Return To Vengeance (EVENT)

[Harrison, D.]

"If you don't mind me asking, sir, but what happened between Captain Flannigan and No-Co?"

The question caught the Colonel by surprise. It had slipped his mind that Killinger had not been present in the command post during the altercation that had occurred between Captain Flannigan and Captain Alexander. He chastised himself for not recalling that sooner; however, with all the chaos that had gone on earlier in the morning, it wasn't all that surprising. It was easy to forget the small details when so much was happening around you.

Harrison craned his head towards the Sergeant Major, whom stood against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. The old codger smirked at him, obviously humored by the question, and perhaps of the story behind the incident. Carson had been present during the altercation, and had remained eerily silent as it played out before him. Maybe it was just that he did not wish to interfere in the affairs of two officers, or maybe if provided him some twisted sort of amusement to see them almost throw down. Derrick wasn't sure, but he hoped it was the former rather than the latter.

"Captain Flannigan and Captain Alexander had a disagreement," Harrison stated, emphasizing the last word with finger quotations.

Sergeant Major Carson shook his head. "That's takin' the piss out o' it, sir. They were practically ready ta throw punches."

Harrison shot the senior enlistedman a glare that could have stopped a runaway freight train. He did not appreciate the man speaking out of turn. Though, the old bastard did have a point. Things could have played out drastically different had he not intervened when be did. Captain Flannigan was not exactly the most tactful of officers.

"Sergeant Major isn't incorrect," Harrison said, shooting another glare at Carson. "Apparently Captain Flannigan picked up a Marine from November Company that had survived an ambush between the bridges. The Marine in question, a Lance Corporal, remained with Oscar Company and fought alongside them throughout the op. Captain Alexander requested his Marine be handed back over to No-Co, only for Flannigan to refuse him."

Derrick locked eyes with the Major, attempting to gauge his reaction and thoughts on the matter. The incident had been a petty dispute that he did not believe should have escalated to the level that it did. In his opinion, Flannigan should have handed over the Marine and called it a day. However, as he had learned over the course of the deployment, Flannigan did not exactly play by the rules and had no interest in playing politics.

That did not make him many friends in the higher echelons of command.

Very few friends at all.

"Long story short, sir," the Sergeant Major interjected, "Cappin' Alexander got his panties up'n a bunch an' Flannigan offered ta fight 'im over the Marine. Winner takes 'im, loser walks away. O'course the Colonel settled it b'fore that could 'appen. The Marine stays with Oscar. I reckon Alexander ain't too happy about it."

Derrick nodded and looked back at Killinger. Carson had summarized the incident rather colorfully, but it got the job done. "That's why I want you to make sure that the bad blood between those two does not trickle down into their companies. Oscar Company aren't the most forgiving of folk, Major."

[Flannigan, S.]

Flannigan was worn down by the time his pelican landed in the hangar of the Vengeance. While it hadn’t been three constant days of fighting like most of his marines had seen, he was drained from the effort of keeping one hundred and fifty marines moving forward against a lethal and determined enemy. He had gone with each of his platoons into the heat of battle and seen several of them not come back. He didn’t have a final tally, but he was quite sure there were almost a dozen bodies of his marines that didn’t leave the planet’s now glassed surface. Losing men was normal, but it was rare he couldn’t at least bring them all back. That many bodies would eat at him for a while.

The marines around him unloaded, numbly making their way down to the hangar floor and shuffling on tired legs and feet towards the hatch that started them towards supply. Taking up the rear like a mother hen, Flannigan fell in behind them, feeling an urge for a cigarette. He didn’t normally smoke, but it felt right at the moment. Perhaps he would settle for a cigar in his room. Beatrice would likely warn him about the Admiral’s fury for disobeying the smoking protocols, but Flannigan wasn’t sure he cared at the moment.

His musings were cut short when a marine in front of him stumbled, straightened up to correct his trip and then fell backwards, too exhausted to keep moving. Flannigan took two hard steps forward and caught to young man, easing him back to the hangar deck with more care than one would expect from the grizzled captain. With a few quick movements he had the marine’s pack off and laid him out on the floor. The marine, regaining some sense of his surroundings as he lay there, immediately tried to get back to his feet.

“Just stay down a minute son,” Flannigan said sharply. “TOTINO!”

“Here sir,” came the call from his RTO. The Corporal looked haggard and in need of rest as much as anyone else, but still moved with a speed and bounce that showed he had gotten more rest than most of his peers.

“Turn in Private Tubbard’s weapon and mine,” he said, handing over the pair of weapons. “I’ll see to it he gets to his bunk. Once you clear supply, go relax. I’m sure we’ll be busy again soon Corporal.”

“Aye sir,” Totino said, not batting an eye at the instructions. Private Tubbard looked confused and highly concerned. Flannigan didn’t smile, but there was something about his posture that told the young marine he wasn’t in trouble.

“You good to get up son,” Flannigan asked. “It’d be a shame for a Pelican ta land on ya after surviving three days in tha shit.”

“Aye sir,” the Private said, sitting up. Flannigan offered a hand and drug him up the rest of the way. Stooping to pick up the marine’s ruck, he walked next to the young man as they made their way towards the billets.

“How many did ya get down there,” Flannigan asked, making small talk as they walked slowly down the passageways.

“I lost count at forty five sir,” Tubbard said with a wicked grin. “Obviously not enough.”

“You’ll get more,” Flannigan said with a sage nod. “Now, go get some rest. Who’s your team lead?”

“Corporal Kreis,” the Private said, stumbling again from weariness. “I’m sure he is looking for me.”

“I doubt it,” Flannigan said with a wink. “I just sent him a message saying I excused you from duty. I’m sure your team will be here soon Private. Get some sleep.”

“Aye sir, and thank you,” Tubbard said with a grin. “I’ll make sure to get eighty next op.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear son,” Flannigan said with a nod, dropping the Private’s ruck at the hatch. Without another word he headed to his quarters, knowing he had made an impression on another young marine. Likely dozens in the next few days. His boys would fight for him, and he intended to keep it that way, even if it meant being a little soft sometimes.

[Furby, J.]

The return trip from Phoenix III to the Vengeance had been a dull one. Jayson had expected a more harrowing adventure from the surface back to the ship, with the Pelican executing delicate maneuvers to avoid Banshee squadrons and Seraph fighters, along with the plethora of debris he assumed floated through the upper atmosphere. None of this had happened, as far as he was aware.

He was sure there had been some measures taken to avoid space debris, but if there had, he hadn't felt it. It was disorienting, transitioning from a gravity rich world to none at all, where momentum and inertia were not felt through the deck plates. The only indication of any maneuvers having been executed at all came from the roar of the engines. Even that was not a definitive indicator.

"Bro," Lance Corporal Avery spoke up, exhaustion slowly creeping its way across his face. "I am gonna sleep so damn good."

Furby nodded with a chuckle. "Yeah, it's crazy that the brass are gonna let us sleep mid-friggin'-day. I guess the stick isn't wedged as far up their ass as I thought."

Avery laughed weakly. It was the kind of laugh that told him it drained a great deal of energy to do so. Jay looked around the troop compartment, noticing that many of the others looked just as tired as he felt. Hell, he was sure that if no one would say anything, many of them wouldn't have minded catching forty weeks in the back of the bird.

There was a shift in the air, a noticeable tug of gravity, and Jayson knew they were seconds away from touching down. Right on que, the Pelican shook as its landing struts touched pay dirt, and the rear hatch hissed open. Furby unbuckled himself from his seat and stood up, lazily slinging his rifle over his head and onto his back, the magnetic plate attached to his rucksack holding the weapon in place. He yawned, too tired to bother covering his mouth, and slowly followed the line off the aircraft.

The platoon was led across the hangar and through a hatch. A long corridor stretched for roughly fifteen meters before ending at another door. Jayson fell in behind Avery and followed him through the hall and through the armory door. No sooner had he entered the armory did Sergeant Stone start barking orders and doling out threats.

Furby shook his head. "Does that motherfucker ever stop lifing people?" he asked, keeping his voice low. Stone had the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a deer.

Avery sighed. "Bro, do you ever stop bitching?"

Jayson stopped in his tracks and brought his hand up to his face, rubbing his chin thoughtfully for a moment. He shook his head a second later, a grin slapped across his face. "Nope," he said. Avery sighed. "I mean, dude, he yells at us about the dumbest shit. Who the fuck would be dumb enough to leave ammo on them with no weapon?"

Lance Corporal Avery turned and pointed over Furby's shoulder. Jayson glanced back in the direction his friend's finger was pointed and saw Ward standing there, just a few feet back. "Oh," he murmured. "Yeah... You're right."

The machine gunner grinned and nodded. "Damn right I am," he retorted. "That's why I'm the Lance Coolie."

Jayson rolled his eyes and assumed his position in line with the rest of the squad. Third Team was in front. Corporal Skip was in the process of turning in his equipment, a Sergeant staring blankly at him as he did. Probably another NCO with a stick up his ass, Furby thought.

What made it worse was that he was a POG NCO. NCOs were already an annoying breed of Marine, but POG NCOs were by far the worst. He's rather listen to Stone bitch and moan all day long about the squad than to listen to some POG complain about how terrible their life was and how hard their job happened to be.

And, as a general rule, Marines in the armory hated themselves, and anyone that entered their domain. Minutes went by as the squad one-by-by turned in their weapons and ammo. When it was Avery's turn, he walked up, unslung his rifle, and set it upon the counter. He eyed the Marine behind the cage. "Corporal," he said.

"Yeah?" the armorer replied.

"Anything happens to my baby girl and I'll know who to find," Avery stated firmly. Furby rolled his eyes.

The Corporal looked taken aback. "Was that a threat, Lance Corporal?" he asked, incredulous.

"Just a promise, bro," Avery replied.

Before the Corporal had the chance to respond, the Master Sergeant walked over and posted himself beside his subordinate. "No worries, Lance Corporal," he said with a grin. "We'll take good care of her."

The Lance Corporal chuckled. "Thanks, Top. You're alright."

Jayson shook his head and watched as the Corporal checked in Avery's '247 and logged it into the datapad set beside him on the counter. Avery relieved himself of what little ammunition he had left and then stepped away. "Next," the Corporal growled, obviously perturbed by how events played out.

Furby stepped forward and set his weapon upon the counter, and dug out the last three magazines of ammunition he had left. He was glad the Covenant hadn't attacked, as before the word came for evac, the platoon wasn't expected resupply until the evening. He was positive his ammo would not have lasted until then.

"Here ya go, Corporal," Furby said.

The Corporal inspected the weapon carefully. He pulled back on the charging handle, examined the inside of the ejection port, and peered down the barrel. Jayson was convinced he was doing it out of spite, as he'd barely glanced at Avery's weapon before checking it in.

"It's a little dirty," he said.

Well, no shit, Furby thought. "Yes, Corporal."

"When was the last time you cleaned it?" the Corporal asked with a scowl.

It took every bit of restraint he had not to dole out his infamous sarcasm. Were it anybody else, he would have. However, after the bullshit Avery had pulled with the guy, he was certain any sarcasm he dished out would only come back to haunt the next person in line. POGs like him were simply assholes with nothing better to do than make life harder on the grunts.

"Yesterday, Corporal," he replied through gritted teeth.

The Corporal shook his head. "Doesn't look like it."

Jayson had had it. There was no biting his tongue anymore. "Well, Corporal, with all due respect; how about you fly your POG ass down there and go through three days of nonstop combat and fell me how your fucking weapon looks afterwards! Oh wait, that's right, you can't! The Covenant are down there right now burning the bitch to a cinder!"

Jayson realized that in all of that, he'd inched his face closer to the cage and balled his fists. The Corporal had taken a couple steps back during the whole charade, probably in fear that he was about to attempt to make it through the metal gate to get to him. It would have been impossible, but that would not have stopped him from trying.

The Master Sergeant returned, this time with a look of pure, unadultered rage. Jayson recoiled slightly from the look he was given, stepping back a foot. The Master Sergeant turned and looked down at the Corporal, who stood just a few inches shorter than him, and let him have it. "Corporal, do you like your job?!" he bellowed.

"Yes, Master Sergeant!"

"Then you better square your ass away and stop dicking around! These Marines are tired, worn out, and on a hair trigger. I wouldn't give them a reason to want to fuck you up! Kill?"

The Corporal nodded quickly. "Kill, Top!"

Without another word the Master Sergeant walked away, leaving a very shaken NCO in his wake. Jayson smirked and stepped away, deciding the asshole could handle things from there. He rejoined Avery near the exit door. The machine gunner was grinning from ear-to-ear.

Jayson merely shook his head and posted himself beside his friend. With his weapon checked in, all he wanted now was to hit his rack and fall asleep.

[Min Jung Jun]

Min listened to the idle chatter of her comrades in arms, she did not have the heart or the energy to join in the conversation. She was exhausting, aching and really looking forward to having the promised free time. She handed over her rocket launcher to the man on station, Jun hoped that she would not need to see that familiar weapon again for a very long time.
Still it felt great to finally get rid of the weapon for a bit, no one informed the rocket jocks like herself that carrying such a powerful death dealer that it happened to very heavy.

She kept her private thoughts to herself, glad that no one in the platoon appeared to mind her retreating into a calm silence. Min more often than not was quiet, perhaps it was because this contrasted with the noise her chosen tool of destruction produced? Min put it down from having grown up in a rather large family, silence as a result became a rare joy to experience, an odd commodity.

Her mind travelled back to the planet which they had just been extracted from. The thoughts about all those poor souls who died trapped on that world as the Covenant glassed it. She took a deep breath, no matter what happened she would ensure that her beloved home planet of Reach never fell to Covenant invasion. Regardless of what it might cost her, Min vowed to protect her home planet and her family.
The Covenant already killed one of her brothers, she would be damned if she let those murderous aliens slay another.

She shut her eyes, leaning against the wall, folding her arms across her chest. She forced her mind to think back to happier times. Min intended, assuming she survived the war, to continue on her educational path, her dream career still being the career she desired most of all. Veterinary surgeon. Her college she hoped should still accept her once she finished her service with the UNSC and later the university which she poked around. It felt like a whole life time ago those days, instead of a couple of years. Back when the war happened to be just a grim distant spectre, back when one of her brother's lived instead of feeding the worms.
She needed to enlist after her brother died, joining the fight to protect those she cared about, those who she loved. Yes, partly her reason for enlisting included revenge, the aliens slaughtered her brother, now she intended to return the favour to them.

Min Jung Jin imagined seeing herself as a fully qualified Veterinary Surgeon, it brought a smile to her face. She looked attractive in the vet's uniform even more so than the uniform of a marine.
It might fit swell but at the end of the day this was not the path she wished to walk all of her life. One day all of this would be over, everyone could go home, return to families, make new homes and make new families. Humanity as always would rebuild, humans were a stubborn bunch like that.

[Durant, M.]

Michael stood behind Staff Sergeant Cruz, his fingers wrapped loosely around the pistol grip of his MA5, the weapon resting upon his shoulder. Corpsman McMillan had already turned in his weapon, and now it was the Staff Sergeant's turn to relinquish his gear. The armorer behind the counter was quick on his feet, taking the shotgun and assault rifle from the SNCO and punching them into the database as stored.

The exchange lasted no longer than thirty seconds. Cruz stepped aside and assumed parade rest as Durant took a long step forward. The quartermaster, a Staff Sergeant, looked up at him as he set his rifle down upon the counter and moved to unholster his pistol. By the time his sidearm was on the counter, the staff sergeant had already logged the rifle into the system and returned it to its respective place. Michael was impressed.

"You're high speed, Staff Sergeant," the Lieutenant commented with a smile.

The Staff Sergeant did not meet his gaze as he grabbed the pistol and punched in its serial number into the logbook open on his datapad. "Just doing my job, sir, he replied. "I like to be efficient."

"Outstanding," Durant said. "Let me know if you ever consider switching careers. I like a Marine that takes pride in his work."

"I'll keep that in mind, Lieutenant," the Staff Sergeant replied, chuckling.

With that, Michael stepped out of line and made his way over to the opposite end of the room. He noticed members of his platoon had begun to assemble by the exit. Durant, with Staff Sergeant Cruz at his heel, approached the group and cleared his throat. "Those of you that have finished are free to go," he declared. "Duty will resume tomorrow morning promptly at zero-five. Enjoy your day off."

Durant turned and exited the armory. While his platoon had been granted a much deserved reprieve, there was much left for him to do. The first order of business on his agenda would be to meet with the XO and find out what time the company debrief was. He was certain it would be soon.

The job of a Platoon Commander was never ending.

((OOC: This is pretty much the conclusion to the thread. You guys can post some more, writing out what your character does after leaving the armory, or if you haven't had the opportunity to post yet, this would be a prime opportunity before the thread is locked. The next thread will be up today.))

[Davis, E.]

Davis did one final shakedown of his team before they were dismissed, dumping rucks, turning ammo pouches, even unblousing boots to ensure not one spare piece of brass left the supply room. He considered making Ward strip all the way down to his skivvies, much as he had been made to do during his first shakedown, but he didn't have the energy to complete the circle with his greenest member. All he wanted was his rack. They would have a clear path for it as well, given that the POG's seem to have gotten the message to leave the killers alone.

"Let's go First Team," he said, shaking his head hard to clear the sleep away. "And let's keep the death threats to a minimum on the way back. We are still on a Navy ship."

Davis turned smartly towards the hatch and started lumbering towards the rooms. He was slouched forward under the weight of his ruck, showing the world just how tired he truly was. He could almost hear Sergeant Stone in his ear chewing him out for not walking upright, but he didn't care. Right now, he would ignore the real voice just as completely as he turned off the one in his head. It seemed forever to get to the hatch to the squad bay, but he grinned slightly at the sight of it. He shouldered it open and woodenly marched into the team room. 

"Stash your gear, PTs, then your racks," he grumbled to his team, not even looking back at them. "And if one of you apes wake me before I wake you, Sergeant Stone's airlock will be preferable to what I have for you."

He shoved his gear into his footlocker with almost no organization. He would reset it to standard after he slept. There was no deviation from his path or one movement that didn't get him closer to sleep. It was less than five minutes from the time he entered the room till his was crawling into his rack. He didn't care what his team needed at this point and didn't bother to ask. Right now, he needed sleep or his threat would become a promise. 

"Lights out in three minutes," he growled from his bed. "Sound is out now. Fox, get the lights."