Fresh Faces and New Gear (New Marines+Command)

[Flannigan, S.]

1300 Hours, July 15, 2542 (MILITARY CALENDAR) /
C-Deck, Hangar 119, UNSC Vengeance,
In orbit above Reach, Epsilon Eridani System

Flannigan stood in the hangar, the earmuffs clamped tightly to his head while the Pelicans roared in for a landing. The entirety of the MEU was being resupplied and plussed back up to full strength after Operation Frost Dragon. Many of these Pelicans did not belong to him, but there would be at least two birds full of new troopers for Oscar Company. Unfortunately, after the incident almost a month ago, the rest of his troopers were in the freezers. As punishment for "instigating" the incident, Oscar was in the freezers first and November Company could work on their integration. Flannigan was still quite certain that it had more to do with the fact that Oscar needed less time, but that was really irrelevant. He would take his medicine this time, and pretend like something would change. It wouldn't, but Alexander had been far less pompous, and that was a start for Flannigan. 

His thoughts were brought back to the present by the screech of tires as the transport craft touched down in the hangar. Lieutenant Matheson had set up the check in process in conjunction with the other XO's so his troopers were already on the Pelicans that were landing in the designated area for Oscar Company. Matheson was proving to be an expert at logistics, and it was the first time in a while that Flannigan had not had to concern himself with such things and he was feeling rather spoiled by it. It was a good place to be in and if these new marines proved to be have as good as his current batch, he would be even more spoiled. For all their rough edges, the marines of Oscar company were proving to be excellent fighters.

As the new marines unloaded off the Pelicans, Flannigan looked them over with a skeptical eye. No marines should ever feel comfortable with a new unit, especially not on their first day. He wanted them all to feel the need to prove something, and he stood there as though they all were about to owe him a corrective PT session just for stepping foot off the birds. As they all started to mill their way over, following the flow of bodies, he motioned for them to follow him out of the hanger, which was still deafening with the flow of air traffic. He led them out into an overflow bay that was far quieter.

"FALL IN!" he barked, pulling the earmuffs off. It was time for them to join Oscar Company.

[Killinger, J.]

John stood relaxed, his arms folded across his chest, reclined against the wall as he watched Pelicans and Albatrosses enter the hanger and touch down at their designated areas. Some took off and left through the hangers air lock while others hovered nearby waiting for a spot to open up for the supplies they had to off-load. The good thing about the Pelicans was the strong magnetic grips they had could carry up to seventy tons of weight, not to mention the creates and bodies they could fit inside the troop carrier, so resupplies went rather fast. The Albatross Heavy Lift transports also carried a large quantity of objects ranging from two tanks to dozens of supply boxes.

The Major's eyes wandered across the hanger bay and locked onto Captain Flannigan. The man looked uncomfortable to John from this distance and angle and he could assume why. John understood that looking at the faces that were replacing casualties wasn't easy and having been in his shoes many times in the past he also understood the feeling the Captain might have had. John personally couldn't form an opinion on Flannigan consistently even though he tried. At one point he'd like the Marine and at another dislike him; one thing was clear to John though from what he had seen: The man's fuel was anger if his attitude was anything to judge by. 

Multiple 'incidents', especially with No Co, over what John regarded as infinitesimal issues were the bases of his opinion. John hadn't been with the battalion long and wasn't about to write Flannigan off as a hot head just yet but the reports that featured his name on the headline were increasingly inconclusive. So, fact for fact, John hadn't judged the man yet. A simple code the Major went by was treating someone the way you want to be treated. Childish in thought but invaluable in practice. 

"I've got a preliminary list ready, sir." Lieutenant Jackson said, the Battalions S-3 officer, as he handed the Major a datapad; on it John could already see a rough inventory of the supplies they had received.  

"Good," John replied. He accepted the data pad and quickly read over the inventory report the Lieutenant had been keeping track of. As expected: Replacement gear, replacement firearms, ammunition, food, water; the whole nine yards the MEU needed to stay combat effective on the field - especially a prolonged deployment - should it be necessary.  "All three companies will have a full stock of ammunition, replacement weapons and gear, and our reserves for fuel and ammunition seem to be in order. Good work, Lieutenant." John added.  

On top of his own report he forwarded both his preliminary inventory and First Lieutenant Jackson's to Lieutenant Colonel Harrison. John knew the CO would want to know the status of his Battalion's resupply and so far it was on schedule. Obviously it wasn't complete as the chaos of the hanger bay continued. Marines and Navy crew members wheeled supplies to a collection point and returned to repeat the task while other pelicans still waited for an area to land. No, it was far from over, but it had been progressing well.  

By this point, after reading through the list of items the Lieutenant had kept track of and forwarding those reports to the CO, Captain Flannigan was already on the move with his reinforcements. 

John decided to join them for a while and followed from the distance as he started to catch up. 

[Torngate, D.]

1300 Hours, 15 July 2542
UNSC Vengeance


     Torngate thought back to his former duty assignments as the Pelican streaked toward his new assignment. This would be the first time he was actually assigned to a combat unit, instead of some backwater station out in the middle of nowhere. he was excited, to say the least. He leaned back as the ships came in for a landing. As the landing procedures completed, he thought back to his previous assignment. It wasn't a fun or interesting, but hey, it was safe. Nobody shot at him, and the only time he had discharged his weapon was on the range. Of course, when he was offered the transfer he accepted. He wanted to get back out into the fight for what he signed up for! He had since been assigned to Oscar company, to which he hoped would lead to a full and complete life, not a short and plasma'ed one.

     As the ship touched down, he gathered the gear he had with him, and stood up. He was nervous, and didn't know quite what to expect. As the rest of the people on the pelican filed out, he followed suit, about in the middle of the group. He filed out with his pack slung over his shoulder. As he exited he gaped in open awe at the ship in front of him. He'd been born on ships, yes, but he still was surprised at just how huge this ship was! He was in the hangar deck, where the deck crew was repairing other small craft, as personnel filed back and forth thought what Darvon thought to be a hangar almost as big as the ships he grew up on! The other newcomers filed out toward a corralled area, and he followed suit.
     
     He definitely felt overwhelmed, as his previous assignments had been to small squads in remote corners of colonies, maybe with groups of ten marines. This was something else. He was a single person in a sea of marines, totally new to him. If the person in charge wanted to make him feel uncomfortable, it worked. As he looked around he heard someone shout out "Fall In!" which he did as quickly as he could. No point making the higher ups mad at him on the first day. He tried to hide his obvious discomfort with his new surroundings, but it was probably still obvious he was lost and overwhelmed.

[Mihaylov, D.]

Dmitrii was bored, to say the least. While this was the most front line time he would see in his career, he had been through combat in several other planets. Sitting around on a Pelican shuttling from ship to ship was the last thing he wanted to be doing. He couldn't even smoke, though he was tempted to try. He had seen others get away with it as combat veterans, and though he clearly had a combat patch stiched to his shoulder, he didn't feel up for that fight today. So instead, he did the next best thing he could. He talked.

Stories of boot, combat, woman, sports, cars, and guns were always readily available, and Mihaylov intended to talk and listen to everyone who would spare him the time. As far as he was concerned, it was a new group who hadn't heard his jokes and one liners yet, and his accent was sure to be somewhere charming when paired with his glowing smile. And the stories flowed while they marched through their presort and were given their new orders. Mihaylov found himself tied to Second Platoon, Oscar Company. 

"You have heard of this Oscar Company," he asked the female marine he had spent the last hour talking and flirting with. 

"I've heard they are some of the best marines out there," she said with a shrug. "Got a crazy irishman for a CO, or some such thing."

"I heard they've got NCO's that throw out the rules," someone spoke up from behind him in line. "Like smoking in the hangar bay."

"They're killers," another voice pitched in. "I worked intel in my last unit and saw a report come through that they engaged covenant hand to hand and won."

"Sounds like lots of crazy talk," Dmitrii said with a laugh, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. "Large talk make for small people. I guess I have to see for myself."

And now he found himself there, with an angry looking Irishman standing in front of them barking orders. Dmitrii quickened his pace a half a step, but not an inch more. He had played this game before, and he wanted to blend in to start with. Keeping his moseying pace would not help him in that goal. He took a glance around and saw that they were the smallest of the resupply groups. The manpower going to Minke and November Companies looked like a lot more. Perhaps all that he had dismissed as talk had some truth in it. 

Standing at attention, his seabags at his feet, Mihaylov decided he would have to pay closer attention to rumors from here on out.

[Winters, R.]

She was riding in a Pelican towards her first actual combat unit. Raven was not exited, she was sort of lost in her own memories about her past training, her basic training and her current situation. She however was good enught to have more situation awarenesss as she was able to resister all the chatter that wetn on inside of the Pelican. 
As the Pelican landed in one of the very busy hangar bays, she followed the person who was just ahead of her. She was looking around the hanger with a smirk. She took in a lot of tiny detail that others would miss and listened to the Russian person. When another female spoke, she looked at her but actually grew surprised, hopeful and even more determined.  She grew even more willing and determined when another voice also spoke. She muttered to herself. "Soon, i will be just as good as any of them... i will also fight those freaks and win " She muttered under hear breath, and as she heard a loud order, Raven executed it. She got in light, straightening herself out.
She however glanced at the CO from the corner of her eyes. So there is that crazy CO. Raven studied his face and it took two seconds to understand that his problem was. 
He was not angry... he was sad and troubled underneath that hard shell. Raven understood, why they where here right now. They where replacements... fresh meat to fill the ranks. Damn it to hell... anybody would have the same face as that guy. She suddenly felt to alone again... having nobody at all around the ship who had even head of her. She was a nobody here... just another fish in a damn ocean. Raven glanced at a Pelican that was taking off and smirked slightly. She could fly one of those things... sure she was not an ace, but knew how to handle it even while it was under enemy fire and transporting a VIP. She knew that... an yet... she officially could not even operate it.
She snapped back into reality as somebody gently bumped into her while the person got in line.  

[Edward, Z.]

Edwards sat there, dug into his seat with a stainless steel suitcase on his lap handcuffed to his wrist, while the crowded Pelican finally arrived to its destination. His eyes were glued to his data pad as he was inspecting a friends work. Wondering how much longer it would be till they land. He looked up to see the person next to him trying to see what he was doing on the data pad. Edwards chuckled when he gave up. "Guess he couldn't read tech language," saying under his breath. 

Few people tried talking to Edwards but he never looked up, just staring at the data pad. Edwards was still in sort of a shocked state  from a month ago when he and a few pilots  were rescued on a lush planet. Surviving for six long months waiting for rescue. If it wasn't for quick thinking of everyone, they wouldn't of had enough supplies. Then the covenant started to flash through his head. "We don't have enough ammo."

The marine next to him gave a light punch to Edwards gut. "Hey are you alright?" He asked.

"Yea... thanks." Edwards said as he put his data pad in his duffel bag. He looked at the bag. It had his logo of the radiation symbol patch which was sewn on. 'All I've ever known is reactors, reactors and reactors. Fighting he learned quickly  while he was stranded.  Kill or be killed was what he learned.

When the pilot announced they were a few minutes away, Edwards put the rest of his orange engineering jacket on . Looking around he smiled internally when no one noticed. Pulling out his draft papers from a couple of years ago. 'Marine and Engineer.' He had two jobs, none which were easy nor safe.

When the pelican door opened, Edwards grabbed his duffel bag and the metal case following the other marines. He prayed that his past wouldn't come to haunt him.

[Durant, M.]

Standing beside the Fighting Irishman was Second Lieutenant Michael Durant, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the Pelican that would be carrying the replacements of Second Platoon hover for a moment, and then touch down. He wondered what the new batch of replacements would yield for his platoon. The last batch had been mostly killed off in the fighting on Phoenix III, though a handful of those Marines were still around. PFC Gray and Private Silva were among those survivors, and so far he was impressed with the both of them. They had recovered from their injuries quickly and returned to duty as any decent Marine should.

He shoved the thought to the back of his mind as the Pelican's hatch opened and several Marines exited. The majority of the Marines ranged from private to lance corporal; however, one Marine stood out from the pack. The service record of Gunnery Sergeant Sabre preceded him as he stepped out onto the hangar floor, dressed in full camouflage utilities. Sabre was to be Staff Sergeant Cruz's replacement as his platoon sergeant (after the debacle that landed him fired from the position) and thus far he was impressed. He decided, ultimately, to reserve judgment for now until he had seen the SNCO in action.

"Looks like a decent batch, sir," Durant commented to Flannigan as the Marines fell into formation before them. "But, then again, they always do."

It was a morbid thought, but full of truth. These days there were two types of replacements that a unit received; green-as-grass newbies fresh off the grinder and moderately experienced salts that cut their teeth in battle long ago. Neither seemed to last very long against the onslaught of the Covenant, and the dog and pony show had to commence far too often for his liking. Case and point, after every operation this deployment, the platoon had needed to be resupplied. FROST DRAGON was no exception.

Good Marines died and were replaced by people that, on paper, looked like excellent additions to the unit. However, when it was time for them to execute, they rarely lasted long. Perhaps it was because Oscar Company was the tip of the battalion's rather sharp spear, or maybe it was just a case of terrible luck, but it happened far too often for his liking.

[Flannigan, S.]

Flannigan gave his Lieutenant a quick nod to show he had heard the comment, but continued on about his work without any other recognition. All three of his PCs were present, with Lieutenant Matheson out taking care of some other logistical thing or another. He wouldn’t be surprised to find the man at supply with weapon serial numbers already paired up with marines when they got there. It was a boon to Oscar to have that man working for them, especially after the previous XO Flannigan had.

“STAND AT, EASE!” Flannigan barked his commands to the new marines, expecting them to execute. He started to pace as they moved, their eyes able to follow him now. “Welcome to Oscar Company marines. You are here for one reason, and one reason alone. To kill. I expect you to kill swiftly and without hesitation, carrying out orders and executing whatever mission you are given. Any of you not capable of doing that will end up in body bags and I’ll be having this talk with your replacements.”

He looked over the ranks of marines, knowing most of the fresh faces wouldn’t make it. Some would, for there were always some, but most would falter at some point and end up dead. Or bad luck might take them. He had seen that happen before as well. It was a dangerous line of work and really only a matter of time till their tickets were all punched.

“I am Captain Shay Flannigan, your Commanding Officer. Over here to my left, your right, are my Platoon Commanders. Lieutenants Johanson, Durant, and Hernandez, of first, second, and third platoons respectively. They will be escorting you for your brief time of stowing your gear, visiting supply to draw your tactical gear, a quick familiarization with the ship, and then we will be hitting the freezers. Due to an...administrative issue, Oscar Company is currently in Cryo so you will not be able to meet your teammates till we are up for our training cycle.”

An administrative issue was putting it lightly. His marines had nearly started a riot during some downtime, including having put a large contingent of November Company, several Master at Arms, and an unlucky Naval Lieutenant caught in the chaos into the infirmary. If not for their reputation and Colonel Harrison’s need for them, he suspected the punishments for the entirety of the Company would have been much steeper than spending extra time in cryo.

“Now, I will dismiss you to your Lieutenants, but stay in formation. They’ll call your names and get you started on your in-processing.”

Flannigan just then caught the sight of Major Killinger in the rear, looking over his little formation. Flannigan was still trying to figure out their XO. The man seemed willing to go where his job required with no fear, whining, or hesitation. He liked that about him, however, it was tough to judge a man without seeing him in combat, and an XO rarely saw combat. His record spoke well of him though and Flannigan assumed that if they ever ended up in a foxhole together they would become friends.

“Major Killinger,” he called, returning to the front of the formation from his pacing. “Anything you would like to add before I release them?”

[Killinger, J.]

"STAND AT, EASE" Flannigan shouted. John wasn't prepared for the entirely formal situation. It had been so long since he'd been a bootenant going through the process of joining a new unit. After First Lieutenant it was sort of 'Here is your new unit, report to your new commanding officer.' As a butter bar, though, John stood in formation with other Enlisted and fresh Lieutenants when he arrived; a fresh memory shortly before the Harvest Campaign. "Welcome to Oscar Company marines. You are here for one reason, and one reason alone. To kill. I expect you to kill swiftly and without hesitation, carrying out orders and executing whatever mission you are given. Any of you not capable of doing that will end up in body bags and I’ll be having this talk with your replacements."

John personally didn't agree with the whole 'you're here to kill and that's it' mentality. While he understood where the Captain was coming from he felt soldiers like the Marines in First Battalion were also there to protect humanity; he considered it his moral duty to make sure as many people lived another day as the fighting against the Covenant worsened. Maybe that perspective came from having something worth fighting for back home: children of his own.

Perhaps it was something entirely different.

"I am Captain Shay Flannigan, your Commanding Officer. Over here to my left, your right, are my Platoon Commanders. Lieutenants Johanson, Durant, and Hernandez, of first, second, and third platoons respectively. They will be escorting you for your brief time of stowing your gear, visiting supply to draw your tactical gear, a quick familiarization with the ship, and then we will be hitting the freezers. Due to an...administrative issue, Oscar Company is currently in Cryo so you will not be able to meet your teammates till we are up for our training cycle." Flannigan quickly added after a brief pause.

John was fairly sure he knew what the Captain was talking about; in all honestly the man was a topic of conversation a few times in the past couples weeks. First it was the incident with November Company's CO, then the both of them sported new bruises shortly after the AAR, and then the brawl that left multiple people injured. Not to mention an officer was incapacitated as well. Hell, for all he knew, Flannigan could have been talking about something as minor as not getting the meal he wanted and blaming it on the old man... Who was actually younger than John himself.

"Now, I will dismiss you to your Lieutenants, but stay in formation. They'll call your names and get you started on your in-processing." Flannigan finished.

Before John knew it he was being called by the Captain from what seemed like a kilometre away. He mentally processed the seemingly casual question as some dude yelling from the top of a canyon to get his attention. "Hey dick head, over here!" as it echo'd off the canyon walls. What the Captain actually said, however, was complete different: "Major Killinger. Anything you would like to add before I release them?"

John felt like he had to at this point. Fresh faces watching their Battalion XO walk away wasn't good for morale; well, at least that is what he assumed anyway.

"Yeah," John said. He quietly cleared his throat as he made his way close to Flannigan. "This will be obvious to anyone who has seen combat or been in the Corps for a while but all you green Marines, boots or inexperienced out there; you know the drill. Watch each others back, don't get complacent, yada-yada-yada. One thing they don't teach you in boot camp is to pack some toilet paper in your rucks. Trust me, Marines, its a vital piece of equipment when you need to use the shitter and there's nothing there. There is noting worse than a hot day, a stinky shit and no way to get it off you."

"And pack as much ammo as you can. You know the Covenant have energy shielding so don't be stupid; plan for supplies to be unavailable every Op. If you think two magazines will get you through a fire fight take twelve; if you think twelve isn't enough take twenty four. The more ammo you have the longer you'll be combat effective. Your rucks have plenty of room. Your priorities should be food, water and ammunition."

He rotated and looked at Flanagan. "You can dismiss your formation, Captain."

[Torngate, D.]

     Torngate was a tad shocked at the attitudes of the respective leads. The "crazy CO" that he had heard mentioned definitely did have an Irish accent, a stark contrast to what he was used to. And what else had he heard.... Smoking in the Hangar bay? Where they trying to send home their men in body bags? It was crazy. He hoped this was all rumor and not truth, but that would play for itself. As he was appraising their new bosses, he had the sinking feeling they were appraising him back. He thought that the Irishman was absolutely bonkers, the CO was a little less so.

     He stayed silent as the officers talked around him, his bags at his feet. He listened to the two different attitudes. He already felt that the CO was expecting him to be in a bag and home by the time the pelicans were ready for dustoff. He almost cracked a smile. Though he hadn't ever seen any combat he was in no way green. If his old command loved to do anything, it was drill. Day in and day out. Three times a week, five on a bad week. He knew how to follow orders, but that didn't mean he liked to do it. He decided immediately that he liked the XO better. He was a little kinder, or so it seemed. He seemed more interested in keeping his men alive than getting rid of them. He imagined the CO hitting the "f5" button on an ancient typing device... What was it called... Typewriter? No... Keyboard! That was the name. It took all he had not not crack a smile. Anyways,he imagined the CO hitting that button to get a new batch of people, as people left each time.

((OOC Sorry for delay, didn't realize it was my turn))

[Durant, M.]

Durant stood alongside Johansson and Hernandez, his hands clasped together behind his back. He listened to the speech given by Captain Flannigan with half-interest. The speech given by the Irishman he had heard before enough times to recite it verbatim himself, and so he instead chose to focus his attention on the new arrivals. Many of them seemed promising judging by their outward appearance and what information he'd gleaned from their CSVs. However, as he thought about it, he realized that that could be said for most replacements that had joined up with Oscar Company.

The truth was that he would need to personally see them in action before making any judgments on their chances of survival. Oscar Company was a tight-knit, hardcore assortment of crazies, killers, and professionals; the kind of men and women that any Marine wanted to have watching their six. However, despite that, they were still human, and losses were a common occurrence. No one was immune to the consequences of Murphy's Law, not even their company commander.

Durant batted the thought aside like a fly buzzing around his head and stepped forward as Flannigan handed over the reigns of the formation to the platoon commanders. Michael smiled and snapped to, scrutinizing the Marines that would be a part of his platoon briefly before calling upon each of them. "Sabre, Winters, Torngate, Mihaylov, and Edward," he barked over the din of the hangar bay, "front and center!"

He waited until the Marines had assembled before him before clearing his throat to speak. The Lieutenant stood straight with his chest puffed out with pride as he spoke. "I'm Second Lieutenant Durant, your platoon commander. Welcome to Second Platoon, Marines. In just a few moments I'll take you through in-processing, but first, a few words: Second Platoon has a reputation of being the best in the company, and our company is the best in the battalion. We're warriors, blessed by Odin with the opportunity to best humanity's enemies in glorious battle, and we will best them. We will best them or perish trying."

He paused for a brief moment to let his words sink in. Finally, after a short count, he continued. "Now, before we move on to in-processing, are there any questions you might have about the unit? I'm sure our reputation has preceded us. Let's go ahead and put your curiosity to rest."

[Mihaylov, D.]

Dmitrii fought back a grin, ensuring that he stood at attention. He had heard this speech numerous times, though not nearly this intense or morbid. The “Crazy Irishman” was panning out as rumor suggested. He was a fighting man, and based on Dmitrii’s experience, had likely been doing this far longer than any human being should. It would be a better gauge by seeing his team and not just the leadership.

The Battalion XO was far and away more difficult to read. He sounded completely straight laced, and his advice was spot on, but the fact that he had gone straight to shit paper and chow seemed more like something the straight man in a comedy routine would run with. Mihaylov had to assume their was a wry sense of humor underneath that gold oak leaf, but doubted he would ever see any of it. A Lance Corporal rarely spent time with a Major unless he was the man’s driver or security detachment and Dmitrii wasn’t about to volunteer for those jobs. A Battalion XO usually got stuck with some of the worst jobs ever, and Dmitrii wasn’t about to be stuck with him on a suicide run.

His name was called, and Dmitrii grabbed his gear and moved off with the Second Paltoon Commander. He seemed like another straight laced officer, though at the mention of warriors and Odin (a reference Dmitrii was unfamiliar with) he could see that the Lieutenant wasn’t far off from the CO’s mindset. Fighting and battle was the name of Oscar Company, it would seem, and Mihaylov was fine with that. It would be easier to get away with living here than it would be in under a regulation happy set of leaders. That, and killing aliens was high on his priority list, right after living and surfing.

‘Lieutenant, sir,” Mihaylov said firmly, “Lance Corporal Mihaylov. Best units not have friends. Anyone we need to watch for? Fresh faces make targets often sir.”

[Winters, R.]

Raven listened to everybody. It was actually implanted into her mind to listen to everybody around her. She sort of took it personally on most part. " You will have that, i will kill... and i will be damn swite about it too! " She thought and listened, she also glanced around without turning her head. She nearly smiked in amusement as she realized that much of the Pelicans and ammo and vehicles is most probably made my the company that, now was only a minority owner of. She then snapped back into the speech. 
"I may be a Green Marine... but i sure as hell am not inexperience fighter. " Raven thought to herself. She was pretty grossed out when she actually thought about the shitty summer day without paper and and was actually annoyed at how stupid it was to say such a thing. But then her eyes grew cold.
" Energy shields... my fist kill... just at age 8 did not have time to engage it... but yes, lots of ammo is always good. " She thought fairly bitterly. She almost smirked again, hearing the supplies thing. " Oh, yes... i know the feeling of no supplies... i had a one or two missions like that, it is not a totally new thing for me... after those missions i always prepare my gear like that. " She thought.
As she listened on, she though about reputation. Yes, she had heard about Oscar Company from Phil and his friend... these guys where as tough as nails, goind one on one with the Conv freaks and winning. This was truely inspiring and she know she was also ready for doing such deeds. 
As her last name was called, she grabbed her sack and moved up front to where she should be. She however, still had some difficulty getting some military term into her thick and hard skull, but was not going to ask for somebody to help her understand it.
" In-processing? what the heck is this? A hotel check-in?... we are here already... just give me enught food, water and ammo, and i am ready to fight, right now. " She thought, but waited for further instructions with a straight face, but her eyes where pretty cold. 

 

[Edward, Z.]

Edwards followed the rest of the marines that were called to Lieutenant Durant, after listing to the Irishman talk. Edwards didn't think of anything but chuckles when Killinger mentioned  the important papers. He knew exactly what he meant. Its a bad day when you use something poisonous  to wipe your rear.

Killinger wasn't lying when he talked about ammunition. It's no fun when your whole crew is very low on ammo.  Especially when it seams like the enemy has an endless supply.

Edwards wondered what their future platoon did to earn a trip to the freezers. He wasn't looking to go back in one of those till the day he died. Those Cryo blisters were the worst pain he had ever felt.

But as he waited for In-processing he grabbed the metal container tighter. "Let this day be over with already." He mumbled to himself. He had a feeling this was going to be a long day ahead of him. While he waited for further instructions he felt a little vibrating from his data pad which he also used as his communications which was thrown in his duffel bag. He was just going to let it go until the person either hangs up and or leaves a message. There was no way he was going to answer it in front of everybody.

(Sorry for the late reply, ah whoever I am under lol)

[Stone, T.]

Stone marched through the corridors of the Vengeance, making his way to the hangar. Lieutenant Durant had told him about the arrival of the new personnel, but he had been preoccupied with a laundry list of duties thanks to his sudden appointment to platoon sergeant in the same of Staff Sergeant Cruz on top of his regular duties as a squad leader. He'd told Durant to go on without him.

He sighed. The duties weren't particularly difficult. A couple years ago he had been the platoon sergeant of Second Platoon prior to the incident that had him demoted and Cruz assigned to the platoon. The workload was nothing new to him, and with the entire platoon in the freezers, he really didn't have anything else to worry about. Thanks to Davis, he thought bitterly.

If he had been given the chance, he would have wrung his neck. After the crap he had pulled back on Reach prior to the deployment that almost cost him a promotion, the farm boy had had the balls to throw another party. It took all of the convincing in the world to keep him from getting busted down back to E-3. Davis may have been a fuck up sometimes, but he was a damn good team leader, and Stone needed his assistant squad leader. The Colonel had decided, after his long spiel supplemented by the suggestions of Captain Flannigan, to NJP the whole battalion for the incident and toss Oscar Company in the freezers on a swing schedule with November Company.

Thomas swatted the thoughts to the side like a fly as he approached the door to the hangar bay. It was time for him to be the man everyone knew him to be. Stone straightened the eight-point NCO cover on top of his head, lowering the brim of the hat to just above his eyes, reminiscent to the manner in which drill instructors wore their campaign covers. Any trace of emotion was wiped from his face as the doors opened and he stepped inside the hangar bay.

Across the hangar from him was Lieutenant Durant and the new arrivals, all of them standing in formation. As he drew closer, the figures before him became more distinguishable to him, and immediately he recognized who they are from their service records. The list of new people was small -- much to his relief -- and, for the most part, unimpressive.

His grey eyes fell upon Lance Corporal Mihaylov. Mihaylov had a decent combat record under his belt and had joined the Marine Corps for the infantry. The remarks of his previous commander were illuminating, though Stone hardly paid any attention to it. Most COs said nice things about their Marines when they were handed off to another unit, even if that Marine was subpar. They're their problem now was what they usually thought, he mused.

Lance Corporal Edward stood next to Mihaylov. Stone frowned. While he boasted impressive scores in marksmanship, his PT scores were abysmal, and he's only seen combat once. While that meant he was not technically a boot, he'd seen combat while he was still a nuclear specialist, which meant he was a POG. To make matters worse, he was not only a POG, but a POG that had spent a year in recruit training for discipline issues -- and he was a draftee.

Edward had not wanted to be a Marine. If he had, with his college background, he could have been an officer. No, he had to be told to serve humanity when there was a war going on. A war whose outcome could literally determine the fate of the entire human race. I'mma keep my eyes on him.

Next was Private Torngate. He'd voluntarily enlisted and been in the Corps for a year as a water systems technician before transferring over the grunt side, where he was assigned to Oscar Company. He had not even the slightest combat experience under his belt, though he seemed decent enough. Time could only tell whether or not he survived the trials that were ahead of him.

Finally, there was Gunnery Sergeant Sabre. Stone scrutinized the SNCO intensely for a moment before giving his nod of approval. Gunnery Sergeant Sabre had an extensive combat record under his belt and seemed to have his head on straight. While he decided to reserve his judgment until he had seen him in action first hand, he did like what he saw. He might be just what the platoon needed in the absence of Cruz.

"Sir," the NCO greeted, coming to stand beside the officer.

He turned his attention to the replacements, giving them one more look over before clearing his throat. "I'm Sarn't Thomas Jeremiah Stone, 'n currently, I'm actin' platoon sarn't. I've read y'alls CSVs 'N I ain't impressed none. A boot, POG, salt, 'n lifer. Only two of those rate a damn welcome. The other two, 'n ya know who ya are, yer gon' have'ta work fer yer welcome celebration."

The Sergeant glanced at the Lieutenant, gauging how he felt about his sudden appearance and introduction. It had seemed he'd walked in on the middle of the formal introductions. Shrugging, he leaned over and said, his voice barely a whisper, "ya won't gonna say it. So I did."