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

[Keenan, J.]

First Lieutenant Keenan had been on station for roughly fifteen minutes, sitting at an altitude of just under three and a half thousand meters in the air; the AC-220 Vulture gunship was just hanging there, waiting to be included in the mission below. The tactical training scenario taking place between elements of the Marine Expeditionary Unit the young twenty-five year old was assigned to meant they were firing blanks and additional flare launchers to mark areas struck by missiles. In all respects the Vulture was fitted for combat, including a fueled up reserve tank.

Unfortunately the reign of the vulture had come to an end, really. Less and less of these gunships were in service, and those that were, were being replaced by more economical aircraft that fit into the Vulture's role - particularly the AV-22 SparrowHawk, even though it was an atmospheric craft unlike the Vulture's limited exo-atmospheric capabilities.

"Hey, Keen, just got off the horn." One of the Lieutenant's crewmen reported. "We've been tasked with a fire support mission for November company, their 'toon leader is marking friendly targets with blue smoke."

Keenan nodded, eyeballed his co-pilot and grinned with brief amusement as he settled his hand on the throttle. "Understood."

Vulture's were good high up, but intimidating down low. Keenan's plan was to use his Vulture like the gunships in humanities past, menacing attack helicopters flying above enemy AO's with chain guns and rocket pods that turned a stronghold into a pile of rubble in just a few brief seconds, but this time Keenan had the power of two dual-barreled fifty mike-mike auto cannons and an assortment of twenty four air-to-ground missiles.

"Sounds like it'll be a target rich environment too, sir." The Lance Corporal added to his report. "Friendlies in immediate contact with Que - er - hostile forces so it'll be a danger close strike mission."

"Dropping altitude to one-five-zero meters, gunners engage targets outside of the blue smoke at will but select your targets carefully." Keenen ordered as he pulled the throttle back; AC-220's were meant for higher speed drops but he wasn't going to pretend it was combat against the Covenant. He wanted to do his job, but he wanted to keep his crew safe. Five people relied on his abilities to pilot the Vulture so they could focus on his job.

Keenan keyed his radio. "Omen Two, Oblivion Four-Three, interrogative: is it possible to mark enemy locations with probes for a more accurate target picture, we'll see the probes on our HUDs better than targets outside the smoke on thermal. How copy, over?" Keenan asked, slightly applying more throttle to the underbelly engines as their altitude dropped more and more rapidly.

In a few minutes they'd be able to engage, well... his gunners would anyway.

[Furby, J.]

Furby cursed to any deity willing to listen. Things had gone from good to bad, and now bad to worse, all in the span of a few short minutes. Rounds pelted the tree he'd chosen for cover, sending wood chips flying in every direction, as he crouched there trying not to get shot. He'd managed to pop out, sporadically, to send rounds down range. However, it had little effect on the remaining two Quebec Company Marines whom continued to fire away.

And then, things got even worse. Jayson heard Avery's startled cry and immediately hugged the moist ground beneath him. An explosion rang out, loud enough to deafen him momentarily, and then, as he peered around the corner, he saw what had happened. Their adversaries had taken out Avery with the grenade, and now fastly approached.

They ran full tilt towards the three remaining Marines of First Team. One of them dove for Corporal Faust, while the other...

... Went straight for Avery's machine gun.

Jayson snapped to and opened fire. His rounds flew wide of the target, and the man responded by skidding across the ground for the remainder of the distance. He snatched up the machine gun, and turned it directly at Furby. "Shit!" he exclaimed, half-leaping behind the tree as automatic rifle fire peppered the spot he'd just seconds ago been occupying.

"Shit! Shit!" he repeated as seven-six-two rounds carved their way through the tree. It was only a matter of time before a round punctured through and he was down for the count. He glanced about frantically in search of something that could tip the balance in his favor.

And then, just like that, an idea struck him. He looked down to find a small stick at his feet, and the wheels in his head lurched into motion. The words of now-Sergeant Davis, ironically, played through his mind on repeat. "Sometimes you might wanna try solving problems with that head of yours instead of that mouth."

It was sound advice.

And it would be this asshole's undoing.

Furby picked up the stick and grasped it tightly. He only had one shot at this, or he was well and truly a goner. After taking a moment to gather himself, he tossed the stick around the corner. "Frag out!" he bellowed, and burst into action. Jayson rounded the tree from the opposite side and found the Quebec Marine standing there, panicked and confused.

His ruse had worked. Before the Marine could react, he charged him and smacked the machine gun out of the way. "FIRST TEAM!" he screamed as he aimed a kick for the man's kneecap while keeping his hands on the machine gun. If his kick didn't connect, he'd at least have some leverage over the guy...

He hoped.

[Chambers, T.]

This fucking Ambush was only getting worse. Tom thought as he continued to pour steady bursts onto the Quebec marines to the 'right' of second team, his first drum hadn't hit much and he'd dropped his rate of fire somewhat, hopefully it would keep those Q company bastards at bay a little longer. He then heard an exclaimed from the newcomer Reese, Luckily he'd been able to drop out of the line of fire and even better that Quebec Auto rifleman wasn't quite as smart as he needed to be.

Tom pivoted his aim a little and loosed a burst across the marines chest a round or two flew wide each side but the man had caught at least four or five rounds to his chest and crumpled into a heap as the volume of TTR rounds probably took him out cold. Pivoting back towards the other muzzle flashes he resumed his suppressing fire. Draining another Drum he began to reload before finding himself half way through and caught like a Kangaroo is 4x4 spot lights. Tom threw himself into a roll and eventually came up frantically grabbing for his side arm. "You MOTHER FUCKER!" he swore at his M6 as he pulled it out and flicked the safety off before letting a couple round as the Quebec marine who'd almost got him, luckily for the Q company bloke, Tom couldn't be counted on with a side arm to well and missed all three of the shots before the weapon had jammed after a roll through the mud.

With that done his went back, holstered his sidearm and finished reloading his SAW before resuming his pattern of fire.

Quickly enough his earpiece crackled with the grunts of Sergeant Stone. "Two-One Bravo, this is Two-One. Friendlies ta yer six, 'bout a hundred meters. Check yer fire 'cuz it's 'bout ta git hot." He was confidant they'd all heard it but he repeated it anyway. "Check your targets to the patrol's six, we got friendlies." he tried to yell over the chorus of gunfire.

Almost as soon as that happened there was an even worse feeling, rain on his head, glancing to his right he found his boonie, with a nice little hole in it. He'd almost copped a TTR to the noggin, not a good way to die. In training.

A few moments later they were greeted by gunfire from their six, he didn't even have time to look, if all was well it was Stone & third team if it wasn't he was as good as 'dead'.

[Skotchdopole, W.]

The stench of phosphor lingered in the air as Skotch trailed behind Third Team. A riot of percussive madness resonated just over the berm they fastly approached, and he thought he heard someone, somewhere, screaming. Skotchdopole's grasp tightened around his rifle as they carefully trudged up the berm and hugged the drenched ground beneath them.

From upon the crest, Skotch noticed the familiar strobelight of an assault rifle barrel, flickering in the nearby treeline. Tracers sliced phosphorescent streaks through the air. Crimson streaks were traded with green in a circus of hues that inspired both awe and a mortal, primal dread in its observers. Of course, Skotch knew that the rounds dispensed were relatively harmless, but it was the thought of what could have been that left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

The irony of that sentiment was not lost on him, as he'd volunteered for this line of work solely for its potential for excitement. After the mind numbing monotony of life as a Boatswain's Mait, and then as a hospital-bound corpsman, the change of pace and ever changing scenery had greatly appealed to his lust for adrenaline and adventure. Now that he was here, the realization of what his job entailed had finally pitched its tent. In this convoluted game of mock war, the true carnage of war -- dark and impersonal -- was revealed to him.

One moment the LRRP had been slogging along on their patrol route, blissfully ignorant to what awaited them within the dark, dripping maw of the forest; and then, suddenly, the beast masked in shadow revealed itself to the world, and clawed at the unsuspecting prey within its wide grasp.

"I'll add to the mix," Skotch said to Stone as he barked orders to Third Team. "Keep fire on 'em until I'm needed."

It seemed like the smartest decision to make. He was the corpsman, and likely their most valuable asset. If he were shot in a defiant charge, he would be of no use to the Marines that depended upon him to care for them. So, he would remain back with Third Team, and help them keep the Marines of Quebec Company suppressed. "I'm all yours, Lance Corporal," he said to Conaway.

[Edward, Z.]

Electric dropped to his knee as he looked through. The battle rifles scope as a few red rounds started to fly through the air. He slowed down his breathing squeezing off a couple rounds but after a few round he quickly hustles to another spot as he tried to keep his location unknown to the enemy.

when he heard Chambers was low, Edwards ran up to him and took off the box. With a freash belt  and would give it to him as he would then start firing and and running  in an odd pattern as he would hopefully have draw the fire off Chambers. “Dammit stupid idea....” he yelled as the bullets followed him not too far behind. 

He tripped over a pothole and landed face first into the mud. Thank the lord for his helmet that kept the mud from going into his. Face. He laid silent hoping that the enemy would think they hit him 

[Durant, M.]

The far-off staccato of gunfire acted as an apt soundtrack to the platoon commander's search for his missing right hand. Staff Sergeant Mason was somewhere in the camp -- likely over with Second Squad, ensuring they were combat ready -- and Durant needed to find him quickly. If things were to spiral southwards at the camp, he wanted his platoon ready and his second-in-command prepared to relay and execute orders. That would be difficult to do if he hadn't the faintest clue where he was.

Behind the Lieutenant was PFC Wilkas, trailing alongside him like they were joined at the hip. Over the last year or so she had learned to keep close to him whenever they were in the field, just in case he needed to make use of her long range radio or needed to relay a message to him. When she had first joined the unit a little over a year ago, she had been as lost as a child by themself at a supermarket. Worse than that was that everything, it seemed, intimidated her or caused the onset of some overly dramatic panic attack.

He understood that she'd had little, if any, control over that. Those types of things sort of just happened when provided the right stimuli; however, it was in his professional opinion that she should have never been cleared for field duty with that kind of medical track record. Sadly, the truth was the UNSC was willing to overlook certain things if it meant more bodies on the frontlines against the Covenant. There was scuttlebutt that the UNSC would start commuting prison sentences, offering convicts freedom should they serve a mandatory four year stint in the combat arms of either the Army or the Marines.

He wasn't quite sure if there was any truth to that, but something told him he did not want to find out for sure. Sometimes ignorance was bliss, especially when it involved the state of the war and overall morale. He would do just fine believing everyone he served with were not once felons running amok of the galaxy prior to being involuntarily enlisted. Hell, he still had trouble wrapping his mind around the idea of the draft, and how there weren't quite as many voluntary enlistments as he'd imagined there would be.

After all, humanity was in a struggle for its very survival as a species. How could anyone look at a recruiter and refuse to take their offer? Why was a draft needed? He liked to believe that it was because many people told themselves they would wait until after college to sign up, desiring the officer route over the enlisted one. However, people like Furby presented evidence against some belief. He was, after all, vocal about the fact he had no intentions of enlisting prior to his drafting.

The blare of Wilkas' radio coming to life wrenched Durant away from his thoughts. He sighed and took the handset that Wilkas' had wordlessly offered him. "Oblivion Four-Three, negative. Smoke only at this time, break. Be advised: I am not on station with those in contact, over."

He shook his head and keyed his personal radio. "Omen Two Sierra, this is Two Actual. Have Two-Two prepped for LRRP, break. Possible enemy encampment north of our pos I want checked out ASAP. How copy?"

With all that was going on, Durant had decided to simply call for him over the radio. Too much was happening for him to afford to host a scavenger hunt for his platoon sergeant. "Two-Three, this is Two Actual, come in, over."

"Send yer traffic, Two Actual," replied the Scotsman.

"Be advised: Two-One is in contact and Two-Two will be Oscar Mike shortly to scout a possible enemy pos, break. Two-Three, you will strongpoint the camp and maintain a hard defensive posture. Contact may be imminent. Over."

"Two-Three copies all."

Durant nodded. "Out."

[Faust, M.]

 One moment it had all been peaceful, the next all hell had been let loose. Faust dove for cover, narrowly avoiding the incoming fire. "Hit'em back! Pin those fuckers down!" She called out as she lay prone, firing her own rifle. Faust caught the look from Jon, nodded slightly and rose to a kneeling position as she provided some covering fire. She cheered when he was successfully  in his impromptu attack, she moved and slid into cover behind a fallen log. Faust cursed when a grenade detonated suddenly, taking Avery out of the fight. Yet before she could react, she was knocked to the ground by the unexpected rush of some Quebec company thug. Snarling, Faust fought back with all her fearsome fury. 
Yet in spite of her struggles, own attacks and even more than three attempts to bite. She failed to dislodge the larger marine. The frustration served to only increase her fury. Her marines were in trouble, her she was flat on her ass. Michelle hated that. 

Suddenly Ward was there, wrenching the brute off of her. Faust scrambled to her feet, eager to get some revenge on marine and thank Ward at the same time. With a glance she saw that he had the situation under control and moved swiftly to recover her rifle. A sudden sharp burst of violent numbing pain struck her without warning. With a curse, Faust collapsed in a ungainly heap, the left side of her body numb. 

[Wilkas, G.]

 Wilkas trailed after Durant, casting a nervous glance over her shoulders at the sound of the gunfire as if she expected to be able to catch a glimpse of it. She was worried about her comrades, yet a larger part of her happened to be worried about Furby. She knew he would be alright, he was a marine after all, like her. But unlike her he actually at least to her eyes, was a damn good one. Her radio blared into life and without thought, the young woman handed the headset to the Durant. She found herself thinking of that the morning during leave, it had been an interesting one. What occurred during the night, she would have to take everyone's words for, she barely recalled it. The morning and the talk with Furby... Well that had been a lot more memorable. She told herself to stop worrying about him and do her damned job. That was more important, she saw Durant had moved off once more and scurried to catch up. Not for the first time she cursed the war with the Covenant. But at least she got to see parts of the galaxy outside of Earth. 

[Reese, J.]

There wasn't much need for accurate fire now. The lines had been mixed, Quebec Marines were interspersed with Oscar company. From his spot in the taller grass Reese just worked on putting down some covering fire in the direction that he'd seen Quebec company advancing from, until he saw one of them tackle Cpl. Faust to the ground. Ward had been quick to yank the fucker off her but there were more coming, one of the OPFOR was bounding over to where Reese was. Either the guy thought Reese had already been eliminated or he wasn't paying attention because he almost walked right on top of him, using this to his advantage Reese grabbed a hold of his shin and yanked the Marine to the ground. A heavy elbow to the face made him loosen his grip on his assault rifle, Reese used the man's own weapon to take him out of the fight. Now that he had a weapon better suited to these conditions he began to put more effective fire into the advancing Quebec company.

Slinging his own rifle over his back Reese moved further into the treeline when he heard Sgt. Stone come up on their six with Third team. "Nice of you ladies to drop by" He called back to them, "Hope you didn't get mud on your shoes taking the scenic route". That's when the sound of a roaring jet engine approached from over head, things were about to get a lot more interesting. "Echo three Romeo to anyone still alive...interogative, that's our bird right? I'd rather not get taken out in a gun run".

[Conaway, M.]

Miranda looked up, not that is helped her but it was her natural response to the sudden communication blare from the other teams, while she was enthusiastic about thier orders she let them command the squad as they wished, listeneing for her callsign or Omen One-Two Chairle but didn’t hear it, shaking her head she continued holding the line with her squad firing pot shots at identified targets, last thing she wanted to do was hit a friendly. Then she suddenly heard the question about the engine noise. “We do have a bird but I’m unsure if that’s what your hearing, be vigilant.” She said before hearing a light bang sound...hoping that wasn’t a frag grenade she went back to shooting at targets.

Adrenaline was pumping as always.. she sometimes wondered if she had more adrenaline in her veins than she should have, firing off guns with accuracy at aliens was enjoyable, firing her guns off at humans just served to remind her of the fracture and why she so hated it...it gave fuel to the never ending fire that plagued her mind. Rage was not common against humans, but I wasn’t uncommon either.

[Stone, T.]

Stone slinked through the grass quietly, Private Winters in tow just a few meters behind him. If he wanted to bring an end to this assault, he would need to find and cut the head off the snake. Somewhere, nearby, Davis lurked. He would find him and put a stop to all this. Davis was a cocky son-of-a-bitch, and he'd pulled off an excellent ambush; but, Stone was the master here.

Everything that Sergeant Davis knew had come from Stone. His protegé had graduated from the school of hard knocks, and now mistakenly believed he had the mettle to take on his old unit. He knew a great deal about Oscar Company, this much was true. But the farm boy had made a critical mistake.

He assumed Stone had showed him everything.

The blare of the radio in his ear momentarily sidelined his thoughts, and he grimaced in annoyance. Did those sons of bitches not hear him the first time? If there was one thing he despised more than Ward's failure to live up to his father's reputation, it was needing to repeat himself -- combat or not. "Squad, this is Two-One Actual, I say again, pop blue smoke an' git'cher asses down! Friendly CAS inbound, danger close!"

A silhouette along the forest edge caught his attention as he released the push-to-talk. In the blink of an eye, the silhouette disappeared. Stone focused intensely on the treeline, carefully inspecting every nook and cranny. What he saw made him curse under his breath.

He keyed the push-to-talk. "Additional contact in the treeline! Two-One Charlie, adjust fire left! PID yer targets an' engage!"

Davis had coerced another squad leader to execute the ambush. The real threat lie in the woods. It all came together in his mind. The ambush was just the entreé. After First Squad finished them off and proceeded forward, they would unwittingly step into the clutches of another, far deadlier ambush. One that none of them could walk away from.

That bastard must have thought he was clever. But Sergeant Thomas Jeremiah Stone did not get outsmarted. Not by the Covenant, and certainly not by his protegé. If he could never outsmart Ward Senior, then there was no way he'd let Davis outsmart him.

Not today, not ever.

[Durant, M.]

Over the orchestra of battle sang the engines of an AC-220, its ensemble of weapons poised and at the ready. The Vulture's gunners, from their perch up above, could see the thermal signatures of over a dozen Marines down on the ground below. It was nearly impossible to identify who was friend and who was foe.

Word had come from the comms that the friendlies groundside were to deploy blue smoke. While Keenan kept the flying tub airborne, the gunners anticipated the moment when they could let loose with the Vulture's impressive arsenal. While the guns may have been loaded with TTR or their low-explosive equivalent, the show the bird's guns would give would still be spectacular to see.

The Vulture flew over the clearing, attracting the attention of everyone in the area. As it passed over, tension hung in the air like a foul odor, heavy and oppressive. All eyes turned to the sky at once...

And the Vulture continued on its way.

Not a single shot fired.

One of the gunners spoke into the voice activated microphone of his helmet over the ICS. "I thought they were supposed to pop smoke," he said. "I didn't tally any smoke."

Down below, the battle resumed as if nothing had happened. Gunfire traded between two sides clipped trees and kicked dirt, narrowly missing their marks. Lance Corporal Mihaylov barked orders to his team just before he sat up to place rounds down range. No sooner had he exposed himself did he fall to the ground, struck by a burst to the chest.

Second Team's leader was down. Davis's Marines steadily encroached on First Squad, bounding from cover to cover as Third Fire Team laid down a steady stream of enfilade to stunt their advance.

Back aboard the Vulture, the shrill shriek of alarm klaxons reverberated within the confines of the aircraft. "SAM alert! They're trying to lock-on!" someone announced. The alarm's shriek steadily intensified until reaching its apex, becoming nearly unbearable. "They've got a lock!"

Per the rules of engagement, a lock-on meant the bird had been shot down.

Oscar Company now had a Vulture down.

[Keenan, J.]

(OOC: I'll go back and edit the posts to include proper formatting when I get back to my computer. This was posted on my tablet using the Desktop version of the website and it's difficult to manage the coding on such a tiny screen. - Kill)


Keenan sighed to himself as the lock-on ended, which in turn indicated that he and his crew had been 'shot down' during the exercise; the Vulture was more than capable of deploying flares to escape these types of situations in combat but the exercise demanded that once a lock on had been established it was already too late - contrary of how flares and electronic counter measures worked in the real world. Keenan was upset, perhaps even greatly disappointed at Oscar Company. He had come to known them as one of the most competent units in his assigned MEU and they dropped the ball, boy did they drop the ball.

No blue smoke was popped. Keenan had suggested that IR strobes be used but he was shot down, not in the official capacity, but rather conflicting locations. The younger First Lieutenant hoped Durant would have ordered his engaged teams to toss strobes, it would have been easier, but the Vulture pilot also understood that if they were unable to throw a smoke grenade the likely hood of an IR strobe would have been the same outcome. It didn't matter at the end of the day, it wasn't a viable option.

"Well, what a waste of time." The AC-220's co-pilot muttered.

"Yeah," Keenan agreed. "But we go where we're told and do what we must."

Keenan could feel the tension in the canopy.

"Alright, get ready to defend yourselves. Open the lockers and load the guns." Keenan ordered.

"Ain't that a bit early?" A Lance Corporal asked.

"So?" Keenan replied. "No one is going to rush to our aid while we're still in the air, and those Marines will still play it safe while our engines spool down since we're a VTOL aircraft. Get them ready now or once we're landing... it won't make a difference."

There wasn't another word for a moment as Keenan maneuvered the AC-220 towards a clearing.

"Did we take any casualties on this exercise?"

Keenan had to think for a moment but couldn't recall, so he called the ball.

"Dunno," He admitted. "Can't remember."

"All of us will be casualties, but two dead on impact. I think that's fair."

Keenan focused on putting the gunship down after that while his crew prepared the weapons, signs saying 'KIA' or 'WIA' so Marines in the exercise would know who is alive and who is dead; the landing gear deployed, the engines whined as they supported the decent rate of the heavy gunship, and finally begun to spool down. The AC-220 was on the deck, so Keenan shut his radio systems down.

"Okay, turn your consoles off. At least lets simulate a crash." Keenan ordered.

Within moments the canopy darkened, the sun towards the crafts back. In front of the AC-220 was the tree line Keenan assumed the Marines would come from, but he wasn't sure. The last thing Keenan did was open the ramp into the Longsword before powering the rest of the systems down.

"Alright, we've 'crashed' so... uh, I dunno, act your roles?" Keenan said, donning a 'KIA' sign and pinning the corners to his flight suit.

"I'm dead," He smiled. "Looks like your in charge." He added, nodding to his co-pilot.

[Stone, T.]

Stone hugged the dirt as rounds continued to fly in all directions, keeping his eyes fixed on the enemy only a couple dozen meters ahead. The deafening roar of the incoming Vulture's engines threatened to drown out the din of battle, and that told Stone that they were in range to fire. He craned his head towards the rest of the squad expectantly.

What he saw disappointed him beyond what words could describe. Where he should have seen plumes of colored smoke billowing into the atmosphere, he only saw his Marines continuing to focus on the threat before them. Air support could not engage without the ability to differentiate between friend and foe, and only their lieutenant had direct contact with the bird. Without the ability to discern between the two opposing factions on the ground, the Vulture was forced to fly over harmlessly, unable to remain stationary due to the risk it would pose to the craft.

It would only take one good shot to bring the bird to the ground.

If only he knew what was happening up above.

Disappointment was quickly replaced by anger, and, expecting another pass at the enemy, Stone keyed the radio. "Pop blue smoke, Goddamnit! All callsigns, pop smoke an' dig in! Danger fuckin' close!" He turned to Winters and placed his hand on her shoulder. The woman had a tendency to get carried away when faced with direct confrontation. He shook his head and, with a clenched fist, ordered her to stay put.

He wrenched a grenade from off his web belt and pulled the pin. With practiced ease he threw the smoke grenade a couple meters away before returning his grip to his rifle. There was a loud bang, followed by the sound of smoke slowly escaping from the grenade's innards. Gunfire noticeably shifted in their direction, but with a thorough screen of blue smoke, the likelihood the enemy would score a hit was slim.

After all, they were aiming for the center mass of mobile targets.

Now, all he could do was wait for the bird to come back around. Eyes directed to the sky, he searched for the massive aircraft. Aboard that aircraft were their saviors, and a ticket to a swift end to the firefight.

[Gray, L.]

Louise Gray and Leona Lawrence had spent their leave together, just hanging out as best friends do. On the ship they had mostly spent time in the gym and while on Reach they had kept up their PT, often going on early morning runs together. Of course they had their downtime as well but they felt it was important to do a mix of both. Now the pair of them, alongside the rest of Oscar company were on an exercise to prepare them for going back on deployment in a few weeks time. Soon their time on Reach would become just another part of their memories.

It was raining on the day of the exercise and over the course of several hours, Gray, Lawrence and the rest of Second Platoon had constructed a makeshift camp and had encountered some contact with the marines who were playing the part of the bad guys. Currently Gray and Lawrence were patrolling the perimeters of the camp in the pouring rain, hoping that their squad leader and their other team mate were nearby. Suddenly they heard distant gunfire, immediately putting the pair on high alert. They both made sure their headsets were working and began scanning the area even more intently. Gray instantly readied her weapon, on her full guard and Lawrence did the same. Suddenly the radio was chattering left, right and centre and Gray and Lawrence carefully listened to make sure they did not miss any orders intended for Second Squad and its three fire teams.