Simulation Time (First Squad + Platoon HQ)

[O'Reilly, C.]

When Furby started his little rant of the week thing- She wouldn't pretend to understand it- she turned to her men. "So help me god, if any of you are like that, you'd be best putting in a transfer request now." she said, watching as Davis grabbed the man in a half nelson and gave him a talking to. The Platoon Commander answered her question. 

"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."

O'Reilly nodded, satisfied with the answer. She made a mental note to address her Marines on the subject once they were ready to move. The Sergeant spoke up.  "Y'all lock 'n load 'n git ready ta move. TLs on me fer a leader meetin'." O'Reilly gave her marines a look telling them to stay put, and then walked over to Stone. She listened intently as he gave them their assignments.  "'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." She nodded solemnly. She would make sure they survive.


"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?" She nodded, letting out an affirmative with her fellow team leaders. A pretty self explanatory order, to be honest. She fell out, meeting up with the rest of her fireteam.

"Alright, like the PC said, the Innies will take any advantage they can get. Keep an eye on ridge, and if you see anything that seems out of place, it probably is, so call it out. I'd rather you spook us with a mistake then get us killed with one. Now let's move." she said, falling a decent distance behind Davis. "Sierra One, One-Three is ready on your mark, over," she said. With that, she was in the fight again, even if it was just the simulation room.

[Torngate, D.]

Torngate had stayed silent as of yet. It was incredibly humid, more humid than he'd have liked, but he didn't complain. He shifted his weight and his pack, and kept walking. He looked around at the people in front of and behind him, but didn't say anything to them. The humidity made his clothing stick to him, making him feel like he was carrying twice the amount of gear he was actually carrying. He grabbed his canteen and took another swig from it. "Damn. Half empty already" he said quietly to himself.

He followed his orders, but his pack was weighed down with extra ammo and gear, but he didn't mind the weight too much. He was used to some heavy lifting. His BR-55 with him, loaded and ready to use. He scanned the treeline, not seeing anything but not trusting his eyes fully. He waited to see if anything would happen, but he hoped it would be uneventful. He knew it was just a simulator but he'd never seen any combat, sims or not. He was a but uncomfortable with a fully loaded weapon in his hands, but knew that he was trained. He calmed himself in the knowledge that he would know what to do if and when the time came.

The simulated environment was definitely different for him, so full of nature and green. Having grown up on a freighter the only color he was used to seeing in excess was bulkhead-grey. His mind then reverted back to his water situation. Taking his left hand off his rifle, he reached around to the back of his pack and felt the two extra canteens of water he had loaded up with. He moved his arm back and quickly inspected his weapon. 

As he marched along, brush and nature being crushed flat under the repeated marching of soldiers, he kept a look out for anything that was unusual or unnatural. He didn't know what tactics the enemy usually used, but he wouldn't put land mine traps past them. He then looked up, scanning the sky but seeing nothing.

[Furby, J.]

Furby had no time to react as he was pulled by the neck by Corporal Davis. Before he even realized what was happening, David's arm was around his throat, and his head practically against his chest. "Shut the fuck up Furby," he growled with a tone that could have stopped a Hunter in its tracks.

He gulped. It occurred to him that he had perhaps underestimated the situation this time. Normally everyone rolled their eyes and let him rant, but today it seemed nobody was in the mood for his antics, Davis especially. "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 released him with a solid shove that landed him back in his place in formation. Jayson shook his head to work out the kinks that had formed in it, and readjusted his helmet, which had slightly cocked to the side when Davis had placed him under the hold. Maybe he should have refrained from voicing his opinion, he thought.

Then again, maybe not. He was a non-conformist after all. Smacking the thought to the deepest recesses of his mind, he gripped his rifle tighter, and steeled himself for the mission ahead. He would have time to think about it -- and gripe about it -- later. For now he had a job to do, or as Corporal Davis had aptly put it: he had to be on the top of his game. Innies were a new enemy, and with them came new threats.

The Covenant generally preferred to engage their enemy head on. Rarely did they ever sit back and wait for the enemy to come to them. The Insurrectionists on the other hand were not so forthright. They were more than happy to play the role of the hunter lying in wait, making the soldiers and Marines of the UNSC their prey. Boobytraps were a standard play in their playbook, and they were known for being inventive.

If they could kill their enemy without ever having to face them head-to-head, they would gladly do so. Jon knew enough about the Innies to know they were no joke. He glanced over at Sergeant Stone. That old bastard had been around for decades, and probably had at one point dealt with the bastards firsthand. He wasn't sure, but he thought he remembered hearing somewhere that Stone had fought during the TREBUCHET years. That had been a dark time in UNSC history. In boot camp, his DIs had covered the Insurrection years extensively, as it was a key part of Marine history pre-Covenant war.

Had it not been for the Covenant showing up to ruin humanity's day, he was certain humanity would be embroiled in a full-scale civil war by now. Jayson sighed.

Humans loved killing each other, and sometimes he found it was for the dumbest reasons.

[Ward, J.]

Private Ward tuned out the commotion that happened around him, his attention purely focused on Lieutenant Durant as he briefed the platoon on their mission. He glanced over his shoulder and gazed into the jungle that loomed just a few meters behind them absentmindedly. Somewhere in that dense maze of insects, vegetation, and towering trees was an enemy determined to kill all of them by any means necessary. What made that thought worse was the fact that it wasn't aliens like they had dealt with on Phoenix III, but fellow humans. Human beings with human weapons.

Men and women just like himself. The UNSC labelled them "Insurrectionists" or "Innies," but beyond the labels put in place, they were just people. People just like him. They were somebody's son or daughter, brother or sister, mother or father; regular people whom were fed up with how things are and decided to take action.

Jon didn't agree with their methods of taking action, and he was sure everyone else felt the same. There were better ways to settle problems then with violence, especially when that violence was against the very people protecting them from total annihilation at the hands of a genocidal conglomeration of alien races. There were peaceful solutions they could have taken in order to address their concerns with the way things were being run. If they were so concerned with the refugee situation, they could have appealed to the planetary government -- opened a dialogue with govern to resolve the issues.

Instead they had initiated a hostile takeover of the government and murdered a man whom likely had a family of his own. It was despicable and unfathomable. However, despite all of the things wrong with them, and all their terrible decisions, he did not want to kill them for it. In his mind there was still an opportunity to find a peaceful solution to the conflict. Maybe he was being naïve, but he wanted to believe there was always a better way to handle a problem than to commit to violence.

The Covenant were an exception to the rule. They could not be reasoned with and, beyond that, no one knew how to reach them. After seventeen years of war against them the UNSC knew surprisingly little about the Covenant and what motivated them. All that was known was that humanity was supposedly an affront to the Covenant's gods and that they were to be exterminated as a result.

Jon sighed heavily and turned his attention to Corporal Davis when he heard his name called. "You've got point," the NCO barked. "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."

Ward gulped, gripping his MA5 tighter. He moved closer to the edge of the jungle with some trepidation. Part of him did not want to go any further. This may have been a training exercise, but it all felt real to him, more real than any simulation had ever felt before. He sighed inwardly and shouldered his rifle, keeping the barrel of his rifle pointed slightly at the ground, his index finger rested on the trigger guard. "Ready, Corporal," he said despite feeling quite the opposite. If he had a choice, he would have rather someone else take point for the squad.

[Faust, M.]

Faust looked like she wanted to chew Furby out herself but unfortunately such as pleasure was to be tragically denied to her. She smiled, pleased at Davis' swift response to dealing with such an inappropriate rant for a marine. Michelle moved with the other team leaders to meet with Stone. If she looked furious about the temperature or Furby, then news she was to be on the tail of their formation failed to suit her well.

However, Faust did not voice an objection. The tail was a dangerous place to be in any formation, almost as deadly as being in point. "Lets go bag ourselves some Innies." Admittedly they were simulated Innies but Innies nonetheless it would be good practice anyway, provided their enemy still stuck to the same rule book as before. She expected that there might be new variations on traps. After all it was an endless race between those who placed the traps and those who disarmed them. 

She headed back to her team. "Alright we've got the honour of being on the rearguard." Michelle looked each of them in the eye. "It goes without saying, remain sharp, be on alert just because its a sim does not mean we aren't to take this seriously." A pause. "Understood? Good." It was better than yelling at them, sometimes shouting did not accomplish anything. Michelle needed to trust them with her life and them with their lives. Hopefully fate might allow her to keep everyone alive come the actual battle. 

[Min Jung Jun]

Min listened to her new team leader, she made a rare joke. "About time I keep telling you I'm a doctor." She rarely made jokes, except when nervous. The weather bothered her slightly, whoever it happened to be thoughts of the bugs, the insects which crawled around. It mattered little to her that fore mentioned insects were little more than simulated ones. It bothered her none the less.

It would be her first time fighting the Innies, even though they weren't real. Min's combat experience previously existed solely of duties against the Covenant. She shrugged her shoulders awkwardly, feeling drenched already in sweat. The idea of even moving through this terrain troubled her. Min resisted the urge to drink, she intended to efficiently ration her water. She did not know how long the mission might last.

[Chambers, T.]

He wasn't really listening to anyone as he moved about standing still wasn't for him the heat was going to get him either way better to earn it by walking around, either way he needed to get used to the weight of being the team Auto rifleman. However his introspection at how he'd set up his gear this time was lost when he overhead someone asking a question, it turned out not being a question but a complaint about having to go fight the Insurrectionists. He agreed with what was being said, the people doing this clearly lived in a dream world where the Covenant wouldn't burn all human worlds, UNSC or not but they had orders to follow, He'd signed up to fight the alien bastards but he also knew it was possible he'd have to do the other thing the Marine Corp was famous for, fighting other humans.

The Marine who had decided to let out his thoughts was quickly reminded to stow it before the Lieutenant dismissed them. Standing around as Sergeant stone called the fire team leaders over he rested his M247 on his shoulders, this was going to be a long walk. "Ya know, he's not wrong," He said to Mihaylov referring to Furby's speech. "This is complete shit and these bastards need to remember the Covies don't care where you're from just that your human, but it doesn't matter what we think, I'm just not ready to bite the bullet." He shrugged at the end the Russian probably felt the same way.

Soon enough the team leaders were backing giving them the what and how. "Alright we've got the honour of being on the rearguard. It goes without saying, remain sharp, be on alert just because its a sim does not mean we aren't to take this seriously." He nodded, he preferred the kind of enemies that couldn't actually kill you. "Understood? Good." The PFC then moved into his position.

[Mihaylov, D.]

"He not good," Dmitrii said to his squad mate with a shake of his head. Ratcheting a round into the chamber, Mihaylov gave a thumbs up to Faust before moving to take his place. "You forget mission thinking on bad things. We make sure others safe back here. Humans kill us plenty easy too."

Dmitrii put his thoughts about the foolish humans aside and took up his position near the very end of the formation. He looked across to make sure that Edwards was also in place. They may have been the same rank, but he knew that he was the senior member of this partnership. Hopefully Faust would be able to forget about them back here and focus on keeping Chambers alive. Point men, especially green ones, were notorious for getting killed, especially in an environment like this where you couldn't see far enough ahead to stay safe.

It was a ridiculous position to be in. To be in the rear of a formation was supposed to mean safety, and yet when facing guerrillas, there was never any safety. It would be entirely possible for Alpha Team to walk past danger and not even see it. Hell, they could step on the enemy and miss them in this place. He had heard stories of people being pissed on while in hiding. He could completely believe it here. 

Nothing left to do but wait, he turned and started to scan. Hopefully they would move soon. He hated standing still on such a beautiful day.

[Durant, M.]

It had been an hour since First Squad had left the CP, swallowed by the jungle. The Marines had slogged through dense foliage and uneven terrain since their departure, and other than stumbling upon some wildlife here and there, had encountered little in the way of evidence of Insurrectionist activity. Though as the squad traversed deeper into the jungle, the tension in the air skyrocketed, as some in the group suffered from the feeling that they were under observation.

The Squad crested a densely vegetated hill, struggling to keep from tripping over fallen branches and obscured holes, when a fist drew into the air. An eerie silence had fallen over the group that seemed to have infected the entire jungle. There was not a sound -- not even that of birds chirping or animals scampering. Just a pure, unadulterated quiet that some might have deemed the calm before the storm.

A second later, the snap of a twig echoed throughout the area, the original direction of the noise lost in the echoes. No one moved. And then, following the sudden break in the silence, gunfire erupted from seemingly all sides, rounds shredding into the dirt around the Squad. Muzzle flashes could be seen coming from the treeline directly ahead of them, along with the deafening report of a machine gun that nearly drowned out the noise of the accompanying weapons that joined in on the foray.

[Stone, T.]

Sergeant Stone skillfully maneuvered through the dense jungle terrain, sweat trickling down his forehead as a result of the intense heat. The temperature regulators built into the heat absorbent layer of his armor managed to keep his body relatively cool, but that did not help him any from the neck up or the shin down. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be knee-deep in jungle, and it was proving to be a great rest of his strength and fortitude. Despite that, he never once complained, nor allowed himself to appear tired.

He needed to appear impervious to the jungle if he was to lead his Marines effectively and inspire them to continue slogging forward. All of them were tired, of that he was certain, but none of them could stop and take a break. Though a simulation, he treated this exercise as though it were the real thing, because soon all of this would be a reality, and none of them would have the luxury of quitting then. The Insurrectionists didn't care if their enemy was tired or worn out; in fact, they counted on it. Hoped for it.

And Sergeant Thomas Jeremiah Stone would not give them the satisfaction of proving them right.

The Sergeant followed behind First Team as they paved the way through the jungle, quickly coming up on a noticeable incline. It was a particularly small and insignificant hill, but after what they endured, it beat the hell out of him. His calves were burning and his knees growing weak, a side effect of his age that he hated to ever admit that he experienced. It seemed not even cryo sleep, what with its age-defying properties, could prevent the steady decay of his bones.

First Team crested the hill. Stone was right behind them when a chill, so intense that he shook, ran down his spine. He threw his fist into the air as a signal for the squad to halt, and took two steps to the right before dropping to one knee, a white-knuckle grip on the rifle in his hands. As the old cliché went: it was quiet. Too quiet.

Stone had long ago learned that the indigenous life that dominated places such as this were extremely in tune with their surroundings. When something was amiss in their territory, they would cease their activity, almost as if to protect themselves from discovery and possible death at the hands of a predator. There was not a single bird chirping, and Stone was always confident in the birds.

Slowly his hand snaked to his push-to-talk, and he keyed it with haste. "Squad, set security; punch out fifteen, over."

He saw Corporal Davis glance back at him from over his shoulder. The NCO must have picked up on the tension in his voice. Davis knew when there was trouble amidst, and the fact that his superior was aware of it too further solidified that fact. "Git'cher team set up fer base -"

Stone never had time to finish that sentence. Gunfire erupted from seemingly all around them, and a trio of rounds passed by mere inches from his face, the sound causing him to almost fall back onto his ass. He dropped to his stomach to make himself a smaller target as there was no cover within reach, and he spotted muzzle flashes directly ahead of them by about thirty meters. "CONTACT FRONT!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "ENGAGE!"

The distinct report of a machine gun resonated in his ears, and he immediately could identify it. It was the trademark weapon of the Insurrection, the .30 caliber "confetti maker." The weapon had always been favored by the bastards because it was easy to obtain and maintain, and it was capable of making short work of a grunt platoon with relative ease. "That's a Goddamn confetti maker!" he shouted over the din of battle. He jammed his thumb on the talk button of his PTT. "Alpha, suppress that Goddamn MG! Light it the fuck up! Bravo, Charlie, look fer muzzle flashes 'n ice these motherfuckers 'fer they get a good bead on us!"

[Davis, E.]

This sim had been far and away the worst Davis had been a part of in a while. He was tired, drained, and still not at a hundred percent before they started. After crawling through the jungle waiting for Innies at every turn he could now add mentally fatigued to the list. Fortunately he was trained for such things and in outstanding physical condition in the first place. Normally this stroll wouldn't have been that terrible and he reminded himself that he had put himself in this position. So he plugged away quietly, listening and watching for any sign of trouble.

And the signs finally came. He couldn't pick it out immediately, but his gut didn't lie and it immediately dropped on him. It was then he noticed the silence that suddenly pervaded the jungle around them. He looked back at Stone to see a raised fist. He pushed a freeze command of the lace to his team, immediately scanning the jungle himself. He wasn't the only one who noticed the quiet, and it once again made him confident in his intuition. He was scanning hard and saw it first. The telltale sign of a scope glint in one of the sunbeams that leaked through the canopy. That bullet had Avery's name all over it.

Davis turned towards his machine gunner and broke into a dead sprint as Stone's voice came over the SQUADCOM channel in his ears. They would set up a base of fire in a minute, once he ensured his frozen Lance Corporal lived through the first two seconds of the firefight. Like a boar charging through the underbrush, Davis rumbled into his gunner, tackling him with a flying leap that would have done any grav ball linebacker proud. He was sure he heard the first round crack off on impact and felt something tug near his back. He waited for the TTR paralysis to kick in but there was nothing. Must have been a near miss.

"Tha fuck.." Avery started before gunfire broke out all over.

"You're welcome," Davis shouted, his adrenaline pushing out all other feelings. "Return the favor and pin those bastards so Charlie can kill em."

Davis dropped his pack, leaving Avery his extra ammo, and rolled away to cover. His pack had a bright pink paint mark on it, telling him just how close he had come to being "dead". It was a move he would make again, but it was still unnerving and exhilarating at the same time. It would take more than some bullshit ambush to kill him, and now he intended to return the favor.

"Alpha, suppressive fire," he barked over the TEAMCOM. "Find a muzzle flash and put lead on it. Bravo and Charlie can pick up the kills. We just need volume."

Rising up to a knee behind the tree he was using for cover, Davis started to add lead to the mix. It was time to see if the new TL was a weak link, or just green. He was hoping for just green. It would be far less painful for them that way.

[Torngate, D.]

Torngate was watching when he noticed the silence in the woods. He thought about bringing it up, but by that time it'd already been noticed. He stutter stepped as a hail of bullets flew in his direction, diving down to an upturned tree for cover. Good news was he was protected from three sides, the bad news was that he was now pinned. He cursed himself before bringing his weapon up. He heard his orders, find muzzle flashes and take them out before they took him out. 

He brought his weapon up, triggered the three round bursts, and began isolating and destroying the enemy emplacements. He had plenty of ammo, but the pink paints kept splashing all around him. He stayed calm though, going prone in the mud, appearing to be a 'dead' soldier. He took this to his advantage, getting a bead on the enemy, who was hidden similar to him. He squeezed the trigger, sending a triad of bullets screaming through space at supersonic speeds, and slammed into his target. The gun was silenced, as he repeated the process, getting up on one knee and firing repeatedly into the muzzle flashes. 

He heard the telltale sign of a .30 cal weapon, and flinched instinctively. He trusted Alpha to get it done, and continued picking out and sending a hail of lead to their direction. He emptied another set of rounds into the foliage, and ducked down to reload. He ejected the spent magazine, and got halfway through his reload sequence before he was distracted by a nearby splatter of bullets into the log. He dropped his weapon and drew his M6. At this range it would do nothing but dent some tin foil, but it provided his assailant enough of a distraction to duck instinctively at the sound of an incoming weapon that he could finish his reload. He dumped an entire set of M6 ammo into the woods before returning to the reload, replacing the pistol. During a break he reloaded the pistol too. But until then he continued fighting anything that flashed in the woods.

[Furby, J.]

Furby trudged along with the squad at the rear of First Team's formation. He was tired, hurting all over, and his rifle suddenly weighed twenty pounds. Sweat did not just trickle down his forehead, it poured, causing him to constantly wipe his face to keep the wayward drips from sliding their way down into his eyes. It was a shitty feeling, and he hated every second of it.

"This is fucking bullshit," he mumbled under his breath for the millionth time. The Innies just had to pick some backwater hellhole where the temperatures were unbearably high. He had thought Phoenix III was bad, but in all honesty, he'd have taken the cold over this. "I swear to God that Cortez motherfucker is gonna get a bullet from my weapon for this shit."

"Huh?" Lance Corporal Avery stammered out from in front of him. Even he looked tired and worn down from the constant hiking up and down hills that had not been touched by anything other nature for eons. Furby kind of felt bad for him; after all, he had to lug around a machine gun that was twice as heavy as the BR he carried around.

"Nothin'," Furby replied, continuing to play Follow The Leader.

The team started to move up a small hill, and Furby found it difficult to keep his footing. Every step sent a shot of pain up his leg that forced him to grit his teeth to keep moving forward. Not to mention the ground was dreadfully uneven and he had to avoid stumps and the roots of trees that jutted out of the ground at odd angles. Just when First Team got to the top and were about to push onward, Davis took a knee and a hold order popped out of thin air on his HUD.

Furby fell to his knees, grunting in pain, thankful for the brief respite from their long trek. The NAV marker to their objective was still quite a ways away, and it didn't feel like they were going to get there any time soon. A reprieve was called for, he believed.

The sound of a twig snapping caught his attention somewhat, but he quickly dismissed it as one of the boots back behind them being moving around too much. He knew from experience that new blood were often jittery in situations such as these, and some usually developed a terrible habit of not being able to sit still because of it. Jayson looked up to say something when he noticed that Corporal Davis was no longer knelt in his spot.

He turned to look at where Avery was and, due to their tight interval, had a front row seat to the best tackle he had probably ever seen since he joined the Corps. There was a flash of light from off in the distance and the deafening report of a rifle, and by some odd bit of luck, it happened to be a tracer round. The bullet struck Davis's rucksack as he collapsed on top of Avery, and then the jungle came alive with gunfire.

It took half a second for his brain to register what was happening. A bullet snapped past his foot, and immediately he cursed as the realization hit him like a brick wall. He rolled into a hole beside him and crawled beneath a felled tree as rifle rounds cracked all around him. Jayson slid his weapon forward and pressed his shoulder against the stock as he peered down the weapon's sight.

The tree over his head not only offered ample cover from the withering stream of lead that came screaming at the squad, but also encased him in shadow, keeping him hidden from the prying eyes of the enemy. Furby thumbed the fire selector from SAFE to SEMI and aimed at the nearest muzzle flash. He could just barely make out the silhouette of a man hunched down roughly thirty-five meters ahead, near the base of a large tree. The bastard was knelt down out in the open, bold and indignant, as he fired away with staccato bursts from his weapon.

Jayson put a stop to that real quick with a swift double-tap to the chest. The weapon bucked against his shoulder and he watched through his scope as the man spun around from the force of the rounds hitting him and collapsed face-first into a puddle of mud. "How did that feel, asshole?!" Furby shouted triumphantly, and moved on to the next target.

That was when Jayson heard the distinct staccato of a thirty cal echo in his ears. "That's a Goddamn confetti maker!" Sergeant Stone bellowed. Furby had no clue what the hell that was, but by the sound of it, it was nothing that he wanted to be on the business end of. He searched for it for a moment and, by the grace of whatever deity that watched over them, he found it.

The machine gun had been placed in a carefully constructed and camouflaged nest at the far rear of the enemy's line. It had a perfect field of view of the hill the Marines currently inhabited, and thus could rain death upon them with little in the way of resistance. That gun was the biggest threat to them, and as a designated marksman, his priority number one for execution.

He carefully took aim, centering his crosshairs just a hair above the top of the muzzle flashes, and took a deep breath. He exhaled slowly and waited until his lungs were almost empty before squeezing the trigger. The round that ejected from the barrel of his rifle was a tracer, and he watched the bullet soar through the air at breakneck speed before landing squarely in the spot where he had determined the MG nest to be. The machine gun fire stopped instantly.

"MG down, Sergeant!" Furby shouted over the sound of war, and then went back to selecting targets for elimination. Davis may have wanted to leave the killing to their sister teams, but Furby was not going to just fire blindly at the enemy. The Marine Corps had given him a rifle with an optic mounted to the top of it, and he was going to use it as the Corps had intended him to.

[Wilkas, G.]

The RTO was hot, tired and thoroughly miserable. Moving through the jungle, even a simulated one happened to be incredibly exhausting. Why could they not be assigned to a lovely cold planet again? Those reminded her of home. Apparently General Winter liked to colonise, figures since Russia is part of the UNSC. Such thoughts however failed to offer any help against the merciless environment she now faced. Wilkas made a noble attempt at preserving her water supply, this time, but never the less she had almost drained it when the marines came to a halt. A small part of her dared to hope that the mission might be over yet her instincts knew better.

She heard Stone begin to bark out commands as she nervously scanned their surroundings with the other marines. Though to Grace, it all looked like just plain jungle to her. She trusted the other marines however, if even one of them thought something was up, then it was worth looking for whatever this 'up' was.
Suddenly the jungle came alive with gunfire, she dove for cover but she would not be fast enough. Wilkas felt something crash into her right hip, the TTR paralysis setting in. For those who thought the experience tended to be painless, it hurt. A lot.

Well on the plus side, it beat being hit with an actual bullet, she dismissed the unwelcome thought, as she managed to peek over her cover a fallen tree to see if she could spot any of the Innies. Wilkas swiftly ducked again when a burst of fire targeted her cover. Wilkas glanced at her hip, she knew it was fine yet part of her failed to rid herself of the niggling voice telling her that something was terrible wrong. Understandable, since the brain liked to be able to tell just what all the various limbs of the body were doing and of course their condition.

An unwelcome feeling soon added itself to the mixture. No, no, no Grace thought determined to prevent herself from slipping into the grips of a panic attack. A sudden urge of anxiety with a few drops of fear mixed in for good measure forced its way into her system. Her heart raced as she struggled to breathe. Just a simulation, just a simulation she thought in repeatedly silence to herself as she attempted to breathe in and out as best as possible.
After what felt like an eternity, in reality it happened to be only a couple of minutes she began to breathe easier though her right hip was still paralysed along with the right leg. But positives first right? Leg only paralysed not wounded wounded and able to breath so no longer panicking.

[Ward, J.]

Ward had thought that after the Battle for Phoenix III that he would have been calm about being the man on point for his team. After all, he had led the fire team against the Covenant during the push into the city, and had been the first in the door of every building they had cleared. But as he maneuvered through the thick jungle of simulated Melfa, he realized he had been dead wrong.

When he was on Phoenix III, he had not needed to worry about boobytraps, improvised explosives, or the possibility of an ambush around every corner. The Covenant, while vicious and tenacious as they were, were a conventional and predictable foe. Covies attacked in large numbers in an attempt to overwhelm their opponent. They did not hide from their enemy; they faced them head on. It was odd to consider that the Covenant, whom were demonized at every available opportunity, had more honor than members of the human race -- their own kind.

Jon was nervous, and his nerves were starting to get the best of him. He was paranoid beyond what words could describe. Each and every step he took was cautious and measured, and he scanned the terrain ahead of him over and over again for signs of trouble. The last thing he wanted to do was trip a wire to a hidden explosive or fall into a pit of spikes. He wasn't sure what to expect from the enemy, but he knew nothing that they did could be good.

Jon led the squad up the hill cautiously. His eyes darted from place to place, scanning in search for some discernable sign that danger was ahead. When he crested the hill, he looked around and saw only mods jungle before him. He heaved a sigh of relief and started down the incline when a hold order materialized across his HUD. Ward took a knee and gripped his weapon tighter, wondering why the squad had been halted.

The answer to his unspoken query was a hail of bullets that pelted the dirt around him. He jumped to his feet almost upon instinct and bolted for the nearest available defilade. Ward decided upon a tree with a particularly large base and midsection and collapsed behind it. Rounds tore into the bark of the tree, sending wooden splinters covered in paint raining down on top of him. He shook off the chips of wood and leaned out from behind the tree, his weapon at the ready to be fired. Orders were being barked by both Sergeant Stone and Corporal Davis, and Ward had no intention of ignoring any of it. Jon opened fire on the overeager Innies, watching the tracers zip back and forth through the air.

The Private was sure that his rounds had missed the guy he had been firing at, but he didn't care. Maybe some return fire would be enough to dissuade the Innie from sticking his head out to fire at him again. He shifted slightly to the right and let loose short, controlled bursts of seven-six-two anywhere that he saw the brief flashes of Innies firing their weapons. If he didn't kill anyone, that was fine. Corporal Davis had made it clear his intentions were to suppress the enemy, not kill them. Jon was more than happy to hand that honor over to their sister teams.

A round punched into the dirt a few inches from his face. Ward, knowing he had been discovered, rolled back into cover and reloaded. The Innies had position zeroed, and now he needed to find another spot worth moving to.

He glanced around and saw nothing within the immediate area that would provide him ample enough cover. There were some trees and thick brush, but it was all too far away, and the enemy would certainly see him breaking for it.

After a long moment, he decided to remain in the spot he currently occupied, and instead rolled out of cover to the left and started putting rounds down range. Hopefully swapping sides would increase his "life expectancy" by a few more minutes.