UNSC INTERMISSION - POST M6

[Wax™]

PFC: Mendoza. Daniel 

Random UNSC Medical Facility 

Reuniting with Brothers 

Daniel Cringed a little as Elms hurt herself by holding onto her arm too hard, however he kind of just continued to stand their awkwardly. Usually he'd come up with a whitey comment or just flirt with the girl some more but the large muscled PFC failed to come up with anything. After a few moments he stepped over to the Elm's who at this point pretty much looked like a tomato with arms and legs. A beautiful tomato with arms and legs however if Daniel had to say so himself and after a few moments passed he decided to step over to the tomato and slowly extend his arm, his fingers all tucked in except for his index and middle finger, which gently pressed against her forehead before sliding to the right (her left). Tucking her stray hairs behind her left ear.

"Hey well listen toma--- Errr.. Elms." He said, with a smirk as he nearly called the young woman a tomato. "I'm kicking this joint." He said, looking to the door to make sure no doctors or anything of the like intruded. "Need to head back to the training courses and stretch these bad boys." He said, tensing his arms a little and showing them off for about five seconds before silently laughing and going quiet again.

He looked at the girl with a somewhat blank expression before the side of his lip perked up into a smirk, he liked this girl. She was quite shy and extremely innocent, too innocent to be a marine. Ever since Daniel saw her on the Planet: Freeze your Testicles off, he found himself somewhat attached to her. Nearly in a defensive manner, like it was his job to protect her or something. Either way, next mission Daniel would find a way to weasel his way into finding Elms.

"Alright... I need to get out of here before your Nazis come back." He said, using a slang 21st century term for someone who was a tight ass, he knew very well what the original term meant, there hadn't been too many large scale wars since WWII and now and Daniel did his research back in his teens. "You stay beautiful." He said, gently tapping her on the bottom of her chin with his fingers whilst smiling down at her. He'd remain stationery for a few seconds before looking over to the door and making his way out, sticking his head out and having a little look around before stepping out and closing the door behind him. He'd look through the small circular window and smile befored a boot seemingly swatted him out of view, followed by;

"Argh fuck."

"Mendo man! Finally found you."

A second face would appear near the circular window where Daniels was before he swatted the man away and made down the hall with the soldier.

-I had permission to edit this post to improve readability and some typos as Wax was too tired to do so himself- @tracker

[Jakob]

First Lieutenant Jakob A. Zaborowski

Some dirty bar, New Alexandria

Jakob took another swig of the alcohol, the drink hitting him with its bite and taste. Fighting through it, he took another drink and sighed at the warm feeling in his stomach. Two empty glasses sat next to him, and the various chatting men around the bar were steering clear from him. Frankly, it was amazing he had been allowed to remain active for as long as he had, never having heard back from the doctor after the retraining they were given, so long ago. The ODSTs knew his time was up, and knew he was not in a social mood, and for the love they had in him they stood away.

In a way, this was his going away party. They all knew about the message he had received a week earlier, informing him of his transfer to a medical facility in the inner colonies. Chances were high he wasn't going to be readmitted to a combat platoon, and he'd be given his medals and brushed away to some nice desk duty on Earth until he was inevitably called upon to defend the crown jewel, whenever the Covenant got around to finding it.

So in light of that, Jakob had broke into his savings and covered the rounds of every single damned man and woman in his platoon. It was much less then it would have been with the numbers of ODSTs under him having slowly dwindled from losses, his platoon sorely lacking any replacements. Chances were this was the last time any of them would be in a unit again really as the platoon would be reshuffled and given a whole new roster.

"When I go, my platoon goes," Jakob mused to himself, and surprised himself with being pleased by that. It was a sad day that all the veterans of 1st would be splitting up but Jakob's Jumpers would at least always be just that.

Jakob sighed and put the glass back on the table, upside down, and looked up as Aborn's small form filled the doorway. The man smiled and nodded at some of the men before glancing around and finding Jakob's form, a frown stretching his face. He walked over, ignoring the other men before sitting down across from Jakob.

"Sir... they're here. Viking and Gordon are holding them off for now, and I've got Saussure and Shoemaker close, but I don't think we can hold them for long..." Jakob laughed at his sergeant, who seemed bewildered at his friends reaction.

"Mike, this is one fight we're not going to punch ourselves out of... it's about time we lost." Jakob slowly found his feet and Aborn did as well, the ODSTs falling silent as they watched their lieutenant for what may be the final time.

"Sir... it's been an honor," Aborn said. No tears would find either of their eyes, but Aborn carried an air of profound sadness, the entire room did, "any last words?" he asked his platoon leader.

"I got no speech to give Aborn. Nothing to say. We all know what this is, mind as well embrace it. It's been an honor for me as well Aborn, it's been an honor to lead you men," Jakob steeled himself, made himself look resigned and brave. Inside he was in turmoil, he was a fighter, a leader, sworn to protect the men under him, but now he had to simply let go.

He walked through the bar, his men bowing their heads respectfully. He passed men he had fought with for years and men he had just met, and all of them stood in silence. Jakob finally stepped through the door, looking at the Warthog waiting and the MP's gathered to drive him away.

He turned, gave a last salute to the bar and stepped into the Warthog. To his bemusement, it drove into the sunset.

A fitting ending, he thought.

[MrKill]

Colonel Johnathon B'Sheau Killinger
UNSCS Iowa
Marathon II Super-Heavy Class Guided Missile Cruiser

"Morning, sir!" The Mess Sergeant - a Gunnery Sergeant - said, a bit perky. "The usual? Freshly brewed coffee and a stack of files for you!"

John checked his watch, "It's one in the afternoon."

The Mess Sergeant checked his watch and laughed at himself, "I've got 1142 hours on mine, sir, must be runnin' slow." - The Mess Sergeant poured John a drink and handed it to him over the counter. Typically, a mess hall on a naval ship was fairly automated but John preferred the quality of freshly made meals, not frozen ones defrosted in fifteen seconds. There was only one human served mess hall on the Iowa, and it was one of the more popular destination. In all honesty, the food provided by the dispensers weren't all that bad. Options were limited, but the food wasn't bad.

"Nothing wrong with that," John said. "1132 it is, I prefer the mornings anyways. Thanks, Gunny."

The Gunnery Sergeant nodded in reply and John walked away with his tactical pad up. He had some files he needed to, mainly concerning the survivors of the 82nd Marines and their merging into the 7th Marines - authorized by Perscomm. The Iowa had enough bunks, but some name tags would have to be changed. John hated the fact that who ever did that job were likely peeling away their friends name once and for all. The Veteran Marine could only imagine someones locker lined with white tags of the names of people they knew.

John say down by a sphere table, kicked his legs up onto it and leaned back into the chair. He sighed and started reading his file. The 82nd Marines suffered a total military collapse, an operation failure of the unit as some were reporting. Some veteran officers had managed to make it out alive, magically from what Killinger had seen in the report. He didn't believe in such words, or at least the definition of them, and pressed in. A Captain, a Major and a couple of Lieutenants and their enlisted managed to make it off the planet before the UNSC retreated. According to the report, the battle lasted all but four days.

An entire regiment of 4, 200 Marines cut down to a mere two companies like nothing? What kind of opposition was Colonel Beckket - who perished along with 3, 891 of his Marines - facing? The UNSC had suffered a catastrophic failure and no follow up reports had been submitted yet, but John expected to see a couple of them. HighCommand - or at least NAVCOM - would probably want to know why an entire regiment of Marines were mostly K.I.A.

Two reported M.I.A and presumed K.I.A after the planet Octavia was glassed.

Shit, John though. This could have easily been the seventh.

He took a sip of his coffee before reading further. He clicked the link and it took him to a new report about the battle of Octavia. Quite frankly, the UNSC got their assess handed to them. The UNSC Navy consisted of fourteen warships, all Frigate class, were almost completely destroyed in the first twenty five minutes of the orbital engagement. Though they registered a kill, it wasn't comprehensible at which it was received. 11:1. The UNSC destroyed one ship but lost eleven of theirs in the process before being able to retreat. Fortunately, the UNSC Navy didn't slip space away and were able to gather the survivors that managed to limp their way towards the vessels.

Unfortunate truth. With nothing more to read in the 82nd Marine Regiment, John closed that file and loaded a new one. Oh, joy. An old topic that had resurfaced. It was a personnel command message stating that, during his daughters latest leave on home, she had become pregnant. This message, however, was information John that she was officially sent home because the rigorous training at the Academy would be dangerous.

John wasn't entirely happy that he learned from a report, but he wasn't entirely angry either.

[LaxKnight]

LCPL Steven 'Slim' Valky
Pelican J321 En Route to UNSCS Iowa

The olive drab Pelican rose from Reach's beautiful atmosphere and into the infinite darkness of space. It was something Crew Chief 'Slim' Valky can only witness from the images on his TACPAD. Only the pilots got the luxury of windows and the bird was sealed, like his vacuum suit, meaning no doors to look out of. He watched as the planet shrank before him through his polarized visor. It brought him back to when he was a little kid staring at the stars. It seemed like such a long time ago. Now here he was, flying in space. Granted he wasn't the one flying it but it was still pretty cool.


He looked up and saw the crates of gear that lined the inside of the cabin. The rumors were actually true for once. They were deploying, and on a ship too. Sure his entire job was to stand around in a ship, shoot guns, pick up and drop off shit but this was a big ship, with big guns. MAC guns. The young Lance Corporal never seen combat before. A part of him, a large part of him, was eager to finally see some action and take the fight to the enemy. One can be enthusiastic for shooting fake targets for so long. Except for Jenny but she was a gun nut, if it has a trigger and goes boom she's happy. Kind of scary now that he thought about it.


He felt the dropship begin to slow. They must be nearing the ship. He changed cameras on his TACPAD and saw the ship in front of him. The UNSCS Iowa, a Marathon II Cruiser. His gaped a little at the sheer size of it. This was what he was going to be living in for...who knows when. Only now did it finally sink in on him. He probably was never going to see Reach again. Sure it was boring but it wasn't a bad place to be stationed. They neared the hangar doors and they parted open before them. The pilots guided the Pelican inside and the doors closed behind them. One man in a vacuum suit stood in front of them, taxing the dropship to where it needed to drop off the cargo. Slim could tell from the dull grey vac suit and pinup girl on the dirt brown helmet that the man was none other than LCPL Pierce.



Typically mechanics like Pierce don't get vac suits but since they were going to be working mainly in the hangar where there was a chance of accidental depressurization it was a safety requirement. They weren't as advanced as Slims but they were incredibly durable and held plenty of air in the case they got sucked into space. The mechs got their suits a month ago and Pierce instantly made it his own by detailing his helmet and putting on some nifty patches he collected. Slim unbuckled from his seat and stood at the hook control panel. Though the pilots usually dropped the load, he was there in case something malfunctioned and had to do it manually. Pierce signaled them to stop and to drop the load. "Releasing hook," the pilot said over the ICS.


With the flip of the switch the quad-cons in the back dropped onto the floor, causing the Pelican to move slightly. Pierce then guided them to the docking pad before he finally signaled for them to land. With skill the pilots set the bird down gently and shut down engines but the APP (Auxiliary Power Plant) so the bird still had electric and hydraulic power. The ramp lowered but Slim's view of the back was obstructed by the additional gear in the cabin. He heard feet stepping on the ramp as mechs entered to help move the gear out. This was the last bit of gear from Reach. Though half of the squadron was still there saying their final goodbyes and what not, Slim volunteered to help out in moving everything from their hangar on the planet to their new home on the Iowa. It wasn't like he had anything there anyway. Within seven minutes everything was moved out and the bird was tied down. There were no more flights today. Slim finished the birds post flight and turned in his flight gear before he finally walked into the Flight Line shop. Though usually CPL Wellington, Slim's team leader and mentor, was running the desk but she was back planet side, undoubtedly partying it up. Today someone else was running it. "Got anything else, Sergeant?" he asked. 

"Nope. You're done for the day. Get out of here," he said.
With that the crew chief left the shop and pulled off his helmet, taking a breath. Unlike the fresh air on Reach it seemed...off. Already he was missing it. He couldn't go to his room yet for they weren't ready for them. Chow sounds good though. It was lunch after all. Then he realized he had no idea where anything was on this boat. He pulled out his TACPAD and managed to pull up a map of the current level he was on. After a moment to remember what he learned in land nav he figured out his route and headed to it. The mess hall was large but was pretty full at the moment. He got his food, a plate of pizza and some fries, then looked around to find any open seats. He couldn't find anyone he knew. He did find a large muscled man setting with has back to him at a table all by himself. Figuring that was his best option, Slim approached and asked, "Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?"

[MrKill]

Colonel Johnathon B'Sheau Killinger
UNSCS Iowa
Marathon II Super-Heavy Guided Missile Cruiser

John flipped to a new report and slowly read over it. Mhmm, he thought. He nodded, and opened a new page. He stared at it for a moment, grew frustrated slightly, and swore - before going back to the previous page. Ah, I see... he thought, and returned to the page he was viewing. "Fucking damn it," he muttered. "Why are the New Alexandria Hawks so bad!? I don't understand how hard it is to get a center. Stupid GM, I could do a better job..." Hey, if I survive this I'll retire and actually become one!.

The New Alexandria Hawks, a ice hockey team from the reincarnation of the ancient sport, had finished their two hundred game schedule going 27-173 during the process.... Over one hundred losses, worst record in the RHL and, more importantly, the lack of scoring from any of the forwards was concerning. Whatever, frustration aside it was time to take a look at the New Alexandria Phantoms. Those guys were actually good - gravball had become a popular sport since the technology was perfected for it.

They were doing much better, with the leading scorer having nearly one hundred points. Awesome, that made the failure of the Hawks look better. Unfortunately, John wasn't as happy that the Phantoms were doing as good as they could have been doing. It appeared a bunch of the players on the team were slacking. I should be there fucking coach! I'll show them discipline! he though, before a young Marine interrupted his thoughts. A welcomed interruption.

"Of course not, son, take a seat." John said, waiving him over to the vacant seat across from him. He lowered his tactical pad to get a better look of the Lance Corporal.

[LaxKnight]

LCPL Steven 'Slim' Valky
UNSCS Iowa
Marathon II Cruiser

Slim's eyes widened a little when the man in front of him swore but relaxed a little when it became obvious the curse wasn't directed at him. Whoever this guy was we was clearly a passionate sports fan. The Crew Chief didn't particularly care for hockey, or sports in general except when it came to Europa but he hasn't met anyone else from there yet. He stood there for a bit until the man finally acknowledged his presence. He waved Slim over to take a seat. There was a brief smile on his face as he went to take a seat across from him. Finally, chow time!. It was when the LCPL looked up to see who he was sitting with that he realized he made a terrible mistake.


The silver eagle. This man was a full blown Colonel. And he was looking squarely at him like a scientist through a microscope. Slim couldn't help but sit a little straighter. The Crew Chief's job meant he had to be around a bunch of officers. He was fine around them, treating them with respect for they were people like him. Sure he'll get a little nervous around the CO but who wouldn't? It's the motherfucking CO after all. This was different though. This man, Colonel Killinger from reading his name tape, was higher than his CO. From the look of him this sir was probably ground side too. That meant more important, more strict, and more scrutiny. 


Trying to play it as cool and safe as possible, Slim said, "Good morning sir," and immediately began eating his pizza.

[Guardian Cat of Yappa's]

Sergeant Maximilian Drake Fields

UNSCS Iowa
Needing to talk

Drake had returned from The Raging hornet about a hour ago, just as the bar had filled up with marines and ODSTs that had gotten off duty, for once not having returned with the reek of alcohol. He had gone to the barracks to clean himself up before seeking out the Colonel about a transfer to first platoon. Drake went and shaved, brushed his teeth, taken a shower, and everything else that people do when they clean themselves up. Drake geared up in his basic combat fatigues, walking out of the barracks, he was gonna head to the colonel's when he heard his stomach rumble. It might be smarter to go get something to eat before I talk to the colonel. 

Drake casually turned down the hall and proceeded towards the only mess hall that served food that was actually cooked on the ship, a rare sight among UNSC vessels, and the favorite place for all the crew members of the Iowa to eat. As he entered the hall the first thing he noticed was two men sitting at a circular table towards the back of the room, causing Drake to casually laugh. One of the men sitting there was none other than the Colonel himself, and the other was one of the new fly boys that must have been assigned to the ship with all the fresh pelicans. Grabbing a fresh cut roast beef sandwich, Drake calmly walked over to them. "Colonel sir, Permission to sit here?" Drake asked, wondering if he wouldn't because of his behavior during the last time they had socialized.

(I had planned to make this a bit longer but i had to run mid post)

[MrKill]

Colonel Johnathon B'Sheau Killinger
UNSCS Iowa
Marathon II Super-Heavy Guided Missile Cruiser

John chuckled to himself as the Lance Corporal said 'good morning'. Not even ten minutes ago we was telling a mess sergeant that it was one in the afternoon, at least down in New Alexandria. John was visibly grinning at this time but shook it off mentally. "It's 1310 hours," John said. "Is my watch running early?" He wondered, bringing up his tactical pad. 1310.

The Veteran marine lowered his tactical pad and stared at the man with blank eyes, watching the marine eat his Pizza. "Tell me, Lance Corporal, I seem to have forgotten something." The Colonel asked, but before the man could reply another marine decided to join them. This time it was Sergeant Drake, who asked to join John and the Lance Corporal. John swore he had never met this man before, and yet the Sergeant was talking to him casually enough to indicate they had met. He was one of the few that didn't have their metaphorical jaw on the floor.

What, was a Colonel eating in the chow hall so rare in this day that anyone associated to the rank were automatically assumed to be drinking fine wine and eating expensive crumpets in the officers lounge? John didn't get it, and had received a lot of flak for being a 'front line officer' despite his pay grade. Well, highcommand should suck it. John chose to lead on the front lines, not sit back in a chair at the regiment HQ. Perhaps the rank Colonel wasn't suited out for the man.

"Free ship, Sergeant, sit where ever you'd like."

[LaxKnight]

LCPL Steven 'Slim' Valky
UNSCS Iowa
"Enjoying" a Meal with a Colonel

Slim stopped chewing when the Colonel spoke up. Even if he was a very high ranking officer, this man had a way with words that demanded attention. He said that the time was 1310 and even brought up his TACPAD as proof. He stared at him with blank eyes. Slim couldn't tell how much trouble he was in but he knew whatever was coming next wasn't going to be good. The officer was about to begin Slim's talk down when another person came, asking permission to sit with them. Oh great. Someone else to watch, he thought, and an NCO to top it off. He also seemed like a grunt, possibly even knows the Colonel personally. Slim was most likely going to hear about this from his Gunny.


Slim chewed a bit more then swallowed when he thought of what to say. "It's my bad sir," he said carefully, "It was morning when I left Reach this morning. Just got back from transporting gear. They haven't even told me what rack I'm in yet sir."


He took another bite of his pepperoni pizza to give himself more time to think and avoid having to reply immediately. This man may be a Colonel but one thing Slim holds very highly is food. Not even a full bird Colonel could fuck with that.

[MrKill]

Colonel Johnathon B'Sheau Killinger
UNSCS Iowa
Marathon II Super-Heavy Guided Missile Cruiser

"It's nobodies 'fault', lance corporal, I'm just kidding around. I've been told 'good morning' too many times since noon struck New Alexandria Zulu time," John said, reaching over a stealing a couple of fries off the young mans plate. He grinned as he put his small handful in his mouth and crewed on them. Not bad, not bad indeed. "I'll give you a rack to sleep on and a hot shower to make, well, you know the rest from there. Technically, back on Earth, it would still be morning. From the UNSC Military Calendar's twenty four hour clock, it's actually 0100 something. I'm not sure."

John leaned back in his chair and produced a Jones Tiberius electronic cigar, similar to a Sweet Williams but not entirely 'illegal' to smoke on a ship, since it was vapor and not smoke. It didn't smell, it didn't reek and more importantly, it wasn't against regulations. Unfortunately, they were also extremely expensive. The veteran officer injected a liquid valve and inhaled, satisfied with the savory taste. He exhaled, no visible smoke or vapor leaving his mouth and not a sent... other than maybe his bad breath.

[LaxKnight]

LCPL Steven 'Slim' Valky
UNSCS Iowa
Getting to Know the Colonel

Of course. Another higher up fucking with him though the Colonel seemed almost cool. Slim was about to shake it off when the Colonel reached over and stole some of his fries. The LCPL's glaring eyes followed the officer's hand every inch of the way until he stuffed them in his mouth. Slim brought his tray closer to him and continued to enjoy his pizza. The Colonel was talking about racks and time but it flew over his head. He could think about was the stolen French Fries. That was a douche move, he thought but then decided it would be better to focus on how surprisingly well this pizza was. For Chow Hall food anyway. 


The Colonel then leaned back as he began smoking. Someone could mistake that if they got just a glance of it but Slim knew better. It was one of those electronic cigarettes or cigars or whatever, he didn't smoke but some of his NCOs did and saw some of them use them. Those things cost a pretty penny. Must be nice to have Colonel pay. After finishing his pizza he took a swig of Gatorade and moved on to the fries.

[MrKill]

Colonel Johnathon B'Sheau Killinger
UNSCS Iowa
Marathon II Super-Heavy Guided Missile Cruiser

John grinned as the Lance Corporal retaliated by bringing his trey closer. "I prefer bacon, Valky, but thanks for sharing." He said, putting away his e-cigar. He stood up, excused himself from the Lance Corporal and Sergeant and went back to the Mess Sergeant who was serving out some food to a couple of Marines.

He waited patiently as they were served, almost completely unaware John was behind them until they turned around. They said their respects, to which John replied in kind, and moved forward in the line. He selected one of the few plates still left over from dinner. The gunny heated it for a moment and handed it over to him, and the Colonel promptly returned to his seat by the Lance Corporal and Sergeant and checked his watch again; 1316

He let out a low sigh and tossed a piece of bacon over to the Lance Corporal, watching as it landed on his plate. "Three fries for a piece of bacon. I'd call that a franchise player for a third round draft pick." John said, pulling up his tactical pad. He accessed PERSCOMM and opened up Valky's file. He read the reassignment orders quickly and nodded.

"Welcome aboard the UNSCS Iowa, Lance Corporal. When you're done, I suppose I can give you a tour of the ship. Well, your quarters anyways."

[LaxKnight]

LCPL Steven 'Slim' Valky
UNSCS Iowa
Going On a Tour

Slim looked up when the Colonel mentioned bacon. He was thanking him for 'sharing' the bacon. At least he acknowledged it. The Lance Corporal gave the sir a nod for his mouth was too full to say anything. The Colonel put away his E-smoker and left. Slim watched him go for a bit then returned to his meal. It was surprisingly good for being a chow hall meal. Or he just loves pizza that much. It was one of his favorite foods after all.


By the time the Colonel returned Slim finished his meal and was drinking the last of his Gatorade. He threw a piece of bacon on his plate. Slim wasn't quite sure what the player talk was all about but he could tell it was to make up for the food he 'shared'. Slim took the bacon and with each chew his opinion of the sir went up. When he finished he welcomed Slim to the UNSCS Iowa and said he was willing to give him a tour to his quarters. The Crew Chief was a little dumbfounded and slightly suspicious. Why would a full bird Colonel want to escort a lowly Lance Corporal around? But you can't say no to a Colonel. "Yes sir," he said, "Just let me put my tray away." 


When the Colonel finished his meal Slim took the plate for him and then turned it into the wash racks before he returned to the table. "Ready when you are, sir," he said.

[Guardian Cat of Yappa's]

Sergeant Drake Fields

UNSCS Iowa

Tagging along for now

"Free ship, Sergeant, sit where ever'd you like."

"Thank you sir."

Drake sat down at the table, his tray making a settle tap as he listened on to their conversation, slightly amused by the fly boy's reaction of an NCO sitting down with the CO. As they chattered about the time and how it was off on the Iowa, something that had been bugging Drake as well. Drake opened his mouth up as he brought his sandwich up to his mouth and took a bite out of it, thankful that it wasn't one of those horrible defrosted meals that marines normally have to eat, as the colonel pulled out a smoke and started to puff it. Instantly, Drake knew it was a electronic one, since he himself, knew that the smell was off. 

After a few minutes of the three men sitting there, the colonel stood up and got in line for food. Drake rushed to finish his food since he needed to talk to him bout a transfer to first platoon. His plate became a mess as he chomped what was left down in three bites, and wiped his face with his arm. The colonel quickly returned, throwing a piece of bacon at the LCPL, and finished his meal off quickly. There was talk about pro players and draft picks, probably something the two had been talking bout earlier, Drake thought.

"Welcome aboard the UNSCS Iowa, Lance Corporal. When you're done, I suppose I can give you a tour of the ship. Well, your quarters anyways."


"Yes sir, just let me put my tray away."


As the Lance Corporal picked up and put their trays away, for Drake had slid his in under the Corporal's, He addressed the Colonel. "Sir, I wanted to ask for reassignment from second platoon to first platoon." 

The Lance Corporal returned rather quickly, "Ready when you are, sir,"

[MrKill]

Colonel Johnathon B'Sheau Killinger
UNSCS Iowa
Marathon II Super-Heavy Guided Missile Cruiser

"Right," John said, a tad annoyed. He wasn't entirely used to being a Colonel, not yet at least. Truth be told, he hadn't 'lead' a true Regiment yet and was thinking - perhaps - the pressure was about to make him buckle. He had done a literal ton, or what seemed like of, of administrative work. He sighed under his breath and, for the hundred time today, accessed the Personnel Command database and quickly located Fields. He didn't bother reading about the profile, but he checked what unit he was currently assigned too. Unfortunately, the Sergeant forgot that he commanded a regiment, not a company. There were many 'first platoons' in his unit. "Give me a moment."

Fields was assigned to Second Lieutenant Mkvenner. John had served with him before, on the planet operation 'Isolated' took place on. He, Captain Cooper and himself were the only three officers. If Fields was in that same operation, then maybe John had served with him previously. The Second Lieutenant was assigned to Alpha Company, under the veteran leadership of John's former platoon Sergeant, Captain Sorelson. Sorelson was promoted VIA battlefield commissioned and had climbed the ladders, but he was ten years senior to John himself. The veteran Colonel still didn't know if the man planned to retire or not.

John stood up and allowed the Lance Corporal to take his plates. Returning his focus to the tactical pad he located First Platoons roster. Whoa, he thought for a moment. So that's what platoon he leads. With a flick of his finger, he opened up first platoons commanding officer. His own son, Kyle Killinger, was the CO of the unit Fields was trying to get into. Somewhat surprised, but not entirely so, John was pleased to know what unit his son was in. In reality, Kyle had probably told him a dozen times, but he'd just forgotten or wasn't listening at the time.

John cleared his throat as he pressed the 'Assign to' button. Yes, it was that simple, at least for someone as high as he is. He submitted various security codes, placed his thumb on the tactical pad and spoke his kids name for the voice recognition. The file updated and Fields was assigned to Iowa-1/7, A Co., 1 PLT, though it was processing, the Sergeant easily filled in Kyle's platoon. Hell, most of first battalion was gone anyways. John, at this particular time, could probably reassign everyone into first and second battalions. Unfortunately, that's just how war with the Covenant went.

"It's done, Sergeant. Report to First Lieutenant Kyle Killinger as soon as possible. Lance Corporal, I'll show you your bunk for the time being." John said, and lead the young Marine out of the mess hall. He weaved and turned, traversing the various sizes of corridors the massive warship had. By now, he knew the one and a half kilometer ship inside and out. Well, maybe not. Inside, and that didn't include maintenance shafts and other areas crewmen and other navy ranks would go to make sure the ship was in tip top shape.

"The Iowa will become your home. I noticed you come from Reach, well this will be much different. You'll breath in this crap they call air, eat the crap they call food and shit in the toilets made from crap. But make no mistake, this ship is only crap because it's survived a crap ton of shit." John said, amused by the string of sentences. "Severely damaged six different times, gutted thrice with an energy projector and patched up more times than than ONI's top secret documents, yet she survives - barely. She's a combat vessel, and one of the toughtest out there. Inside the ship, we call her 'Lady Lucky'. Threat that right and she'll reward you with it." John explained.

"Her history might make you think she's a weak ship, or a huge target. While she is a huge target, she's one of the best warships in the UNSC Navy second to Vice Admiral Cole's Everest - which has been missing, presumed destroyed, since 2543. Life on this ship will be much different," John said. "You'll need to memorize your surroundings, the location of important areas and transportation hubs around the ship. If you haven't noticed, to your right, is the chow hall we just came from." John said, completing his zigzagging loop. He smiled slightly, before leading the Lance Corporal to the elevator and down to deck 53.

"The Iowa, in sections, has up to three hundred and five decks. The average height of a deck is about three meters, or about ten feet tall. Some decks obviously have more height to allow transportation like Warthog and tanks through. Pelicans. The areas around the hangers are, as you seen, much larger than the corridors and surrounding areas we're walking in. Tram cars are on every fifty decks. That's deck fifty, one hundred, one hundred fifty, two hundred, two fifty and three hundred. The deck three hundred tram only runs from the engine room to about nine hundred meters down the ship." John said, leaving the elevator and turning right. He lead the Lance Corporal down the hall and into his bunk.

The room was nearly empty, but it contained some of the 7th Marines attached air wings.

"Any questions?"

[NinjaBoss]

Moe Keating, ODST Private

Gunshots. "BLAOW BLAOW BLAOW!" Explosions. An intense ringing in his ears, Moe screamed in agony. He could feel the burning in his legs, the intense pain of what could only be plasma. Fire blazed in the sky, destruction all around him. Looking to his left, bodies... Faces he knew. Sam..... Gabby.... Cars...... A yelp of fear. Looking forwards, he saw Goldy, his best friend. The familiar sound of of Covenant rifles. Then Zach, standing there, headless.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!"

Moe yelled, but to no avail. There was nothing he could do. He looked down at his legs finally, fearing the worst. He saw two appendages, caked in dry blood and charred from plasma, the lower ends missing. Footsteps. Skirmishers, the little devil looking things, coming towards him. Moe gulped, began to shake with fear... or shock? He didn't know. Reaching for his rifle, he found his M6 instead. It would have to do. Moe raised it up, pointed.... and pulled, his eyes closed. He had seen enough death for today, he couldn't even bear to watch himself kill the enemy. But the gunshot never came. Opening his eyes, they came for him, wicked smiles on their faces. Huge, serrated teeth. One of them grabbed a piece of metal, but what it was before could only be imagined. It was a weapon now, a jagged, horrible knife, and they laughed. All of them, laughing, and Moe began to cry. This was it, he knew it, this was where he died.

The Skirmisher took the scrap metal and dug into his leg, sadistically sawing off its next meal. Screaming again, Moe felt like he was in hell. Maybe he was......

Gasping, he awoke, sweaty in his bed. Looking around him Moe saw no carnage, no enemies.... His legs were still there. His legs! A silent thanks to god, for he was still alive. Moe sat up, began getting dressed. He needed something to get his mind off of this.....

[LaxKnight]

LCPL Steven 'Slim' Valky
UNSCS Iowa
Taking a Tour

When Slim returned the Colonel just finished something with the Sergeant. The sir announced he too was ready and began leading him through the ship. The Colonel began talking about the main differences from Reach and here, mainly that everything here is crap. This got a bemused grin out of the Lance Corporal. He then went on to describe the various battle damage this ship has sustained over the years and exactly how powerful it is. Slim decided to remain silent as the Colonel went on, recommending that he memorize his surroundings before he pointed out that they were right back where they started. This evoked a startled reaction out of him. He was too entranced by his words that he forgot to pay attention to his surroundings. 


He lead them into the elevator and he continued to talk on the way down. He explained the dimensions of the ship and Slim tried his best to memorize them. He was still trying to process it all when the elevator stopped and the Colonel stepped out. In no time they were at his room. It was mainly empty for most of them were still down on Reach partying it up. He saw his friend, Pierce, there. They made eye contact and the mech made a face before he turned away and went to talk to the few that were there. The word was out. Slim was hanging out with a ground pounder Colonel. 


Slim returned his attention back to the Colonel. "Do you know if there is a gym or a rec center on this floor, Colonel..." he left it hanging for him to fill in.

[David]

Admiral David Vardy
UNSC KILLIMANJARO
Doing Paper Work

It never ends Vardy thought to himself. The Pads that scattered his desk were almost all the same. Paper work for the recent work for the Killimanjaro. The ship needed a complete overhaul and a couple of little upgrades here and there. Mostly to his Bridge. He didn't feel it was properly streamlined for his style of command, so He reconfigured his command chair to host a couple of screens that patched into the sensors and other crucial ship functions, allowing him to call up info instead of shouting for it. He also had them install something that had all but been forgotten. Seat Belt. This way, when his ship took a beating, He wouldn't be flung into Kingdom come and flattened on the deck. He also had them install a better holotable. His, after many years of use and beating, just needed to be upgraded. Frankly it was a wise move and would improve his tactical musings and instructions. 

"Admiral to the bridge" Called Commander Paris. After what had happened at the last battle, HIGHCOM in their infinite wisdom, decided to grant Janeway a promotion and her own ship. UNSC Voyager she called it... Silly name if you asked David. But it was sleek, fast and armed well. She had written him a long farewell letter, Letting David know that She had cherished every moment aboard his ship, and also apologised for what she still saw as a weak point in her command. David had been forgiving to her, and had entered a commendation for Bravery in her permanent record, Stating that she did what was needed and expected of her. He knew that Klix would not be as understanding as he was, Likely still sore from what he felt was abandonment. David hoped that Klix would get over it. Life was too damned short to hold grudges. Especially when one fought on the front line. He knew that Klix was now re-assigned to the Earth fleet, Now that Rear-Admiral Frazer was now in command of a fleet at reach. Frankly, David approved of the appointment and knew that Frazer would serve with distinction. But surely Klix was. To use an ancient earth term, "Butthurt" about being re-assigned, He knew that Klix would get over it.

"Acknowledged Commander" David replied, Releasing the comms button. Getting up, He strode to the door, Grabbed his hat off the hook by the door and strode out into the hall, reaching the lift. As he went to punch in the command for the deck, He winced as a jolt of pain stabbed from his chest. He was still recovering from the gunshot wound he had sustained. Doctors had admonished him for asssuming command when he should have been resting, But Vardy had paid no heed. His people had needed him.

As the lift stopped and the Door opened, David stepped out onto the bridge. He snapped a salute back at Commander Paris, who was saluting by Davids Command Chair. "Report."

[Doc the Mother of Dragons]

Cprl. Felicia Cortez 

Reach 

Random Armory

She was going to kill him. Felicia stood still for several seconds as her partner ran off laughing down the hall, pondering how she would kill him when she caught him. Taking a deep breath she slowly leaned over and started pulling her pants back up, halfway through this motion she realized that a young Private was staring at her, his mouth hanging open, "Callate el osico gordota!"  she snapped as she yanked her pants up and tightened her belt. The Private stammered something as he quickly moved out of her way, but she did not care, the kid could keep on blabbering. Cortez took off in a run and soon was coming up behind Dekker, keeping her speed up she used her forward momentum to jump and tackled the taller man to the ground, she couldn't help but smile as she tightened her hold around his waist to prevent him from getting away again, "Hijo de puta, I got you!" she said not feeling so mad anymore.

SPOILER: Click to show

Felcia tell the Private to "shut his fat mouth" and calls Dekker a "son of a bitch"...for those who need translation help.