Simulation Time (First Squad + Platoon HQ)

[Durant, M.]

1100 Hours, August 4, 2542 (MILITARY CALENDAR) /
Simulator Alpha, B-Deck, aboard UNSC Vengeance,
In slip-space en route to Zeta-Zorata System

Durant shifted uncomfortably in his armor as sweat began to trickle down his body underneath his fatigues. He glanced over at Gunnery Sergeant Sabre, then the likes of McMillan and Wilkas, before he finally settled his eyes upon First Squad assembled in its entirety. Their expressions mirrored his own as stifling heat threatened to boil them from within their personal protective equipment, in what was only a recreation of the weather effects they would endure upon their arrival to the temperate world of Melfa. Heat and humidity would be as much their enemy and the Insurrectionists, and their battle would thusly be a two-pronged fight for survival; one against fellow human beings and the other against Mother Nature herself.

All in all, Durant was impressed. He had ordered the duty simulator tech to load up a scenario taken directly from the planet they would soon find themselves fighting on, and the simulator had recreated it perfectly. While he knew it was all an illusion, it felt and looked so real that he had trouble distinguishing it from reality. Fortunately, however, if anyone were to be shot it would not be fatal in the slightest. Terribly uncomfortable, yes; but not fatal.

Surrounding the Marines was dense junglescape. The sun was partially obscured by the thick jungle canopy -- a fact for which the Lieutenant was grateful, as the heat was already nigh unbearable as it was. Michael inspected the area in which they inhabited and found that it appeared to be a hastily out together camp and fighting position. Holes were dug into the ground large enough to fit one person comfortably and two rather uncomfortably, and small stick wrapped in foliage that could be used to camouflage the holes in the event of a possible attack, shrouding them from view until the enemy was right on top of them. A waypoint winked to existence in his HUD, indicating their objective, and a distance counter rested below it that he could see when he glanced in the waypoint's direction.

The Lieutenant looked back at his Marines and cleared his throat to speak, his assault rifle held in a loose grip in his right hand. "Marines," he began to attract the group's attention, "today's exercise is going to emphasize land navigation, stealth, and information gathering as much as it will combat techniques and prowess. First Squad will be conducting a long-range reconnaissance patrol where we will hump six kilometers in search of enemy encampments and ambushes. The point in which we will turn around will be marked on your HUDs as a waypoint, located at Four-Seven-Quebec-Yankee-Juliet-Two-Seven-Four-Eight-Niner-One-One-Six-Five-Tree. Enemy forces are expected to be heavy in this area and have engaged several Army units in our vicinity. ROE is weapons tight. Engage only as necessary to protect yourselves and the Marines by your side. Any questions?"

[Davis, E.]

Davis was pouring sweat, already soaking through the collection points on his uniform. He would have massive salt rings on his uniform when they were done, but more importantly, he would need to rehydrate. It was bad enough coming out of cryo, but then to be thrown into this was just plain miserable. His body couldn't have been hydrated if he wanted it to be. Of course, it didn't help that he had been put into cryo with a hangover. That was his own fault though and he was sure to not open his mouth about it.

For the first time since the party, he got to breath air again, and as far as he and anyone else were concerned, nothing had changed. His guys were in a better mood, as he imagined the entirety of the junior marines aboard were, and he had built his name further. Not in a good way with the brass, but still, he was now known by name, and that counted for something. He had heard the Admiral had given a grade A ass chewing to the Colonel, which he was sure would roll all the way down to him, but Oscar was Oscar, and no one should have been surprised.

"Who's got point, Sergeant?" Davis side whispered to Stone. "First is ready to roll with it."

It was well known that Davis loved the simulator, and would take point with his team any opportunity he could get. It also made sense to put them there, at least for now, as the other two teams in First were brand new. Davis, Stone, and Faust had met with Lance Corporal O'Reilly earlier that day, trying to break the new team leader in a bit. She had a head on her shoulders, and Davis made it clear that he was there for any needed guidance, and perhaps some unwanted guidance. 

The rest of the newbies were exactly that; a mix of people new to the unit. Some were green as ever, some had seen trigger time, but all in all they were just new. Faust would whip her boys into shape, Davis had no concerns about that, but he was keeping a close eye on third team. O'Reilly likely had what it took to lead, but a first team was always tricky, especially as a Lance. Nothing worse than being torn between the NCO's and the Junior marines. O'Reilly was likely out on some lonely island where neither group accepted her any more. Such was the mantle of leadership.

[Wilkas, G.]

Private Grace Wilkas looked absolutely like she was on the verge of fainting. She kept fiddling with the collar of her fatigues and held her helmet lazily under one arm. She came from a cold climate, to her this heat happened to be beyond toleration. She felt as though she might be in an oven. Wilkas discovered a newly held respect for the sufferings endured by meat as they slowly roasted. Her radio's straps dug uncomfortably into her shoulders. 
She wanted to ditch her armour, long to ditch it but somehow she doubted it would be an action anyone here might approve of. Grace herself knew she ought to keep wearing it. After all, being comfortable lacked the protective capabilities of her heavy stifling armour. She shuffled, her discomfort obvious.

She was obviously suffering from the heat, however she needed to get used to it. Her body more importantly needed to learn how to tolerate the horrific levels of heat. How any being managed to stand this level of warmth was beyond her? The platoon so far had not even moved out and Wilkas' water supply reached half empty already. She longed for another sip, even sipping it she soon drained the majority of it. Thus leaving her with a mere half she possessed. 
Grace for the moment resisted the urge to take another sip of her increasingly precious and more tempting water supply. 

With clear reluctance at a glare from one of the NCOs placed her helmet back on her head. She gritted her teeth against the uncomfortable wetness of the chin strap. Grace wondered if she could send a letter of complaint to her draft board. She doubted it, but if possible the first of a long list of grievances would be the hot environments. Send her to a cold planet, at least in those she knew what not to do. Jungles were as utterly alien to her as computers or the political history of Mars. 
She wiped her forehead with her sleeve in an attempt to remove some of the relentless amount of sweat. If she knew the simulations could produce such heat, she might have tried her luck to see if they may be capable of a Swedish Sauna high in the alps. 

Her resistance to the desire to consume water collapsed. With sudden haste, Wilkas fumbled for her canteen. She opened the lid and drown what little water remained. Tragically, it had next to no effect on her thirst. If anywhere in the galaxy was like this simulation, Grace intended to apply for section eight. Maybe she would pretend to have gone mad, become really gung-ho or maybe act like she still lived in Moscow? A discharge like that seemed to be easier to tolerate than this relentless oppressive heat which pressed against her.
Grace had a question, she asked it quietly. "Yeah is there a chance for a refill on the water front sir?" She suffered from the heat terribly. 

[O'Reilly, C.]

O'Reilly wiped the sweat out of her eyes. They hadn't even been in the simulator for an hour, and already the rest of first squad was covered in sweat. She found herself cursing her luck. Her first mission after being assigned to O Co was in a sweltering hot jungle full of innies. She'd seen just how good the innies were at guerrilla warfare on her first few assignments. The bastards had ambushed an entire company of Marines. Dealt some serious damage, and escaped nearly unscathed.

It had been some bad fighting, but from what she'd heard, the innies they'd be fighting on Melfa weren't near as well equipped as the one she had fought. And thank Valhalla for that. It had been the worst fighting she'd experienced in her short career. Even so, she knew that the worst of the fighting was yet to come. "Enemy forces are expected to be heavy in this area and have engaged several Army units in our vicinity. ROE is weapons tight. Engage only as necessary to protect yourselves and the Marines by your side. Any questions?" She raised her hand.

"Sir, what kind of terrain should we be expecting. Other than the plant life, that is," she asked. It was good to know what to expect, especially when fighting innies.

She looked at the three other Marines that composed her fireteam. They seemed able enough. Certainly no hinderances that she could see.

[Stone, T.]

Stone stood amongst the members of his Squad in the sweltering humidity seemingly unfazed by it, adorned in his camouflage utilities and battle armor sans helmet, replaced with a green bandana, his steely grey eyes focused intently upon the Lieutenant. His face lacked expression as sweat trickled down his forehead, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lip. A man of his experience, whom had been to every locale imaginable, was bothered little by the thermometer breaking temperatures.

Hat Yai had been one such world that, like Melfa, was dominated mostly in junglescape. The Insurrectionists there had used the environment and the weather to their advantage on numerous occasions, sometimes waiting for the hottest days before engaging the Marines in intense firefights as if certain that their efforts coupled with the heat and humidity would be enough to break the Marines whom were not originally from their backwater shithole of a planet.

Ultimately, they had been incorrect, and the Marines had won out. The costs of war on Hat Yai had been high, but the UNSC had succeeded, and that's all anyone had seemed to care about back then. Of course, things weren't much different nowadays, except now the stakes were much higher and the victories far fewer thanks to the Covenant's ability to toss a major wrench in any battle plan with their space assets.

Fortunately for them, Innies rarely had spaceships, and they were generally no match for the UNSC Navy's ships.

Lieutenant Durant began his brief for the mission, to which Stone listened until the end, where he realized he had all the information he needed to begin formulating a plan of action on his own. The waypoint that marked their objective location was a great distance away, which was fine for him. It meant his Marines would clock more time in the jungle, acclimating to it in a controlled environment where no one could really find themselves seriously injured. Were they really on the surface of Melfa, things would be different, and so would be his thoughts on their mission.

"Who's on point, Sergeant," Davis asked, ever eager to lead the way for First Squad. Stone considered the question for a moment. David's team had Ward, whom he was more than keen on putting through the ringer had every given opportunity, for a plethora of reasons. However, Corporal Faust's team had Edwards as its point man. The bastard sported little combat experience and had a big mouth. Placing them on point was an enticing thought.

Finally, there was Third Team. Lance Corporal O'Reilly was new to the mantle of leadership, though he recalled from their conversation earlier this morning and her CSV that she had previous experience dealing with the Insurrection. That was a rare thing to see in these times, and made her team a very enticing choice to lead the squad on a long range patrol.

However, Stone decided to go with the tried and true option instead. "Yer boys are on point, Corp'ral. Third'll take the middle 'n Faust can have rear guard. We'll git inta the nitty gritty in a moment."

With that, the grizzled NCO turned to Lieutenant Durant. "Sir, we got any dope on where these fuckers may be 'n how many we're dealin' with? Also, ta my Marines, keep yer damn eyes peeled fer traps 'n improvised explosives. Innies are cowards by nature, 'n if they can kill a Marine without ever havin' ta fire a shot, ya best Goddamn believe they'll do it."

He spoke purely from experience. Having served during the height of the Insurrection, during the years Operation: TREBUCHET was in full swing, he'd personally seen Marines trip explosives or fall into a pit of spikes camouflaged to look like solid dirt beneath their feet. Insurrectionists were dirty bastards with little in the way of honor or courage. It was one of the main reasons why he despised them so thoroughly.

[McMillan, J.]

The stifling heat and intense humidity came as somewhat of a shock to Corpsman McMillan as he quietly stood off to the side and observed the Marines of First Squad. Propitious had been something of a frigid world with only mild summers at best. Rarely had temperatures escalated beyond eighty-seven degrees fahrenheit, and so be found himself struggling to adjust to the extreme weather. However, he kept the discomfort he felt to himself - not one to complain about things beyond his control - and glanced over at Private First Class Wilkas to find she faired much worse than the others seemed to.

Jim watched the RTO closely. Every few seconds she would sip from the canteen that she affixed to her tactical belt. At the rate she was drinking, she would be out of water in a matter of minutes, if not sooner. He shook his head with a sigh. Some people did not have the discipline to ration themselves when confronted with such adverse environmental conditions. Case and point, Wilkas was sweating profusely, and thus constantly took swigs from her canteen in hopes the water to magically quench her thirst.

It would not. While the intake of water when in heat was generally a good thing, there was a point when it became excessive - perhaps even detrimental - to the person suffering from the weather. Fortunately he had come prepared in the event of such an occurrence, packing extra bottles for the purpose of hydration.

The Corpsman remained silent as Lieutenant Durant explained the mission set before them and remained quiet still when he asked if there were questions to be had. Wilkas quietly inquired about their water situation, to which Mac stepped forward. "I've got her, sir," he said. Mac approached the RTO and shrugged off his rucksack, letting it fall to the ground with a dull thud.

He looked Wilkas at Wilkas. "I have a bottle for you in my ruck," the corpsman stated. "You can have it under one condition: you must ration yourself on it. If you continue to drink at the rate you have been, you'll end up either exhausting all of the water reserves we have, or end up sick from over-hydrating. Either option will make you combat ineffective. Understand?"

[Faust, M.]

The heat came as somewhat as a nasty surprise, yet it was no worse than some of the previous planets Michelle served on. When Faust met the new replacements for her fire team, she had given them the 'speech'. Tradition dictated it, mostly it involved a bit of yelling (everything Faust did involved yelling) and pinch of threatening to shoot them if they did not do their job. After all, the marines relied on each other. If you could not trust the guy or gal at your back then you were left combat ineffective.

Faust blonde hair had already turned dark from sweat but despite everything she was glad that she chose a boonie hat over a helmet. Though when the bullets start to fly, it might be in her best interests to keep her head out of the line of fire. She listened quietly to what Lieutenant Durant said, as he explained their mission. A small part of her recalled the late night meeting they'd both endured, where the pair must have talked for ages. It was rare to find good officers. The thought made her smirk, Durant better not get himself promoted out of Oscar Company or there would be trouble.

In all honesty, the temperatures that currently faced them annoyed Faust. She came from a colder climate, yes there were warm days but nothing like this. Her tolerance towards it came instead from having previously served on a few warmer planets before her time with Oscar. Michelle wondered if Durant along with the other officers picked from a long list of replacement marines, a bit like a sports team only bettered armed. Or whether they simply got whoever turned up in the replacement Pelicans.

Random thought to concern herself about. She glanced over at the new people, though to be exact they were her new people. Faust disliked replacements, not because of who they were but rather simply because they were new. Not new to war, some must have fought before, but new to her. She no longer even had Robin who went to be a veteran in someone else's squad. That really did brush her fur the wrong way. In time she would soften towards the new people as no doubt the other marines had told them.
She just was reluctant to allow herself to get overly attached to them in the event one of them bought the farm during their first mission together. Hopefully she could keep them all alive. Both in the sim and in an actual battle.

[Mihaylov, D.]

Mihaylov stood casually in the gaggle of marines as the LT gave his briefing. It was a mission that he didn't much like, but at least the temperatures were fine. He had a good clean sweat running, but the cooling factor of his armor was doing a fine job keeping him comfortable. He had to laugh to himself at how cold blooded the rest of the squad seemed to be. The only one he saw unfazed by the temperature was Sergeant Stone. Faust and Davis seemed to be doing a good job of ignoring the heat, but he could see the telltale signs of cheloveks, outsiders, or what they used to call beach crashers back home. They were all sweating way too much to be used to the jungles.

Dmitrii turned his mind back to the mission. He would likely have rearguard with Chambers, a good starting detail as far as he was concerned. He didn't know how his team, or his squad for that matter, would operate yet. First team looked to have a pretty tight bond having all survived their last op together. Second and Third were all too new. They would learn, and quickly, or they would end up in a world that would spit them out as bloody corpses faster than they knew. Now he just had to recalibrate his sights to deal with the dense vegetation and no shooting lanes. Jungles were the worst for and SDM.

"No questions Corporal," Mihaylov said to Faust, letting her know he was ready. She had given him the initial berating he had expected, but he wasn't worried. He'd win her over. Everyone liked him, given enough time. He was a good marine, and he knew it. Faust would know in time as well. And besides, what woman could deny his charming humor?

[Chambers, T.]

It must have been someones twisted sense of humor that had them going from cryo to a hot humid junglescape, mostly it felt like summer back home New Darwin, it wasn't however the standing around that was going to be the problem standing around in heat even in full combat load wasn't easy but it was going to be better than trek in it and as he listened to the briefing it only got worse, now he wished he'd been a better at shooting he might not have been stuck with the M247 or all of it's ammunition.

He'd taken the usual introductions with Corporal Faust with a grain of salt, he had no intention of dying. Most of that decision wasn't his to make and soon it would possibly be made by some idiotic Innies who didn't seem to get the message that if you were with the UNSC or not those alien bastards, The Covenant didn't care which and for now they all had to put their difference aside in order to survive, not that he was sympathetic to them but he understood them and what they wanted., as much as he was sure they went about trying to get their way the wrong way.

It seemed some of them were far more comfortable with the heat than others, some looked covered in sweat and unbothered, other might be ready to pass out in a few minutes. A Corporal Davis had volunteered his team for point duty, hopefully that would keep his team from being sacrificed, he had a feeling Sergeant Stone had considered throwing them in, because of Lance Corporal Edward.

"Yer boys are on point, Corp'ral. Third'll take the middle 'n Faust can have rear guard. We'll git inta the nitty gritty in a moment." Alright, they hadn't got point but going on a patrol through the woods with Innies possibly around every tree and in every bush wasn't going to be fun, even if this was just a sim.

The Sergeant then asked the LT for info on confirmed contacts then reminded them of something they all should have known but pretty important, traps and bombs, traps and bombs were their bread and butter, ambushes came second. "Tail End Charlie it is..." He said as they milled around. "Just a walk in the park, a park filled with people who want to kill you..." He mumbled 

[Furby, J.]

Jayson wiped away a bead of sweat from his forehead as he stood amongst his fellow members of First Team. The heat and humidity of the jungle was killer, and were it not for the temperature regulators built into his armor, he would have been in a bad way. Furby was no stranger to heat, having grown up on a tropical planet, but it was the humidity that he found he was unaccustomed to. It was stifling, like a hand of nature pushing against him, forcing him to overexert.

Fortunately all he had to do for the moment was stand and listen. However, in a few minutes, the squad would be on the move, and that was where the real fun would begin. Slogging through dense jungle in a hundred-plus degree weather was not among Furby's top five favorite things to do list. Hell, it didn't even rate on the list of things he liked to do.

But, the Marine Corps wanted them to do it, so he had no choice but to do it.

"This is fucking bullshit," he grumbled.

He heard the exhale of a sigh from beside him. "Oh here we go..." Lance Corporal Avery mumbled, slightly shaking his head.

It was at that moment that Lieutenant Durant asked if there were any questions. Furby knew even before he jumped at the opportunity that the platoon commander was going to regret having asked that question, and he also knew he was about to catch hell for what he had to say. But be didn't care. At this point, everyone that knew him should have expected it.

"Yes, sir, I do," he said bluntly.

"Oh hell..."

Jayson shot the machine gunner a glare before proceeding. "Can anyone tell me what in the Hell we are doing here? Like, has anyone actually thought about any of this? We are fighting genocidal freakbags that want to rip out our intestines and parade them around like a damn trophy and now, all of a sudden, we're told to go fight fucking Innies?! The very fate of humanity hangs on the balance and these assholes have really decided to piss us off in the meantime? Why can't the Army handle it their damn selves?"

"Because doggies ain't Marines, bro," Avery responded.

Furby shook his head. "No, fuck that," he said. "They have the same damn training we do and they have the home field advantage! You're telling me they can't handle a bunch of pissed off civvies with pitchforks for firearms? What the fuck?"

"I think the heat's getting to you, Jay," Ward suggested quietly.

"No, I'm just saying what we're all thinking," he replied with an air of finality. "I can't say I signed up to kill aliens because I didn't sign up. I was drafted. But you? And Av? Hell, even the Corporal; you guys enlisted. You volunteered to fight the Covenant, not fellow human beings. These assholes are pissed off over some trivial bullshit when there is a war for our very survival going on out there. How in the fuck does that make sense? And the shit of it is, the dude running the show was a fucking Marine. He should know better than anyone that now isn't the time to be playing the butthurt card. There's more serious shit to be worried about like "Am I going to be dead by this time next year?" It's just... retarded."

[Edward, Z.]

Edwards realigned his goggles and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.  Heat was something he had no problem handling, but when you added all the gear it was a little annoying. Corporal Frost's speech wasn't bad if  wasn't for the constant yelling. But she was right with what she said.

Staying close to the rest of his squad. Adjusting the shotgun on the side of his pack. He then reached around and grabbed one of his two water canteens and took a small sip out of it. 

Wondered when they'd start because standing around in the humid hot temperature was probably annoying most of the marines around here.

Dehydration was the last thing on his mind as the word traps and bombs were a possibility of being placed in the jungle. He was going to watched were he stepped and prayed he would make it through there safely. Standing there seemed like forever.

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace was glad that someone had a solution to her water crisis. Unfortunately it came with an unwelcome catch, the doc would supply her with another bottle of water but in exchange of her agreeing to ration it better. In truth she would of agreed to any of his demands if it meant she would receive more water. "Okay." She fully intended to try and ration her water better, but this heat was utterly unnatural to her. Rationing it might prove to be exceedingly difficult. "Do you have any advice as to how I might be able to cope with this heat better?" She asked.
She respected his reasoning behind the water rationing, it happened to be based off of strong logic and truth. There was very little the red head could do to argue with him about it. Besides even if she attempted to, he could always withhold the aforementioned water. 

She shuffled awkwardly, uncomfortable due to the intolerable environmental conditions combined with the weight of her equipment. Grace intended next time to be allowed to choose the next battle for the company. Perhaps somewhere sunny but not inhumanly hot. Or maybe another cold planet, she found it easier to cope with the cooler temperatures. 
The heat kept her mind from worrying about actually having to fight or deal with the traps. After all it was nothing more than a simulation, sim death did not equal real death. That would unfortunately come sometime around deployment. 

[Durant, M.]

Lieutenant Durant readjusted his helmet as he wiped away a bead of sweat from his forehead. The heat, coupled with the humidity, while simulated, was killer. Thankfully, his armor's temperature regulators had kicked in, and made him much more comfortable than he would would have been without them. The regulators would keep the rest of his body relatively cool despite the blistering heat, however, it would not prevent the torrential downpour of sweat that permeated every inch of exposed skin.

He knew that eventually he would have to change out his socks for fresh ones, as his boots did not come equipped with temperature regulators like his armor did. He could already feel his socks sticking to his feet from within his boot, and if left unattended, could land him in some nasty waters down the road. Pushing the thought aside for later consideration, Michael tuned in to what was happening before him, as he had opened up the floor for questions.

The first question came from his right, and he knew immediately knew whom had asked from the accent and feminine tone alone. "Yeah, is there a chance for a refill on the water front, sir?" Durant glanced at the RTO and noted she was holding an empty canteen in her grasp, the corners of her mouth wet with H²O. He sighed and was about to answer when Corpsman McMillan interjected his way into the conversation. "I've got her, sir," the corpsman said.

Michael nodded appreciatively and turned his attention back to the men and women of First Squad. The majority of the squad was now comprised of new blood, and he suspected there would be a great deal of questions headed his way. Naturally it seemed his assumption had been correccorrect, as Lance Corporal O'Reilly spoke up next, her words laced with a Scottish accent. "Sir, what kind of terrain should we be expecting? Other than the plant life, that is."

It was a good question, and one he already had an answer for. "Aside from dense vegetation, foothills dominate this region, so you'll find yourself doing some hiking here and there," he answered. "There isn't much in the way of flat, open terrain, I'm afraid."

Next came Sergeant Stone with another colorful query for him to ponder over. He blinked at the map icon on his HUD, and an enlarged map of their area of operation filled his vision. The Lieutenant gave it a once over, and then closed out the map. "Exact numbers of OpFor in this area are unknown; however, there have been sightings of them two klicks north of our current position. Enemy strength is estimated to be platoon or company strength."

He paused to ensure there were no further questions before deciding to wrap up the brief. Lance Corporal Furby broke the momentary silence with his usual soapbox tirade. The Lieutenant paid it little mind, however. His NCOs were more than capable of bringing him under control, and besides, it was time for them to get a move on. "If that is all we can get underway. Myself and Gunny Sabre are going to establish a CP and monitor the situation from here. Sergeant, Doc and Wilkas will be accompanying you in the field. Keep them safe. Dismissed."

[Stone, T.]

"Exact numbers of OpFor in this area are unknown; however, there have been sightings of them two klicks north of our current position. Enemy strength is estimated to be platoon or company strength."

Sergeant Stone nodded wordlessly at Lieutenant Durant, satisfied with the information. An icon winked into existence on the mini-map in the bottom left corner of his HUD. It was a marker for the area of last known contact with the Insurrectionists. He grinned. That area was right smack dab in the middle of their patrol route, and a likely spot for an enemy ambush. He planned to recon that location -- by force if necessary -- to discern the number of hostiles they would be dealing with.

"Good ta go, sir," Stone replied with a smirk. He was looking forward to this mission, even if it was all just make believe. Since the arrival of the squad's replacements, he had not been given the opportunity to see what they were made of, and he was keenly interested in their capabilities. Especially considering the sheer amount of green meat that had been assigned under his care.

Thomas frowned when Lance Corporal Furby spoke up. The grizzled NCO already knew just from the tone of his voice that he was about to cry like a little baby about their next operation. Sure enough, the bastard did just that, complaining about having to fight Insurrectionists as opposed to the Covenant they had all grown so accustomed to fighting. Stone scoffed. None of them had been around long enough to remember what things were like before the war with those alien freaks.

He recalled the day he joined Oscar Company, eight years prior to First Contact with the Covenant, and his trial by fire at the hands of the Insurrection. Hat Yai had been his first deployment and it had been a grueling affair. The Innies there had uprooted the local government in a coup d'etat, and had been expecting the UNSC to just lie down and take it. Unfortunately for them, Hat Yai had held strategic importance to the Unified Earth Government, as it was a prime farm world that supplied several Inner Colonies with foodstuffs and medicinal herbs.

The battle of Hat Yai had lasted three months, and in those three months, Stone was given all the reasons in the world to despise the bastards. Being a colonial himself from a largely backwater world, he understood the frustrations that many of the UEG's dissenters had felt. The Inner Colonies were given the world while those on the frontier were treated like second-class citizens. However, instead of bombing population centers and attacking military convoys, the Innies could have protested the unfair treatment by the government, or even gone on strike.

No. Instead they decided to waste lives and resources fighting an unwinnable battle, not to mention drawing countless innocents into the crossfire. Stone had lost all sympathy for the rebels in that campaign, and would never find himself feeling sorry for them ever again. Just like now. The Melfa Citizenry could have been an organization of peace, but instead, it had been founded as an organization of hate. General Cortez was a disgrace to the uniform he once wore, and Stone would enjoy putting a bullet in him when the time came.

"Reign in that idiot 'fer my boot goes up his ass," Stone whispered to Corporal Davis, whom he could tell by now was fuming with rage. He chuckled. Furby was about to be in for a rude awakening. Few that had crossed Corporal Davis had enjoyed what came next.

Once the situation was handled and the platoon commander dismissed them, Stone turned to his squad. "Y'all lock 'n load 'n git ready ta move. TLs on me fer a leader meetin'." He watched as his Marines sprung into action, making the final preparations for the mission they were about to embark upon.

When his three team leaders had assembled around him, he nodded, and dropped to one knee. "Alrigh', we gotta lotta ground ta cover 'n not a damn clue where the enemy is at. Firs' Team's on point fer the initial push. Faust, yer Marines are on rear guard, 'n O'Reilly, yer bringin' up the middle with Doc 'n Wilkas. Y'all keep those two safe or yer gon' have more than the Innies ta worry about."

He glared at O'Reilly for a long moment in silence, letting his words sink in. She was new to being a team leader, and he hoped that would not prove to be a handicap. Stone needed all of his team leaders to be on the top of their game or else someone was bound to bite a bullet. "When we git two klicks out, we're gonna halt 'n check in with CP. Afterwards, we're gonna spread out 'n search the area fer any signs of Innie activity. If ya take contact, light 'em the fuck up, but do not push up alone. Call 'em out over the radio 'n we'll come ta back ya up. Good ta go?"

When the team leaders responded in the affirmative, Stone nodded with a grin. "Alrigh', let's git a move on. We ain't got no more time ta lollygag. Davis, take us out!"

[Davis, E.]

The Lieutenant had answered all the questions they needed to know when Furby opened up his mouth to do what he did best. Bitch. Davis was hot, tired, hungover, and in no mood for this kind of quibbling display from his SDM. Furby spoke for him like he had a clue about why Davis was there and that personal touch was the piece that pushed Davis from being frustrated to being angry. Sergeant Stone had given a piece of advice, but Davis was already moving with the intent to drive a point home to his newly minted Lance Corporal.

"Shut the fuck up Furby," he barked in something closer to a growl than an actual voice. A quick grab wrapped up Furby in a half nelson, pulling him close enough to be heard clearly, and making it painfully clear that Davis wasn't taking any shit today. "I signed up to follow orders and engage the enemy. So next time you want to speak for me, now you know. You want to bitch about people being idiots, tell them with a bullet. Now, I strongly suggest you shut your damned mouth before I make sure you eat your next meal through a straw. Ward needs you at the top of your game, not being a sulky piece of shit."

Davis let him go before giving him a bump to take his place. He was sure Avery and Furby would talk. Hell, the other teams might talk after that display, but he wasn't about to let that kind of tirade go on without a decisive show of force. They were a damned good team, but if Whiny McBitchface wasn't going to pull his weight, someone would come home in a box, most likely Ward. Being the point man in a jungle terrain was a good way to end up with your ticket punched.

"Ward, you've got point," Davis barked, reverting back to leader rather than executioner. "I'll push a waypoint once Sierra One loads it. Remember to watch for traps, tripwires, anything that looks wrong. You have control of the pace. Stop the moment you think something is wrong. Better to move slow than rush into death. Avery and Furby, we'll be running a tighter formation. Stay outside of explosion ranges, but we're going to run tight enough to cover Ward if something pops out of a bowl of rice. Avery, be free with the ammo, we'll pack heavy for you."

Davis had his team at the front and ready to roll. His head was still pounding, but the fluids and adrenaline from almost killing Furby were helping to alleviate it. One round of contact, and he wouldn't even know he had even hurt. He took his place at the near rear of the tight diamond formation his team was in and prepared to move.

"Sierra One, One-One is ready on your mark, over," Davis called over the SQUADCOM. Let the games begin.