Hurry Up And Wait (EVENT)

[Torngate, D.]

Dylan had continued to work on it, going ever faster, only screwing up on occasion. After each time he placed his hands, palm down, on the table before starting again. He began again, not noticing when first one person, then another, came over and stole a part to his rifle. He didn't notice the trigger, as an oversight of the muscle memory he'd developed, but the barrel... that was something else.

He made the motion of grabbing it and sliding it in, and had gotten halfway there before he froze, knowing something was wrong. He held his hands there, not figuring out that his barrel was gone until a few seconds later when he lifted his arm up and down, as if feeling for weight. He gave his weapon a once-over, finding the trigger mechanism gone too. He muttered to himself, something along the lines of "what the hell" before setting his rifle down, and feeling for the parts.

He was still blindfolded, but kept feeling around, discovering it wasn't on the table and moving down to the floor. He'd thought he'd have heard it if it fell, but he didn't find it there either. He stood up, banging his head on the table he was using, causing a loud metaphor he wouldn't use in polite company escaping his lips.

He stood up, scratching his head and looking around, not knowing where it went. He searched once more before tearing the blindfold off, looking around at the people in the bright flare of light. He didn't see his weapon parts around, and then looked around to see if anyone was watching him a little too closely.

[Cores, J.]

Janine lay on her back her eyes locked into a staring contest with the rafters of the hangar bay. Her rifle lay to her right and her launcher leaned against a crate on her left. Her ruck making a nice pillow for her head. Her bucket resting within reach on her left.

Janine closed her eyes drifted away, back home to Heorot. She felt the warn winds as it swept across her Savannah like home. A field mouse scurried by, the larger creature's combating roars echoing in the distance. Easing into the vision she relaxed that was until she spotted a broken car. Sitting next to it was a dead Marine. She went over careful to not alert any creatures to her presence. Once she reached the marine she grabbed the dog-tag and read it to herself.

Janine bolted up right as if possessed by some spirit. She caught a few glances from a few other Oscar privates, but she also noticed some others glaring at her from the other companies. She was breathing hard the vision hard to forget. she had to get back into routine. She rolled her head stretching her neck before standing up. She looked down to the empty tray of food, and pondered where the tray was to go. She grabbed her rifle and slung it over her shoulder and glared at her M41. Its barrels were stripped awaiting the weapon to be loaded, calling to be fixed to be ascetically pleasing. She turned to see Corporal Kateb a yard away. Janine sighed knowing it wasn't time to load up yet.

"If you are all set on chow, it's time we get underway," The Corporal opened causing Janine's eyes to glance yet again at her empty tray.

"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?" Ordered the TL.

"Hoorah, Corporal." Janine said in sharp response. They were all new in this batch transferred in from separate units. Although she knew well she was the only convict in the team. She grabbed her ruck and saddle bag and turned back grounding it in front of her. She unzipped the two bags and began removing it's contents quietly settings them up in a t shape. The sleeping bag in the cross, the tubes of her launcher branching to the left and her skivvies and cams on the left. The center was the rest of the required gear. She then opened the saddlebag and lay it at the end. An extra weapon strap and her MA5C's extra ammunition. She planted her MA5 so it leaned on the ruck, and the M41 lay next to it, still missing its barrels. Living in the wilds for so long had taught her to pack the bare minimum, and so she did, packing more ammunition since she caried a lot of ass with her.

"Ready for inspection Corporal" she said snapping to parade rest.

[Sørensen, E.]

Erik looked at Lieutenant Durant not giving anything to him to read, he was sure the man was giving him a once over, what commander wouldn't he was going to have to trust him with his marines lives in more ways than one. He was good at what he did, give the enemy something very powerful to think about.

The Lieutenant spoke after a the moment passed and offered a hand shake. "Welcome aboard, Lance Corporal Sørenson," The FO shook the officers hand firmly. "I'm Lieutenant Durant, Second Platoon's commander. If you don't mind my asking, do you hail from the Colonies or the Homeland?" He smiled the man had noticed, not that it was particularly difficult. 

"The homeland as it were Sir, Norway to be specific." Durant then smiled and gave him a brief personal history. "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."
 
"Sound great, wouldn't be able to help with necessary leave would you sir?" He said joking with a wry smile, he couldn't help himself. Second Platoons Senior NCO then let himself in. "Ahem" There was a brief nonverbal between the two men. "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." 

He nodded. "Packed and fed before I left my battery sir, perhaps I should introduce myself to the rest of your HQ, do the rounds as it were." He was going to spend most of his time with the HQ so it was a good idea to say hi. It would also probably be worth introducing himself to the squad leaders, but he was content to let that happen more as it happened.

[Mihaylov, D.]

Mihaylov laughed when his teammate offered to help keep score. It was the right thing to do. It was good to be a part of a good team and squad again. While he had enjoyed his tenure with the previous unit he was in, they were most definitely not like Oscar Company. Most of that time had been garrison, which was always different than combat, but it was a marked change to see his new comrades geared up for battle. Inside he couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to owe his counterpart a good deal of money when they got back, but he doubted it. He was a better shot than that.

As Alpha team moved to do their pre-combat checks, Dmitrii quickly swallowed down the rest of his food. If they were getting their final prep done it was almost a guarantee that Faust would be close behind. Thankfully it wasn’t a hard decision on what to pack for this venture. And the Gunny had dropped them a packing list, so it was that much easier. Mihaylov had learned long ago to follow a list when it came down, even if it didn’t make sense.

“Hurry,” he said, tapping Chambers on the leg. “We round up ‘Lectric and get ready for Faust. Better to be waiting on her than on us. I like ears to work before I load up.”

With that, he scurried to his feet and found a waste bin for his plasticware. Now that he was back on his feet, he was less worried about his weapon and sight, but he was still attentive. You never knew if there would be a place on the ground to sight back in. The Corps didn’t make a habit of hauling paper targets down to a planet for lazy or inattentive marines. At this point, such inattentiveness would cost him money, and that was always a great motivator.

[Durant, M.]

Lance Corporal Sorenson seemed to be an easy-going fellow. Durant instantly found that he liked him, although part of that may have been because they shared common heritage. Out of the many FOs he had dealt with in his time as a platoon commander, Sorenson seemed to be the most laid back. Some officers may have read that as a sign of a lack of discipline, though Durant saw it differently.

Sorenson suggested that he introduce himself to the rest of the platoon headquarters staff, to which Durant nodded. "That's a good idea," he said, and then gestured to the man standing beside him. "This is Gunnery Sergeant Sabre, my platoon sergeant. You'll be dealing with either him or myself the most, I'm sure."

The Gunny nodded to Sorenson. "Pleasure to meet you, Lance Corporal."

"My RTO, PFC Wilkas, is over by First Team," Durant added, pointing to the four Marines that were currently in the midst of a PCC. "I'm not quite sure where my corpsman is at the moment, but he's a good guy. I'd also recommend getting to know my squad leaders and their TLs, as you'll probably be sent out with them on patrols sometimes in case they need to call on supporting fires. I'll let you get to it."

With that, he turned and made his way over to a crate, gesturing for Gunnery Sergeant Sabre to follow him. He plopped down on the crate and retrieved his datapad from a pouch on his side and booted it up. Sabre stepped behind him and looked over his shoulder at the screen. The datapad's screen came to life and Durant opened up the OpOrd, pulling up the map of their area of operation.

Sabre frowned at it immediately. He had seen it before, but it hasn't occurred to him how desolate their AO was. Between FOB Tinman and Hermosa City was nothing but dense jungle. There wasn't even a road between the two points of interest. Durant looked at Sabre from over his shoulder and chuckled.

He understood the problem. There was miles and miles of dense jungle to traverse to reach their objective, and lots of places for the enemy to hide. The enemy would have the home field advantage, and likely had every inch of that jungle mapped out. They had multiple avenues of ingress and egress, whereas the Marines would not be so lucky.

Then there was the resupply issue. Resupply by ground was not an option. The terrain was just too unforgiving. It wasn't impossible, but it would take far too much time, and in a jungle warfare scenario, time was of the essence. That meant that resupply would have to happen by air.

Resupply by air was always preferable regardless of whether or not ground resupply was available, but with the enemy in possession of military-grade anti-aircraft artillery, it would be extremely risky for the pilots. Of course, Durant and the other lieutenants had deduced a solution that minimized the amount of risk to the pilots, but there was still a chance for the enemy to slag one of their birds. No one wanted to deal with a combat search and rescue scenario, especially not the pilots who would be on the receiving end of it, but it was a risk they would have to take.

At least until the engineers could start to pave the way back to Tinman with explosives. Once they cleared some of the foliage and larger obstructions, ground resupply would become a viable option. However, until then, they would have to make due.

"It's going to be hard to find anything in there, sir," the Gunny said finally.

Durant nodded. "Agreed," he replied, "though I trust in Odin to guide us along the right path. We'll find those guns and take them out."

The Gunnery Sergeant rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I was talking about the enemy in general, sir. We're going to have one helluva time tryin' to root them out in that."

"And that's why we make them come to us, Gunny."

"I hope so, sir."

Now it was Durant's turn to frown. Sabre's lack of confidence in their mission was unsettling. He had been there at the brief and had been in consensus with the others in the tactical plan. Oscar would move in, establish a base of operations in the jungle, and probe the enemy in an attempt to rattle their cage. If the enemy saw them as a juicy enough target, they would come to them under the guise that they were the hunter and the superior warriors. Then Oscar Company would deal them the smack down of their lives.

"What the..." Sabre said all of a sudden.

The Lieutenant turned his head and saw what the Gunny was staring at. Lieutenant Colonel Harrison had made his way over to Oscar Company and seemed to be having a conversation with Captain Flannigan. The look on the Colonel's face was all Durant needed to see to realize the man had gotten more than he had bargained for. He chuckled. "Looks like the BC is not happy."

Sabre shrugged. "I can't imagine why," be said, the sarcasm in his voice not lost on the Lieutenant.

"I guess we've given him plenty of reasons to not be."

[Harrison, D.]

Harrison glared at Flannigan with fiery disdain. He had ventured over to check on the company's status, not to be dragged into a dog and pony show at the whim of some lunatic officer that allowed his dogs to run rampant across the ship. However, if he had any other choice, it had flown out the window seconds ago, as now he noticed that dozens of eyes were upon him.

The Marines of Oscar Company looked on expectantly. Many of them had heard Flannigan call him out in a not-so-subtle fashion. If the officer's intent had to been to corner him, he had done an excellent job. He had two decisions, both with a slew of consequences, and neither one was very appealing.

The first option was to set about inspecting the company, to which he would be giving in to Flannigan. Harrison was far too proud to let a captain have that to hold over his head. The second option was to walk away. However, if he walked away, he would be viewed as cowardly or uncaring in front of the few good Marines that inhabited Oscar Company.

As he battled with himself over what to do, a third option suddenly came to him. It was perhaps the best of both worlds and offered the least amount of negative effects to his personal image and maintained his superiority over Flannigan. He almost laughed. For a man who claimed to abhor politics, he was damn good at playing the game.

"That won't be necessary, Captain," he said dismissively. "I'm sure your Marines are combat ready."

The look on Flannigan's face made him want to march over and punch him. He resisted the urge to do it, however. That look would disappear in a moment, he was sure. "However, I would like to say a couple words, if you don't mind?"

When Flannigan answered, the Colonel nodded. "Marines, the fight ahead will not be an easy one, but I am confident that Oscar Company will deliver as it always has. Normally I would wish you all the best of luck, but I'm afraid it is the enemy that will be in need of good fortune, as they are about to go toe-to-toe with the most frightening group of hard-chargers the Corps has ever produced. If recent events are any indication, the enemy should be afraid for their lives, because it's obvious Oscar Company takes no prisoners."

There. That would do it. In just a few simple words he had stripped Flannigan of his crowning achievement by attributing Oscar Company's successes to that of the Corps and its training, and not some crackpot old fool. He was proud of himself. If Flannigan wanted to play the game, Harrison would play it better, and he would win. Nope. There was no question about it.

The Marines cheered, and Harrison smiled at Flannigan. "Whooo!"

"GET SOME, SIR!"

"KILL!"

"WE'RE GONNA KILL 'EM ALL, SIR!"

And then, all of a sudden, it went downhill. The tables turned on Harrison faster than he could have imagined. Every ounce of self-assurance vanished in an instant, as if it had gone right down the drain. "THE FIGHTING IRISHMAN! YUT YUT!" one Marine bellowed.

"THE BEST OF THE BEST!" another added.

"FUCK YOU, BLACK AND TANS!" someone else screamed.

And then, a lone voice filled the void to soon be joined by others. The situation had spiraled out of control, and there was nothing Harrison could do to stop it. A Marine in Second Platoon threw his fist into the air and said, "O-Co.! O-Co.! O-Co.!" With each utterance of the word, it grew in crescendo.

More Marines joined in, and soon, the whole of Oscar Company seemed to be chanting it. The louder and louder it got, the more the rest of the hangar took notice. Derrick glanced over at November Company and spotted many a disgruntled expression. He looked over at Captain Alexander and shot him a glare that said everything he needed to say. "If you start a riot, you're a dead man."

When Oscar Company finished their chanting, they cheered, and Harrison stormed off. Oscar Company was a lost cause. There was not a soul aboard the ship that could put them in line. No matter what he did, they would remain the same undisciplined clusterfuck they had been since he had taken over command of the battalion. The last battalion commander had had nothing but good things to say about them.

Derrick couldn't understand how. They were a headache to put up with and they destroyed any shred of good order and discipline he tried to maintain. Captain Flannigan let his Marines run loose like wild animals when he should have been invoking the whip upon them. The sight of that poor excuse for an officer disgusted him.

"Bunch of fucking animals," Derrick growled as he reached the Sergeant Major.

Sergeant Major Carson chuckled. "They're hard chargers, sah."

"They're animals," Derrick repeated. "Undisciplined fucking animals."

"They're exactly what we need, sah," Carson said, his tone deadpan.

"How can you defend them, Sergeant Major?!" the Colonel asked, incredulous.

The Sergeant Major sighed. "Jus' let it go, sah."

[Furby, J.]

Furby stood with his arms crossed over his chest as Corporal Davis inspected his gear. He knew it would pass muster. This was not his first rodeo; he'd learned what the pack for extended missions long ago. If there was any confusion, he always had the official packing list to resort to.

His eyes trailed over to Second Team -- more specifically Mihaylov -- and rolled his eyes. The Russian had challenged him to a shooting contest, it seemed. That, in Furby's opinion, had been a huge mistake on the Russian's part. There was no question that he was hands down the better shooter. If Mihaylov wasn't convinced, he would be soon enough.

Oh, he'd make that Russian pretty boy eat his words. There was no question about it. He would smile, his best toothy grin, when the bastard started to hand him credits for winning the bet. It would happen, and Mihaylov was rue this day. Lance Corporal Furby was the marksman no one should trifle with... or bet money against.

"Yo, danger close," Avery muttered, elbowing him in the ribs. "BC at your five. Check it out."

Furby craned his head to see Lieutenant Colonel Harrison in the midst of a brief conversation with Captain Flannigan. After all that had happened over the last several weeks, Jayson was surprised the man had dared even coming near Oscar Company. Honestly, if he had been in his shoes, he would have avoided O-Co. like the plague.

After the short exchange, the battalion commander turned to face the likes of the entire company. "What's he doing?" Furby asked, his shock unmasked. Colonel Harrison was about to deliver a speech to them. The man who had all the reason in the world to hate them was about to say some words of encouragement to them.

Jayson was shocked. Perhaps the guy wasn't as pissed off at them as they had all thought. Maybe, just maybe, he appreciated their tenacity and warrior spirit. Or, more likely, Furby realized, he was just putting on a show to spite the Skipper.

The answer turned out to be the former.

"Marines, the fight ahead will not be an easy one, but I am confident that Oscar Company will deliver as it always has. Normally I would wish you all the best of luck, but I'm afraid it is the enemy that will be in need of good fortune, as they are about to go toe-to-toe with the most frightening group of hard-chargers the Corps has ever produced. If recent events are any indication, the enemy should be afraid for their lives, because it's obvious Oscar Company takes no prisoners."

Cheers erupted from every corner of Oscar Company's assembly area. The look that crept its way across the battalion commander's face was that of twisted price and self-assurance. He actually thought he had accomplished something worth being proud of. Furby chuckled. He had no idea how wrong he was.

The focus shifted away from Harrison almost as quickly as it has settled on him. Someone from First Platoon screamed "THE FIGHTING IRISHMAN! YUT YUT!" at the top of their lungs, followed up some motard in Third shouting "THE BEST OF THE BEST." Jayson laughed and decided to jump in on the action.

He turned to face November Company, all of them assembled directly across from Oscar, and raised a single finger in their direction. The looks that were directed towards him was all that he needed to be able to tell they were not happy. In fact, some of them appeared down right livid.

Not that he cared. He wasn't a No-Go. "FUCK YOU, BLACK AND TANS!"

Furby heard Avery burst into laughter beside him. He glanced over at his friend and bared his teeth in a lopsided grin. The machine gunner looked back at him and shook his head. "Watch this, bro," he said.

Lance Corporal Avery threw his fist into the air and began chanting "O-Co.! O-Co.! O-Co.!" Furby stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded, before he returned to his senses. He saw where this was going and joined in.

"O-Co.! O-Co.! O-Co.!"

Lance Corporal Sampson was next to join in, followed by the entirety of Third Squad, and then a select few in First Platoon. In just under a minute it seemed like the entire company had joined in, chanting with such fervor that it attracted the attention of everyone that occupied the hangar.

Furby continued to chant until, all at once, everyone stopped. All at once Oscar Company's enlisted, once again, broke out into cheers. Shouts of jubilee resonated within the confines of the hangar, and Jayson noticed that the November Company Marines looked like they were on the verge of bloody murder. One Marine broke ranks and started towards Oscar, but a firm arm around the throat stopped him in his tracks. Corporal Gray, whom had been the one to grab him, forcibly dragged the lone Marine back into friendly lines.

The display was enough to embue Furby with an extra dose of confidence. November Company weren't prepared to have their asses handed to them again by the likes of Oscar Company. Beyond that, with the battalion commander and the sergeant major present, they did not want to suffer the reprimand they would most certainly receive if they stepped out of line.

Fortunately, that was something Oscar Company never had to worry about. A reprimand was a reprimand. No one cared about any of it. If some officer got their panties in a bunch over some dumb shit, oh well. Oscar would take the berating like men (or women) and move on totally unaffected. Not November Company. The Black and Tans were all about maintaining an positive public image. They were showboaters, not Marines.

"Fuck you, No-Co!" Furby bellowed across the hangar. Over a dozen Marines flipped him the bird, but he didn't pay them any mind. They were just mad because Oscar Company was the best and they knew it. Hell, Oscar Company knew it. They were the top dogs of the battalion; the black sheep that stood out amongst the herd. No one wanted to admit they were the best, but they didn't have to, because Oscar already knew.

No matter how much Furby despised the petty BS that came with Marine Corps life, he had to admit he was happy that of all the units the Corps could have put him in, they had put him in Oscar Company. He was proud to serve under Captain Flannigan. There was no finer officer than the Fighting Irishman. Hands down.

"I think we pissed 'em off," Avery churtled.

"Meh," Furby replied with a shrug, "they'll get over it."

[Flannigan, S.]

Flannigan's day could not have gotten any better if he had woken up naked with a pair of Galway girls in his rack and an Irish whiskey hangover. Not only had the BC taken the bait in an attempt to one up him, his boys, in the finest of displays of warrior spirit, had basically called out all takers. A glance over a Captain Marret was rewarded with grin and a rueful shake of his head. Flannigan didn't dare look at Alexander for fear he would get caught up with the chanting and want to punch his smug peer in the face, sending them all to the brig instead of to Melfa.

To say morale was high right now would be an understatement like no other. The hoots, hollers, and catcalls that had gone up from Oscar Company were exactly what you heard when a unit was ready to do their job. Flannigan did his best to stoically watch, but he couldn't help the smile that spread over his face. He looked to his First Sergeant whose face was screwed up in a mask of anger and frustration. Zieed knew that he couldn't crush the morale before going on mission, but he wasn't pleased that they were, once again, alienating themselves from the BC. As the chants started to calm he was signaling NCOs to calm their devil dogs down before something bad happened. 

"Let the boys be First Sergeant," Flannigan said softly.

"You can't keep pissing him off sir," Zieed grumbled. "I'm all for high morale but the last morale raiser almost got MAs killed and if we get much further out of the Colonel's good graces we'll be in the brig or buried in paperwork for the rest of the deployment." 

"You're right," Flannigan said with a slightly defeated tone. "But I'll take that over two more dead marines. That is the trade on morale First Sergeant. Any questions?"

"Only in regard to your sanity sir."

"Like a Fox, I believe the expression goes First Sergeant. Carry on."

[Chambers, T.]

Chambers had double checked his gear last night before we went to nervously clean his weapon down in the Armoury last night and checked it again first thing this morning he even checked it again before he'd gone and gotten his meal. Lance Corporal Mihaylov then tapped his leg and made his suggestion. “Hurry, We round up ‘Lectric and get ready for Faust. Better to be waiting on her than on us. I like ears to work before I load up.” They'd found a name for Edwards, he wasn't sure where it came from but it seemed to fit. "Unpack it all just to pack it again. Aye Lance." He said to the Russian as the marine went to dispose of his utensils.

Starting to unpack all his gear and lay it out it sure was a doozey to him, but he supposed it was better to follow the list than not, not following instructions usually didn't go so well. As he set about laying it all out he looked up as it seemed Sergeant Stone was about to given an almighty boot up the clacker. The exchange seemed to be about an unlit cigar in the venerable squad leader's mouth, the ensuing conversation was one watched by more than a few within earshot.

The situation seemed to carry on until the Master Gunns was offered a cigar, the skip smiled and shook his head before going back to his pack, it was a sight to see but one he didn't intend to be seen watching. So when probably not even a moment later Stone told them to get back to it, everyone seemed to snap back to what they were doing, yakking packing and lollygaggin'. "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'!" There were a few ayes and yes sergeants but mostly everyone jsut got back to it.

It was soon after they were addressed by the Battalion commander himself, something after what he had heard about the relationship between his fellow Marines of Oscar Company and the BC was very, very unlikely. "Marines," The Lt Colonel started. "Marines, the fight ahead will not be an easy one, but I am confident that Oscar Company will deliver as it always has. Normally I would wish you all the best of luck, but I'm afraid it is the enemy that will be in need of good fortune, as they are about to go toe-to-toe with the most frightening group of hard-chargers the Corps has ever produced. If recent events are any indication, the enemy should be afraid for their lives, because it's obvious Oscar Company takes no prisoners." What followed next began, well OKAY, and got progressively worse, it went from what seemed to please the BC to what became a tirade of insults against November and chants of "O-CO!" He wasn't going to add to anything else but halfheartedly added into the chants so we wouldn't stick out too badly, he after all he felt and the other Marine's of Oscar also probably felt he hadn't earned that right just yet.

When it all calmed down it wasn't hard to hear far more hushed insults for November Company and other forms of self bell ringing he sometimes struggled to understand, perhaps it would make sense if he survived the sweat box down below.

With the Oscar mostly settled back down he got back to arranging the contents of his hear on the deck, it was everything on the list plus a couple cartons of cigarettes a box of standard matches, and two dull brown-green lighters. Reaching inside one of his thigh pockets he felt the metallic surface of the lighter the marine to whom he owed his life was safe and sound, he was going to make sure he used it first and last on Melfa.

[Mihaylov, D.]

Mihaylov easily set up show next to Chambers, knowing that their gear was good. Unless Chambers was really so green that he messed with his pack in the last twenty four hours, they should be just fine from when they packed and checked the night before. Dmitrii really enjoyed having the Private around. In combat, unlike in the rear, rank meant less. It was experience and intelligence that mattered out here. Rank usually went along with it, but he wasn't required to treat the prior service guy like a dick for no reason, which was nice.

He laid his gear out in a similar fashion to his teammate, doing his best to ignore the going ons around him. It was a good way to get in trouble. In fact, the barking from Sergeant Stone did almost nothing for him as he had been careful to watch out of the corner of his eye when the Master Guns had started barking the Squad leader down. It was only when the hanger went quiet that he noticed the BC. He quickly stood back up over his pile of gear and squid jerky. He doubted they sold it planetside and he couldn't have enough of the stuff.

Then it happened. The thing that made him realize that he was home in the best unit he could have found. Hell, he couldn't have done better winning the lottery. The enlisted men started catcalling the BC, which started off in correct vein, and then devolved into a general fuck you to their rivals, daring them, pleading with them to try something. Based on the reaction they got from both the BC and No-Co, they had struck a nerve with the entire battalion of marines. Not that it mattered much to Mihaylov, he was with his brothers and sisters here. As long as they were together, they were safe.

"O-CO! O-CO! O-CO!," he bellowed with the rest of the company. Avery and Furby seemed to have started it and he would not be left behind while his squad took the lead. When it all started to die down, he knelt back down with his gear and looked over at Chambers.

"These guys are shit, man," he said with a laugh, scrubbing a tear from laughter out of his eye.

[Davis, E.]

"Shut the fuck up, Furby," Davis said, wanting to just punch him for his smart ass royalty comment. 

Davis was quick to work through the packs. They were done and prescreened already so he was mostly checking for any last minute additions. Furby's choice of extras showed just how bright and ruthless his new Lance Corporal really was. Bringing tobacco and a non user was a risky proposition, but lucrative if you had the guts to run with it. Thankfully with Alpha team's rep being at an all time high, he doubted anyone would dare try to steal from them. While he didn't agree with Furby's luxury choice, he certainly wouldn't let anyone steal from his team.

When Sergeant Stone attracted attention with his cigar, Davis didn't give it more than a passing glance. While other members of the squad were absolutely shocked at Stone's demeanor and ability to deal with the Master Guns, Davis had seen it before. Several times over the last few years he had watched Stone handle all manner of the green weenie, and never once had he seen it touch him. Even now, the man knew how to hit home the best offer at the weakest point. It should be a class at boot camp, but with only one instructor available, Davis had resigned himself to learn by watching.

Then came the BC. Davis had just knelt down by Ward's gear when he overheard Avery's warning. He quickly stood and spun, assuring he was ready to properly address the man if it was required. He didn't want that target on his back to be shot at while he wasn't ready. Thankfully, it was just a quick speech for them. And even better, it devolved into the response any bad company with high morale would give. The marines around him, even his own team, flat out challenged No-Co then and there. Davis shook his head and hid his smile as best he could. He could not be seen as a part of this, but he knew that he had started it.

It is rare to have a CO whose name is worth invoking. Oscar was infamous for a CO whose antics were almost as well known at the rest of them. However, by using him as a reason to fight No-Co at the simulators Davis had, inadvertently of course, given freedom to all there to use it as well. When the cry came up Davis looked over to Stone. Seeing the knowing glare from his NCO, Davis just shrugged and turned his attention back to the seething, fleeing BC. With a cheer, the insanity died down and he returned to work, looking over Ward's gear.

"Still got to have a damned book Fox," Davis said, shaking his head as he picked a book out of the Private's pile. "I hope it melts in the rain. Pack it up. You boys are good to go when they call for us."

[Faust, M.]

Faust was in a foul mood, she had been ever since the simulation. She took a bullet right at the start of the firefight, taking her right out of the game. She felt ashamed by it, she should of reacted faster, moved quicker. Michelle was a combat veteran, a tough fighter... She should of been able to avoid the shot.
Of course she acted like it did not bother her, but it got under her skin. A lot of things got under her skin of late. Ever since that damnable bridge something inside Faust had been rattled loose.

Michelle had already done her fair share of yelling, mostly directed at the cook. Not his fault, but something he said really got under her skin. She could not even remember what it was. She inspected her fireteam, all of them new faces, all of them people she had not seen in combat. So far all they saw of her was a rather angry corporal and someone who took a round in the simulation, resulting in them being 'killed'.
She could not wait to take a bite out of the damnable traitors, a good series of battles might do much to restore her confidence in herself. Though she managed to act like her normal self, even if it was a hollow facade propped hastily up with little more than her personal will.

She listened with an amused grin on her face to the nature of the banter between Oscar and November company. She held no love for November, though she secretly possessed a few issues with the marines responsible for the party within her own company. Faust had not been invited, though she would not of gone anyway, the principle of the thing rubbed her the wrong way.

She would of liked to of been invited. She viewed it however as a silly thing to kick up a ruckus about. She suspected her angry had more to do with herself and such things managed to seep through the cracks to annoy her greatly. It was unfortunate. Faust's stomach churned, she went all out on the bacon mixed with scrambled eggs... Probably last war's bacon and powdered scrambled eggs from a war long since forgotten about it. Faust ate her fill of it, but it failed to rest easily in her stomach.

[Ward, J.]

Ward found himself wrapped up in the revelry of Oscar Company after the battalion commander's speech. He cheered alongside his Oscar brethren, moreso to make sure no one noticed him as it would be very noticeable for a Junior Marine to not participate in the festivities, but also because he was genuinely proud to be a member of the unit. He wasn't sure if others units were like this, but if Mike and November Companies were anything to base an opinion off of, he had to guess that they weren't.

That was fine. Oscar Company was his home now and it would be for as long as the Corps wanted it to be. He found he was in good company, and that was all that ever truly mattered anyway. There were aspects of the unit's behavior that he did not agree with, but to openly speak against such activities would label him a hypocrite. After all, he'd freely participated in a party that had broken over a dozen regulations, and two dozen MAs bones.

So he rightly decided to keep such opinions to himself. He'd be hard pressed to find anyone that actually agreed with his views, anyway. Nope. It was best not to stir the pot, but to sit there and let it boil.

Or so his father always used to say.

That thought culled a string of questions to the forefront of his mind. How were his parents? What were they up to in his absence? Had they heard any news about the war that might have them worried about him? The thoughts ran rampant through his mind, and it took all the willpower he could muster to tame them and set the aside for later consideration.

His father was more than likely busy with his desk job on base and his mother was probably up to... whatever it was his mother did. For all the years that he had been home and raised almost solely by her, he knew precious little about what she did in his absence. She had few friends that he could speak of, and she never really got out much from what he had seen. Sure there was the occasional "women's night," but those came few and far between, and only when Jon had become old enough to watch over himself without setting the house on fire or whatever it was parents thought their children would do when left home alone.

Ward was brought back to reality by a book being waved in his face. He looked at Corporal Davis and smiled. "Still got to have a damned book, Fox," the NCO growled, shaking his head. "I hope it melts in the rain. Pack it up. You boys are good to go when they call for us."

The Private chuckled. "You never know when a good book can come in handy, Corporal." He leaned over and started repacking his belongings, taking care to organize his rucksack so that everything fit snug inside of it, and placed the most important items on top for easy access in a pinch. His time on Phoenix III had taught him some very valuable lessons about equipment organization.

"Fox, you know you're a damn nerd, right?" Avery inquired with a grin.

Ward shook his head. "Just because you can't read doesn't make me a nerd, Lance Corporal," he rebuttled.

Lance Corporal Avery stopped repacking his things and bolted over to him, catching him completely unawares and almost causing him to drop all of his belongings. Before he could even blink there was a knife hand to his chest. "The fuck you say?" Avery growled angrily.

The goodie-two-shoes private emerged from Ward. He dropped his rucksack (that thankfully landed right side up) and placed his hands behind his back. "Nothing, Lance Corporal!"

Avery's gaze bored into him like a laser cutter, and he felt the need to swallow in fear of the reprisal he was about to receive. Then proceeded a long moment of uncomfortable silence, and Ward could feel the eyes of others upon them, looking curiously at the scene. Suddenly they had become the most interesting people in the hangar, it seemed.

And then, much to his surprise and confusion, Avery burst into a fit of laughter, shaking his head vigorously. "Jesus, Fox, you're too damn easy!" he exclaimed, practically with tears coming out his eyes. Furby laughed too, he saw, and Ward found himself wondering what the hell had just happened.

"Relax, dog," the machine gunner said as he slapped him on the shoulder, "I was just fucking with you. Jeez, bro. You gotta lighten up."

Jon wasn't quite sure what to say, so all that came from his mouth was a stupified "oh..."

With that, Avery returned to his spot to finish repacking, and Ward found that he was still uncertain as to what had just happened. He slowly emerged from his stupor and set out to do the same as his companions, all the while trying to keep his cheeks from turning red from embarrassment.

After all, the whole damn hangar had been watching...

[Sørensen, E.]

It was more than a rumour among the battery that being sent to O-Co was a message to them and it usually went two ways, either we think you can handle their kind of crazy or you were their kind of crazy, Erik was under no illusions which category he was considered to be in, and it was the latter to be sure, he'd been told he something similar in no uncertain terms after the battalion organised primarily by marines under the Lieutenant in front of him. Though as much as the Battery commander had wanted to remind him what she thought of his more out going and laid back attitude, if joking around and trying to keep everyone from being a bunch of depressed robots, he would likely always remain in the sin bin.

"That's a good idea, This is Gunnery Sergeant Sabre, my platoon sergeant. You'll be dealing with either him or myself the most, I'm sure." The Gunny then said his piece and as he suspected it wasn't more than what needed to be said. "Pleasure to meet you, Lance Corporal." Sorensen nodded. "I'm sure the pleasure is all mine, Gunny this is Second platoon O-Co afterall." 

Durant then gave him directions to his RTO. "My RTO, PFC Wilkas, is over by First Team, I'm not quite sure where my corpsman is at the moment, but he's a good guy. I'd also recommend getting to know my squad leaders and their TLs, as you'll probably be sent out with them on patrols sometimes in case they need to call on supporting fires. I'll let you get to it." Looking towards first team they were in the middle of a what seemed to be a PCC, what better time to get to know someone than to see what they might have for trade. "I'll find my feet sir," he nodded to the Lieutenant then to Sabre. "Gunny." Before he began on his way through Oscar Company to first team. 

When the BC came over and gave them a speech he followed along turning and facing the Colonel, he wasn't sure why he'd even come over, surely it was tempting fate, 'poking a bear with a stick, always a bad idea. particularly a mad bear' His Grandfather had once told him. It rang true for what followed: the hollering, general yelling and taunting which seemed only to infuriate the Battalion Commander. He shook his head with a wry smile, this deployment was shaping up to be interesting.

Having made his way over to first team, it wasn't hard picking the RTO out, the gear like his own gave you away, however this time he had a chance to kill two birds with one stone, meet the RTO and a TL. Calling out to the radio operator he introduced himself as he continued towards her and first team. "Wilkas," He began. "Lance Corporal Sorensen, the Platoon's FO for this deployment, since we'll both be part of the platoon HQ, thought I'd say hello." He then looked to first team. "Thanks for the party, had a great time."

[Kateb, F.]

Corporal Kateb nodded at his fire team upon indication they were ready to be inspected. While the rest of the company became engulfed in the tomfoolery initiated in no small part by First Squad, Kateb chose to ignore it. It wasn't that he wasn't proud of the units accomplishmenrs, or the unit itself, but he was not about to give the impression to his team that recent actions were acceptable solely based on the fact that it raised morale. There were plenty of legal ways to raise morale that did not require tossing anyone into an infirmary for immediate medical treatment.

That by no means meant that he wasn't impressed with First Team. The fact that they had taken on two dozen MAs and lived to tell the tale was astonishing, and something that deserved a commendation. MAs were no joke. They took their job seriously and were trained to handle high-stress situations with a calm, collected attitude. Kateb was amazed that First Team was able to take so many of them down before finally succumbing to their will.

Of course rumor had it that the only reason they stopped was because Marine MPs had arrived to reinforce their Navy brethren. The Corporal wasn't quite sure how true that was, but it sounded about right. Marine MPs were just as doggedly determined to maintain good order and discipline as the MAs, and in some cases were the scarier alternative. MAs may beat the shit of you but they didn't enjoy it half as much as the MPs did, and the MPs would certainly be more forceful against their own than the MAs.

Kateb placed that line of thinking in the file bin labelled "for later consideration" and set about inspecting his team. He grabbed Cores' pack and turned it upside down, watching as its contents splattered across the floor. He sifted through the pile and referenced everything with the packing list. Everything seemed in order. There were a few personal items there that wasn't on the list, but they didn't take up much space so he'd allow it.

"You're good to go, PFC," he said to Cores. "Pack up your stuff and be prepared for a lot of hurry up and wait. I expect we'll be here awhile."

With that, Kateb inspected Licina and Coldstein's gear, finding both acceptable. Coldstein possessed a few items that raised his brow in curiosity and mild concern, but it was nothing that he would have to dog, so he said nothing of it. After he was finished with his hasty inspection, he turned and looked to Staff Sergeant Mason. "Second Team's good to go, Staff Sergeant! We're ready for your inspection."