Landfall (EVENT)

[Durant, M.]

0930 Hours, August 12, 2542 (MILITARY CALENDAR) /
Aboard Albatross X-Ray Four-Seven-Three, en route to
FOB Tinman, Ótimo Jungle, Melfa, Zeta-Zorata System

The ride through the atmosphere had been an uncomfortable afrair. In just a few short minutes the entire platoon was drenched in sweat as the exterior heated up during entry, nearly baking those encased inside. The heat coupled with the violent turbulence generated by atmospheric entry was enough to cause some to question their motivations to enlist, or curse fate for their misfortune (in the case of the draftees).

It was moments like those that forced Durant to question how the ODSTs managed in their tiny little pods. Only a psychopath or an idiot would choose to step into an over glorified tincan and ride it all the way down to the surface from the upper atmosphere of a planet. How any of them survived the drop at all was astonishing to him. Thankfully, none of his Marines were crazy enough to volunteer for that outfit.

Or, at least, none of them wanted to, anyway.

Once the Albatross had finally broken through the dense atmosphere, the remainder of the ride had been smooth sailing. There had been some minor turbulence as the transport tore through the cloud layer, but nowhere near as bad as during their entry into Melfa's atmosphere. Durant tested the comms to ensure his radio was working properly, and that their nets had been properly set up by Private First Class Wilkas. He keyed the radio a couple of times and even executed a radio check, then nodded -- satisfied -- and shifted his focus to his Marines.

The revelry that had been present during their departure from the Vengeance had subsided somewhat, but there was still traces of it in most of their faces. If any of them were nervous or lacked confidence, they sure did a great job concealing it from him. All but the usual suspects, of course. No matter how many missions they went out on, nor how many operations they survived, Durant firmly believed his RTO would always look nervous and uncertain.

Grace Wilkas was an unusual woman. In the last several months he'd learned she was exceptionally adept in the art of communications, and could be depended on to maintain the platoon's radio frequencies indefinitely. However, where she excelled in her particular field, she lacked in the general skills that typified a warrior. To be clear, Wilkas was more than capable of holding her own in a fight; but, her attitude towards the art of warfare was what held her back.

The PFC was a timid soul. While every fiber of his being told him he should be infuriated with her for that fact, he could not bring himself to be. He wasn't quite sure why. With the hesitation bred from cowardice and the nervous second-guessing of her own decision-making, he should have been screaming for her transfer to another platoon to the company commander.

But he just couldn't do it.

Michael was torn from his introspection by the sudden shift in gravity caused by the engines as they throttled down in preparation for landing. That had to mean they were almost upon the forward operations base, and thus that much closer to meeting their enemy face-to-face. The Lieutenant stood up from his seat in the back of the Albatross, grabbing a cargo rung from up above his head to keep him upright, and turned to face his platoon. "This is it," he said with excitement. "Condition One your weapons and be ready. We have no idea what we'll be walking into down there!"

He felt the bird jolt as its landing struts slammed into the ground. The roar of the engines died down to the faintest whisper of air and the rear hatch opened, a cargo ramp extending out to the deck below. As per tradition, Durant was the first to step off, leading his Marines by example. First off, last on, he thought as he marched down the ramp.

Standing on the outside of the designated landing area was an Army major, the man's hand stop his hat to keep it from blowing off his head. Durant marched towards the man and nodded, fighting the urge to execute a hand salute. They were in a warzone now, and even the slightest sign of tension in the presence of the doggie could paint him as a potential target for a sniper. The major seemed to understand, returning the nod with a smirk.

"I'm Major Caulk," the soldier said by way of introduction. "When CENTCOM said they were bringing in reinforcements, I didn't think it would be a bunch of Jarheads."

Durant chuckled and shook his head. "They only send the best, sir."

Major Caulk looked as if he had more to say, but squashed it as Captain Flannigan appeared, trailed by his usual entourage. "Captain Flannigan? I'm here to show you and your Marines the way to your new living quarters. It's not five star accommodations, but I'm sure you'll consider it an improvement over a Navy ship."

And with that, the officer turned and started on his way, as if expecting everyone to simply follow him like a lost puppy.

And follow him, they did.

[Silva, J.]

Silva hated every moment trapped in the confines of the dropship transport metal box that hurtled through the sky. The marines happened to be the banner bearer for the league of most terrible flyers imaginable. She spent most of her time concentrating on keeping her meal down in the churning confines of her stomach. The contents threatened to rise up in rebellion. Unfortunately Silva expected that at any moment she would vomit. She dared not open her mouth just in case she decided to redecorate the insides of the craft with the remains of her semi-digested breakfast. 
She felt the cold grasp of sweat against her pale skin. The marine swallowed quietly, removing the excess saliva forming in her mouth as a result of the sickness which she felt.

Janet Silva tried to follow the various pieces of guidance and advice that she had been given. Tragically for her and most unfortunate for the marines nearby her it failed to have any effect on her. So much for the useful advice, Silva thought before she promptly brought back up her breakfast for everyone to see, vomiting at her feet. For a few moments her stomach still placed a substantial amount of effort in emptying itself, even though now it was completely empty. 
She wiped her mouth her left sleeve muttering something in French that contained a distinctively colourful selection of adjectives. She felt unwell, Janet hated being trapped on a craft like this. How anyone thought that travelling in a box with fuel and engines to be a good idea was completely beyond her. 

She turned her head to look at the marines who were part of her fireteam, managing to force a smile on her face. "Bad flyer." Janet chuckled weakly, feeling rather embarrassed as well as confined. Silva did not care what they encountered when they landed upon the world, so long as they were to be on solid ground. 
Janet closed her eyes trying to focus her mind on other matters, anything other than the bouncing, swaying and the unexpected but happily received shift in gravity. It could only mean one thing, landing. This belief was further reinforced by Durant who barked out a order. 

All to delighted to, Janet complied. She descended the ramp eagerly, delighted to feel the dirt beneath her feet and drink in the hot air. To a degree this place brought back the painful memories of home, Silva had fought the Innies previously, they did little other than inspire a bitter hatred within her. She knew all to well of the terrible destructive capabilities of those traitorous swine. In a sense, the New Parisian could barely wait to get to grips with the enemy. 
For the moment however she decided to allow herself to feel pleased that she was now on the secure ground rather than in the confines of a aircraft, feeling like the world's most heavily armed and French sound sardine. 

[Stone, T.]

The ride down to Melfa was like any other for Sergeant Stone. Atmospheric entry proved to be an uncomfortable, bumpy ride, replaced by the general peace and quiet after the Albatross had broken free of its grip. After so many campaigns across the galaxy, he barely noticed the jostle of the ship as it tore its way into the skies of Melfa. No, his mind was too preoccupied for that.

Sergeant Thomas Jeremiah Stone found himself deep in reflection. It'd been a long, long time since he had to face an enemy other than the Covenant, and memories of those days flashed past his eyes like moving pictures. He'd joined the Marines during the height of Operation: TREBUCHET. The Insurrection had been, at that time, a very credible threat to the state of affairs for the Unified Earth Government, and millions were joining their cause every day.

Planet after planet, battle after battle, the UNSC fought against the rebels, eradicating them wherever they hid. Stone had participated in a number of large campaigns across a number of worlds; some significant, and some not so much. Hat Yai, Julian VI, and New Providence to name a few of the worlds he had been sent to with the intentions of absolutely eradicating the rebel presences there. At first it hadn't been so bad. The majority of the Innies the UNSC faced were former military, and thus they used conventional military tactics (for the most part).

However, as TREBUCHET dragged on, and more and more people joined the cause of the Insurrection, the fighting became bloodier and much more unforgiving. The Innies employed booby traps and terrorist tactics to achieve costly victories against the UNSC, and the infection had spread as far as to the Epsilon Eridani system. Thomas had seen a lot of things that had made it hard for him to sleep through the waning hears of the war. He'd lost close friends and seen terrible things done to those who chose to loyally serve humanity and their families.

And now, in an odd yet cruel twist of fate, the UNSC had called on him to face them again. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about it, in all honesty. With genocidal alien freaks running amok of the galaxy, it was difficult for him to see how any of this actually mattered. So what if some backwoods farmers wanted to seek independence from the UEG now? Odds were they would all be dead anyway once the Covenant found their little shithole of a planet, so what did it matter? Weren't there more important worlds out there that Oscar Company could be deployed to?

He supposed he would never know the answer to that question, and knew that it was inconsequential. Orders were orders, and like every good Marine, he'd follow them to the letter. He didn't like any of this, but made sure that no one else saw that. Long ago had he picked up the poker face that all good NCOs learned to put up in situations like this. If he didn't want anyone to know how he felt, he could easily shut them out without televising it to them.

Nope. To everyone else, he looked like the Sergeant Stone they had all grown to love and hate. The only person aboard the Albatross that had any shred of hope of making him was Corporal Davis. Davis was one smart bastard, and could call someone out on their bullshit quicker than anyone Stone had ever seen. It made him one hell of a guy to go against in poker.

Fortunately, Davis seemed too preoccupied with his team to notice anything out of the ordinary from Stone. And that was fine. That was just how Thom liked it.

The grizzled NCO was torn from his reverie by the sudden jostle of gravity. Decades of experience told him that the drop-ship was about to touch down, and that meant it was time for him to stand up and bark at his Marines. He waited until the Lieutenant was finished with his (thankfully) quick speech, and then turned it on for his squad. "Alrigh' ya asshats," he began, eying them all for a second, "I know the lot o' ya are new ta the Squad. Frankly, I could give two shits. Y'all are Marines an' yer gonna kick ass whether it's of yer own accord or 'cuz my boot's up yer ass! Lock 'n load an' be ready fer anythin'. DAVIS! Firs' Team's leadin' the platoon off the bird!"

[Chambers, T.]

It wasn't the Privates first ride on an albatross and he was hoping it wasn't going to be his last, alive that is. Descending through a planets atmosphere wasn't usually a comfortable affair, but compared to his last combat drop this ride planet side was fairly tame, but until they landed landing craft could still make a new home in his back. The former squid looked around at all the other faces around, most seemed calm, relaxed or indifferent, Sergeant Stone seemed to have that same scowl he was quickly getting used to. His expression was more of relief than most of the waiting was over, he might soon be able to claim to have survived combat as a marine, and he'd probably finally get a chance to light up a dart, chewing gum only worked so well.

Lost in his own reflection and his thoughts of his possibly impending mortality, all he could hope was it would make a difference. The change of vibration and sound was a clear indicator to most that sitting time would soon be over.  "This is it Condition One your weapons and be ready. We have no idea what we'll be walking into down there!" Nothing he didn't expect came out of the Lieutenant's mouth. The Aussie performed one quick check and a longer mental one before reading himself as the weight of the craft shifted again. Stone took this chance to address first squad. 

"Alrigh' ya asshats, I know the lot o' ya are new ta the Squad. Frankly, I could give two shits. Y'all are Marines an' yer gonna kick ass whether it's of yer own accord or 'cuz my boot's up yer ass! Lock 'n load an' be ready fer anythin'. DAVIS! Firs' Team's leadin' the platoon off the bird!" They all largely got up at once. He offered a fist bump to the Ruski. "Don't loose, we wont here the end of it." he offered with a grin.

They made their way off the Albatross, An Army officer and Durant had a few words, he payed little attention he was looking around, he could almost see the heat of the planet, knowing it was now inescapable he pushed the heat back a bit, he was far more concerned with the Innies now than the climate. Following along with everyone as they got moving again.

[Furby, J.]

Jayson wiped away a bead of sweat from his forehead as the internal temperature of the Albatross's troop bay skyrocketed from a comfortable sixty-five degrees to a balmy hundred and five. If it weren't for the fact that he had been through this process dozens of times, he would have believed he was about to be cooked alive inside the ship's innards, like a turkey trapped in an oven without means of escape. Fortunately the discomfort and heat was temporary. As soon as the Albatross broke free of the upper atmosphere on its long descent to the planet below, the temperature started to drop exponentially.

It was a stark contrast, and those ill-prepared for it would probably be in for a terrible ride until the temperature normalized. Even Furby, with all his experience, felt himself begin to shiver from the sudden shift. With a sigh, he shook his head and resisted the urge with all his might. He glanced over at Lance Corporal Avery, and saw the man fiddling with his weapon in a vein attempt to ignore the unfavorable conditions.

"You'd think with all the creds the UNSC has, they'd have found a way to make this shit more comfortable," he said in his usual "I'm fed up with the world" tone.

Avery looked up from his machine gun and shook his head. "Bro, really?"

Jayson knew what he meant, but he ignored it. There was absolute silence in the bird, and he intended to change that. "No, seriously! What's the defense budget up to now? Thirty billion? Three hundred billion? Whichever it is, you'd think they could afford to put fucking climate control in these bitches."

The looks that he saw coming from the others were a mixture of incredulity to indifference. Most of them knew what he was up to and had no intentions to indulge him, though those that had been around long enough also knew it did little to deter him from staying the course. There was an art to what he did, and he was nothing if not an artist. Exceptionally cunning in his craft, and damnably persistent.

"They got better shit to spend their creds on, bro," Avery retorted.

"Like what?"

"Like warships," Avery stated, matter-of-fact. "Weapons, training of new Marines, ass-kicking new hardware. Not to mention paying us for our services to humanity."

Furby rolled his eyes, shaking his head. The pay they received for their "services" to humanity did in no way, shale, or form suitably compensate them for the bullshit they put up with on a daily basis, not the risks they took in exercising their duties. The base pay for a Lance Corporal was pitiful when stacked up against the odds they faced in the line of duty against the Covenant War Machine, or in this case, pissed off farmers and traitor ex-Marines looking to stir up trouble when it wasn't needed.

In his opinion, anyone that felt they were being suitably compensated for what they did in service of the human race were either stupid, grossly in denial, or a boot. Avery wasn't an idiot nor was he a boot, so Furby decided to mob him in the middle category. He glanced over at Corporal Davis and decided it was time to stir up that hornet's nest. "What do you think, Corporal?" he asked with a smirk. "Do you enjoy sweating your balls off before you even hit the dirt, and then shivering like a nervous school girl on the first day of school, or would you like some damn climate control installed into these damn tincans?"

The answer he received was unsurprising to him, and yet again he rolled his eyes. Leave it to the NCO to err on the side of the Big Green Weenie. He sighed audibly and turned his attention to Ward, whom grasped a small, paperback book in his clutches. Ward seemed to be taking advantage of the opportunity to read now that it was available to him, and it amused Jayson. All throughout FROST DRAGON he had complained about not having his books with him during some of the duller moments, and while Furby didn't read, he couldn't say he blamed him.

If he had the choice between tossing a rock back and forth with a squadmate in some mind numbing game of catch or reading a good book, he'd take the latter option every time. At least the book could be entertaining for a long period of time. Of course, then again, that only held true until the book was finished. Then the boredom would ensue again.

And ensue it always did. It was an ever present force that worked against Marines everywhere. He recalled the holos he saw of Marines and soldiers in the midst of battle, knocking aliens back to the furthest reached of space. Those recruitment ads painted a very different picture of warfare to the general public. They made it seem like combat was a nonstop, adrenaline-fueled struggle for survival.

While that was true most of the time, they neglected to inform people that at least seventy-percent of a "combat" deployment would be spent on a ship or on a FOB, bored out of your mind, and desperately looking for something to preoccupy yourself until the next bullet (or plasma bolt) whizzed past your head. Hell, the most excitement any of them ever got anymore was a firefight, and those were often few and far between.

Part of him hoped this mission would be more like the last. FROST DRAGON had proved to be a stark exception to the rule. Ninety percent of the time the MEU had been on the ground they had been locked in combat with the enemy. The reprieves that had come had actually been a welcome occurrence, and the boredom that naturally settled in fell away as quickly as it arrived. Of course they had received some casualties last op, and quite a few Marines hadn't made it off of Phoenix III, but that was just the way of things. It was an occupational hazard everyone was accutely aware of, and one no one talked about very often.

Furby was rattled from his thoughts from the sudden shift in gravity. Moments later the drop-ship touched down with a hard thud, and the exit ramp lowered to reveal the visage of FOB Tinman. The Marines slowly filtered out of the transport, and immediately Furby wished they hadn't. The sudden wave of heat that washed over him was like a sucker punch to the gut.

"This is about to be one shitty month," he mumbled under his breath.

[Durant, M.]

Major Caulk led Oscar Company from the landing area across the expanse of Tinman. Durant took in his surroundings as he followed behind the company staff, Second Platoon in tow. Tinman was a rather standard affair. Directly across from the landing zone was a supply shed and an armory. Beyond that, at the center of the encampment, was the command shed, which Durant had no doubt was stocked full of sophisticated equipment and inhabited by the highest echelons of what served as the Army's command structure on Melfa.

After the command shed was an open-air motor pool. Warthogs, tanks, and an assortment of other UNSC land vehicles were stored underneath a large metal structure reminiscent of a carport. Inside the motor pool were dozens of personnel that serviced the vehicles and kept them in fighting shape. Interestingly, upon closer inspection, Durant noted that the vehicles seemed weathered and a great deal older than the equipment he was used to seeing. The M12s looked as if they had seen quite a fair share of action, their hulls riddled with scratches, plagued with dents, and splotched with rust in percuilar places.

It made sense in a twisted sort of way. The Marine Corps, in the grand scheme of things, was the frontline force of the UNSC. Their budget was larger to account for their manpower and to support their mission as an expeditious fighting force. The Army, in contrast, was saddled with a much smaller budget and generally outdated equipment. The most apparent example that came to mind was that the Marines, aside from the Reserved, were issued the MA5 series rifle and the BR55 as its designated marksman weapon. The Army fielded the MA37, the predecessor to the MA5 weapon system, and the DMR.

The Lieutenant set those thoughts aside as the company arrived at the base's living quarters. A smile snaked its way across his face as his eyes settled upon a three-story metal structure set before him. When Captain Flannigan had informed him of their mission, he had been expecting the platoon to be lodged in tents, not a fully equipped barracks. All in all, the building was a sight for sore eyes, in his opinion.

"Here's your quarters, Marines," Major Caulk stated, smiling. "Like I said, it's not much to look at, but I wager it'll suit your needs. There's two squadbays on each floor, as well as individual quarters for your officers and staff. Captain, once your Marines are settled in, report to the CP."

Durant chuckled and turned to Captain Flannigan. "We'll take the second squad bay on the bottom deck if you don't mind, sir."

When be received the okay from the Skipper, he turned to his platoon. The Platoon Sergeant turned and barked at the Marines in an effort to seize their attention, and then Durant addressed them. "Marines, we'll be setting up shop in the rear squadbay on the ground floor. Once you've picked your racks and gotten settled in, be prepared to start combat operations. I want presence patrols taken out as soon as possible so we can start getting familiar with the lay of the land outside the wire, and to let the Innies know the Marines have landed. Oorah?"

After a hearty uproar from the platoon, Durant added, "Once the Skipper returns from the CP, I'll take out a recon of the chow situation here. I'm sure you're all hungry, and I'm hoping we can snag ourselves some hot chow. Carry on."

With that, the Lieutenant led his platoon through the portals into the barracks. He found himself in a hallway that stretched from the front of the barracks to the back. Immediately to his right was a staircase that led to the upper floors of the building. Halfway down the hall on either side were a set of doors that Durant assumed led to the squadbays. He hadn't anticipated the layout to be so different from what he was accustomed to, but it mattered little.

The Lieutenant and the Gunny walked side-by-side with Second Platoon in tow down the hall. Michael turned and stepped through the door on the left and found himself in the middle of a large squadbay, the room shaped like one large rectangle. On either side of the room were bunk-style racks with lockers separating each sleeping area. At the end of the squadbay to his right were two sets of doors that Durant surmised led to a pair of individual living quarters for himself and the Gunny.

"Pick your racks, dog your rucks, and standby for orders."

[Harrison, D.]

Derrick stepped off the bird only to wish he hadn't. The sudden wave of humidity that washed over him was staggering, and it took all the self-restraint he could muster to not return to the inside of the Albatross, where the temperature felt twenty degrees cooler. He'd been acutely aware of the balmy climate prior to their arrival, but being told something and experiencing it were two very different concepts.

Almost immediately the floodgates opened wide, sweat pouring out of every orifice. The temperature regulators in his armor worked in high gear to compensate for the immense heat, and he felt the suit begin to cool as a result. He wasn't quite sure it would help his face, or the more exposed regions of his body, but at least his torso and legs would be cool.

The Colonel, swatting those thoughts aside like a fly, spotted a couple of men approaching the gaggle of disembarked Marines. One broke off and turned towards Oscar Company (and Mike and November) and the other headed directly for Harrison. The man stopped just short of him and smiled. He had short cropped black hair and wore the standard fatigues of the UNSC Army. Affixed to his collar were the fouled bars of a captain, and on the other side was the insignia of the infantry.

"Welcome to Tinman, sir," the Captain greeted, still smiling. "I'd salute you but I'm afraid we're in a no salute zone. Snipers like to camp out in the jungle and take potshots at officers. Your XO is at the CP. I've been ordered to take you there."

Harrison nodded. He chose to ignore the junior officer's comment about saluting. He knew just as well as anyone that officers were not to be saluted in the field, and the fact that the captain had brought it up at all was a sign that he was a smartass. Derrick knew a few officers that fell into that category in his own battalion.

His eyes momentarily flicked to Captain Flannigan.

"Very well, Captain," Harrison replied, returning the smile. "I'll follow you. Oh, and Captain?"

The Captain glared at him with his brow arched. "Yes, sir?"

"If you're going to be a smartass, I can recommend to your CO that you spend the rest of your tour here cleaning the hea-... I mean latrines around this camp until you can't tell the difference between the smell of shit and french fries," Derrick said with a wide grin.

The Captain straightened up and turned on his heel. That was Harrison's cue to follow. The journey to the base's command post was not very scenic, nor did it take very long. Within a couple of minutes he found himself in the command post, which proved to be the nervous system for the base. Computers and display screens lined the walls, manned by soldiers in dull fatigues that appeared tired and in need of sleep. Radio equipment was screen about, and at the film's epicenter was a holo-table set to display a holographic birds-eye view of the battalion's area of operation.

Major Killinger was on one end of the room standing beside a much older man. As Harrison approached, he spotted the stars on his collar and snapped to attention. "Sir! Colonel Harrison, First Battalion, Twelfth Marines, reporting!"

The general turned away from Killinger and waved his hand dismissively. "At ease, Colonel," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Your XO here has done a marvelous job preparing for your arrival. We have living quarters picked out for your troops and we have a slew of vehicles from our motor pool reserved for you once you make your push into the jungle. I'm General Hermosa, commanding general of UNSC forces on Melfa."

The Colonel relaxed slightly and nodded to Major Killinger with a smile. He knew he could count on his executive officer to get the job done, and done it he had. Of course, their job was far from over. Now that the battalion was planetside, they needed to start disseminating intelligence to find out where the enemy was and what missions their Marines would need to take out.

General Hermosa seemed to have read his mind, because he said, "I'm sure the two of you have much to discuss. The CP is yours for the remainder of the stay. You may use whatever assets we have, as they're at your disposal."

With that, General Hermosa walked away. Derrick turned and looked at Major Killinger, gathering his thoughts. "Glad to see you didn't receive any gruff from the doggies, Major," the Colonel said with a chuckle. "What intel do we have on the Innies and their movement? We need to start developing our FRAGOs now so that we can start sending out Marines to hit the enemy where it hurts. The company commanders will have their Marines on presence patrols, so that might provide us additional intel to work with."

[Wilkas, G.]

Wilkas had sat in stony silence during the drop down, too nervous to speak, too concerned by the environment she was now doomed to find herself fighting in. The young Russian responded anything but well in the simulators drinking far more water than virtually everyone else in the platoon. It was almost as if her body did not know how to cope with such ridiculous levels of heat. The reasons were alien as to why anyone would desire to live somewhere so warm. She tried her best to have a calm face on, one which was impossible to read. Unfortunately for her, Grace happened to be incredibly easy to read. The nervous uncertain, concern, even traces of fear.
Yet there was no where for her to run and her loyalty to the rest of the platoon prevented her from abandoning them.

She recently even had the opportunity to leave but stayed for her own reasons. Most of the Marines in Oscar Company were volunteers, Grace however happened to be a draftee, conscripted. Her first few actions in the platoon went anything but well. She shuffled under the weight of her armour and radio. Grace had triple checked the gear in case it possessed any fault, in the past such behaviours had caught out a malfunctioning pack.
Grace Wilkas winced at the sudden shaking of the craft, it marked its decent and declaration. Such a event could only promise ill tidings. The craft came to a halt, the door opening to allow for a torrent of hot air to blast into the shuttle.

Grace immediately felt a bit ill, the red head stood to listen to the speech by Durant. She climb down the ramp immediately wanting to go back on board and take it back to the ship. Maybe somewhere the UNSC wanted a RTO who preferred to work in a cold environment, ideally on the pacifist planet of the Ghandi Nebula. Somehow she doubted that such a thing would ever be a reality or anything even remotely close to it.
She sweated in her gear, wanting to lose as much of it as she possible could as soon as it became convenient and safe to do so.

She claimed for herself a place to sleep, removing her helmet, breathing quickly as her body attempted desperately to cool her down. The short red head was clearly struggling with the heat.

[Furby, J.]

Lance Corporal Furby trudged his way towards the barracks through the stifling heat as thick beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. If the simulated humidity in the sims had been bad, the real thing was a hundred times worse. It had to have been over a hundred degrees, and the humidity was enough of a punch in the gut to drain Furby of his energy rather quickly. He was beginning to feel dead on his feet, which was not at all pleasant for him.

It seemed the others weren't fairing much better. Eventually the temperature regulators in their armor would kick in, but at the moment he knew his armor was having trouble compensating. Silently he prayed that it would kick into high gear, or else he imagined he would be the first to fall out, as the heat was getting the best of him at the moment. "Jesus Christ it's hot," he muttered under his breath.

Lance Corporal Avery, whom marched beside him, nodded in agreement. "Hell yeah it is. I don't know how the locals can stand it."

A thought occurred to him, and he chuckled. "Shit, with heat like this, I'd rebel too."

Silence passed over for them for a moment as the platoon passed by the base motor pool. The heavy bass and sharp tones of electric guitars filtered out of the motor pool and into his ears. It was rather loud, and when Furby looked over at it, he noticed several soldiers bobbing the beads to the beat of the music as they worked on a Warthog. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "POGs are jammin', dude."

Avery scoffed. "Must be nice," he said, and then added as an afterthought, "bein' in the rear with the gear. If we did that shit, we'd get our asses lifed out by Stone."

Furby almost stopped dead in his tracks at the comment. That had sounded suspiciously familiar and it irked him. Avery normally kept any complaints to himself, and seemed to be more of a optimist than Furby, get the comment he just made had sounded like something Furby would have said. Jayson chuckled and decided to let it slide. The heat was probably a huge factor in it, as it was getting to everyone by the looks of it.

A couple minutes passed before Second Platoon arrived at their living quarters, and when they did Furby stopped in his tracks. Awe stricken, his jaw nearly fell to the floor as his eyes gazed upon the three-story metal building that would inevitably be their home for awhile. The Army had provided them with barracks to sleep in, and by a cursory glance, it appeared that the building was air conditioned. Furby had expected to be stuck in an enlisted tent with the platoon, suffering the best alongside everyone else.

Instead, the Army had given them a place safe from the harsh elements outside, and provided them with the tools to stay cool. Jayson glanced over at Avery and noticed the same look of awe and excitement in his face that he imagined he possessed. Even Ward seemed silently thankful for the sudden turn of events. When the order was given to head inside, the Lance Corporal obliged. Stepping through the threshold into the barracks, he was instantly blasted by a wave of cold air, and it sent a satisfying shiver down his spine.

Lieutenant Durant led the platoon to their squad bay, and Furby jumped at the opportunity to pick his rack, dropping his belongings at the nearest bunk. "I claim top -"

Before he could finish the sentence, Avery tossed his ruck onto the top bunk. "No, you don't."

Furby, unwilling to relent, said, "But I got to it first!"

Avery grinned. "I have seniority, bro. I get top."

"Oh, that's bullshit!"

"Keep it up," Avery said, his tone darkening, "and I'll make ya sleep with the Corporal and Ward can have your spot."

Jayson shut his mouth and begrudgingly set his rucksack onto the bottom rack. Avery nodded with satisfaction and climbed up onto the top rack, sprawling out on it for a moment. Judging by the sudden relieved sigh, the mattress was comfortable. Furby sat down on the bed and felt the mattress sink in a little, much to his surprise. The racks on the Vengeance had all been stiff as a board, and even after a whole deployment of sleeping in them, they had not relented much in that department. The fact that these beds were actually somewhat soft was a godsend, in his opinion.

"It's official," he mumbled under his breath. "The Army gets all the good shit."

[Chambers, T.]

If even standing in the head had made most of them uncomfortable walking across the Forward Operating Base wasn't helping and if anything cracks might have been started to show, Tom could defiantly feel the heat and it certainly made it uncomfortable, however it was a humid heat and while he knew that would take more of a toll on him than a dry heat, it still didn't feel as bad to him as the summer of '37 on New Darwin that while being largely dry had sat it heat above 45 C for almost a month with a significant portion of the main continent on fire or already burnt out over the course of the summer.. That summer was probably still one of his worst memories, the worst was fighting the alien menace bent on human extinction after being in a crash landing.

As they marched through Tinman it was interesting to see the difference between Army and Marine, perhaps the differences were more noticeable being a former squid, he also didn't hold them in the contempt the others seemed to they were just trying to do their part in it all as much as having to fight Insurrectionists while the Covenant were bearing down on them struck at something that only added to his dislike of them. Almost soon enough they arrived out the front of a large three story structure, it could only be their barracks, this was a nice surprise.

"Marines, we'll be setting up shop in the rear squadbay on the ground floor. Once you've picked your racks and gotten settled in, be prepared to start combat operations. I want presence patrols taken out as soon as possible so we can start getting familiar with the lay of the land outside the wire, and to let the Innies know the Marines have landed. Oorah?" The PFC replied with the platoon before they went inside.

He waited for the remainder of his fire team to select their places before he took his, he was after all the junior marine. With spots picked, he took his and set his gear down before getting down to serious business. He rolled his sleeves up as far as they'd go, inside for now it was more than comfortable but when they inevitably went back outside he'd need every square centimeter of space to cool down.

[Killinger, J.]

John had been waiting a while, longer than he had anticipated, but welcomed the break in his routine. Though the Marines were set to go, John didn't have a ride back up to the ship and it wouldn't be practical to do so. Instead, he sat back on a chair and watched random videos on his personal tablet; it seemed like hours would pass before John moved. Somehow he felt dead, like the energy in his body simply vanished, but somehow he found the energy to move towards the holo-table to see what was going on. 

About twenty or so minutes passed and he had learned absolutely nothing. Intel was limited and it worried John, gorilla warfare meant that the Marines would constantly be on guard and even a moment of collapse in situational awareness could leave a few marines returning home in body bags. John was snapped out of his thoughts when the CO announced his arrival formally. 

The General and Lieutenant Colonel exchanged some words, then the older of the two left. 

""Glad to see you didn't receive any gruff from the doggies, Major. What intel do we have on the Innies and their movement? We need to start developing our FRAGOs now so that we can start sending out Marines to hit the enemy where it hurts. The company commanders will have their Marines on presence patrols, so that might provide us additional intel to work with." The LTC said. 

"Honestly, sir, what you see is what you get." John replied, waving his hand over the holographic table. From time to time there would be a few grey dots moving around but they would disappear into the foliage a few seconds later. It practically confirmed that they were going to deal with at least some insurgents outside of the Army cordon. However, the identifiers were unknown, so it could have been civilians just getting away from a war zone. "But strategically I'd recommend proceeding as planned. However, I go back to my former idea, air support following our boys on the ground will either scare insurgents away or force them to engage."

John waited a brief moment to add something further. "I think we all knew intel was going to be scarce once we got down here, sir, but if you don't mind I'd like to join the Marines on the front line. I'm more useful with a rifle than I am with a clipboard staring at a holographic projection... sir."

[Ward, J.]

When the Pelican was ready to touch down, Ward stowed his book in his rucksack and unfastened himself from his seat. He stood up and better his pack up and onto his back, grabbed his rifle, and followed the gaggle of Marines off of the drop-ship. A wave of heat washed over him, slamming into his armored form like a brick wall. Sweat began to seep from his pores and down his face, and his armor fought hard to compensate as his core body temperature skyrocketed.

If the simulator had been bad, the real product was ten times worse. Ward had been told that Melfa's climate was akin to that of the equatorial rainforests found back on Earth, which he'd heard from a couple of Marines from Mike Company to be extremely hot and humid, almost to the point of unbearability. If what he experienced now was any indication, than he had to concede that those Marines had not been lying to him.

Ward tossed those thoughts aside as he followed the others in silence across the geography of FOB Tinman. The base was fairly well put together, and there were a lot more solid structures than he had been expecting. The way Furby and Avery had been talking, he'd expected to see a great deal more tents than he did. Heck, if he had listened solely to Furby, he would have been led to believe that the Army lived like cavemen with primitive structures made of sticks and mortar.

Jon was most uplifted by the sight of the barracks that, according to the Army major, would be Oscar Company's home away from home. Despite the sweet that poured from his face, and the blistering heat, he managed a wide, toothy grin, and set forward with the others towards the air-conditioned interior. The blast of cool air was a godsend, and as he retreated deeper into the building, he could feel his body beginning the slow process of cooling itself down.

When he stepped into the squadbay, he followed Corporal Davis over to one of the bunks, and began to set his belongings down. "I assume you're taking top, Corporal?" he inquired, preparing to test the bottom rack for comfortability.

[Faclan]

Robbie Telisia, Captain of B group.
Melfa Forests
The rats have invaded and all I got are blind cats.

It didn't take long for news of the UNSC landing to reach B company. The forest company, peoples group, the trappers! They may have less equipment and training than the city group - but they would triumph! Especially against the bastard UNSC! The scum who waltzed down here thinking they could stop their way of life. Take away their freedom. But no. Not this time!

At least they had aspirations in B company.

Robbie himself, standing in a small camouflaged tent, had been damn near tearing his hair out as he watched the reports flooding in. That the UNSC had arrived, already got a base of sorts set up, and seemed to just be bringing in more and more people. And he was stuck out here with Shit Company in the shitty hot forests to try and 'slow them down' as The Boss had so wonderfully put it. At least these country bumpkins he had been given command of knew the area and were dedicated to their hate of the UNSC. That would give them an edge. Well desire and all the weapons they had. Older stock longarms and sidearms would be the mainstay, but the true goods for Shit Company would be the many explosive devices they possessed. Perfect for traps with only endangering a few of Shit Company.

Well.

It would be if they had been placed yet. But of course they hadn't. That's Shit Company for you.

Quickly leaving the tent to stop staring at the reports Robbie stuck two fingers in his mouth and made a sharp whistle to get the camps attention. The team leaders quickly moving over to get a sitrep and orders about what would happen.

"Alright everyone, you heard it, I heard it, the UNSC are here. We have traps to sent and government tools," ugh. "To kill. Thats the most important task right now. Once we have those set up we can put teams in positions behind them, make the Marines run into them trying to stop us and push forward. Losing this base is not important as we will fall back through the Forests toward the city if needed."

The leaders nodded and started to radio their people to grab crates of grenades, mines, and homemade pipe, spike, and firebombs. The troops quickly starting to head out as Robbie considered making a run for it now. Head back to the city and actual defenses...But he was told to be here and The Boss had been very clear that he was to stay here until the marines were sufficiently slowed and then he would be told to fall back. Probably some kind of drone watching all of this.

"Fuck my liiiife."

[Wilkas, G.]

In spite of the air conditioning within their new quarters, Wilkas felt far too hot. To her the heat happened to be even worse than the simulations, her body simply did not know how to cope with such ridiculous levels of heat. The young woman would of preferred to fight on another frigid wasteland again instead of a planet like this. She agreed with Furby on the rebelling front, though she doubted the UNSC would be overly concerned by one small radio operator deciding to go independent. 
It was not like she would survive long unattended in a jungle. 
A sudden thought filled her mind though, if this building possessed air conditioning then perhaps she could adjust it? She might be able to make this building a comfortably cool temperature. 

She shuffled feeling somewhat awkward, Wilkas glanced around searching for the necessary device required in order to successfully adjust the temperature. Wilkas could not see it, but despite her desire to change the temperature, Grace did not wish to move. She wanted to strip out of her armour as well as her radio pack. It would make her more vulnerable, however Grace did not think such behaviour would be tolerated by her comrades in arms.
Especially if they suddenly came under attack. She lay down on her bed with some difficulty. Grace shut her eyes, resting them as she tried to control her raging temperature. 

This planet was far too hot.