Hurry Up And Wait (EVENT)

[Sørensen, E.]

Sorensen Had just finished his retelling of his far more than eventful time during the riot night when his CO, Captain Peldunas came over to collect him so he could be handed over to the people he would be spending his time with down below in the Innie filled sweat hole, called Melfa. "On my way Ma'am.' He said as slung his MA5 over his shoulder and held his Helmet under his left arm. 

Walking through the battery he gave the nods and waves to those who knew him, they knew where he was headed, as did he the talk of the enlisted, Oscar Company, he only hoped he'd get to meet the hero of it all and thank him for the night, he had after all managed to score far better than he had originally intended.

They soon arrived at Oscar Company and caught the venerable Captain Flanigan during his meal, clearly he'd been busy attending to what ever it was the leader of Oscar did, he imagined it was far from the normal company commander, knowing who served in company of the moment. The exchange between the officer was something to behold, clearly Peldunas wanted to ensure their survival, as any good leader would, but with what they had been told and trained for to come, he was sure at least one of them might not be going into the next op, be it injury or death.

Erik had had his major brush with death and it was clear over the right hand side of his face, as much as medical technology was something to marvel at it couldn't hide the marks of a close call with a grenade, the four major lines running up most of the right side of his head through his hair, luckily the marine he'd been lucky enough to have some fun with at the night club had found it quite alluring.

Quick enough his CO left and Flanigan started to get them to their assigned places, starting with his own HQ. They waited a few minutes for the Irishman to finish his meal, mostly they stood and chatted among themselves, soon enough they were on the move. He gave his luck to his fellow FOs before they got to his assignment.

“Lieutenant Durant, This is your new FO, Lance Corporal Sorenson. Treat him good because five to one you’ll need him once we hit planetside. Carry on.” The FO gave the Lieutenant a respectful nod as he awaited the officers welcome, he didn't salute officers in combat gear, it was good habit not to.

[Durant, M.]

The Lieutenant stood among his Marines, Gunnery Sergeant Sabre at his side, with a datapad in hand. He skimmed through the Company Order to ensure he had committed it all to memory. Once the battalion was on the ground, he assumed there would be an officer brief on the ground situation. The information in the order was detailed, but the intel provided was a few weeks out of date.

"The weather down there has a better chance of retreating us than the Innies," the Gunny commented, peeking over Durant's shoulder at the order.

Michael nodded. The heat and humidity would no doubt be a challenge. Even with the temperature regulators that came standard with the M52 PPE, his Marines would have to consume a great deal of water to stay hydrated. However, his concern was less the staggering temperatures that they would face during the day, and more focused on the low temperatures at night. Relatively speaking, when faced with ninety to a hundred degree days, sixty to seventy degree evenings would feel like thirty or forty degrees in all actuality.

He would have to make sure his Marines were properly clothed and protected to ensure none of them became afflicted by illness. "Neither is going to retreat us, Gunny," Durant replied determinedly. "However, I agree. We'll be battling the weather on top of engaging the enemy, and that can wear our people down."

The Gunny nodded and spared a passing glance at the Marines of Second Platoon. They were spread out along the company assembly area, the majority chattering amongst themselves or finishing their meals. When Sabre turned back to Durant he noticed concern in his expression. "How many of them have fought Innies before?"

Durant shrugged. "Sergeant Stone, Corporal Stringer, Lance Corporal O'Reilly, and I believe Staff Sergeant Mason. Why?"

"Because what we are about to do is a helluva lot different than killing aliens, sir," the Gunnery Sergeant said. "I'm afraid a lot of them are going to have trouble pulling the trigger."

Despite not wanting to admit it, Michael knew the platoon sergeant was right. The Covenant were as alien as one could possibly imagine, and were often depicted as animals; brutal, unfeeling monsters bent on the singular goal of eradicating the human race from the face of existence. It was not at all difficult to feel no remorse in killing them indiscriminately. Too many people had witnessed firsthand the devastation they could cause, and the lust for vengeance was strong.

However, regardless of the atrocities that the Innies may have committed, they weren't foreign like the Covenant. Insurrectionists were humans and while their violent acts were despicable and unjustified, one would find it difficult to dehumanize them in the same fashion that the Covenant had been dehumanized. What his Marines would see when they looked upon the enemy for the first time are fathers, sons, mothers and daughters, brothers and sisters. They would see people, not monsters.

The Lieutenant sighed. "I have faith in my Marines, Gunny," he said finally. "Despite whatever moral dilemmas they may face, they will not fail to execute orders. The Innies are our enemy and they have killed good and innocent people in the name of their beliefs against the UNSC. Anyone can see that they are a threat, and that there will be long-standing repercussions if we fail our mission."

Before Sabre had a chance to respond, Captain Flannigan arrived with another much younger Marine in tow. The Lieutenant's back straightened as he laid eyes on his commanding officer, and his eyes wandered over to the Marine that had followed him over. "Yes, sir?" Durant said with anticipation.

"Lieutenant Durant," the Captain greeted. The officer gestured to the other Marine with his thumb. "This is your new FO, Lance Corporal Sørenson. Treat him good because five-to-one you'll need him once we hit planetside. Carry on."

"Aye, sir."

Just as quickly as Captain Flannigan arrived, he was gone. Michael shifted his gaze onto Lance Corporal Sørenson, whom issued him a respectful nod. The man was tall and possessed bold, prominent features that instantly screamed Nord to Durant. Light olive skin marred only by scars that the Lieutenant assumed had been inflicted from fragmentation, an aquiline nose, close-cropped blonde hair.

"Welcome aboard, Lance Corporal Sørenson," Durant said, extending his hand for a shake. "I'm Lieutenant Durant, Second Platoon's commander. If you don't mind my asking, do you hail from the Colonies or the Homeland?"

Once the FO answered, he nodded with a smile. "I was born and raised on Heimdall. If you haven't ever been there, I would suggest visiting some time. It's a very beautiful world and much of the culture that was brought to it has remained largely unchanged."

"Ahem," interjected Sabre.

The Lieutenant glanced at him for a moment before turning his gaze back to Sørenson. "Right. You'll be sticking with me for the majority of this op in case we need to call in supporting fires. If you haven't had chow yet, I'd suggest you get some while it's still hot. Nobody likes cold breakfast."

[Harrison, D.]

Derrick said his farewells to the Major and his advance party and silently watched as they boarded the Albatross and took off. He hated having to watch his second-in-command leave to be thrown into a possibly lethal scenario, but knew that he was under the careful supervision of some of the battalion's best Marines. If the XO found himself in any trouble, he could be certain that his security element would pull him out before anything terrible could befall him.

With that out of the way, all that was left to do was wait. It would take at least half an hour for the drop-ship to break into Melfa's atmosphere due to the Vengeance's distance from the planet, and likely another hour or so before the XO was ready to radio in. In the meantime, Derrick planned to check on the companies to make sure they were ready to step off.

His first stop was Mike Company. Captain Marrett stood towards the front of the gaggle of Mike Company Marines in the midst of a conversation with his staff. His First Sergeant was the first to notice Harrison's approach, and politely interjected when an opportunity arose to point that out to the Captain. Marrett turned and nodded to the Colonel.

"How can I help you, sir?" he asked.

"How are your Marines, Captain?"

The Captain glanced back over his shoulder at the men and women that comprised his company. "They're good to go, sir. We're just waiting on the FOs and Engineers to arrive."

Derrick nodded and looked at Jarrett's executive officer, Lieutenant Voss. "How is your supply situation?"

If Lieutenant Voss had been taken by surprise by Derrick addressing him directly, he did an excellent job hiding it. The lieutenant retrieved a datapad from out of the admin pouch affixed to his armor's chestplate and booted it up. "We have enough ammunition, food, and water to last us three days out in the field, sir. I expect we won't need to resupply on the former options for awhile."

"You'd be correct, Lieutenant," the Colonel replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "The FOB has a fully stocked chow hall. So, until we initiate our assault of the jungle, you shouldn't need to use up any of your food and water stores."

"Outstanding, sir," Lieutenant Voss said with a hint of a nod.

"I trust morale is high?"

It was Captain Marrett who answered. "As to be expected, yes, sir. My Marines are anxious to get down groundside."

Derrick chuckled. No one liked to be cooped up in a ship for long periods of time, and generally they always were. Operations such as these were usually the only times the Marines had the opportunity to venture off the ship, and if it were possible, he could easily imagine them space-walking down to the planet if it got them off the ship.

Unfortunately for them, they would have to wait until the XO radioed in and the flyboys were ready to leave. That thought reminded him that he needed to have a talk with the Air Boss rather soon. Since the Marines had piled into the hangar, he hadn't seen a single pilot or flight crew save for the ones that had been prepping his advance party's transport for takeoff. "They'll get their wishes granted soon enough, Captain."

Marrett nodded. "Yes, sir."

With that, the Colonel walked away, his sights now set on November Company. As he approached the group, he could overhear Captain Alexander delivering some kind of speech to his men. Derrick slowed his pace and resolved to listen to it, curious to hear what the man had to say to them.

"... and don't forget that these Innies aren't people like you or I. Not really. They are criminals and opportunists; leeches that latch onto perverse ideals and antiquated schools of thought. Those bastards down there do not care about you or your families, and if they had a choice, they would slaughter your loved ones in front of you and then kill you too. They are animals -- rabid, vicious animals -- and we must put them down before they can go on to hurt more innocent people."

Derrick felt his brow arch as he listened to the officer's percuilar speech. If he was trying to dehumanize the enemy for his Marines, it appeared as if he was doing a poor job of it, or so Derrick guessed by the looks on some of his subordinates faces. Others looked awestruck, polarized by what they had just heard. He decided, perhaps, that it would be as good a time as any to interrupt the proceedings. "Captain Alexander," the Colonel called.

Captain Alexander whipped around and went rigid at the sight of him. "Sir!" he practically shouted as he averted his eyes. "I was just inspiring my men..."

That was what he called it? The Colonel shook the thought from his mind and forced a smile. "I heard, Captain. SITREP?"

"November Company is ready to deploy, sir," Alexander replied. "All personnel are present and accounted for, and our supplies ready to be loaded onto the birds."

"Outstanding," Harrison said. He caught the gaze of First Sergeant Peterson, who shrugged at him as if to say "I have no idea what you want me to say to that." The Colonel chuckled. "Carry on."

Two down, one to go. Derrick looked over at Oscar Company, almost grimacing at the sight of them. Every time he heard their name he was reminded of the grievous disregard for good order and discipline their enlisted displayed by orchestrating a battalion-wide party in the simulators. The Admiral had personally paid him a visit the morning after it had all gone down, and he was surprised the man hadn't strangled him to death out of pure frustration.

The Admiral was a true believer in good order and discipline. He ran his crew like a well-oiled machine and pressed them to exercise their very best in judgment at all times. While the Navy and the Marine Corps shared close relations due to the nature of their mission, Admiral MacArthur had expressed to him from the get-go that he considered the presence of Marines aboard his ship a nuisance, and one that he could do nothing about. The old man had warned him then that if his Marines ran amok, there would be some severe consequences to be had.

MacArthur had occupied his office for three hours, and in those three hours, he had barely been able to get a word in edgewise. Not that it mattered, anyway. Colonels did not win debates with admirals.

Reluctantly, the Colonel made his way over to Captain Flannigan, and stopped several feet short of him to ensure he was at a minimum safe distance in case one of his Marines lost their head and decided to try and attack him. After having his XO assaulted by an SNCO out of Oscar and twenty-seven MAs hospitalized by a single fire team, the Colonel wasn't taking any chances.

"Captain Flannigan," Derrick called. "How are things coming along over here?"

[Flannigan, S.]

Flannigan had been taking in the sites, watching his officers and NCO's deal with the marines as they gaggled about. Chow in the hangar had been the extra piece to put morale over the top. As much as he couldn't admit it, Davis's party had put most all of his marines in the right mindset. If only he could have kept them from pushing the mark with the MAs it would have been a complete win. Unfortunately, as the saying goes, shit rolls downhill and the lecture the Colonel had received rolled down to him as well. He was slightly surprised he didn't have to face the Admiral himself, though the old man likely knew that it would have been wasted time. Colonel Harrison knew it was as well, but certainly made his mark. Flannigan's ears almost rang at the memory.

Fortunately, that is all the further the ass chewings had to go. He gave his company the necessary slap on the wrist, but there was no extra punishment meted out. He didn't go so far as to encourage the Corporal, but if Davis was half the man he seemed to be, he would know he had gotten away with murder and would get away with it again. Perhaps not on this ship, but under this command. It was things like this that were needed to keep Marines ready to fight, and he was far more concerned with that than any amount of order and discipline.

"Captain Flannigan," Derrick called. "How are things coming along over here?"

"Aye sir," Flannigan said, wheeling around to greet him. He had come to know the man's voice easily. "Oscar Company is ready to kill. If you care to come and inspect, they would be glad to see you still care about 'em sir."

As always Flannigan was treading a fine line with the Colonel. A worried look from Zieed confirmed that he was on the right track. Nothing he said was wrong, or even overly inflammatory, and yet given how things had gone it was the principle of the matter. His men had obviously put the Colonel in a bad place and during the aforementioned tirade, the Colonel had made it know he thought they were animals. The invitation now forced the Colonel to make that statement public, or at least make it clear to all present how he felt about Oscar Company.

[O'Reilly, C.]

Her team assembled, she looked at each of the three. "Alright, I'm going to be the serious team leader real quick, and then you guys go have fun. These innies aren't a joke, and they are human. It won't be like shooting Covenant. And they have the home field advantage. I don't want any of you wandering off, either at base or on patrol. You're dismissed" she said, giving them a smile. She turned away. She hated being this kind of person. Sometimes she doubted if she was cut out as a leader.

She meandered over to Davis with a question. "Corporal, do we have an estimate on numbers yet?" she asked after waiting for him to finish whatever it was he was doing.

[Davis, E.]

Davis had given Ward a five minute warning for inspection and the young man could obviously read a clock. Davis watched him wander over after finishing his tale. Almost overnight, from one small piece of luck, Ward had become a celebrity. Davis had to admit it was a large chunk of skill as well. There were several No-Co marines who could attest to his skill as well. Thankfully the hand to hand lessons had paid off.

"AVERY, FURBY," Davis barked, getting their attention. "PCC's! FOX, LET'S GO!"

He didn't have to wait long, thankfully, because it kept the yelling and shouting down. The hangar was loud with conversation and banter, let alone the birds that were being prepped. He would much rather have stayed in quarters, but there was nothing quite like being all dressed up and ready to go, sitting next to your bird. The excitement down here was infectious and while he wasn't about to lose his NCO bearing, he was enjoying getting caught up in it.

"Ground your gear," he said simply when the team was assembled. He started with Avery, checking the rucksack and seabag against the packing list the Gunny had put out. Three sets of digitals, seven sets of socks and skivvies, shave kit, shower shoes, poncho, wet weather gear, sleep system, combat knife, and three days combat rations (read ammo, water, and MREs) were all packed between the two bags. The Lance Coolie had quickly unpacked everything and set it out for the showdown. Granted, they had done this last night, but Davis wasn't about to give them twenty four hours without a bag check. Then came a metallic click from the pocket under the e-tool attachment. Davis quickly ripped it open to find an empty flask. Davis raised an eyebrow and looked to the machine gunner for an explanation.

"Lucky flask Corporal," Avery said with a smirk. "Figured if we're taking everything, I might as well take everything."

With a knowing nod, Davis tucked the flask back away and stood up from the pile of items Avery now had to repack. When he did, he noticed Lance Corporal O'Reilly standing back and waiting for him. He stood up and turned back to address her. She looked highly uncomfortable and was suffering from what Davis would call the jitters. He could be reading her wrong, but he remembered his first mission as TL. It was almost as stressful as his first mission period. 

"We won't get more intel till we hit planetside, TL," he said, avoiding using her rank. She was his equal, sort of, and the title of Lance Corporal sounded derogatory at the moment. "Starting to feel the pressure of all of it?"

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Furby and Ward were still unpacking for the impromptu showdown before turning his undivided attention back to his mentee.

[Killinger, J.]

John had been on the surface for about half an hour by the time the commanding General could see him. When the Albatross landed he was greeted off the ramp by a young Private who had led him to the command center before departing. During their brief travel John passed some rubble caused by the motar attack; a corner of a building had collapsed but John never learned what the building was being used for. It was vacant now, probably going to be repaired and re-serviced before anything else went in there.

While John was waiting he had secured an area in the command center for the Battalion staff and even the MEU staff for Colonel De Chenny along side the MEU's representatives for its own advance party.

"Major," General Momosa said. "Welcome to Tinman. I'd like to thank you for responding to our reinforcement call, it is nice to have some devil dogs on our side right now; I know it wasn't you personally but right now you are representing your unit. Not a moment too soon, might I add." The General added, waving over towards the damage caused by the indirect fire.

"Thank you," John replied. "But the MEU sent down it's own representatives, sir. You should thank them instead."

"Sure... Let's cut to the chase, I know the deal and I know what you need, it's not the first MEU that I've helped house during my career. We've already assigned your battalion and other elements of your MEU's GCE areas of Tinman you can use during your visit. We cleared out and cleaned it up prior to your arrival in system." Momosa said.

The General lead John and a small security detail consisting of a few Troopers and Marines through the FOB. They went through a checkpoint and John was pleased to see a sign that indicated the area was assigned to the 12th Marines, 27th MEU.

"Everything you need to be self-sufficient is in here." The General said before departing.

Few pleasantries were given, but John understood that the man was probably twice as busy as John himself had to be considering the attack had stopped moments after John's bird had touched down; John had wasted enough time as it was anyway.

As John walked down the FOB he knew that they had sufficient room to house the battalions three companies, staff and even additional office space. A series of large barracks, all with more than enough room for the Marines, each had their own respective signs on them: "M-Co, 1/12", "N-Co, 1/12", "O-Co, 1/12". While John didn't know what barracks would house what platoons, he decided to leave that up to the company commanders. The companies had a roof to stay under and a place to sleep.

That was pretty much the only thing the UNSC Army did, however. It was an easier task for John to settle the battalion down when they assigned barracks for them, but he still had to figure out where to put everything else.

Assets like vehicles, ammunition, supplies and other equipment still needed a place to be.

"Let's go check out the motor pool, shall we?" John said.

Another army trooper lead John, his security detail, and some of the battalions staff through Tinman to the motor pool. It was organised pretty well, John admitted. Rows and columns of warthogs and some tanks mixed in between all sitting parked next to each other with enough room for army mechanics to work without rubbing on another vehicle. There was plenty of room for the battalions assets so he checked that box off mentally.

Next up was the ammunition and supplies.

Over the course of just under an hour John would settle the logistics side of things and the battalion was ready to deploy. He returned to the FOB and sent the message for Harrison to disembark from the Vengeance and head to the surface, sending him the rough location for the battalions landing zones.

[Torngate, D.]

Torngate listened to his leader. It was the usual spiel, "watch your back, don't get shot up, don't die....". He paid it little mind, knowing the jist of it. It boiled down to "Don't die, it's paperwork." and if there was one thing Torngate hated, it was paperwork.

"Alright, I'm going to be the serious team leader real quick, and then you guys go have fun. These innies aren't a joke, and they are human. It won't be like shooting Covenant. And they have the home field advantage. I don't want any of you wandering off, either at base or on patrol. You're dismissed"

He nodded, before moving off to the outskirts of the area. Until he was given a job to do he was on his own, so he sat down at a table, ditched his bag, and unsung his weapon from his back. He looked at it intently, checking for any faults in it. He ejected the magazine, and then cleared the chamber of any remaining munitions, making sure that there was no way it'd dry-fire or fire unexpectedly when he was in the middle of messing with it. His rifle was a marvel of modern engineering, and he trusted it almost as much as he trusted his comrades here. 

He set the rifle down, closed his eyes to gather his thoughts, then began to field strip his weapon, going for both speed and accuracy, taking it apart piece by piece and laying out the parts in an orderly fashion before picking up the now-stripped casing of the BR-55 and observing it. He then set it down and rebuilt the weapon, pieces sliding into place and clicking into a weapon once more. After completing this, he moved on to his pistol, clearing the weapon of it's munitions and stripping it before returning to his rifle and repeating the process. He didn't know if anyone saw him, but he didn't care.

After repeating this cycle a few times, he rummaged around in his bag and got out a short strip of black fabric. He made a makeshift blindfold, and worked on field stripping and rebuilding the weapon in zero visibility, trusting on his ears and fingers to help him.

Field stripping was an art that he'd had lots of practice with, having spent more time at his previous posting doing drills and training than ever doing anything useful. So he took this new weapon as a challenge, not quite the simplicity of the assault rifle he was used to.

[Furby, J.]

Furby stood up at the approach of Corporal Davis. He set down his tray of half-eaten food down on one of the MRE crates and placed his hands behind his back in a relaxed Parade Rest. "FURBY! AVERY! PCCs!" was all that the Lance Corporal paid attention to before lifting his rucksack off the floor.

He unclipped the fold on the main compartment and turned the pack upside down with a grin. The contents dropped to the floor in a mess, although he knew it would pass inspection. Corporal Davis would clearly see three sets of woodland digitals, seven sets of skivvies (to include socks), a sleeping bag neatly folded and secured, hygiene kit, combat rations, and three cans of dip. "Everything a growing boy needs, Corporal," he said with his usual lopsided smirk.

"You dip?" Avery asked, surprised.

Furby shook his head. "Nope. Although it might buy me a few MREs from some of the retards in Third Platoon. Somehow they always get the best shit."

The automatic rifleman laughed and shook his head. "Not always. I got Cheesy Mac and Jalapeño and Cheese."

"Want some dip?" Jayson asked.

He knew he was reaching, but he really wanted a Cheesy Mac for later.

Avery shook his head. "Fuck no! You better throw in a pack of cigs and some fuckin' Munchies into the deal or you ain't gettin' shit."

Damnit, Furby thought with a sigh. He had seen that coming, however. The Cheesy Mac MRE was possibly the very best MRE he had ever tasted, and it was any Marine's prized possession if they knew what they had on them. What Avery had demanded for it wasn't unreasonable, but he had hoped their friendship would offer more incentive to share.

Obviously he had been wrong. The machine gunner wasn't going to come off of his MRE for a measly can of dip, and their friendship bought him few points in the trade department. "Maybe Ward's got something good," he mumbled under his breath. Private Ward was still a new guy, even with Phoenix III now tucked under his belt, and so it seemed likely he would be oblivious to the apparent worth of the meal items he had been issued.

Then again, as far as Furby knew, Ward did not dip and had no interest in the stuff. He'd have to get creative with his tradesman's pitch if he wanted to score the good stuff from Ward. Maybe implant the idea that whatever he had was terrible, and that whatever Furby had to offer with the superior alternative. It could work if he played his cards right.

Furby set the thought aside for now. He turned his eyes back to the team leader. "Good to go, Corporal," he asked, "or would you prefer to be addressed by 'Your Majesty'?"

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace had been pushing food around her plate. Initially she possessed a considerable appetite, but a unwelcome thought slithered into her mind shortly after gathering herself a delightfully large breakfast. This could be her last meal and that thought served to thoroughly ruin her appetite. She tried to force herself a few mouthfuls, but it served only to make her feel sick.
She emptied the remains of the food in a waste bin. As she was heading back, the red head heard a voice called out her name. The RTO looked around, soon spotting the source, Jayson. "Oh hey." She called unable to feel overly chipper about the idea of soon facing the prospect of a deployment. Grace did not want to go to the battlefield, the idea of getting killed tormented her considerably. 

"I've felt better." Grace said in a quiet voice when she neared them. "Kinda not feeling the idea of deployment." She could pick up on the excitement of the other marines. Many of who enlisted and or actually wanted to be soldiers, to be marines. Grace wanted none of that and she still viewed herself as somewhat poor soldier. Even her training back on Earth had not been to the highest standards, some features of it happened to be excellent, others possessed much to be desired of. It came down to the Russians conscripting too many people, too quickly for the military administration to effectively cope with. Apparently the rate of conscription dropped rapidly soon after. Not that it helped Grace who was for now stuck in the UNSC. 
Though according to the censored reports from home, voluntary enlistment rates were up and Iron Thunder brought out another album. Unfortunately none of their schedule concerts were anywhere near the active fronts or UNSC warships. 

She forced herself to appear somewhat happy. "Hopefully where we are going will be somewhat colder than the simulations." The idea of spending all of her time on a planet so inhumanly hot was well quite frankly inhuman. Grace could only imagine the horror of actually having to fight someone determined to kill her in such an environment. 
She leaned against the wall folding her arms, her mind imagining the strange environment she might soon find herself seeing. Grace had never seen an actual jungle before in person, pictures did not truly convey the craziness of a jungle. Hopefully she would make it out alive. 

[Ward, J.]

Private Ward waded through the cluster of Marines, following the wake left by Corporal Davis. As he passed people by, some of them waved to him or shouted an "oorah" or two his way, and it made him feel all the more magnanimous as he marched over to his team. Whether they had been in attendance or not, First Team had become a "household name" aboard the ship, and everyone had heard the tale of their exploits.

That was in no small part thanks to Lance Corporal Sampson. Sampson was the Marine everyone knew could not keep a secret to save his life, and he had spread the word of the party through the Lance Corporal Underground. Ward didn't fully understand the way it worked or how it was so effective, and every time he heard the name he pictured Marines running through subterranean tunnels, leaving secret messages for their fellow Lance Corporal to retrieve and disseminate.

He knew that was a fictionalization, and no where near the truth, but he imagined it nonetheless.

"PCCs! FOX, LET'S GO!" came the bark of Corporal Davis. Ward cursed and bolted forward, falling into formation beside Lance Corporal Furby, and unclipped his pack from his armor. It fell to the ground with a dull thud, and he shoved it in front of him with his foot, snapping to a rigid Parade Rest. "Here, Corporal!"

"Boot," Avery whispered loud enough for him to hear.

Ward glanced over at him. "I thought I lost that title after FROST DRAGON," he said.

Lance Corporal Avery chuckled. "I'm fuckin' with you, Fox. Damn, you're too easy."

Jon wasn't quite sure how he felt about that, but kept his mouth shut all the same. He had learned over the last couple months when to shut up, if only to avoid inserting his foot into his mouth. While Corporal Davis finished up with Avery, Ward surveyed the hangar. Oscar Company had its own little corner to itself, spread much farther apart from its sister companies than its sister companies were spread from each other. He figured that was done intentionally, considering all the trouble they had stirred up lately.

It was still difficult for him to wrap his head around all that had happened. He would have never thought he would have been complicit in such activities, but he had been, and he'd loved every second of it. Rule breaking wasn't something he generated enjoyed doing, especially given the repercussions that were born from such activities, but broke some rules he had. Some rather major ones, to boot.

He wanted to record a letter chip to send Charlene. Since he arrived with the unit, he hadn't had a chance to really communicate with her, what with all that had gone on. He was curious to know what she would think of his exploits, or if she would even understand any of it. The fact of the matter was she was back home and had no clue what life aboard ship was like. For that matter, she had no clue what he did for living aside from the general idea that he went from place-to-place with a rifle in his hands killing aliens.

That thought spurned a much darker thought. This time around he would not be killing aliens, but fellow human beings. He found the thought just a bit unsettling, however, he knew it had been what he signed up for. There had been a few times when his father had brought up the old days before the war, when humanity was on the brink of civil war, and wondered if this had been how he felt the first time he was deployed against the Insurrectionists.

It would be a question he'd have to ask him when he got home.

If he got back home.

Ward let that thought simmer in his mind as he stood awaiting to be inspected. He swallowed and resigned to have faith in his team to see him through whatever hardships were sure to come in the future. It was the least he could do to stem the tide of fear that threatened to boil over in his mind.

[Stone, T.]

Sergeant Stone watched the makings of a rivalry unfold before his eyes. Lance Corporal Furby was a cocky son of a bitch, and Stone knew when someone was barking up the wrong tree. Mihaylov didn't look like much at first glance, but the sheer fact that he made a bet out of the ordeal told the grizzled NCO all he needed to know. Lance Corporal Mihaylov was a crack shot, and he was about to make Furby cry.

Shaking his head, he looked away and surveyed the area. Second Platoon was rather thoroughly spread out across the company's assigned area, many of the Marines mingling with one another, and the general atmosphere was that of excitement. Stone was happy to see that morale was high. It meant he didn't need to be as much of an asshole to everybody. That was the secret most of his Marines had failed to learn about him.

It was easy to tell when morale was low, especially in Oscar Company. When the Marines stopped acting like themselves and started complaining about every little thing (not unlike Furby), that was when there was a need for concern. The NCOs did an excellent job of nipping it in the bud, but sometimes the situation required a more... hands-on touch. That was where he came in.

If the Marines were bitching about lack of food or its poor quality, he came around to save the day. Combat stress starting to wear on everyone? He arrived to kick them in the ass. Marines were not all that complicated like most thought. Their psychology was simple, and once one understands the beast, they know how to control it. All Stone ever had to do was make his Marines forget about their problems by giving them something that they can bitch about together, building camaraderie, and that thing happened to be his homegrown approach to discipline.

It worked like a charm, every time. He didn't necessarily like it, but it got the job done, and in the end that's all that mattered.

Thomas glanced over at Captain Flannigan, taking note of the approach of the battalion commander. He considered going over there and striking up a conversation with the company commander, but ultimately decided against it. It wouldn't look too good for a captain to be fraternizing with a sergeant -- to the battalion commander or to the Marines in the company. So, with nothing better to do, he dug his hand into a pouch affixed to his armor and retrieved a cigar.

He could smell the pleasant aroma that had made the Sweet Williams brand famous before he had even stuck it in his mouth. Stone bit down onto the nub to hold it in place. The taste of the cigar was just as sweet as the smell, and he couldn't help but smile because of it.

"DEVIL DOG!"

The voice carried across the hangar and suddenly, Stone realized, a hundred eyes had turned on him. He instinctively snapped to Parade Rest, knowing that only an SNCO would have referred to him by the time-honored nickname of Marines, the cigar still stuck between his teeth. There was a blur of movement out of his peripheral, and then suddenly, there stood a Master Gunnery Sergeant, inches from his face. "What in the Hell is that?!"

"A cigar, Master Guns," Sergeant Stone replied casually.

"There is no smoking on the flight line, Sergeant!"

Stone resisted the urge to grin. "It ain't lit, Master Guns."

The Master Guns glared at him with powerful blue eyes that seemed to pierce directly into his soul. "I can see that, smartass. Why the hell are you in possession of contraband in my hangar?"

"Well, Master Guns, I ain't decided whether or not I'mma smoke it when we git planetside or if I'mma hotbox my Marines on the way down," he replied, the grin forcing its way onto his face. "I got an extra one I'd be willin' ta give up. I know there ain't shit worth a damn aboard this ship, 'n I'm pretty sure a man of yer stature would enjoy a Sweet Williams when in the privacy of yer own berth."

The SNCO continued to glare at him for a long moment, and then loosened up. "Do you really have a spare?"

"Yes, Master Guns."

"Well, hell, gimme one," the Master Guns barked with a smile. "After dealing with the fighter jocks all day, I could use a good smoke."

The Sergeant did as he was told and plucked out an extra cigar from his pouch, handing it over to the SNCO. "There ya go, Master Guns."

"Pleasure doing business with you, Sergeant."

And with that, the Master Gunnery Sergeant disappeared. Stone chuckled with a shake of his head as some of his audience stared at him in awe. It was just another indicator of his influence and skill, and now he was sure the new replacements viewed him as bulletproof. He was sure very few had seen an E-5 de-escalate an E-9 before, and the fact that it was accomplished so easily and tactfully would be the stuff of legend for quite some time.

While he somewhat enjoyed the attention, he had a reputation to maintain. "Stop starin' at me like I got a Goddamn dick on my forehead! Ain't y'all 'spose ta be preparin' ta kill motherfuckers?! Finish yer chow 'n git ta preppin'!"

[Kateb, F.]

Corporal Kateb scarfed down the remainder of his breakfast and returned the tray to the cooks. The meal had been better than he had imagined, and the cooks had even provided turkey bacon as an alternative for those like him whom abstained from pork. It was enough to lift his spirits and get his blood pumping again.

Compared to FROST DRAGON, the work up for this mission had occurred at a snail's pace. He had awakened from a peaceful slumber to the sound of Staff Sergeant Mason barking orders, and had gone about getting his belongings ready, and making sure his team did the same. The packing list provided by Gunnery Sergeant Sabre hadn't been too crazy. Everything was spread out between his ruck and his seabag, and scuttlebutt said that the battalion would be groundside for only three weeks. What they had was more than enough to last until they were ready to return to the Vengeance.

Kateb walked over to the spot his team had chosen to occupy amongst the chaos around them, and placed his hands on his hips. "If you are all set on chow, it's time we get underway," he said, passing a glance at their empty trays of food. "PCCs and PCIs are in fifteen, so gear check. Set your packs down so I can inspect them. Make sure you guys are good on your combat loads. Ammo is cheap, life is expensive. 'Rah?"

He watched them as they set out to do what he had told them. This would be their first mission together as a team, as the three Marines that stood in front of him were replacements for his team, whom had all been transferred out to different units. It was tough for him, to be sure. He had grown attached to them, even though he shouldn't have.

Especially Adkins. Adkins had been the glue that held the team together what with his childish antics and boyish charm. That kid had caused him many a stomach ache from laughter, a rare treat given his usual serious demeanor. He looked over at Third Team, which Adkins had given the moniker "Beaver Team," and chuckled. It was little things like that that had made him proud to have had such an outstanding young Marine under his command.

"Kateb," the voice of Corporal Rio called from behind him. Kateb turned around the look at him. "Don't be too hard on the new guys you got there. You'll make me look bad."

Kateb chuckled. "Only because you're a piss poor team lead."

Rio laughed and shook his head. "Touché, brother."

Yep. Today was going to be a good day. There was no question Oscar Company would push back the Innies and make them regret ever having stirred up trouble, and Second Platoon would no doubt be at the forefront of that fight. After all that they had accomplished over the last few weeks, it would be nice to see that energy and creativity put to something productive, and not something that landed them in the freezers near indefinitely.

[Winters, R.]

Raven was in formation and listened to her Team Leader, O'Rielly as she spoke. Raven agreed with her. Raven studied her for a few seconds and instantly found her very attractive. She however had to focus on the mission at hand. The Innies where humans, and posed a serious threat for anybody. Being in a dense Jumgle full of enemy who knew the local Jungles well, was not somebody to take lightly. 

As her team was dismissed, she continued to study O'Rielly and could not help a shy smile as she studied her face and body, even with her uniform and gear adding to the full picture. She went back to her crate to finish her preparation. She however also studied the faces of her team mates. She could see, uneas, worry and even fear, that was masked by the exitment. While they would find it hard to kill other humans... others of there own kind, Raven was totally prepared to kill any other human... even anybody from her own goddamed team if she found out that any of them might have any ties with ether the Innies or the Convenant. 
Sure this was a war where all humans where on the same side, against a dangerous alien race of invaders... but to her it did not matter in the end.

She took another larger bit of her now cold grilled chicken and stuffed it in her mouth. Raven decided to take a talk around, unknowingly to collect new information. This was unknowingly part of her programming. As she stopped to look around she saw one of her team members clean and disassemble his rifle... only to assemble it again. She watched him do this process again, but this time without the cleaning.

Raven moved onwards. Suddenly she heard a loud yell and jumped somewhat, insinctively swirling around. She then eased up as she saw that the yell was about. Strone has a cigar in his mouth, making Raven frown. She did not really like or respect him, as she tough of him as a really big jerk. But as the situration unfolded, Raven smirked and then half smiled. She was pretty impressed at how cool he handled such a situation out playing somebody who was higher in rank them him. Only this thing made Raven nrespect the man somewhat more. Raven however did not forget, his earlier death threats against a member of her own team but great to respect him that much more. 

She moved on, back wards her crate to grab another bite, when her eyes caught Torngate still, dis and re assembling his rifle and gun... this time while being blindfolded. She was struck with a simular memory of herself being trained in field assembly, while being under controlled 'enemy' fire. She froze for a long second, being nearly paralized from the memory. Raven jerked slighty as returned to the world and after looking at him, working on the run for a few more seconds, she had an idea.

She soundlessly made her way towards also careful about not leaving a strong current from her own movement. As she passed the table, she soundlessly greached out slightly and took a small but very important part of him gun... the trigger... and closed in in her hand. She kept a straight face, until she saw another person from the corner of her eyes. That other prson was walking towards her... and it turned out to be O'Reilly. Raven basely gave away a sneaky ass half smile at the other female but a shot second later, forced herself to have a straight face again, but still winked at the other girl.    

[O'Reilly, C.]

O'Reilly smiled nervously. "I guess you could say that, yeah." she said. "I'll let you handle your team, then. I'll see you planetside." she said, giving a respectful nod to the more experienced man. Turning back, she was about to head back to her team to finish prepping when she heard a loud shout. Turning, she raised an inquisitive eyebrow to see an SNCO storming angrily towards Sergeant stone. She could watch this, she decided.

"DEVIL DOG! What in the Hell is that?!"

"A cigar, Master Guns," Sergeant Stone replied casually.

"There is no smoking on the flight line, Sergeant!"

"It ain't lit, Master Guns."

"I can see that, smartass. Why the hell are you in possession of contraband in my hangar?"

"Well, Master Guns, I ain't decided whether or not I'mma smoke it when we git planetside or if I'mma hotbox my Marines on the way down. I got an extra one I'd be willin' ta give up. I know there ain't shit worth a damn aboard this ship, 'n I'm pretty sure a man of yer stature would enjoy a Sweet Williams when in the privacy of yer own berth."

"Do you really have a spare?"

"Yes, Master Guns."

"Well, hell, gimme one. After dealing with the fighter jocks all day, I could use a good smoke."

"There ya go, Master Guns."

"Pleasure doing business with you, Sergeant."

All the while, O'Reilly's jaw was dropping slowly. She had never seen a more masterful disarming of a dangerous situation in her life. She blinked, closing her mouth and looking away before the Sergeant could see her staring in amazement. She took a step towards her team, and then another, and then she was on her way again. On her way, she noticed something. Torngate was fiddling with his rifle, something normal enough, but he was doing it blindfolded. The showoff. She started towards the table, intending on scaring Torngate shitless, but she noticed Winters slip by and take the trigger piece. O'Reilly grinned mischievously, giving Winters a knowing grin as she passed her, and as she approached Torngate, she picked her target. The barrel to his rifle. She quietly picked it up and stood in front of the table, waiting for the showoff to notice. She motioned Winters over. "We'll see how long it takes." she whispered.