? A thousand? Two thousand?

After another drag off his cigarette, he decided he didn't want to know. Stone exhaled, his eyes focusing on the huge plume of smoke that lingered in front of him. He heard Davis exhale, and instinctively glanced over in his direction.

What he saw brought a smirk to his face. Corporal Davis stood straight, shaking, and barely able to stick the filter of the cigarette in his mouth. His large, meaty hands shook uncontrollably, a clear sign that the young NCO was experiencing a massive excess of adrenaline.

"Corp'ral," Stone barked, the smirk still sprawled across his face, "sit down 'n take a deep breath. I don't need my right-hand-man hyper ventilatin' on me."

Thomas saw the smartass remark that was about to escape Furby's lips, and he decided to nip it in the bud to spare both him and Davis the embarassment. "Say a word, PFC, an' yer gonna learn what it feels like ta have a size eleven boot in yer mouth."

[Durant, M.]

((OOC: For the record, this is not a GM post. Consider it a regular post.))

The sudden lack of gunfire and the ruckus of battle was both comforting and unsettling to Michael as he watched over his Marines. The deaths so far suffered weighed on his shoulders, though he did not outwardly display it. As an officer he understood that the casualties incurred fell within acceptable parameters - his platoon was still combat effective - but, as a human being with feelings, he felt that there was no such thing as an "acceptable" casualty. Of course, his beliefs offered him some needed solace.

Those that had been lost had died in the heat of battle. Therefore they had died an honorable death, which called for transcedence, and an eternal life of glory in the realm of Valhalla. In that regard Durant envied them.

It was strange. He did not fear death as others did. In fact, to some degree, he welcomed him with arms spread wide open. However, whenever he was faced with a situation where one of his own passed on, it effected him despite the fact that, in his mind, it shouldn't have.

"Lieutenant," someone called to his left. Michael shook his head as he returned to reality and glanced over in the direction that the voice had originated. He saw a man in Army BDU approaching him, and his HUD identified him as a Captain Tetofsky.

The Lieutenant stood a little straighter. "Sir?"

"I must thank you," Captain Tetofsky said, his voice gravelly, and his accent heavy. "Were it not for your arrival, the Covenant vould have taken the bridge. My men are in your debt."

Durant nodded. "We were just doing our jobs, sir," he replied. "How are your men?"

"Tired."

"I bet."

One of those strange instances of silence settled over them, as if a hundred conversations had arrived at the same pause, and neither wished to break it just yet. The scene set before them amply explained what words could not accurately convey. There had been a terrible battle on this bridge that spanned several days, and good people, both civilian and military, had lost their lives here. So much death caused for nothing. What reason was there that justified such death and destruction? What could have humanity possibly done to warrant the Covenant's campaign of mass genocide?

The answer to that question was one that Durant dared not consider. For the sake of his sanity, he banished what may have been the reason from his mind. Anything else he would willingly consider. But not that.

"So vhat now?" Tetofsky asked.

"I believe we are relieving you," Durant replied. "You boys look like you could use the rest."

Tetofsky nodded. "Indeed we do, Lieutenant," he agreed. "But vhat are we to do after we have rested?"

Michael shrugged. "That's above my paygrade, sir. However, my CO is just over there. I can take you to him if you'd like."

Captain Tetofsky nodded and Durant spun on his heel. Captain Flannigan appeared to be in the midst of conversation with his RTO, Corporal Totino, as the two approached them. "Skipper," Durant said when he felt there was a pause in the conversation, "Captain Tetofsky here would like to speak with you. He's the CO of the soldiers we're relieving."

[McMillan, J.]

Mac was relieved when air support finally came. The Falcons swooped in like angels from the heavens, the roar of their chin-mounted autocannons music to his ears. Covenant troops scattered in a vein attempt to escape the clutches of death, only to be felled quickly by the withering enfilade fire. Had he had time to watch it he would have; however, he had a patient before him that required his keen eye.

Private Silva seemed to be stable now that her chest was sealed with biofoam. Despite that, she was not out of the woods yet, and he was positive that further complications would arise as time passed on. Silva was in no condition to fight and needed to be in a hospital, not lying on the ground in front of him.

Mac was a talented caregiver, but he lacked the tools and equipment necessary to bring the young woman back to full health. The medical personnel and doctors at the CASH would have what she needed, and so he decided then and there that she would be one of the first to board the dust-off flight. "Corporal Stringer," McMillan called, hoping to grab the team leader's attention.

When he was certain he had the man's attention, he spoke. "Private Silva is stable for now, but she can't stay in the field. The doctors in the rear will need to have a look at her," he said, gesturing with his thumb in the direction of the CASH. "I have other patients in worse condition than her that need me. You and Gray -"

He stopped midsentence when his eyes fell upon PFC Gray. Her eyes were barely open and she kept bobbing her head up and down, as if she were struggling to stay awake. "Shit," he murmured under his breath as he left Silva's side, dashing over to Gray.

"Gray, are you alright?" the corpsman inquired. He fished through his combat webbing for a flashlight and found one. Mac had a feeling he knew what was going on, and if so, she might also require a trip to the CASH for treatment. At the very least, she would be out of combat for awhile and under his strict observation.

[Stringer, K.]

Stringer was down to his last magazine, and was running out of hope when the air support finally arrived. It was music to his ears, hearing the chaingun lighting up the final hunter that was charging their position. When it was finally destroyed, and the rest of the enemy forces retreating but instead being cut down by the fire, Stringer let out a breathe of relief. The battle went from a steep uphill battle to a decisive victory.

With the Covenant dead, Stringer needed to tend to his wounded and the other wounded marines and army soldiers on the bridge, along with the dead. First thing he would need to do was check on Silva. Right when he was about to place his rifle over his shoulder with the sling, McMillan was trying to get his attention.

"Corporal Stringer, Private Silva is stable for now, but she can't stay in the field. The doctors in the rear will need to have a look at her. I have other patients in worse condition than her that need me. You and Gray -" That's when McMillan stopped for only a split second, as Stringer noticed he was looking at where Gray was, turning around to see the same thing McMillan was now seeing. Gray was bobbing her head up and down, most likely trying to avoid passing out. Stringer saw McMillan run over to Gray to tend to her possible wounds, as Stringer looked to Lawrence.

"Lawrence, get Silva to the CASEVAC bird! She will either bleed out or be unable to breathe at this rate without medical attention!" Stringer moved over to Silva, helping her forward and up onto her feet, before placing Silva's other arm over Lawrence, knowing the marine would need help getting to the bird. Stringer then moved back towards McMillan and Gray.

"So Doc, how is she? Am I going to be down one or two marines?"

[Furby, J.]

"I just want to go on record here by saying I was totally not about to shit my pants."

"Yeah, suuure," Lance Corporal Avery quipped.

The battle had come to a screeching halt. Thanks to the Army's air cavalary, the Covenant were decimated, and the bridge's defenders were offered the needed reprieve to lick their wounds. Jayson slung his rifle over his shoulder and soaked in the scenery. Most of the defenses set up by the Army remained intact, but that seemingly proved not enough considering the amount of dead and wounded the combined force had suffered.

Avery stood next to Furby, a grin plastered across his face. "I saw you shakin' in your jimmies, bro," he remarked, his GPMG resting atop the sandbags in front of him.

Furby shook his head. "No you didn't! You were too busy drooling behind your machine gun!"

The Lance Corporal laughed. "Can't help it, man," he rebuttled. "I get a woody everytime I let 'er rip."

Jayson shook his head, rolling his eyes. He had a lot of respect for Avery. The man had personally saved his ass on multiple occasions and was frighteningly accurate with his weapon. However, despite all of that, sometimes the man just worried him.

"Dude, you're a fucking psycho," Furby said. Avery turned his head to regard the PFC, and that's when he noticed the large grin he had on his face. "But that's why we love you."

For a moment, they were both silent, staring directly at each other. Then, suddenly, they both broke out into a fit of laughter. Jayson felt himself loosen up some as the adrenaline from the firefight began to wear off. He'd heard someone say once that laughter was the best aphrodisiac in the galaxy.

He wholeheartedly agreed.

The voice of Corporal Davis reached his ears. He ordered First Team to start on their range cards. Furby frowned. Range cards was one task that an infantry Marine had to do from time-to-time that he hated. It was tedious and mildly time consuming.

That, and he was lazy.

"Roger, Corporal," Furby replied, answering for both himself and Avery. He turned to look at the lance corporal. "You pack any range cards?"

"Nope."

The PFC sighed. "You're a dick, dude."

Avery chuckled. "And you bitch more than my mother."

"Guess we'll make one from scratch," Jay said. He knelt down on one knee and shrugged off his rucksack. One thing he always made sure to pack was a pen and some paper. He found that even in an age where almost everything was done digitally, sometimes good old fashioned paper came in handy.

"Hope you gotta pen, bro," Avery said.

Furby nodded. "Always, bro," he said, and then added, "'cuz I know you don't need one. You don't know how to write."

Lance Corporal Avery made a face akin to hurt. "Aw, that hurt my feelings, bro," he said. "I learned my ABC's last week."

Furby laughed. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Avery replied, nodding. "Who knew your mom was such a great teacher?!"

Furby stopped and mentally kicked himself for walking into that one. He should have seen that coming. Leave it to Avery to use a "your mom" joke on him.

No class, he thought, shaking his head as he retrieved a piece of paper and a pen from his pack, no class at all.

[Davis, E.]

"I'm good Sergeant," Davis said, taking another too long drag off the cigarette. "I just need about ten more of these to make up for the adrenaline crash. I can't pass out. I'm pretty sure that thing will live in my dreams for a while now. I'd rather not sleep for a month than see that again."

Davis took another look around. The army boys were starting to extracate themselves. Somewhere in his mind he had the idea that they had held here for three days. Three days in the face of that sounded less than fun. Hell, the next two days didn't sound like much fun at the moment. They would make it though. The Covenant lacked any kind of ability to think ahead and the Marine's always beat them on the ground.

It was then that Davis realized his cigarette was already down to the filter. He had only smoked a handful of times in his life, but the fact that he sucked this down so fast without any difficulty told him just how much in shock he was. He shook his head to clear it and nodded to Stone.

"Well, time to get back to work boss," he said with a weak smile. "Come check on me after we get back from death detail. Wouldn't want my heart to explode or something."

Tossing the butt, he headed over to Ward's position. Hopefully the boot was ready for a job that marines either loved or hated. Mostly, he just wanted to be sure that the range card was up and ready. 

"Alright Fox," he half barked when he got close. "Let see if you at least know how to make a range card. I hope to hell I don't have to teach you today. Had enough fun for a while."

[Silva, J.]

Janet let out a cry of pain when she was moved by Stringer. She struggled to get enough breath in, pain killers or not, the wound burned horribly. "Sorry... You are going to have to finish this one without me." She forced out breathless, her lungs screamed at her from the effort. Janet did not wish to leave the battlefield but she couldn't continue the fight. She could barely breath, even standing on her feet was far too much effort. 

The talking didn't help either. Silva swayed, unsteady on her feet, unable to stand up under her own effort. Janet could not really focus on much, it hurt far too much, she struggled to get enough oxygen into her system. 

Janet leaned heavily on Lawrence, she looked as unsteady as a new born Giraffe her feet, unable to find the ground beneath her. She seemed to not have any strength. Silva desired to sit down, she wanted to yet couldn't draw enough oxygen in or find the strength for the words. 

She focused on simply trying to get enough oxygen into her system, though each breath seemed to be more exhausting than the last. Janet struggled with each trembling breath, each movement of her lungs brought fresh pain. They took a few steps before she stumbled, Janet gritted her teeth against the flare of fresh pain in her lung however a agonised yell still escaped her. 

((OOC: I apologise about the length of my post, I also apologise about the delay in it. The next few weeks will be quite busy for me but I will try to post when I can.))

[Ward, J.]

((OOC: No need to apologize, Wilkas. We understand. It was a good post.))

When the last Covenant soldier fell, Ward's shoulders slumped in relief. He exhaled a heavy sigh and wiped away a bead of sweat from his forehead. The firefight, which had taken an unexpected nose dive just minutes ago, was finally over.

It lasted for only a few minutes, perhaps no more than five - he wasn't exactly sure - and yet, to him, it felt like he'd been manning the stationary heavy machine gun for hours. Back in training at the School of Infantry on Reach, one of his combat instructors once said that "a firefight can last an eternity to the mind." He paid little attention to that little piece of wisdom back then - never having understood it fully before - but now, after what he'd just experienced, he read it loud and clear.

Jon glanced down at his hands. They shook rather uncontrollably. Adrenaline still pulsed through his veins despite the battle's abrupt end. He knew he wasn't in danger anymore; however, despite that knowledge, it seemed his body hadn't arrived at the same conclusion. The excess of adrenaline was causing his hands to shake to the point where he could not keep a grip on the handles of the machine gun. In his current state, he effectively had no hand-eye coordination whatsoever.

Letting go of the machine gun, Ward took one long step back. He took a slow, steady deep breath, and exhaled even slower. The fight may have been over, but there was still much to be done, and he would only make things more difficult for everyone else if he could not control himself. He needed to be calm.

So he continued with the breathing exercises until he could no longer feel his heart pounding against his chest. He took a careful, deliberate step forward, so that he stood directly behind the machine gun again. His training slowly weazled its way back from the depths of his mind, and he remembered that the first thing his instructors made their students do after a field op was visually check the weapon to make sure it was still functional, and then begin to count and assess the ammo he had left.

It seemed like a good idea, so that's what he did. By the time he was finished inspecting the weapon and just before he could move on to assessing the ammunition he had with him, Corporal Davis approached him with new orders. Jon looked to the bulletproof shield that was welded to either side of the weapon to protect the operator from small arms fire. Fixed to it with a couple short strips of duct tape was a range card, already filled out.

Jon looked over at Corporal Davis, whom now stood beside him. "Already got one right here, Corporal," he said, and then added, "I think the doggies who manned this gun before put it there."

[Gray, L.]

Suddenly Louise Gray heard the roar of helicopters overhead and very briefly shot an upwards glance to see three falcons fly over her. She witnessed the falcons take down the remaining hunter and unleash a hail of fire on the remaining Convenant. Then suddenly it was all over. The nasty wound to Gray's forehead over her right eye, was still bleeding, though the flow had slowed somewhat. However the young marine had exhausted all energy and leant back against the abandoned car which had been giving her cover.

Suddenly her legs gave way and she slide to the ground, just as the corpsman McMillan, realised that she was hurt and headed her way. When he enquired if she was okay, there was a pause before she eventually answered. "Of course I'm alright doc. I'm alive aren't I?" Then she spoke again, her voice barely more than a whisper this time. "M-My head, i-it hurts, really hurts." she said before slumping to one side, unable to fight unconsciousness any longer.

Meanwhile Lawrence was helping Silva towards the bird. When Silva apologised, Lawrence shook her head and said "Don't apologise. Besides, a tough cookie like you, will return to fight another day for sure and the rest of us will be right there with ya. Just concentrate on getting better and we will be waiting for you to return to us with open arms, at least that's how I feel anyway and I am damn sure that Gray feels the same way." When Janet stumbled and let out a cry of pain, Lawrence stopped so that the young marine could gather herself together, before carrying on.

When they reached the bird, Lawrence delivered Silva safely into the hands of the people aboard and told them the necessary information. Now that her team mate was safe, Lawrence returned to where Gray and Stringer were, only to see her best friend was hurt. "Fuck." Lawrence muttered as she hurried over to where Gray laid with McMillan crouched next to her and Stringer stood nearby. Reaching them, she knelt down next to her best friend and looked across worriedly to Stringer and the doc, waiting to hear what they said.

[McMillan, J.]

McMillan frowned as he scrutinized Private First Class Gray. He saw obvious signs of a concussion; fatigue being the most apparent. If he was right, she was combat ineffective, and needed to be pulled out to the CASH. However, he planned to run a few quick field tests before sending her off with the dust-off bird.

He raised the flashlight to eye level. Just as he was about to activate it and administer a test of her ability to focus, he heard the distinct southern drawl of Corporal Stringer's voice. "Lawrence, get Silva to the CASEVAC bird! She'll either bleed out or be unable to breathe at this rate without medical attention!"

Really? Mac felt the sudden urge to knock the excited NCO out. Why would he say something like that when Silva would obviously hear him. That would only cause her unnecessary stress and anxiety. Not to mention, Mac had said she was stable, and there was no possible way for her to bleed out. The laser fired from the beam rifle would have instantly cauterized the wound. Secondly, Mac had packed the wound tightly with Biofoam.

There was no bleeding.

Mac sighed and shook his head. Some people just set fire to his nerves. He turned his head back to Gray and smiled at her response to his earlier query. She was definitely a tough Marine. That was something anybody could appreciate. Before he was able to respond, he sensed someone approaching from behind, and glanced over his shoulder to see Stringer there. The NCO knelt down beside him and asked, "So Doc, how is she? Am I going to be down one or two Marines?"

McMillan resisted the urge to grab a needle filled with sedatives and jab it into the Corporal's neck. The Corporal was asking for answers he didn't have at the moment. While he was certain that Gray was suffering from a concussion, he couldn't say for sure until he assessed her more thoroughly. Stringer, to him, seemed impatient.

Impatience was a pet peeve of his as a medical professional. He liked to have space to do his job, and didn't like to be rushed. "Corporal Stringer, do you want there to be -"

Whatever Mac was going to say, Stringer would never know. Gray passed out right in front of him, and it didn't take a genius to realize that was a bad sign. Gray needed to be on board the dust-off bird and on her way to the field hospital immediately. She was a critical patient as of now as far as he was concerned.

The corpsman stepped back and traded glances with Lawrence and Stringer as he spoke. "Stringer, Lawrence, get Gray to the bird right now!"

[Flannigan, S.]

"Sir, why do we always end up at the hottest point on the battlefield," Totino asked with a sigh. "We could have gone and checked in on Third Platoon. Their LT needs more help than Lieutenant Durant."

"Because," Flannigan started out, "How do ya think ye can have a story fer yer grandkids? Now ye can tell them about some crazy Corporal who barely lived through a Hunter!"

Totino just shook his head and sat down, taking a moment to relax before his Captain drug them off to lord knows where next. Flannigan just laughed and made his way over to Durant, who was talking with an Army Officer. It seemed like a place he needed to be. Making his way up, Durant posed his question and Flannigan pursed his lips in thought.

"That hasn't been decided yet," Flannigan said with a frown. "But I assure you that we're gonna need your help. You boys won't get left out of the fun. I'd contact your chain and find out where they want you to bunker down. Our First Platoon has secured the CP in this AO. That will be the closest point for you."

Flannigan waited for the Army Captain to leave before addressing his Lieutenant.

"Nice work," he said with a smile. "Keep them boys ready for a fight. I'm sure it'll be here. I'm headed back to the rear to see what the Colonel has in mind. Dont forget, I'm just a Pelican away."

[Davis, E.]

"Good," Davis grumbled. The adrenaline crash was making him cranky, though he was happy his hands had stopped shaking. "Get your rifle and bayonet. We're gonna go make sure these bastards are actually dead. Nothing like a cowardly grunt to drop a grenade on you in the middle of the night after pretending to be dead all day. Trust me, you don't want to deal with that."

Davis moved up to where Furby and Avery were busy arguing and joking while attempting to make a range card. It was a good place to cut loose some of that dying adrenaline. Davis wasn't about to let them off with such tom foolery for nothing. He stood their for a second, waiting for them to look up. I didn't take them long to notice his large shadow over them.

"Furby, give Avery the paper and go man Fox's post. We're going to do a body check. I expect a proper range card by the time I get back, Lance Corporal."

The tone in his voice made it very clear he wasn't fooling around. He waited a moment until Ward joined him and then stepped out onto the no man's land of the bridge. It was quiet now, except the crunch of his boots on the icy concrete. He stopped at the nearest cover and took a few more breaths to clear his head. His adrenaline was running again as they got closer to the Hunter's corpse. He had a job to do, and a Private to teach.

"Shoot em or stab em," he said with a nod. "Just make sure they're dead. You need anything, scream."

[Furby, J.]

"That bus is totally thirty meters away, dude!"

Furby glanced down at Lance Corporal Avery knelt down down beside him. He was shaking his head furiously. Since they had started work on the range card for their position, they hadn't agreed on a single thing. Not one.

"Nah, bro," Avery said, still shaking his head back and forth, "that's definitely forty. God, man, where'd you learn your range estimation? On the back of a cereal box?"

Jayson dipped his head. "Yeah, maybe I did," he said, his words dripping with sarcasm. "But, last I checked, I've only messed up once so far."

The look on Avery's face told Jayson that he had a smart comment already prepared, but whatever it was, he would never know. Furby noticed that it had gotten darker all of a sudden, almost as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun. Avery must have noticed it too, because they both looked up together.

Standing there was Corporal Davis. Jayson immediately had the sense that they were in trouble. The Corporal rarely failed to announce his presence unless he was practically foaming at the mouth with rage. Jayson's defenses kicked in, conjuring up a hastily prepared excuse for their tomfoolery, one that he thought would be adequate to evade evoking their team leader's wrath.

So when the Corporal began to speak, Furby was pleasantly surprised at what the NCO had to say. His cobalt blues flickered over to the machine gun that had, moments ago, been occupied by Private Ward. It was now unmanned, and the Corporal was asking him to replace Ward.

Instinctively, the PFC looked at Avery. The expression upon his face was priceless. He looked somewhat shocked, but mostly offended, as if it was a personal insult that the Corporal hadn't told him to man Ward's post. It took every ounce of self-control Furby had to keep from laughing hysterically, so he resigned to smile with indignation instead.

When Corporal Davis walked off to rejoin Ward for the body check detail, Furby grabbed his rifle and stood up. "Welp, looks like you're stuck here," Furby said to Avery.

"He's joking, right," Avery asked all of sudden. "He's got to be joking!"

Jayson shook his head with a smile and patted his friend on the back reassuringly. "'Fraid not, bro," he said, and then added with a bigger smile, "have fun with your little toy... and the range card."

Before Avery could muster a response (which would have likely been filled by obscenities), the PFC walked off in the direction of the AIE-486 HMG. The entire time he grinned from ear-to-ear.

[Ward, J.]

Ward had thought it was all over. He'd fooled himself into believing he would get a reprieve so he could catch his breath and process all that had just happened. The battle had been his first real taste of combat. Most of the actual firefight was a blurred together slideshow in his mind.

The mixture of emotions he felt ranged from relieved that there was longer anyone shooting at him to remorse for the lives he'd had a hand in taking. Though they were aliens hellbent on exterminating humanity from existence, they were still living, breathing, sentient creatures. Ugly, though they were, they were still people (just of a starkly different variety).

However, Ward found when the Corporal started giving him new orders, that he had been wrong. There would be no reprieve and the killing was not over. He would have to slog through another grim task, perhaps far more daunting than being shot at from a distance. The bridge was littered with the Covenant's dead.

And it was his job to ensure they were really, in fact, dead.

Jon stood rooted in place for a moment as the Corporal walked off to speak to Furby and Avery. His brown eyes skimmed over the piles of corpses strewn across the bridge, leaking oddly colored lifeblood from several unnatural orifices (most the size of quarters). One thought prevailed against the sea of others running through his mind. This is what I signed up for.

That revelation came with mixed feelings. It was a realization that did not come easily. He knew from the moment he typed his name into the automated recruitment booth that he would be signing up for a lot of things. Having seen his father come home from the war on plenty of occasions, he knew there would be risks, and that he would do some pretty gruesome things in the name of protecting humanity. However, he never imagined this would be one of them.

Jonathan picked up his rifle from where it rested against the sandbags, and started forward. He'd reached the first corpse by the time the Corporal had rejoined him. "Shoot or stab 'em," the Corporal said to him, his voice lacking any sort of detectable emotion. That seemed to make the matter worse for Ward. Was that what he was destined to become? A man so broken by what he's witnessed that not even something as gruesome as this touches a single emotional cord?

No. NO! He couldn't think like that; not here, not now! The Corporal's words from earlier played through his mind, almost as if his brain was trying to sway the better part of his conscience that objected to the grizzly task he had been sent to do. "Nothing like a cowardly Grunt to drop a grenade on you in the middle of the night after pretending to be dead all day."

It was those words that made him go through with what he knew needed to be done. Jon pointed his weapon at the corpse of a Jackal, its legs spread out at awkward angles, one pointing north, the other south. He imagined it had been in the middle of a sprint when it was taken down by the Marines' gunfire. He aimed for the skull of the avian creature and squeezed off a round. Instantly a dime-shaped hole appeared which oozed sickly purple blood at the base of its skull.

His gaze lingered on the wound for a moment before he turned his head and moved on to the next body. There were plenty of them strewn all over, and each of them needed a bullet in them.