If It Ain't Rainin'... (EVENT)

[Faust, M.]

Faust wanted to snap at Furby, but if she yelled at him now it would reveal to anyone in the area that she happened to be operating in it, plus it might prevent him from offering anything useful if she bit his head of. Though, Michelle would be lying if she said it wasn't tempting to do so. She knew like the rest of them that they were now all completely soaked through. At least it was better than that cursed jungle planet, no hideous horrors clinging to limbs, sucking blood or feeding on flesh. She was more than prepare to take this forest over that any day.

She froze instantly when Furby raised his fist, every nerve seemed to be on edge, her eyes flicking for any glimpse of the enemy. Faust slipped closer to look at Furby's find. She nodded slowly as she mentally appraised the evidence. "Good work Furby, report it in." She wondered where their rivals happened to be lurking. Concerned about being potentially overheard by any enemy marines in the area, she leaned closer to Furby and whispered. "Get Ward up here and he'll take your place on point." She told herself it was not acknowledging a mistake, plus Furby had done well. It was merely reshuffling her deck. Faust pushed aside her doubts about her leadership ability and tactics. Faust knew such thoughts were not appropriate on a battlefield. She did not need to remind her marines to stay on alert, she considered setting up a defensive position here for the moment, but decided against it. If the enemy were out there, then she would be better off rooting them out rather than sitting here. It was far better to pick a fight then merely wait for one.

[Reese, J.]

Reese was in position with Second team, the three other members fanned out ahead of him while he maintained rear guard. He would routinely turn around and check to be sure they weren't being trailed, standard procedure. First team was about 100 meters ahead and everything seemed to be going fine until Furby called a halt. As soon as he did everyone took a knee and put out 360 degree security, Reese's team also halted. Something was up, perhaps Furby had found a sign of Quebec company up ahead, if not then something was wrong and that put Reese on edge. He saw Cpl. Faust shuffle Furby and Ward around, well that was good, at least she wised up and didn't hang one of her more valuable assets up like a carrot on a stick.

Reese adjusted the brim of his boonie again, he chose to keep it on instead of the bulky helmet. Even though he'd been trained to shoot with the helmet on he preferred not having several pounds of pressure on his neck when he was trying to reach targets beyond typical engagement range.

Designated Marksmen were in his mind sort of like half breeds, the typical infantry Marine engaged targets up to 300 meters even though they were all trained up to a 500 meter range in bootcamp. Snipers typically didn't engage targets below 800 meters and covered all the way out to 1400 meters. Designated Marksmen fell right into the middle, handling targets beyond standard engagement range but not quite far enough away for a sniper, not that it really made much difference in heavy tree cover like this, visibility didn't even go past 10 meters in some places.

As he was scanning his sectors he began to get a funny feeling, the times he'd been in combat previously taught him to trust his gut and his gut was telling him they weren't alone. He could almost feel other sets of eyes on their position. He caught shadows of movement off to his left, he couldn't say for certain if they were human but something about it told him they weren't the local wildlife. "Echo 3 Romeo to Omen 2/1 Alpha and Omen 2/1 Bravo, be advised possible visual contact to our team's 3 o'clock, whatever it is it's not an animal. how copy? over". He angled his BR55 towards the spot where he saw the movement, he tried to use the magnified scope to get a clearer look but whatever he had seen had just been a shadow and now it was hidden by the brush. He thumbed the safety off and began to slow his breathing, if this was contact he wanted to be ready.

[Ward, J.]

The trees were aquiver against the wind and above First Team, the sky continued to fall. With long range visibility already impaired by the elements, Ward was not in the least bit enthusiastic as the forest swallowed them whole. If he'd had trouble seeing before, then he was nearly blind now. He could only imagine how Furby must have felt on point.

Not that he wanted to trade places. Furby had dug himself a grave by opening his big mouth, and the consequences were his to take. After so long being the guy on point, Jon saw the opportunity to assume the team's rear guard as a nice change of pace. At the very least, it was good experience for him. After all, a team worked better if they spent some time in each other's shoes.

"Halt, bro," Lance Corporal Avery whispered from behind him. "Furby's got somethin'."

Jon issued a nod that the machine gunner could not see and side-stepped a few meters to the left. He took a knee beside a patch of underbrush, carefully scanning his field of fire. Any time the team stopped offered a potential threat a stationary target. He'd learned long ago to keep his head on a swivel, especially during halts. As a precautionary measure, he slid his thumb over the selector switch, ready to flip it if they took contact.

The pitter patter of the rain resounded with great crescendo, much to the PFC's chagrin. Between the wind and the rain, it'd be difficult to hear hostiles sneaking up on them. He almost cursed the weather, but knew it would be a useless venture. He couldn't control the weather. Marines made due, and that is precisely what he intended to do.

Snap!

Ward nearly jumped at the sound, cursing under his breath as his eyes shot to his immediate left, where the sound had originated. Maybe a dozen meters away, a bush stirred. Turning his body in the direction of the bush, he trained his rifle on it. "Movement right!" he announced, his voice just loud enough for those in the vicinity to hear.

He heard rustling behind him, and pictured Lance Corporal Avery reorienting himself to acquire eyes on. If they were about to ambushed, it would not be because they were not prepared for it. The bush trembled in violent spasms, and Ward could just barely make out the vague silhouette of something forcing its way through. He flicked the safety off and inched his finger towards the trigger.

Suddenly, a figure burst through the bush. Ward mustered every last ounce of self-control not to open fire right then and there, somewhat startled by the action. Somewhat embarassed, he removed his finger from the trigger and exhaled a heavy sigh. What stood before him, blissfully ignorant to how close it had come to meeting its maker, was a Moa.

"Good call, Fox," Avery whispered to his left, his voice laced with sarcasm. "That bastard would've pecked our eyes out if you hadn't spotted him."

Jon frowned. "Shut up," he replied, lowering his weapon.

"Shut up...?"

Really? He was going to play that game? "Shut up, Lance Corporal."

"There ya go," Avery said victoriously. It was apparent he'd enjoyed that. Perhaps a bit too much.

The radio came alive, the voice of Lance Corporal Reese filling their ears. He reported movement to the right, roughly a hundred meters back from First Team. Jon directed his attention in that direction with much scrutiny. The forest did him little favors, however. Whatever Reese could see, he could not, and it was then that he realized why Designated Marksmen typically filled the rifleman billet.

They could see much better with their optics than he could with the naked eye. From his position, all he saw were leafy pillars and dense underbrush broken only by the occasional path carved out by the local wildlife. Not very helpful if there were people concealed amidst the foliage.

Movement from behind Ward caught his attention once again. He tore his eyes away from the point of suspected contact briefly to see what was going on, and spotted Furby making his way over to him. "Corporal wants you back on point," Jayson said.

"But you were doing such a good job," he remarked. He hadn't meant it sarcastically.

Obviously the message had been lost in translation, as Furby's lips curled into a deep frown. "Just get your ass up front, Jonny."

"Alright, alright!"

The two quickly traded places as quietly as they could manage. Jon nodded to Faust as he passed her by. "Orders, Corporal?"

[Durant, M.]

"Two Actual, this is Two-One, send it, over."

The voice of Sergeant Stone blared in his ears as Private First Class Wilkas stepped through the threshold into his tent. He raised his hand to her, his index finger extended skyward. "Two-One, wait one, over." he said into the boom microphone affixed to his helmet.

With that, he looked up at Wilkas. "PFC, give me your handset. I need to raise Actual."

From what he could extrapolate from the recent assaults by Quebec Company, in conjunction with the intelligence acquired through Second Platoon's patrols, Durant believed he'd narrowed down where Quebec's main force was located. There was roughly a half a klick of uncharted turf to the north that seemed to be the likely source of the opposing force. If he was correct, then Quebec Company would soon be in for a world of hurt.

However, he needed to be sure before he committed any resources towards an assault. There was still a wide open margin for error. He needed to reduce the risk of failure, and the only way he figured to do that was through obtaining actionable intelligence. That, of course, was where First Squad came in.

Before accepting the handset from Wilkas, he keyed his push-to-talk. "Two-One, this is Two Actual, be advised: I need you to reconnoiter an area half a klick in diameter approximately eight hundred meters north of our pos, break."

He paused momentarily, referencing his map. "Grid is as follows: Tango Uniform Three-Six-Niner-Seven. How copy, over?"

Durant released the talk key and relieved Wilkas of her radio handset. "Omen Two Actual to Omen Actual, come in, over." He hoped that this time he would receive an answer. His earlier calls had gone unanswered, much to his dismay.

"Two Actual, this is X-Ray, send your traffic, over," First Lieutenant Johansson replied. Johansson replaced Matheson as the Company's XO after he'd been promoted and transferred. Rumor had it that the Corps stuck Matheson with a company that had most of its personnel wiped out in a previous engagement with the Covenant.

Durant blinked, surprised to hear the XO's voice. "X-Ray, Two Actual, interrogative: where's Actual, over?"

"Be advised: Actual is in a meeting with Chaos back at Battalion HQ. I'm running the CP for the moment. Over." Johansson didn't sound all that enthused to have been left in charge.

"Roger, break. X-Ray, I've tasked Two-One with scouting an area to our north. I believe I may have discovered the rock Quebec has been hiding under, over."

"Solid copy, Two Actual... keep me posted. X-Ray, out."

Michael nodded, returning the handset to Wilkas's pack. He wondered what could have been so important for the battalion commander to call Flannigan away during a war game. It was common knowledge that the division was mere weeks away from what would undoubtedly be another lengthy extrasolar deployment. If it wasn't about that, then what was it about?

A number of theories entered his mind, each one just as likely as the last. However, with nothing to base his theories off of, it was all simply speculation. And pointless.

He needed to keep his mind focused on the task at hand. After Oscar Company emerged victorious from the company-on-company exercise, then he would have time to wonder about the many things that were above his pay grade. Michael locked eyes with Wilkas. "PFC, find Mason and have him report here. If First Squad confirms -"

Durant stopped midsentence as the staccato of far off gunfire reverberated against his ears. It sounded close enough to warrant concern.

Distantly, little to his knowledge, Stone's Second Fire Team had come under fire. The first shot rang out with a brilliant flash of light between two bushes, the round landing mere inches away from Lance Corporal Reese. That first shot marked the beginning of an ambush, as eight firearms sounded off at once, sending tactical training rounds soaring through the air towards the relatively exposed fire team.

First Team, whom found themselves ahead of their compatriots under fire, were unable to see exactly where the shots were coming from. Between them and the enemy was over a hundred meters of trees and foliage. Before any one of them could think to respond, gunfire erupted from their left, splintering a pine tree into a thousand pieces.

((OOC: Okay, to help you envision what is going on: First Team are fairly deep in the woods at this point; whereas, Second Team has yet to actually reach the mouth of the woods. It's perhaps a dozen meters ahead of where they currently find themselves pinned.

First Team is taking fire from their left by a fire team-sized element. Second Team is taking fire from their right by eight hostiles. Remember that, if you should get hit, TTR (Tactical Training Rounds) paralyzes the point of impact. If you get shot in the arm, that arm becomes useless, and the effects last for about half an hour or so.

Have fun!))

[Edward, Z.]

Electric looked around scanning the area with second squad. He listened to everything waiting for that sound that just wasn’t right. He didn’t quite hear what Reese said. He had his visor dimmed so that no one could see the light hat illuminated from it. 

”Can this rain get any worse...” he said muttering to himself, his mike pulled away.. he gripped the battle rifle and raised it a bit. “Still nothing...”  as he didn’t see movement that looked like people...

 Electric had been quiet ... maybe a little too quiet for his squad.. but he did learn the hard way it’s best just to keep his mouth shut because the odds were bad when it was you against the rest. Electric wastnt. Scared around them just held his toung which also got him into trouble as well. 

But something. Did catch his eye slowing down, took the safety off. His finger next to the trigger. His breathing slowed  as lighting flashed for a brief second. “We are not alone....” he muttered softly forgetting his mike was just barely close to hear him.

[Furby, J.]

Furby settled into his familiar position at the fire team's rear. He exhaled a sigh of relief. The job of a point man was one he did not envy in the slightest. It was far too stressful for his liking. He'd had a difficult time shaking the feeling that there was somehow a target painted across his chest.

In the rear, he worried little. Imagined or not, he felt a sense of security at the formation's rear. Unless flanked, there was generally little need to worry about being the first to walk into an enemy's gunsights. After all, there were three ample targets right in front of him for the enemy.

Realization struck him like a sack of bricks.

"Echo Three Foxtrot to Omen Two-One, we've got Q-Company fuckery at work, break," Furby said into his radio. "Found a TTM, over."

No sooner had he let off the push-to-talk did all hell break loose. Gunfire erupted from somewhere behind them, sounding a ways off. He snapped to, bringing his rifle optic up to his eye, and began to scan for the source of the gunfire. "Sounds like Bravo's in --"

He never finished his sentence. Bullets pelted their position like a swarm of angry bees, the rounds zipping past him by just inches. "Shit! he exclaimed, ducking behind a tree to avoid the hailstorm of TTR. Where the fuck was that coming from?!

He leaned out from behind the tree and spotted the point of origin of the crimson hot lead. Lance Corporal Avery returned fire somewhere to his right, his weapon sounding off in long, drawn out bursts. They needed to achieve fire superiority or this would be the shortest firefight of their lives. Furby took aim with his battle rifle and squeezed the trigger.

The rifle bucked hard against his shoulder as it loosed its payload of three rounds at the enemy. He heard one of the Marines shout in surprise and pain. The burst hit its mark, hopefully taking one of the bad guys out of the fight. Jayson couldn't be sure where he hit him, but he knew he had hit.

It would do for the moment. Without a second's hesitation he squeezed off a flurry of bursts intended to force the enemy to hunker down. The only way First Team would win was if they had room to maneuver.

"Suppressing!"

[Ward, J.]

The defecation had struck the oscillation. No sooner had he settled into his position at the head of the formation did all hell break loose. Ward ate dirt as rounds whizzed by with malicious intent overhead. He realized, raw-edged terror crawling up his spine, that First Team had walked itself into a cleverly disguised kill zone.

"CONTACT LEFT! CONTACT LEFT," he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Ward rolled into a patch of tall grass, desperate to gain some form of concealment from their ambushers. He shifted his stance and readied his rifle with a flick of the safety lever. Without hesitation he squeezed the trigger, the rifle bucking against his shoulder as a spray of seven-six-two millimeter tactical training rounds washed over the dense foliage that had concealed their ambushers from view.

First Team was stymied by the hail of gunfire. Until they gained fire superiority, they could not move. Ward knew from experience that they needed room to maneuver if they were to emerge victorious. Suppress, flank, kill. That mantra had been beaten into his brain by the instructors in the infantry training battalion. It was a sound principle.

Jon felt his heart rate spike as a stray round came within an inch of hitting him. While TTR was largely safe to use, a direct hit to the face could be potentially fatal. These were still bullets, despite the fact they lacked some of the velocity and bite that their more deadly cousins boasted. Stone had stressed the importance of their PPE before the FTX had begun.

When Stone told him to do something, he did it. Aside from the obvious consequences of disobeying an order, Ward was far more concerned with the consequences not mentioned in the rulebooks. Sergeant Stone was a terrifying individual, and he did not relish the thought of what he would do to him if he ignored his advice or outright disobeyed him. The man was as close to certifiably insane as one could get without being kicked out on a medical.

Another round landed uncomfortably close to his position, and it seemed to jar him. Gripping his rifle tightly, he fired off another long burst that splintered a tree off in the distance. He heard a shout of surprise, confirming that he'd almost taken one of them out. Jon adjusted his aim and sent off another one.

The shriek of pain he heard was all the confirmation he needed to be certain that he'd hit one of the ambushers. Whether or not he managed to put them out of the fight was unknown to him, but he'd hit one. That was all that mattered to him at the moment.

Between himself, Furby, and Avery's machine gun, the incoming fire had noticeably died down. Jon tore his eyes away from down range to briefly look at Corporal Faust. "Cover me!"

He said no more. Ward leapt to his feet and wrenched a grenade from off his armored chestplate. He had stocked up on tactical training grenades before Oscar Company had begun the FTX. Thumbing the primer, he threw the grenade in a tall, wide arc, hoping to land it directly behind the hostile fire team.

Ward didn't stop to watch if his throw had been successful or not. As soon as the grenade had left his hand, he dropped onto his stomach and loosed more gunfire in Quebec's general direction. Standing around would only get him shot.

And right now, getting shot would mean the beginning of the end for First Team.

[Stone, T.]

Stone gaped at Third Team as the Lieutenant outlined a mission for the squad to undertake. With two of his teams outside the wire, Third Team was all that was left for him to utilize at the moment, and a reconaissance mission called for low visibility. A smaller element would be harder to detect than a full squad on patrol. Whether they liked it or not, Third Team were his first pick.

"Solid copy, Two Actual. Oscar Mike in five, over," he replied, leaving the platoon commander the opportunity to "out" the conversation.

Thomas scooped his rifle from off his rack. He wracked the charging handle back once to ensure he had one in the chamber, and then made his way over to Third Herd. "Third Team," he said to garner their attention, "Yer comin' with me."

The team sprung into action. While they made preparations for the mission ahead, Stone returned to his cot. He traded his cover for a helmet and made sure it was secure before he made his way over to the exit. The weather was still abyssmal -- much to his chagrin -- and showed little sign of letting up any time soon.

The faintest of smirks threatened to mar his stoic demeanor as he gazed upon the rain stricken landscape beyond the relative security of the platoon's enlisted tent. He could hear the voice of his assistant drill instructor yelling in his head just as clearly as it had been the first time he'd heard the phrase. "If it ain't rainin', we ain't trainin'!"

Those words rang true today. The weather was here to test the resolve of every Marine in Oscar Company. As Stone looked out upon the moist beyond, he vowed to make sure Oscar Company would be the victors. Neither Quebec Company, nor Mother Nature, was going to keep them down.

And that's when he heard it. The report of a machine gun, followed by a mighty chorus of small arms fire. Stone's gripped his MA5C tighter as he hastily surveyed the area, looking for signs of a Quebec Company attack. Through the haze of rain, he couldn't see much of anything. The gunfire sounded far off, but it was hard to be sure.

Rain seemed to have the uncanny ability to amplify the slightest noise to twice its normal volume. While it did drown out much in the way of sound, it was also seemingly a conductor for it. The gunfire could have literally been coming from anywhere. Thomas cursed under his breath as he listened more closely, the strike of realization hitting harder than a howitzer round.

"Two-One Alpha, SITREP!" he demanded into his mic as he stepped back inside the tent. He figured he'd have a moment before Faust was able to respond, so he spent that time productively. "Y'all git'cher shit together! Sounds like Alpha 'n Bravo are in contact!"

Stone looked over at the team. It looked as if they were ready to move. "Let's git movin'! We're gonna move ta support Alpha 'n Bravo. If I'm right, Davis is the slimy cocksucker behind this shit, 'n I ain't lettin' him git off without a fight. Once we've neutralized the threat, we can proceed with the El-Tee's taskin'."

[Chambers, T.]

When first Team had stopped they'd stopped just short of the main foliage, keeping their spacing in the patrol. It was both a good and a bad thing they had a good deal of line of sight to both of their flanks and, however it also presented them little cover. The team had taken up the usual three sixty defensive posture. each watching a different sector, he had been watching the left.

He kept his eyes and his concentration on his hearing on his zone, He had to trust everyone to watch their sectors, just as they were trusting him to watch his.

Reese had spotted something and called it in, that wasn't good, 'something' most likely marines of Quebec, off their right meant they were in a bad spot. However there was a moment or two of almost complete silence, then it broke, the day took a turn, what kind of turn they were yet to find out.

"CONTACT RIGHT!" He let out while using his feet to half jump and half fall onto his stomach positioning himself to the right as the training rounds flew all around. Landing with a grunt he found some of the muzzle flashes and began dragging bursts of fire across their location, he didn't need to hit them, he just needed to start breaking up their pattern of fire, they needed to get ahead of the game and get Quebec's heads down and behind cover.

While firing he'd began to prepare to call the contact through when his radio had crackled with Stone requesting a sitrep from Alpha, if Faust didn't respond after a moment or two he'd begin calling it in anyway, right now he was draining the drum of his SAW quickly, however it seemed the combined power of second team had quelled the incoming volume of fire somewhat, if only Quebec had been better shots, they'd had most of second team dead to rights before they'd opened fire.

Tom's ammo counter ticked down to 12 rounds and he called out. "I'm Low, Cover me!" with that done the last two bursts flew out of before he began to switch his magazine out, It felt like an eternity and it went in slow motion before he felt something impact his left leg. He didn't even let out anything just grunted and rammed the drum home before releasing the bolt and resuming his fire pattern. He'd probably just gotten hit, but he could still fire his weapon so that was his first priority.

Once First team had radio it he called in their situation. "Two-one Bravo, We are taking fire from squad sized element to our close right. over"

[Skotchdopole, W.]

The pleasant aroma of the falling rain wafted through the enlisted tent, gently caressing William's nostrils. Rain, something that Luna had lacked, was such a fascinating phenomenom. In school he'd learned about it and how it worked, but to experience such weather firsthand? Nothing could compare.

It must have been odd to regard what some would consider "normal" in terms of weather with such fascination. He'd already garnered perplexed stares from his compatriots for standing out in the rain, gazing towards the falling sky. Most people whom served grew up planet-side, where weather and climates were a part of every day life. Few, he noticed, grew up on planetary satellites where terraforming had either not been a concern or not feasible.

Skotch shook his head. If people thought he was weird, what did he care? He joined the military not because of others, but for himself alone. He needed a steady paycheck, and had grown tired of all the dead-end jobs that led to nothing... except unemployment. Sure, he'd been lied to by the recruiter, and signed his soul away to the government; but, at least they took care of him.

The benefits alone were enough to keep him around. Medical, dental, vision... all the things that he'd never had in the civilian world. And now he was a combat corpsman. The job had sounded far more exciting than the stuff he'd been doing originally. BM was a particularly important rate, but the every day routine was far too dull for his liking. He was starved for excitement, and so far it seemed that the corpsman rate would deliver everything he had asked for.

William quietly eavesdropped on the commotion that carried on around him. First Squad had received a mission from the Lieutenant to go recon a potential enemy hotbed. That sounded like something he needed to be around for. He stood up and gathered his belongings, all the while thinking back on how he'd ended up with this seemingly ragtag band of Marines.

... One Week Ago...

Skotch stepped through the threshold into the main lobby of the Battalion Aid Station, where the Navy had stuck him to undergo further OJT. To him it seemed like FMTB had been enough preparation for the job he had volunteered to do. The Navy, on the other hand, as per usual, seemed to disagree. He'd hoped to have been assigned to a unit by now.

According to one of the other corpsmen that worked with him, the BAS was where they stuck all unassigned corpsmen until a spot opened up in a unit. There were a few in the BAS that were on standby for assignment orders, and had been for over six months. It made him loathe to think how long he would spend in this chlorine-scented prison.

After checking in with the duty corpsman at the front desk, he made his way through the labryinth of passageways to his section of the aid station. The work he did here was droll; a littany of monotony. Marines from all across the base would check in with some (often bogus) injury in an effort to obtain a written sick chit admonishing them from their duties. Skotch hadn't the slightest clue how many people in the Marine Corps attempted to shirk their duties until he came here.

So, his experience thus far was educational, at the very least. Will exhaled a heavy sigh as he stepped into an examination room. He would be stuck here for the remainder of the duty hours, prescribing painkillers and chasing Marines out the door. Promptly, he began his early morning ritual; sanitizing his hands before putting on a fresh pair of sterile gloves. He changed out of his camouflage utilities, preferring to wear the scrubs he'd been issued long ago.

When the door to the room opened with that familiar snik, he'd just finished his preparations for the long day ahead. He turned around, ready for the monotony to begin, when his eyes fell upon Corpsman Chief Jones. He immediately shifted to Parade Rest. "Good morning, Chief."

"Laugavitz didn't tell you?" the Chief inquired.

William blinked in confusion. What had that desk jockey forgotten to tell him? "Tell me what, Chief?"

Chief Jones sighed, shaking his head. "Your transfer papers came in this morning, Skotch. You're outta here."

"What?"

The Chief nodded. "That's right, sailor. You've been assigned to Oscar Company, One-Twelve. You're to report to Captain Flannigan immediately, so get your shit together and get underway."

"Aye, aye, Chief," William happily replied. Finally he was free of this hell hole. He wasted no time undressing, tossing his scrubs aside to soon replace them with his cammies.

"One more thing," the Chief said as he stepped back toward the door, "watch your six out there. Those Oscar boys are animals. Real grade-A nutjobs."

... Present Day...

Skotch quickened his pace as the sound of gunfire assaulted his ears. Sergeant Stone, the man he identified as the leader of First Squad, seemed ready to bolt out the door as soon as the first shot rang through the camp. It sounded as if some of his Marines were in contact, and that meant there would likely be wounded. Notional wounded, of course, but "wounded" nonetheless.

He marched up to the grizzled NCO, noting the plethora of scars that marred his visage, and nodded to him. "You'll probably want me along, Sergeant."

[Reese, J.]

Reese felt it almost before it happened. A split second before his mind positively confirmed that what he had seen was a Marine from Quebec company his unconscious instinct had already begun to squeeze the trigger. All hell broke loose when the ambush Quebec had set up was sprung, Reese felt perfectly at home in a gunfight. He did his job well, identifying targets and putting rounds into them. He moved from cover to cover all the while placing suppressing shots where they were needed. He could see Furby and Ward up ahead of him with first team, He could hear Furby call for suppressing fire and he made a move to start picking off targets closer to first team's location. As he swung his rifle towards the units attacking first team he saw a Quebec company Marine start to prep a smoke grenade, if they were able to advance under that concealment they'd break through the line and cut off the two fire teams of Oscar company. Reese centered his scope on the Marine's chest, "Not today jerk off" he said as he squeezed two shots into him.

Unfortunately that was enough to give his location away to an enemy automatic rifleman. As soon as he lowered the scope he could see the AR and two other Marines bounding towards him. Elements of Quebec company were surrounding second team while others tried to cut between first and second teams. "FUCK!" Reese called as a burst of automatic fire raked his position and he was forced drop prone, he clicked his mic "hey guys, not to be the bearer of bad news but we've some heavy guns on our ass, we have to close the gap between teams or we're about to have a really bad fucking day". From this grassy area on his belly he couldn't do much other than fire in the direction he'd seen the other Marines coming and hope he was lucky. Despite how retarded half the Marines in Quebec company were they had managed to put pressure on the designated Marksmen of both teams and move into close range.

[Conaway, M.]

Miranda Conaway, the newest addition to the Third fire Team of First squad...and she was also it’s leader, she listened to the sudden shouting and turned, “What’s your location? And fine close the gap but keep your spacing I don’t want a frag taking multiple of us out at the same time. Reese keep yourself alive, at least long enough for your team to get there, I’ll keep the front secure let me know if you need anti vechile help.” Miranda turned and felt her rocket, or as she always called it ‘Rokket’ , but it had gotten to feeling as nothing more then a part of her pack. 

Miranda had spent the first part of the mission chasing her crew around to try and keep them at thier posts, she was soaking from the socks up so she was generally angry that her crew wasn’t willing to at least find something that was close to the post to keep them dry. Granted Miranda had hated this assignment, not only was guard duty just cancer, but she much rather be fighting the alien asshats who thought humanity was some sort of religious abomination, she had news for them. They weren’t any different then the humans they so despised. Not to mention the humans they were fighting had a valid reason for being angry, not a reason to be shooting but hey details.

Now that combat was starting she felt the Adrenaline but not the fury rise in her, a odd mix of emotion but a welcome one...being on a red mist wouldn’t help her in command, and she would have to focus to not make her send her crew to die.

[Durant, M.]

First Team's initial return volley managed to drop two of the four hostiles bearing down on them. With the odds squarely in their favor, dispatching the remainder would likely prove easy. A fact at which the Quebec Marines were accutely aware. So, they did what any animal would do when forced into a corner by a more powerful adversary.

They went for the throat.

An object spiraled through the air in an arc that would put it directly in between the Marines of First Team. The object landed with a moist plunk beside Lance Corporal Avery. He glanced in its direction. All the color drained from his face.

"Grenade!" he shrieked. He rolled to the side in what would assuredly be a vain attempt to escape. The grenade detonated with a soft blaow, spraying the machine gunner in a pink mist that clung to his armored figure.

Almost instantly he felt the effects of the sedative. Pins and needles crept along the right side of his body as it went numb, and he realized in horror that he could not move. Lance Corporal Avery had just became the squad's first casualty.

The Quebec Marines capitalized on the momentary chaos created by the grenade by bolting forward, closing the distance between them and First Team. One of them, a remarkably stocky man that looked more like an armored ox than a person, dove towards Corporal Faust in an attempt to bring her to the ground.

His companion, on the other hand, ran until within mere feet of Avery's abandoned weapon, and slid next to it. He scooped it up, ignoring the fact that he'd partially sunk into a pool of mud, and brought the weapon to bear on Lance Corporal Furby, whom was only partially concealed behind the tree from the adversary's angle. If he didn't react quickly, he'd earn a side full of TTR.

Meanwhile, Second Team faired little better. The two opposing fire teams spread out, one digging in to lay a steady stream of fire down upon Mihaylov's team while the other maneuvered to cut off any hope they might have had of advancing towards First Team and regrouping. Still, to complicate matters further, another two men circled around them in a clear attempt at a pincer. One Marine was felled by Lance Corporal Reese, but given the situation, it did little to improve their odds.

Back at the platoon command tent, Durant could hear the commotion as if it were in his backyard. He listened to the radio traffic intently, and knew Stone's teams had stumbled upon a hornet's nest. Quebec Company had been brave to come this close to Second Platoon's encampment. It was definitely a bold move, and one in which he suspected was made by a certain former NCO under his command.

There wasn't time to mull over it, however. First Squad's situation was extremely precarious, and if he didn't act now, Stone would find himself down two fire teams. He couldn't send another squad. If the ambush just outside their perimeter was a part of a larger plot to assault the camp, Durant could not afford to divert precious manpower to lend assistance. He figured that Stone and the odd team out would move to support their brothers and sisters under fire, which he was confident that that would be enough to even the odds.

Sergeant Stone was not one to be trifled with, after all. If anyone could repel the Quebec Company ambush, it would most certainly be him. Michael turned to Wilkas and snatched the handset from off her pack wordlessly. In the event that Stone and Third Team weren't enough, he did have one ace up his sleeve. He thumbed the talk key, and started to speak when the transmit tone beeped in his ear.

"X-Ray, this is Omen Two, we have Marines in contact. Say again, Marines in contact. Requesting CAS half a klick due east of my pos, danger close, over."

Johansson reply came quicker than expected. "Standby, Two Actual."

Durant gripped the handset tightly in frustration. The longer it took to call upon support, the more likely heavy casualties would be inflicted upon them. He imagined the scenario unfolding to the east, and truthfully, the outcome was bleak. Worst case thinking was a terrible habit of his, but it had served him in the past. This, however, was not one of those times.

He should have better prepared for something like this. Quebec Company was under strict guidelines for this exercise, and he'd wrongly assumed they would abide by them. Such complacency had only served to give the enemy an advantage over his Marines; over him. Davis belonged to Quebec Company now, and he'd always been a sort of wild card. He should have expected something like this to happen.

"Two Actual, request approved," Johansson said. The words were music to his ears. "Switch to TAD Three, over."

The Lieutenant responded, and let Wilkas switch over to the indicated frequency before keying the mic again. After all, she knew her radio and its programming better than anyone he knew. "Omen Two Actual on TAD Three to any station this net, how copy, over?"

"Omen Two, this is Chaos FAC. Be advised: I have one AC-220, callsign Oblivion Four-Three, holding on station at angels one-zero for three-zero mikes. They're standing by for your tasking, over."

Michael couldn't help but grin. A Vulture would be enough to eliminate the First Squad's ambushers, and seek out further contacts in the immediate vicinity. As an afterthought, he could use them to locate Quebec's encampment, eliminating the need for Stone's Marines to recon by ground.

A mixture of excitement and relief washed over him. "Oblivion Four-Three, this is Omen Two. I have Marines under heavy fire half a klick due east of my pos. Request gun run, danger close."

When the Vulture's radio operator gave his reply, Durant set down the handset and keyed his own radio. "Two-One, be advised: CAS inbound, ETA ricky-tick. Have your Marines pop blue smoke to mark friendlies."

He picked the handset back up. "Oblivion Four-Three, friendlies marked by blue smoke. Out."

Michael returned the handset to its home and stood up. He needed to find Mason. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that sonething big -- and likely terrible -- was going to happen. The rest of Second Platoon needed to be prepared for when the shit hit the fan.

That is, if it hadn't already.

[Ward, J.]

Ward's grenade detonated, sending bits and pieces of wood and brush soaring through the air. He released the trigger to admire his handiwork. The throw had been done in haste, but he was convinced that it had been on target. For a moment, the gunfire had died down, and it looked as if he'd taken care of their attackers.

Until an object emerged from the dust. Ward watched in a mixture of surprise and horror as the grenade spiraled through the air like a baseball towards the team. He watched it land next to Avery, and heard the man's startled cry. Time seemed to slow down as he witnessed the grenade explode, managing to knock out their team's base of fire in one fell swoop.

The sound of feet crunching through brush and sploshing through mud garnered his attention. He turned just in time to spot one of their remaining adversaries leap forward, having closed the distance between them, and go for a tackle. The man had Faust dead-to-rights, and all Ward could do was watch as his team leader and the Quebec Marine tumbled to the ground.

Jon was the closest to Faust. Instinct and training kicked into gear, and he was up on his feet before he knew it. If there was one lesson that had stuck with him from Davis's tenure as fire team leader, it was that First Team never went down that easy. There were over a dozen MAs back on the Vengeance whom could attest to that fact.

The Marine had Faust on her back. There had to be at least a sixty pound difference between her and her assailant, and Ward saw no way for her to turn the tables around without help. The Marine reached for his sidearm, intent on plugging her with TTR at point blank, and Ward was not about to let that happen.

He grabbed the man by the collar of his armor and yanked him back. It wasn't enough to wrench him off of her, but enough for Ward to get his arm around the man's throat. With his free hand, he slapped the pistol in his hand back down, sparing Faust a shot to the chest. With that, he squeezed with all the force his could muster.

The Marine, in an attempt to break loose from Ward's grip, shifted his weight in an attempt to buck him off like some sort of rodeo bull. Jon did not relent, and instead used his weight to pull the man off of Faust. However, in doing so, he landed on his back. The Marine was now on top of him.

Ward locked his legs around the man's waist and continued to squeeze. Panicked, the Marine reached for his hand, vainly attempting to make him release him as he started to choke. Jon could see that his face was turning red. Just a couple more seconds, he thought.

Suddenly, the man tapped his arm frantically. Was he tapping out? Really? Jon loosened his grip somewhat, just enough to allow the man to suck in some air. "Say uncle," he whispered into his ear.

If he didn't say it, then Ward would give him the best nap of his life, and probably the worst wake-up he'd ever experienced.

[Stone, T.]

The chorus of battle drew closer as Sergeant Stone closed the gap. Just up ahead was a small berm, and beyond that, open ground between there and the woods. From the sounds of it, the remainder of First Squad had been caught out in the field by Quebec Company. It was the perfect spot for a kill zone, and there was only one person brazen enough to try to ambush his Marines there.

Davis was around here somewhere. Thomas was as certain of it as he was certain that day eventually gave way to night. Knowing his former protègé, Davis counted on Stone to appear in an effort to rescue his Marines from a slaughter.

Stone had no intentions of disappointing him.

As he approached the berm, he signaled for Lance Corporal Conaway's third team to prone out. He wanted to make sure they didn't silhouette themselves on top of the berm, giving Quebec Company easy targets to pick off. "We got friendlies in contact jus' over this berm," he said into his helmet microphone. "Hold yer fire til' I give the signal."

With that said, he lowered himself onto his stomach, cradling his rifle in his arms, and began to crawl up the berm.

The scene beyond the berm was just as he expected. Smack dab in the middle of the field was Second Team. Further off, just within the confines of the woods, was First Team according to his Heads Up Display. He didn't need to look around to spot the numerous Quebec Marines maneuvering to kill Second Team. Several were ahead of them, cutting off any possibility of the two teams regrouping.

That was definitely intentional, and it only further solidified the fact that Davis was the one behind the ambush in Stone's mind. To the left was a stationary fire team laying down a steady stream of withering fire upon Second Team. Meanwhile, it appeared a pair of Marines were attempting to circle behind his Marines.

Overall, it was a shitty situation to find yourself in.

Stone cursed and craned his head to look back at Conaway. "Git'cher slackman up here," he barked quietly, and turned his attention back to the scene unfolding before him. Using his neural lace, he set a target marker on the stationary machine gun team. "Y'all are gonna light 'em up. We got good enfilade here."

He paused to analyize the situation further. Even with the machine gun team down, there was still another fire team encroaching upon Second Team, along with the two flankers at their rear. There wasn't much he could do about the boys in front of them. He could order Third Team to fire on them, but their rounds would fall far too close to Second Team for comfort.

So, that left one other option. "Winters, yer comin' with me!"

That was all that needed to be said. Stone gripped his rifle and prepared to move down the berm to the left. Before he moved in, he wanted to get some distance from Third Team. Not that it mattered. As soon as they opened fire their position would be given away. A necessary precaution, he decided.

"Two-One Bravo," he called over the SQUADCOM, "this is Two-One. Friendlies ta yer six, 'bout a hundred meters. Check yer fire 'cuz it's 'bout ta git hot."

Having crawled a sufficient distance away, he gave the signal. "Charlie, open fire! Light 'em up!"

As Third Team let loose the opening salvo, Stone waved to Winters to follow him. He jumped to his feet snd started forward, just as Durant radioed him. Air support, he thought in surprise. Taking a knee, he readied his rifle and keyed his mic. "Squad, pop blue smoke! CAS is comin' in hot! Danger close!"