Unit Mission: Seventh Marines

[Armory]

Sgt. Johnathan Miller
Anvil Tank Company, UNSC Armored Cav. 7th Marines

The road seemed to go on forever at the tank made it'it's way through the open towards the rally point outside the town. The open ground gave the tank commander some scope of the area he was in. Covenant would probably deploy their armor at the back of the town allowing the Wraiths to shell the incoming marines at a distance. The Wraiths that would not be shelling would served as defense for key points in the area. Either way infantry was not the only worry here. 

Miller brought the Grizzly slowly around into the rally point avoiding the occasional warthog before receiving eyes on with Anvil Actual.


"We are coming up on your flank Sir,  you think we are going to see some armor in the streets since the wraiths use plasma motors or are we expecting shelling." Miller worked the tank up to meet up with his commander's position.

The sound of a warthog engine nearby brought Miller to turn the gun slightly allowing him to see the situation outside the tank. Alpha was getting ready to mobilize on the town by the looks of the troops lining up in formation. So the com line came alive with the voice of Alpha's Commanding Officer.

"Tornado Actual, Rodger that. I'll keep formation over. Have your boys radio in targets and I'll provide the fire support to  the location outside my own sweeps. Anvil one-one out." He radioed back before flipping the switch on the auto loaded "Anvil one-one to Anvil Actual, we'll follow your lead sir, Miller out."

[Wax™]

First Lieutenant Travis Killinger

153rd A, Com. Temporary CO

Deploying into combat

---&---

Master Sergeant Johnny Booth

153 ODST Battalion

Sniper Pair - Late Deployment

---&---

Second Lieutenant Justin Jenkins

1st Bt, A, CO. 4th Platoon CO

Following 1st Lt Killinger, T.

First Lieutenant Travis Killinger gripped onto the passenger hand hold as it skidded to a halt in the dirt about fifty meters south of the towns outskirt and about one hundred and fifty meters from the 153rd ODST's of Alpha Company. Travis hauled himself from the passenger side seat once Master Sergeant Johnny Booth had exited the Warthog as well. Straightening himself out he lifted his BR55 and checked to make sure it was loaded, which was kind of silly since he had yet to fire a round and knew it was already loaded. Mind you it wasn't a bad habit so Travis wasn't quick to break it.

"Alright..." Travis said before keying the COMM's to the three APC's under his command and the four under Second Lieutenant Jenkins' command. "Justin, set up your APC's facing the town in the shape of a semi-circle, unload your troops and form a perimeter facing the town, gunners hold your positions and keep the M41's facing North... My three APC's I want the medical APC in the centre, twenty meters from the four APC's in front and the two others on the far left and right flanks... Over." Travis said before moving over to Booth.

"Sergeant... I want you to take O'Conner and yourself and set up a position between ourselves and the 153rd's Alpha Company... Pick off any Covenant that try to push forward during their retreat to the RV point and take two of Lieutenant Jenkins' marines with you for support... Oorah?" Travis said looking at the man rather expectantly.

---

"Justin, set up your APC's facing the town in the shape of a semi-circle, unload your troops and form a perimeter facing the town, gunners hold your positions and keep the M41's facing North... My three APC's I want the medical APC in the centre, twenty meters from the four APC's in front and the two others on the far left and right flanks... Over." Justin heard over his Platoon wide COMM's smirking as his childhood friend seemingly gave him orders, which he wasn't going to deny, it was a good plan and delivered in the form of good orders.

"Roger that mate..." He said before maintaining COMM's with his Platoon and relaying the orders in his own words.

"You heard the man... create a perimeter using the APC's, marines unload and spread across that perimeter... Take the time out of combat to build small fox holes to establish a permanent or temporary RV point for wounded and other units to retreat too if necessary... If we have any stationary mobile weaponry, set up defenses." Travis said over the COMM's before shutting them down.

---

"Sergeant... I want you to take O'Conner and yourself and set up a position between ourselves and the 153rd's Alpha Company... Pick off any Covenant that try to push forward during their retreat to the RV point and take two of Lieutenant Jenkins' marines with you for support... Oorah?" Booth listened as the Lieutenant addressed him.

"Affirmative Sir... Moving out." John said, stretching his arm around to retrieve his Sniper Rifle System 99 Anti-Matériel from his back and stowing his silenced SMG against his side, he then jogged over to the position that Fourth Platoon had begun setting up from the Marines Alpha Company running up to one of the young marine women who had literally just stepped out of one of the APC's with another marine.

"You, you... With me." John said before running off toward the direction of the town and the 153rd ODST's of Alpha Company, with his spotter and hopefully two young marines in tow. John would literally sprint to a position fifty meters away from 153 Alpha Company. By now a few plasma pot shots would fly past here and there, missing the position of the 153rd. John woulds top and take a look around, just at the edge of the town there was a huge waterfall that had stopped working. Climbing into the water fountain he'd make his way up to the highest point he could without falling off, crouch down into the water and level his sniper rifle before firing on the Covenant position.

"Find cover and fire on any Covenant stragglers during the ODST's retreat!" John yelled down to the marines and his spotter. He'd then open up a channel between himself and Staff Sergeant Willobay.

"Staff Sergeant, this is Master Sergeant Booth... Preparing to suppress Covenant with heavy sniper fire... Prepare your retreat, I suggest throwing smoke and fragmentation grenades before moving... Over." He said before firing off two shots at the Covenant firing, taking down two Grunts before holding off for a moment and firing two more shots, taking down an Elite's shield and then blowing off it's arm from the elbow down.

[MrKill]

Colonel Johnathon B'Sheau Killinger
Seventh Marines
Final Push!

"Right," John replied to Sorelson. "Let's push forward, Sorelson, we've almost got the town. Your advance has left a pocket of Covenant but I think some Marines, specifically my son, are handling it." John added. He thumbs up'd the Grizzly Tank Operators, realizing that the one called Pain was ready to advance. He'd been looking almost eager, eager enough that a round was already probably in the breech of the tank.

It had been a while since he had heard from Major Blakley, and John assumed he was still back at the elephant. The mobile command post was a good landing spot for the supplies the Battalion was keeping, but the Major was still directing Bravo, Charlie, Delta and Echo companies. Since John was the ranking officer in this proximity, Alpha Company looked more towards him now than the Major.

John opened a channel between him and the Major. "Blakley, you still around?"

First Lieutenant Kyle J'Bethu Killinger
1/7, A Co., 1PLT
Crossfire

"We're pushing them back, sir!" Staff Sergeant McKeal barked into the radio. An expeditious rate of fire erupted from the building McKeal was pressing in. Two elites and about a dozen other creatures, from grunts to kig-yar, left the building firing at the Marines pressing in. Two Marines, on the outside of the building, fell under the fire as they were melted away. But they had done their job.

"Open up!" Kyle screamed. The Marines hidden in buildings, bushes and rooftops opened up with the weapons they had. Kyle himself was bursting a MA5 series of assault rifle, watching as his target - one of the two blue elites - ate his bullets with his shields. A Jackal, then the other, had turned and brought their shield to bare, effectively cutting off an entire squads firing position. The Covenant begun to move, fortunately Kyle and McKeal's teams still had an opening to fire at the Covenant.

"BREACH! BREACH! They're in the building!" Corporal Torres screamed from the main floor. "Two elites and six grunts. They flanked us!" The Corporal screamed, running up the stairs following to Privates and a Lance Corporal. Torres sprayed down the stairs and left the door way, swapping magazines as he moved. Another Private First Class glanced down the staircase frivolously before ducking back in more seriously, eyes wide open. He stumbled quietly to himself before an elite blasted through the doorway and engaged the Marines.

Though suffering a couple of losses by the elites plasma rifle, but the Marines efficaciously cut into the elites shields and destroyed what remained behind. The elite collapsed, and two grunts barged through the door frame. Quick successive shots from the Marines and their bodies fell to the ground. They waited for what seemed like an hour, but nothing happened.

Kyle checked outside again. It seemed the Marines had cut down the two elites, grunts and kig-yar that were in the middle of the field. Bodies of both humans and covenant lay motionless. "McKeal, report." Kyle said. He didn't see the IFF tag, but was startled when the Staff Sergeant said hello from behind him. Catching his breath he listed as the Staff Sergeant reported in.

Out of all the casualties, the Marines had suffered eight more deaths, but had taken out three elites, six grunts and a jackal. The rest of the Covenant were retreating back to the Covenant group. First Platoon had done their job. Kyle nodded, "Tornado Actual, Tornado One Actual. Be advised, small splinter group of Covenant are advancing on your six. Out."

"What now, sir?" A PFC asked.

"Secure the area. I want to make sure we don't leave any Covenant behind when move out."

"I heard that," McKeal said. "Moving them out!"

[RiddL]

Staff Sergeant Kai (Wolf) Blacklock
153rd ODST
No Medic but Better than nothing

Kai heard someone scream "MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDIIIIIIIIIC!" and saw someone fall to the ground. He ran to them as quickly as he could while making sure that there were no snipers ready to pick him off. He reached her and got to one knee to inspect her wound, "Lucky it was just your hand, but your out of this fight for now."

He turned to Cub, "Get her on her feet and get her to cover, then go find a Medic, I'll cover you" he said quickly as he kept an eye out for any more spikes coming their way. 
"Yes Staff" Cub replied hastily as he grabbed her arm gently and lifted it so he carried all of the weight and relieved her of that stress.
"I can carry you or you can walk..." Cub paused seeing her rank, "Staff Sergeant"


Kai popped a smoke grenade and and popped off a few rounds from his rifle until the smoke was thick. 
"Alright lets make a dust trail and move!" he yelled as the rest of 153 retreated.

[Wax™]

((OOC Note to ALL ODST's: By the end of your next posts I expect all ODST's to be AT the RV point to help reorganize things and get us underway again.))

First Lieutenant Travis Killinger 

153rd A, Com. Temporary CO 

Organizing a shit storm 

---&--- 

Master Sergeant Johnny Booth 

153 ODST Battalion 

Sniper Pair - Suppressing Squids 

---&--- 

Second Lieutenant Justin Jenkins 

1st Bt, A, CO. 4th Platoon CO 

Following 1st Lt Killinger, T. 

Travis watched, crouched down behind a blown out car as members from the 153rd ODST's of Alpha Company had begun retreating toward the RV point, some of them fine, some wounded dragging wounded and others walking wounded. A couple of ODST's also carried their brothers and sisters in arms who had been slain on the battlefield. Travis threw his BR55 around his back which was strapped around his torso and sprinted about twenty meters out to an ODST who had dropped to one of his knee's carrying a fallen comrade.

"Go get yourself to the medic's... I got him." Travis said to the wounded ODST on his knee who was missing his helmet and had a huge part of his armor missing over his thigh. Travis gripped onto the fallen ODST and threw him over his back and carried him to a point about ten fifteen meters away from the medical APC.

"Lay the KIA's over here... Wounded, report straight to the rear most APC for medical assistance, those who have medical training, leave the fight and assist in wrapping up the wounded; out." Travis said over the COMM's before running out beyond the FIRST line of APC's and into the fray, sprinting passed the ODST's soldiers who were retreating he eventually made it to the fountain which had Master Sergeant Booth on it.

"Keep them suppressed!" He yelled up to the sniper and to the three other marines near the Master Sergeant. Looking outward he noticed one ODST who's IIF tag lighted him up as Staff Sergeant Blacklock carrying another who's IIF tag lighted up as Staff Sergeant Willowbay. Great, his temporary XO was now fucking wounded. Pulling his BR55 around he ran out toward the two before coming around and stopping next to the two.

"Put her down, no time for that shit Blacklock." He said, trying to memorize the name whilst saying it out loud. He'd grab Willowbay and maneuver her around gently so that she was sitting on her ass facing the enemy, taking a split second to look at her wound, he'd remove his sidearm which was a M6C Personal Defense Weapon System and planted it in her lap.

"Shoot them fuckers with your good hand Willowbay..." He said before gripping onto one of the straps of her chest webbing that rested on her shoulder. "Grab the other side Blacklock." He said before beginning to lift Willowbay slightly and drag her to the RV point. Sure her legs would be dragging against the ground, but this was a faster more efficient way of getting her there, and this way she could cover them.

---

Meanwhile Master Sergeant Booth unloaded a few more rounds into the Covenant lines, maybe taking out two Covenant every four rounds before having to reload again. "Keep them suppressed!" Booth heard between the rings of sniper shots roaring through his ears. He recognised it as the Lieutenant and simply nodded before firing two shots into the Covenant ranks, which he now couldn't see due to the smoke deployed by the ODST's. Watching through his scope as the Lieutenant proceeded to grab a wounded marine with the assistance of another he turned his head and yelled out to Private Elms.

"Lift that rifle and suppress the Covenant Private... Cover the Lieutenant!" Booth yelled out over the fire and distance between the two before turning back to face the Covenant, unloading two more shots before reloading his weapon. Just as he went to slam it in home a Plasma bolt rocketed through the smoke and impacted against the barrel of his sniper, eating up the front and splattering Booth with small amounts of plasma residue.

Booth nearly shit himself and flew backward off the top of the fountain, throwing his sniper to the side mid-air whilst he fell. Landing on his back, he knocked all the wind out of him. He soon found himself being dragged back by his spotter O'Conner, he dropped him next Elm's against the car. 

"Catch your breath mate." O'Conner said before moving to the opposite side of Elm's and lean't over the car, slamming his silenced SMG over the hood and sending some random shots down through the smoke.

Booth, who was still trying to catch his breath didn't yet notice that the plasma residue had melted through some of the parts of his BDU and gloves, leaving small burn marks all up and down his arms and on his fingers. Not serious enough to stop him from fighting, but they'd be a great pain.

---

In the meantime, Second Lieutenant Justin Jenkins, sat in the passenger seat of one of the APC's and brought up a COMM link between Colonel Killinger, Captain Sorelson and Major Blakley to inform them on the situation at hand.

"Colonel, Captain and Major... 153rd ODST's are currently being pulled back out of the south of town and to a temporary RV/medical post about one hundred meters from the town itself, established by myself and First Lieutenant Killinger... Temporary defensive measures are being taken and once everything is re-organised the 153rd should be ready to push back into town along with the assistance of my Platoon... Unless you have orders for us to do otherwise Sirs; over?" Travis said before stepping out of the passenger side door, bringing around his MA37 and rushing forward to take cover behind a fallen tree about seventy meters from the town.

[RiddL]

Staff Sergeant Kai (Wolf) Blacklock

                                                                                      153 ODSTs


Kai grabbed one arm and lifted up the Staff Sergeant, he pulled out his last smoke grenade and tossed it to Cub, who quickly pulled the pin and threw it to provide a smoke screen cover to keep them as a minimal target. He looked offer to the Lieutenant, "Please tell me there's a plan" He yelled over the gunfire.

Cub kept on firing pot shots as suppressive fire and kept within 10 meters of the others.

Kai watched as ODSTs ahead of them dropped to stray rounds and blocked of his mind as they kept moving, holding his breath until they got near cover. He released a breath saw the RV point and let out a laugh of relief. He took off his helmet and took in a breath of air, glad to have made it out of the frying pan. He tucked his helmet under his arm and looked at Cub, who was bent over with his helmet on the ground, almost vomiting from all the death he had just witnessed. He looked from the Staff Sergeant to the Lieutenant and put on an air of seriousness again, "We've lost a hell of a lot of good people and gained nothing, Sir, we need nothing short of an artillery strike to be able to make an advance."

[rookie425]

HA Vivian Nyro
UNSC 7th Marines, 1st Battalion, Alpha Company, 2nd Platoon
Day One


Upon word that the rest of A Company was finally moving to take the rest of the town, Vivian dragged in a deep breath as she looked down and realized her newly issued corpsman ruck was still open and strewn about. Seeing the APCs start to ready up for motion, she looked down to the depths of her pack. It was a lot to carry...a whole lot of useful items that she just simply didn't have the back for. Discarding it would be negligent but hanging onto it all was going to be detrimental, especially when they were planning to assault through. She was going to have to be able to move. Some of the items were unnecessary for the situation, the ones that she decided to stuff into the kit at the last second.

Others, like the saline (both bags and bottles) with gauges and tubing, the narcotics, and, most importantly, the bleeding control tools. Biofoam was the definite must, miracle clot as it was. She put what she could into her personal A/FAK with the other items, gloves, goggles and such, as well as her miscellaneous wraps, tape and bandage rolls. Pulling the sterile pack of trauma sheers from the side pouch, she tore the packet open and slipped it into a pouch on her chestplate so that the handle was presented for quick access.

She did a final once over of her kit, rifling through for anything she may have missed, ignoring the BP and stethoscopes for her handy Medical PDA, when she came across a tube of glycerin jelly. Furrowing her brow, she inspected the tube, noting the title of "personal lubricant" which quickly prompted her to giggle to herself. She then slipped it deep down into the massive ruck, down at the bottom where she hoped to never have to think of it again, remembering the constant criticism she got from her old company about how she always carried petroleum jelly in the event she ran short on occlusive dressings, or in case someone came to her with one of the more embarrassing ailments.

Zipping up her bag, she darted for the supply APC. "Here, you might need this too," she called out, underhanding the weight into the arms of a Marine assaultman. He grunted, and with a strained smile, he nodded to her in thanks before adding it to the back with the rest.

"Nyro!" a familiar voice called out, one Vivian only discerned as part of 2nd Platoon. "We're moving! Come on!"

Wordlessly, she slung her A/FAK over her back, rolling her shoulders once to get a feel for the slightly lighter load. It was a good thing she turned down the offer for an MA5, opting for the M7 caseless submachine gun instead. She didn't need the nine pound jagged metal baby throwing her weight off even more. Her movement, the refreshing jog to 2nd platoon's mobilization to the RV set by Killinger, allowed for a better pace.

The rest of her unit may not approve of the discarded equipment, but she knew personally that it would be better this way. While she wasn't at her best comfort with A Company, this was a day-one style start to her rotation. With a breath, she fell in line next to one of the squads and followed.

"This is Second Platoon, we're Oscar Mike to RV. Over."

[Wax™]

First Lieutenant Travis Killinger  

153rd A, Com. Temporary CO  

Organizing a shit storm  

Travis continued to drag his current XO Staff Sergeant Willowbay even once Staff Sergeant Blacklock had let go. Travis dragged Willowbay until the pair were at the medical APC behind the defensive line in the RV. He'd take in a deep breath and sigh to himself before looking down at Willowbay silently, his visor depolarizing so that his facial features were able to be looked upon. Looking at her wound for a moment he'd somewhat shake his head, that happened to be the hand she shot with too and now there's a massive fucking hole in it. Bending down to take his M6C off her and slide it into a holster on his chest he'd take a step back before polarizing his visor again.

"You..." He said pointing towards a medic who had just ran out the back of the medical APC holding a lunch box sized bag with a cross on it. "Patch her up..." He'd say before looking to the woman. "...Take care of the hand."

Travis would quickly spin on his heel and lift his BR55 so the butt rested against the top of his shoulder with the barrel pointing down toward the ground. Travis would watch as the remaining members of the 153rd ODST's of Alpha Company made it to the RV, some of the men unscathed, others with wounded and others were walking wounded. A few of those who were still combat effective were dragging dead behind them. Soon enough he found Blacklock approaching him.

"Sergeant..." Travis said.

"We've lost a hell of a lot of good people and gained nothing, Sir, we need nothing short of an artillery strike to be able to make an advance."
The Sergeant spoke before going quiet.

"No artillery Sergeant... The marines of Tornado Company, First Battalion are currently pushing into the town on the north... That'd be some danger close shit... And I have no doubt you have lost some good men Sergeant and I am sorry to hear that... But right now I can't worry about that... As far as I know Sergeant, I am the only surviving member of my entire Company which was stationed on a Frigate that was blown out of orbit... I'm lucky I made it down..." He said with a sigh, a couple of passing ODST's and marines stopped once they heard that.

"Shit, it's that bad up there?" He heard one marine mumble before he continued on.

"We patch up the critically wounded, but I want the majority of our attention on those with lesser wounds, we get as many men back on their feet as possible before pushing back into the town with the assistance of Tornado Company's Fourth Platoon we got helping us here... If you have any other questions, throw them on me Sergeant, otherwise square away your squad and get combat ready." Travis would speak before opening COMM's between himself, the 153rd ODST's of Alpha Company and Tornado Company's Fourth Platoon.

"Patch up the lesser wounded as quickly as possible before focusing on the critically wounded, I want as many men combat effective as possible before we push back into town... Yes you heard right, we're going to push back into the town... Tornado Company's Fourth Platoon will assist as best they can, we'll use the APC's for cover and fire support. So don't spend too much time building defenses; Killinger Out." Travis said before jogging lightly over to the front of the defensive line made by the APC's. 

Master Sergeant Johnny Booth  

153 ODST Battalion  

Sniper Pair - Suppressing Squids  

Now that the adrenaline had worn off a bit, Both could feel the multiple small burn marks all along his fingers and forearms, they weren't hurting real bad or anything, it was just a quite noticeable itch all over his arms that needed scratching, however Booth had to concentrate on other things at hand. Now that he had finally caught his breath he gripped his silenced SMG now that his sniper was useless and took a knee, lifting it up and over the hood of the car so that the barrel pointed toward the enemy lines, he noticed that all the ODST's as well as the Lieutenant had finished pulling back to the RV.



"Lines clear..." He heard O'Conner speak.



"Roger, let's pull back to the RV..." Booth said before turning his head to look at the young female marine. "...Return to your squad, appreciate the assistance."



Booth would say before standing up and setting off in a light jog back towards the RV, now that everyone was there Booth was no longer needed in the mid-way point, he was now kind of useless however due to the fact that his sniper had been destroyed from a plasma bolt. Which internally was boiling Booth like an egg.

[rookie425]

Being verbally yanked from formation, Vivian did a double-take on the man requesting her presence. After slinging her M7 over her chest, she slid the straps of her rather sizable, backpack-sized A/FAK from her shoulders and hung it in one hand while nearing the casualty, "Roger that, Lieutenant."

Coming around the back of the APC, her patient was in full view; another ODST lying on the pavement. While the hand was obviously the main focus, she wasn't about to rule out other injuries. She tore open a velcro softcase on her left thigh and withdrew the medical PDA. Taking a kneel, she began scan her over. "Staff Sergeant, my name's Vivian," she said in a tender voice. "Can you take a few breaths for me? Nice and easy."

Her PDA picked up on the Staff Sergeant's internal systems, relaying vitals and nerve activity, as well as searching for suit breaches. So far it told her that what she saw was all she had to deal with. No other suit breaches, no internal hemorrhaging--just the hand...and sadly the spike was still present. It would've been so much easier if it had gone through, but now she had to be the bringer of bad news to the ODST.

Giving an empathetic glance at Staff Sergeant Willowbay, she shifted to the side and glanced at the small crowd of wounded by the curb. By then, she could hear Lieutenant Killinger issuing instructions.


"We patch up the critically wounded, but I want the majority of our attention on those with lesser wounds, we get as many men back on their feet as possible before pushing back into the town with the assistance of Tornado Company's Fourth Platoon we got helping us here... If you have any other questions, throw them on me Sergeant, otherwise square away your squad and get combat ready."

Vivan shook her head. Maybe I didn't hear him correctly, she mused, opening up her A/FAK at her side. Slapping on a pair of blue nitrile gloves, she wiggled her fingers over the array of equipment lining the inside of her bag; she was about to pop the proper question to Willowbay soon, but no matter if she removed the spike or left it in place, it was best to have the right tools on hand and ready. "We need to get that bleeding under control and your hand immobilized," she said. Coming face to visor with the Staff Sergeant, she was about to speak again but waited as Killinger continued.

"Patch up the lesser wounded as quickly as possible before focusing on the critically wounded, I want as many men combat effective as possible before we push back into town... Yes you heard right, we're going to push back into the town... Tornado Company's Fourth Platoon will assist as best they can, we'll use the APC's for cover and fire support. So don't spend too much time building defenses; Killinger Out."

No, Vivian, you didn't mishear him, she thought, hanging her head slightly. That was a backwards form of triage that she was never taught, and to her it was morally wrong. They needed to get moving, yes, but she wasn't going to delay treatment for someone who was critical. She kept that part to herself.

Looking upon Willowbay again, she spoke up, nodding to her impaled hand. "Look, that's gonna come out sooner or later. I can do it here thanks to biofoam but at the risk of causing more damage than good. Leaving it alone isn't going to make much difference as you're not gonna be able to fire a gun anyways, so I'm leaving it up to you."

[RiddL]

Staff Sergeant Kai (Wolf) Blacklock
153 ODSTs
Wondering if a little light bulb is above his head

"As a matter of fact I do Lieutenant." Kai said as a small smile touched his lips, he pointed to the building that had given them the most trouble before.

"If we can spare a Grizzly, have them target the supports on that building and make it rubble, if we can do that then the rest of this battle will be over ricky tick. Snipers can be put in some of the buildings around our position, spread out enough so that the FOV is larger and more targets can be presented for them. Have maybe 4 squads move up on the left and right of the buildings and have the main brunt of us move down the middle, effectively flanking from our side while the Marines on the other side pin them between us, get the heavy armour between to create an effective crossfire, admittedly there will be losses but the covenant will be wiped out from this part of the planet, Sir." He finished as he put his helmet back on and reloaded his rifle.

[Astro]

████ Hours, December ██, 2547 (Military Calendar) /
Sanctuary, Hope

LCpl Jock McPherson
7th Marine Regiment, 1st Battalion
Tornado 2-4, Fireteam Alpha

Jock was a Marine. Jock was paid to shoot. Jock was paid to die.

Second Platoon, and with it Tornado 2-4, were currently securing the town which defied the very laws of physics. The sheer amount of infantry units in the five-block area, Human and Covenant, was scary. There were more people packed into one street than there were on your average Mexican-American bus in the twenty-first century, with so many Marines per square-inch that it made executing respectable strategies near impossible. Sticking through it and putting up with the shit, Jock and his squad made their way through the crowd, taking elbows from every motherfucker with a gun and offering out right hooks to anyone who dared stand in their way.

"Jameson. I never ever agree with you, but you're right on this. There are way too many fucking Marines here." Jock agreed, as the two Lance Corporals watched two thousand Marines plowing through the street chasing a single Grunt. They sighed in union and suddenly began breathing fire. Jameson grew sparkly wings and Jock himself began speaking in French.

---

"Hey. Yo, Jock. Wake the fuck up, numbnuts." called Corporal Warren, standing above Jock whilst snapping his fingers like he was trying to bring him out of hypnosis. "This is a combat op, not nap time."

Jock grabbed Warren's extended hand and pulled himself up, feeling dizzy as he regained his footing. When his head stopped spinning he glanced around at his surroundings: the room they had set up in to lay down a base of fire had been hit by something hard. The walls, what remained of them at least, were blackened with the signature burns of superheated plasma. The roof of the two-storey building had collapsed through the ground floor ceiling, falling into the office area below and decorating the place with large pieces of rubble.

"Sound off. Everyone alright?" came Shields' voice. Jock saw the Sergeant stand up and shake the bits of concrete out of his NCO-cap, looking around at his men.

"We're good."

"Bravo's good!"

"Here."

"Not dead." Jock responded, giving the Sergeant a half nod.

"Alpha's- wait, where's Stone?" Corporal Warren asked, looking around throughout the dusty room. The Marines were drawn to a muffled groaning noise in the corner of the room, where a big chunk of ceiling had fallen down. Poking out from underneath was James's M247 GPMG.

Jock called Jameson over to help him move the slab of concrete, growing impatient as the groggy Marine sauntered over towards him. On a three count, they lifted the rubble from each side and moved it away slowly. They dropped it a few metres from where it had landed on Stone, going back over to where he lay.

"Come on, mate. You able t'walk?" Jock asked, helping the man up as Jameson and Warren picked up his GPMG and M7.

[Guardian Cat of Yappa's]

(OOC Awe Not sure what to post as my Sergeant, since im still somewhat confused from that crossfire/valentines day massacre of the covvies he orchestrated. So I'll just wait for his next post before i post.)

Captain Kelvin Duncan

1/7, 53rd CE, A Co

Waiting for Orders

After a few minutes of waiting, 2Lt Benson had reported in to him. Saying that the auto shop was cleared out and safe for the AVLBs. A Sweet Williams Cigar in his mouth, Duncan sat there for a minute as Spade and his men rushed by him, followed by the sound of the tanks. As they passed, Duncan waved for the Aardvarks to get moving to the auto shop. The heavy machines began to roll, the sound of their engines drowning out most noise.

Duncan turned as they rolled down the street and reenter their HQ building. "Hawkins, get first and second platoon in a defensive formation along the streets within a 5 block radius." 

"Yes sir," Hawkins replied before signalling to Howards and Baldwin to come with him. Duncan watched slightly as he turned on his comm unit and radio'd in to the major. " Assassin Actual, Reaper Actual, 53rd is currently holding a defensive position on the edge of town that we entered through. Awaiting orders sir." He said, waiting for a response from the Major.

[JJM8C4J]

Lance Corporal James Stone
1/7 Marines

Tornado 2-4 Alpha

James opened his eyes to the dull grey of a concrete slab, quickly blinking back the disorientation that had clouded his vision. The Marine was acutely aware of an intense pressure on his back; pinning him to the floor. The Lance Corporal struggled to take a breath, only to find that the mysterious weight prevented his chest from expanding, and was suffocating. Panicking, James reached around for something - anything - to grab a hold of and attempt to pull himself into a position where he could breath. All his hands managed to do was bump into what felt like more concrete, and James only vaguely heard muffled voices outside of his solid cage.

Then, as if an angel descended from the heavens, the unbearable weight was lifted. Stone sucked in a deep, ragged breath; snorting in thick concrete dust as he did so. He began to cough as the powder coated his throat, hacking up a loogie and spitting it on the floor just as something grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet. James extended his other arm to try and balance himself while he found his footing, still coughing as he tried to clear his throat.

Blinking through the dust that clung to his eyelashes, the Lance Corporal identified his savior. Not an angel, but a Scotsman. James glanced at Jock, frowning as he plugged one of his nostrils with his thumb and blew a snot rocket out of the other, the mucus thick with bits of concrete dust.

"Aagh, that was bullshit," the recovering Marine growled, raising his right hand up to his eyes and examining it for damage, flexing his fingers and turning his hand over. "Trigger hand, check." James then brushed over his face for any bruises or cuts, satisfied that there didn't appear to be any. "Face, check."

Lastly, his hand dropped to cup his groin, giving it a firm squeeze and a jiggle before nodding in affirmation. "Dick, check. I'm good. What the fuck was that?" Stone asked quizzically as Jameson handed him off his M7/Caseless SMG; the machine gunner double checking the backup weapon before slinging it over his back and hefting his M247 GPMG.

Despite his question, the acrid stench of burning sulfur wafting over his nose gave James all the information he needed to put two-and-two together. A plasma mortar, most likely. Not the most enjoyable thing to experience.

"We got shelled, but it looks like it's over now." Corporal Warren answered a tad late, their fireteam leader sauntering over to the fresh mortar-sized hole in the side of their humble abode. "Looks like we're mounting up to secure the town, we oughta regroup with the rest of the Platoon and give them a hand."

"Great," James popped open the feed tray on the M247, making sure his ammunition belt hadn't been knocked loose before closing it again with a snap. "No one drops a ceiling on me and gets away with it."

[Astro]

████ Hours, December ██, 2547 (Military Calendar) /
Sanctuary, Hope

LCpl Jock McPherson
7th Marine Regiment, 1st Battalion
Tornado 2-4, Fireteam Alpha

"Yeah. Grab your shit. We're moving." the Sergeant ordered, agreeing with Corporal Warren. All nine Marines, the full strength of Tornado 2-4, moved out of the building onto the street. Just down the road they could see a collection of IFF tags around three APCs. They were in the direction of the centre of town and several members of Second Platoon were down there.

"Platoon's this way. Eyes up and watch for shit falling out the sky." Shields continued, taking his position behind Alpha and in front of Bravo as the squad began to jog down the street. Lance Corporal Double Dick, who had been retconned in the last few seconds from Eric Jameson to Richard Bellend, began complaining about the colour of his M52B Body Armour.

"I'm just saying, we're in a dusty ass sand town and we're wearing green."

"What's your point?" asked Jock, already regretting furthering the conversation. Richard was a jackass and his arguments were almost as stupid as he was.

"It's not exactly camouflaged," he replied, rapping his knuckles on his breastplate. "We're walking around out here in bright green asking to get shot at, y'know?"

"No, I don't know. It's olive drab you fucking-" Jock tried. He realised that continuing with the ridiculous conversation wasn't worth it. Instead of finishing his retaliation, he left it alone.

"I win."

"You what?"

"I win." Bellend repeated, though louder this time and whilst smirking at his victory like a four year-old. Corporal Warren let out a sigh like a disappointed father.

A couple of minutes passed before 2-4 made it down to the Armored Personnel Carriers, where First Lieutenant Killinger and Second Lieutenant Mkvenner were, as well as the rest of First and Second Platoons. Approaching the back of the closest APC, the Marines could see an ODST with a huge Spike through her hand getting treated by Second Platoon's Corpsman, Vivian Nyro. Jock winced at the wound before speaking up.

"Corpsman, Staff. Looks like a painful motherfucker. That your shooting hand?"

[rookie425]

Vivian leaned off slightly as Willowbay brought her arm up with a sense of urgency but nodded in understanding as the woman spoke. "I read you, Staff Sergeant," she said quietly, acknowledging one of the Marines addressing them. "A little bit of space, guys, I need to work here."

She breathed in through her teeth, stealing a moment to think. Double-checking Willowbay's other arm for any restrictions, she grabbed a syringe full of Polypseudomorphine, flicked the safety cap off with a thumb. Her greaves scraped against the asphalt as she scooted to the ODST's other side. Looking over the woman's arm once, she quickly decided that removing her armor would be more work and cutting the kevlar weave underneath would be detrimental. The arm was, in her opinion, the safest method of entry but meds could be delivered in other ways.

"Easy does it," she said, bringing the syringe to the Staff Sergeant's neck as her thumb carefully lifted her helmet just enough to expose the skin. Depressing the syringe to her skin, the device made a slight hiss, and after holding it steady for ten seconds, Vivian pulled it away, recapped it, and discarded it to the ground. "Let's let that settle in. I'm gonna take a look at that hand."

Coming back to Willowbay's bad hand, Vivian grabbed a bottle of saline and some gauze, expecting a fountain of blood to spray her in the face just out of bad luck. She derailed that thought when she noticed the sticky red texture on the woman's glove, and the thicker tissue surrounding the spike itself. She had heard of Brute spike rifles before but this was her first time seeing their effect first hand. That nasty son of a bitch must have left the barrel above white hot. The smell was what hit her next, though she was thankful it wasn't as pungent as she thought it would be. The only reason it was noticeable was because she was nearly sticking her nose to the wound to inspect it.

"Ugh shit...the wound's sealed." With edges of her palms, she removed her CH252 helmet and set it on the curb. Uncapping the bottle of saline, she held Willowbay's arm out carefully by the bracer, keeping it just above her chest height as she irrigated the wound. "It won't bleed as long as you keep it still, which is why I'm going to have to wrap up your hand," she continued, setting the bottle down and pulling her sheers from her chestplate.

Meticulously, she snipped away at the remains of the glove, starting at the small opening on the top of the palm, working to the wrist, then splitting each of the glove's fingers in half for easy and painless removal. All of this was done on the idea that the Helljumper was still in pain; PPM worked pretty quick, but not that quick. After removing the glove, Nyro tore open an alcohol prep and use it to clear the rest of the dried blood away from her hand, leaving the scabbed and burnt tissue alone. That was another question she was going to reiterate.

With her medigel and bandages at the ready, breathed through her nose and looked up at Willowbay again. "I'm sorry, but it's your hand and I gotta ask again; It's going to be bit harder since your skin sealed around the spike, and with that kinda heat some internal tissue is likely fused to it. I can still remove it, and the morphine might make it easier."

Letting Willowbay think it over, she looked up at the Marine again, now recognizing him as Jock from 4th Squad. "Jock, think you or one of your guys can lend some help for a bit?"

[Astro]

████ Hours, December ██, 2547 (Military Calendar) /

Sanctuary, Hope



LCpl Jock McPherson

7th Marine Regiment, 1st Battalion

Tornado 2-4, Fireteam Alpha


The wound looked painful; the ODST had practically been stabbed, just with with the force of a thousand body-building Brutes. The way that she sat was tense and rigid, which showed that she was trying to mask her discomfort. For whatever reason, she was hiding behind the façade of an immortal badass who didn't feel pain. Maybe it was so the Staff Sergeant could prove that she was tough as nails, or maybe it was gender-related. He'd seen quite a bit of sexism aimed at women in the military based on their inferiority to men. Perhaps jumping to the conclusion 'because she's a woman' was a bit sexist in itself. It could have been just to show her men that she was a tough leader.

Jock was rambling in his own head. He decided to shut up before he started looking like he was pondering the meaning of life. Luckily, his train of thought hadn't ran on long enough for him to completely miss what the Corpsman was saying. Nyro was asking him for help; he had no idea what he could assist her with, other than pulling out the bloody mammoth tusk.

"That alright with you, Corporal?" he asked, looking back to Warren.

"Sarge? That good with you?" Warren ferried the question to Shields, who simply nodded.

"Yeah. We got time. First's El Tee wants the medics looking over minor injuries before the heavily wounded, so the quicker the better."

"Seems a bit backwards." the Lance Corporal frowned.

"Tell me about it." Shields agreed, with a look that showed his disapproval of the Lieutenant's order. Despite the fact that Jock hadn't known her for very long, he was pretty sure Nyro shared a similar opinion. 

"My medical knowledge is pretty thin, Doc; doing CPR on her probably won't help," Jock joked, putting his rifle down on the side of the road. "What d'ya need me t'do?" 

[dryskim]

Lance Corporal Richard Bellend, now officially under the control of his creator, glanced around his surroundings - and realized they most certainly weren't standing in a desert environment. They were standing in urban suburbia. Of course, sage green didn't exactly blend all too well with concrete either, but if he decided to roll around in somebody's lawn, he'd be undetectable.

The APC's provided enough of a "Fuck you, Tango," that he felt comfortable letting his MA5C hang, freeing up his hands for more important tasks. Like standing around with his thumb firmly up his ass so that went he removed it he'd never be able to wash away the shit stain.

Being in the military was like that, he'd discovered. Short bursts of activity followed by long periods of doing nothing. He wasn't a corpsman, and most of the guys who were within the realm of 'walking wounded/still combat effective' were already patching themselves back together - thank God for the handiness of the ambiguous IFAK - or were so bad off even the corpsman would probably have trouble putting them back together again.

It took him a moment to realize he was standing in the midst of two platoons - roughly ninety guys - and a trio of APCs. He blinked behind the orange tint of his ballistic shades, shook his head, and grumbled to himself, "Jesus Christ, we're just waiting to be strafed, aren't we?"

[JJM8C4J]

Lance Corporal James Stone
1/7 Marines
Tornado 2-4 Alpha

James quietly followed the rest of his squad out of their impromptu nest and onto the street below. Fortunately, there wasn't much action going on in their direct vicinity; so a calm single-file walk was really all the Marines could be bothered with while carrying over a hundred pounds of ammunition and armor. While the titanium-alloy ceramic composites that comprised the M52B was relatively light compared to how incredibly protective it was; it was still made of the same stuff that tanks used for armor in the twenty-first century, and naturally felt like the Marine was lugging around a pallet of bricks.

As Tornado 2-4 crossed the street to the APCs, James listened to the argument between Bellend and Jock. "You know, at least we're not running around wearing purple," he tossed in his two cents, then scanned the rooftops and ends of the street for that exact shade of color. It didn't take long for the squad to reach the set of APCs, and James rested his shoulder against the hull of one of the hulking vehicles and lifted his M247 into a low ready.

He only occasionally glanced over his shoulder at the Corpsman who was working on an ODST that had a particularly nasty injury in the form of a spiker round imbedded in her hand. Shaking off the mental trauma induced by the thought of having his trigger hand mangled, James looked away and down the street while Warren and Jock set about assisting Nyro in the not so envious task of ripping a spike of tungsten carbide out of a fellow human's hand.

"Ya' know, the angry, two-forty pound Scotsman wouldn't have been my first choice for the delicate task of assisting a Corpsman. He gets feisty when he smells blood, like one of those... what'cha call it, Scottish Terriers. Starts yelpin' n' shit."

James stopped his rant when he came face-to-face with the piercing glare of Corporal Warren, and the Lance Corporal didn't need empathy to translate it into shut up. With a simple shrug of his shoulders, the machine gunner turned his attention back down the street. When Lance Corporal Bellend spoke up, Stone craned his neck to look at the assaultman.

"It's okay, Double Dick. As long as the Covenant stays fuckin' brain dead, so can we." James reached over and slapped the set of crossed [REDACTED] crudely drawn on the back of the fellow Marine's helmet. Then, the Lance Corporal made a concentrated effort to ignore the M.A.S.H. scene taking place behind him, instead brushing off some concrete dust that was still collected on his GPMG.

A few dozen meters ahead, a small brown dog started to scamper across the street. The animal had its tail tucked between its legs, and was casting its snout left and right in caution and fear. On instinct, Lance Corporal Stone leveled his M247 and directed the business end of the machine gun towards the harmless animal.

"We oughta shoot some of these dogs."

Corporal Warren looked over at James and shook his head, directing at the Lance Corporal to lower his weapon. "I keep telling you Stone, we don't shoot dogs, we shoot people and aliens; and we generally only shoot people if we have to." With a defeated sigh, James lowered his GPMG and rested his helmeted head against the side of the APC he was using as a rest, tapping his finger against the trigger housing of the heavy weapon held in his grasp.

"If I wanted to hurry up and wait, I would've joined the Army."

Staff Edit: Please refrain from sexual references like the one you made, thank you.

[MrKill]

[TAG: All Marine PCs]

// TIME SKIP! //

The town is finally secured, the 153rd ODSTs, 53rd Combat Engineers and 7th Marines - First Battalion have not only succeeded in pushing the Covenant out of the town, but they eliminated all retreating members of the Covenant. For now, the town is secure. However, with the situation in the city (Second Battalions position) worsening - bloody arrow - was called, and the UNSC lines have been shattered.

Third and Forth Battalions have dug into their new locations, while the remains of Second Battalion are retreating as fast as they can to First Battalions position. Fifth Battalion has been pulled off the front lines and parked in reserve an hour away. The new lines create a partial circle, forward facing towards the town and the most northern route into the city.

Night has fallen on the moon, yet it's only 1400 UNSC Calendar Time, due to the fact the moons day cycle is significantly shorter than Earths*, and temperatures are falling without the heat source. UNSC Marines are digging in, but deploying squad patrols to monitor the forward lines around the town - roughly a kilometer up the Northern road.

* = Will consult Tracker, the creator of the moon and planetary system, about a reasonable time for night fall.

[MrKill]

Colonel Johnathon B'Sheau Killinger
Seventh Marines
Regiment Headquarters

John stood outside the school, what had since become the HQ building for his Regiment Headquarters and Service Company (H&S), while dimmed lights showed off a multitude of people moving around from within. This hadn't been the first school used by the Marines as a command post, but it was one of the few stable locations left. This provided stability in his selection as other buildings that were large enough to accompany the H&S forces weren't stable enough. Though John's original tactical thought of the town, and thus the building, had demolished when Second Battalion retreated from the city - he'd make it work. Fortunately, the yard of the school was big enough to act as a landing strip for troop transports and the surrounding streets were clear enough to park a motor pool of vehicles on.

This specific location actually had two schools on the same block, the high school and elementary school of the town. One of the buildings was being used as a casualty collection point for the wounded and deceased. The field in the middle, while converted into a air-strip, supported three M810 Mobile Missile Artillery Platforms - meaning the Marines now had artillery support VIA an extremely powerful missile. The ASGM-4 and ASGM-6 were the middle ground between the ASGM-10, which was used on Longswords in space combat. The guided missiles could reach orbit and provide support, but were significantly less powerful. Along with that, they had a fairly decent range. The ASGM-4 had a 100 KM effective range, while the ASGM-6 was sitting comfortably at 220 KMs. Both missiles could easily fire beyond the effective range, as they maximum range was sitting around 500 KMs together. Obviously, the ASGM-4 was smaller than the ASGM-6, but the ASGM-6 had much more propellant and payload.

"Quite a sight, sir. Wouldn't you agree?" The Captain of the H&S Company asked, smoking a cigarette as he approached the Colonel lost at the sight of commotion around the school. Pelicans flared in for a landing, Warthogs and tanks took up defensive positions, and Marines were busy at work putting dirt bags near windows - stacking them up to cover the vulnerable positions.

"Indeed it is, Captain. We're serving in a mighty fine Regimental Combat Team, wouldn't you agree?" The Colonel asked, clearly showing his bias for the Marines in the Seventh Marines... After all, he was only the commanding officer. But, as he rarely wanted to spend time in the command posts and preferred leading from the front lines, John couldn't help but think things were actually run by the Captain and his men. The H&S Company did most of the heavy lifting, and very rarely did John have to tell the Captain what he wanted done.

His S2, the intelligence officer of the HQ staff, approached before the Captain could respond.

"Sir," the other Captain replied. "I'll let you two have the floor."

The S2 officer thanked his friend and approached John. He had a map in his hands and was ready to show the Veteran Marine what he had discovered.

"Sir, I've gathered some intelligence on the whereabouts of the approaching Covenant forces. This road leads to farm land just two kilometers up from our current location. From our Force Recon boys in the Regiment, we've got roughly two Covenant platoon strength units closing on our position. Now, they've got to know that we've taken the city. I fear it might be a recon, and if it is, they'll likely relay what they can back to their commanders."

"Call signs?" John asked.

"Golf, sir."

"They won't know any major defenses we have, but eighty Covenant soldiers could find a gap in our lines and relay it from there. Thank you, Captain, I'll send a company of Marines to go deal with it. Good work." John replied. The Captain thanked him before returning into the school, leaving John standing in the darkness alone. He started walking away. He opened a private channel with Sorelson.

"Mark," John said. "I've got two Covenant recon platoons moving in from the farms up North. I want you and your company to move and engage. Eliminate the Covenant, confirm their deaths, and report back to me once it is done." John added. He cut his microphone and opened up another channel, keeping the channel to Sorelson open when he responded.

"Guardian Actual to Golf Actual, how copy?"

"Solid copy, sir." The Lieutenant of the Force Recon platoon replied.

"Your green mission is done, Lieutenant. Return to base, we've got a company of Marines inbound. Prepare for a black mission if required, over."

"Roger that, sir. Returning to base."

Good, John thought. Now time to make sure they never find out what's happening here.

[dryskim]

Lance Corporal Richard Bellend

7th Marine Regiment, 1st Battalion

Tornado 2-4 Alpha

Contemplating Life and Existence

The boys of Tornado 2-4 Alpha, being the ingenious lot they were, had seen to it to scavenge the Elementary school staff room before making their way to the building's rooftop. With some effort, lots of profanity, and three flights of stairs - they'd managed to drag the threadbare couch up onto the roof.

A gaudy green with yellow striping, it was a horrific piece of furniture, but for a Marine in the field, it was a godsend. 

His ruck at his feet to the delight of his shoulders, Bellend munched on a chocolate granola bar, gazing out at the town beyond as dusk began to settle, "So, uh, yeah...Bloody Arrow," he said to himself -and by extension the rest of Tornado 2-4 in the midst of chewing, "Feeling pretty overrun right now. How 'bout you guys?"

Stuffing the remainder of the bar into his mouth, Bellend continued speaking, causing chunks of oats and bits of chocolate to cascade out of his mouth and down the front of his assault vest, "I mean, I, for one - am extremely happy that the Colonel decided to call off any chances of us getting support."

Reaching into his grenade pouch, he removed a can of soda that he'd recovered from the staff room fridge, cracked the top, and took a swig. Night was coming, which meant temperatures would continue to dip, but it wouldn't be too intolerable once they got into motion again. If they got into motion again. For now, the air was cool, he wasn't sweating his balls off humping gear all over, the drink in his hand was still relatively cold, and he was sitting on a couch on a rooftop.

He'd say he was living the good life.

[rookie425]

Nyro pressed herself to the wall of an alley, making an effort to get off of the street and catch her breath. Turning the corner again, she raised her M7 and waited. She hadn't yet donned her Night Optics, seeing as there was still some light left. She ran out of batteries on her NVGs once and didn't particularly care for it. Conservation was necessary. She caught the shapes of a pair of Marines jogging along the sidewalk, one on her side of the road while the other ran parallel across, using a bus as cover.

The closer one passed her position, and after waiting for more than a moment, his voice filled her comm. "Set," he muttered.

Vivian dropped her M7 to low-ready and peeled off the brick wall. "Bounding."

In a light jog, she cut past his position to the next intersection. Turning her head around the corner, she took sight of a swath of IFF tags coming through her monocle's HUD, all of which were scattered through a school. "Eyes on the trench. This is Corpsman Nyro," she spoke into her mic in hopes of addressing anyone who was listening, "Coming in from the East with wounded from Second Battalion."

[JJM8C4J]

Lance Corporal James Stone
1/7 Marines
Tornado 2-4 Alpha

Night had fallen stupidly fast on the moon, but it wasn't much of a surprise; very few planets had a day-night cycle even remotely close to that of earth. James had already unpacked his cold-weather kit, which was really just a fancy word for thick coats and pants. He had to slip off his armor to clamber into it, but it was worth it when faced with the prospect of sitting around in the cold night. The bulky clothing was olive drab, of course, and billowed out around the edges of his armor plates.

Stone was sitting at the southeastern corner of the elementary school's roof, snuggled up against his M247 that was set up on the lip of the roof.  The rest of his fireteam was resting on a musty couch they had dragged up, while he had been stuck on post, watching the southeast for any hostiles that could possibly approach.

The Lance Corporal sucked at a clump of dip stuck in his lower lip, then spat a glob of spit onto the concrete rooftop. He rested his cheek against the stock of the GPMG, shifting around on the rucksack he was using as a seat. The Marine sighed to himself, eyes shifting behind the orange-tinted ballistic glasses that contained his HUD. The light was fading quickly, so the machine gunner double checked that his NVGs were present and accounted for. Confirming they hadn't been stolen by some douchebag that lost his, James settled into his M247 and clicked on his comm.

"Post two, this is post one. Radio check."

All that came in reply was dead silence, until the empty transmission finally crackled with a voice several seconds after he spoke. "Post one, this is post three; two's asleep again, over."

"Post three, post one; send someone to wake him up, will ya'? Out."

The Lance Corporal frowned as he turned and spit a second time. His own eye lids were starting to get heavy, weighed down like lead. His only relief was listening to the rest of his fireteam bitch and moan, which really was the favorite past time of a Marine. Stone started to drum out a pattern on the lip of the roof while casting a look over his shoulder at Bellend.

"Second Battalion got fucked up, you mouth breather. We're sitting on top of a CCP full of them, in case you forgot. Besides, I'm pretty sure it was Second's BC that called in the broken arrow." James shot at Double Dick, sliding his left hand under his cheek on the stock of the M247; in an attempt to keep his cooling digits warm.

"Eyes on the trench. This is Corpsman Nyro, coming in from the east with wounded from Second Battalion."

Lance Corporal Stone straightened up and swiveled his machine gun to face the direction stated in the comm transmission, quickly spotting the set of IFF tags in question. "SOG, post one; we've got friendlies approaching from the east, over"

"Post one, SOG; solid copy, I'll alert the other posts, out."

"Corpsman Nyro, this is post one," James began, selecting the Corpsman's IFF tag to send the transmission directly to her. "We've got eyes on, head on in, over."

[dryskim]

Lance Corporal Richard 'Double Dick' Bellend

7th Marine Regiment, 1st Battalion

Tornado 2-4 Alpha


Do you believe in life after love?

Lance Corporal Richard Bellend pushed himself off the ratty couch, sauntering over towards the edge of the building where Stone sat all bundled up like a little Eskimo with a machine gun. Down below, their favorite corpsman (who'd managed an impressive, in-the-field amputation with nothing but her shears. She'd bitched quite heavily about leaving behind her bonesaw and bottle of KY jelly, but Bellend was more focused on her ass by that point in time) was hauling in another mangled pile of meat that used to belong to Second Battalion.

Taking note of the slight droop of the gunner's head, Bellend set his soda on the lip of the roof near the sentry's impromptu nest. 

"Figure you need a shot of caffeine more than me," he commented.

[rookie425]

Hospitalman Apprentice Vivian Nyro was fifteen meters from the school when she saw the nearest entrance on her side was an emergency exit. It was in bad shape; it had a bent frame with a broken window, and the door itself was partially warped from a previous engagement. Behind her, four Marines were in tow, two of which were carrying a fifth from Second Battalion on a portable stretcher. He needed to inside and into whatever field hospital Second Platoon had setup while she was away.

"Post One, I read you. Be advised, we're coming in through the emergency exit." She turned in mid stride, waving the Marines to follow her just before she made full speed for the door. With the running start she had, Nyro leapt off her back foot and drove her boot heel first into the door frame. The metal screeched in a light protest but gave inward with no real resistance, but she did have to mind the rest of the broken glass that fell out on impact and shattered on the floor.

"Watch your feet," she said just as the stretcher team came in, their security following a few feet behind. "Second Platoon--we're at the ground floor, east side with wounded. Which way to triage?"

[Wax™]

Second Lieutenant Justin Jenkins

First Battalion, Alpha Company 4-P CO

Currently at the Regimental HQ

Second Lieutenant Jenkins stood rigid holding his MA37 and watched as marines ran left and right, some men working on getting the two school's fitted properly to act as Regimental HQ and others getting into their companies and getting ready to role out. Jenkins himself stood on his own, he wasn't with his Platoon, some men were at the Primary School which was acting as a casualty collection port. A few of his men got wounded but not many and a couple of fully functional men were making sure they were taken care of.

Turning to walk away Jenkins noticed Colonel Killinger standing alone in the darkness, deciding to put one boot before the other he made his way to the Colonels position, stopping here and there to let marines pass and warthogs drive past, eventually within thirty seconds he made his way beside the Colonel. Well, around two meters away, he didn't want to get too close.

"Sir..." Jenkins said in a extremely soft tone before nodding. "...Have you seen Sorelson Sir? I haven't seen him since my Platoon peeled off to assist Lieutenant Travis." Jenkins said looking to the man before looking away silently. He felt awkward in the presence of the man who once served with his father. Because he never had a decent father figure himself to be disappointing toward, he felt like he dissapointed the old family friend.

Staff Sergeant Jason Bowers

Fourth Platoon Sergeant - AC

Currently at the Regimental HQ

Jason stood at ease with his BR55 sling-ed around his shoulder, one hand dangling down with his fingers wrapped lossely around the hand grip. He turned his head looking over to one of the Sergeants in his Platoon who he knew as Clair Hunt. He also knew that she was getting frisky with the Lieutenant in their spare time. But shhhh, no one is meant to know about that.

"How many wounded do you have?" He asked before watching a few marines jog past.

"Three Privates, got caught in the fire when we drove by those Covenant, left me down without a fire team." She said without much of a fuss.

"So we're two and a half fire teams down... Not too bad I guess, still operating above fifty percent." Jason said looking to Clair who stood a few inches shorter than himself.

"We're not machines Jason."

"What?" He said looking to Clair. "Oh what, cause I said operating? Who cares... We've been fighting for a long time now Clair against aliens... Fucking aliens, I remember when aliens used to be a fucking joke." Jason said completely going off subject, he turned his head away and watched as Lieutenant Jenkins ran off to do something.

"Guess 'I' should get the Platoon sorted." Jason said.

"Y'know I was supposed to get Platoon Sergeant, until Jay requested your transfer." Clair said, obviously a little displeased.

"Cry me a fucking river Sergeant and get your troops together." Jason said rolling his eye's before opening up COMM's with Alpha Company's Fourth Platoon.

"Fourth Platoon, pucker up your butt holes and stock up on munitions... We're sure to move out soon, everyone re-group near the artillery field in front of the high school... If you're wounded and can still fight, we'd appreciate the help." Jason said before looking down the Clair.

"Sorry." He said before looking away.

First Lieutenant Travis Killinger

153rd ODST's Alpha Company Commander

Currently at the Regimental HQ

--------------& & &-------------

Master Sergeant Johnny Booth

153rd ODST's - Sniper Pair

Sitting around the Regimental HQ

Killinger sat against the stairs of the high school with his back against the wall, sitting close to him was Master Sergeant Booth and his spotter. Killinger gripped onto the barrel of his BR55 Battle Rifle and gently rested the top of his forehead against the end of the barrel. He had the safety on the weapon engaged so if he were to slip he wouldn't blow his head off or anything outrageous like that. Perking his head up and looking over to the Master Sergeant, he spoke in a rather light tone.

"You think I've given enough time for the men to get proper medical attention and replenish their ammunition?" Travis said looking to the Master Sergeant.

"Sure... It's a battlefield, you'd think so... If you gave me orders to I'd already be at the city in the fight." John said before looking away. Travis would then proceed to open up COMM's with all of the 153rd ODST's Alpha Company.

"153rd report to the edge of the high school where the artillery field is located and prepare for orders and to move up, if you haven't finished getting patched up I suggest you do so as fast as possible and if you need ammunition hurry it up... You all have fifteen minutes maximum." Travis said before standing up with the help of his BR55, lifting his left hand to slide across the floor and grip his helmet before tugging it onto his head.

[dryskim]

Lance Corporal Richard 'Double-Dick' Bellend

7th Marine Regiment, 1st Battalion

Tornado 2-4 Alpha


Givin' instructions, 'cause nobody else will

Lance Corporal Bellend took over for the lil' sleepy head, Stone. Keying his microphone, he paused a second to make sure the instructions he was about to give to Nyro were correct, then said, "Triage is in the cafeteria, should be down the hall to your right," with an air of morbid nonchalance, he added, "If nothing else, follow the blood."


'The blood' in question was the crimson that countless boots had smeared across the formerly semi-pristine floors of the elementary school. The building was barely three stories, with the bottom floor mostly reserved for handling the dead and dying. Nobody was too concerned with running a mop, so the stuff was left where it fell. Similarly, the occasional bloody hand print adorned the wall along the way.


Somebody'd even been cheeky enough to mark an arrow in the red stuff, though they'd misspelled the word triage, but the thought still counted.

[Cabel]

[Tranquilitas Beta: Moon Sanctuary: Town: Utility shed near 7th Regiment HQ: Captain Mark “Spade” Seamus Sorelson: Year 2547]

Having parked the warthog off to the side out of the main flow of traffic, vehicle or pedestrian following the securing of the town, the aging Captain found a little spot to unpack a set of tools the doctors back on Reach had given him for maintaining the titanium prosthetic leg. He’d spent some time with a socket wrench in one hand and a can of prosthetic lubricant spray in the other to make the tightening of the bolts and pins in the leg that much easier. The order to mobilize and eliminate a Covenant probe had been received, but Mark’s mouth had been full holding his field-issued flashlight steady on the exposed prosthetic. The fact the leg had become too tight in the field following the incident with the Covenant Grunt trying to wrench him from the seat of his warthog had been a bit of a concern, and during the full advance with Second and Third platoons with armor support to secure the town to a harder degree he’d been a bit of pain from the prosthetic’s mechanical or digital nerves transmitting what the prosthetic felt along the biological nerves that had remained in the thigh. Mark had never been one to admit he’d been in pain before, only to bite it back and see the objective through, but as the prosthetic hadn’t had a full dry run back on Reach he hadn’t had a chance to hammer out the bugs in it.

“Tornado Actual to Guardian Actual…John, orders received. I’ve been a little busy readjusting some ligaments and bolts. The word will be given for Alpha Company to mobilize,” Mark said, on the same encrypted frequency John had used while carefully setting the field-issued flashlight aside. The work on the prosthetic had finished, with the ligaments readjusted and the bolts tightened allowing him to lace his right boot back up before rolling the pants leg back down. The shin guards with the thigh plate and the webbing had been second nature in re-securing, and slowly the aging marine rose to his feet. Testing the leg a little, he’d found his efforts had actually made the leg easier to use. Kneeling, he’d pack the tool set and the other gear he’d used back into the field-issued pack and plucked the flashlight from the floor. “Tornado Actual to all Tornado Callsigns, mount up. Grab your gear, and prepare to mobilize. We’ve been given orders to eliminate a Covenant probe against our line in a few farms to the north of the perimeter. The Covenant Probe numbers in the range of two platoons, but expect anything. I want this quick and quiet. Secure anything that can make a sound, and let’s make sure the Probe doesn’t have a chance to report back to their own. Com-techs, keep those com-jammers at the ready. The rest of you, keep your fingers near the triggers, a round chambered with a full mag and your sights clean. Tornado Actual; out,” he said having switched over to an encrypted frequency used by Alpha Company.

Stepping out of the small shed, he’d found the eleven marines from the four warthogs that had made up his protective detail either asleep to having a snack on an MRE or two or keeping watch. For those marines that had been asleep, he’d given their boots a nudge to wake them and for the others he’d given a nod that they’d be back in the thick of it. Hopping back into the driver‘s seat of his own warthog with the M41 triple-barreled turret on the back, he‘d wait for the others and after receiving the checks from each vehicle he‘d start the ignition and headed down the route leading to where the rest of his company had been and the route that take them the quickest to the northern edge of the town and towards the farms beyond.

[RiddL]

Staff Sergeant Kai (Wolf) Blacklock

153rd ODST

Moving

Kai jogged with a portion of the 153rd in tow, he ran without a helmet as the one that he had worn previously had a small piece of cement lodged in the visor that woul;d have killed him otherwise, nearly scaring the shit out of him literally as he fell backwards. He considered taking a helmet from one of the dead troopers but decided against it as he did not want to mess with the dead.

He led the ODSTs to where the Lieutenant had ordered them to form up. He called for a holt and told the men to check there weapons and make sure that they ready for combat. He walked up to the Lieutenant and stood straight in front of him, "Staff Sergeant Blacklock reporting Sir, what are your orders?" He said in a calm, steely voice.

[Astro]

████ Hours, December ██, 2547 (Military Calendar) /
Sanctuary, Hope

LCpl Jock McPherson
7th Marine Regiment, 1st Battalion
Tornado 2-4, Fireteam Alpha

"Holy shit. Can you guys hear anything? I think I've gone fucking deaf after having my ear talked off." Jock grumbled sarcastically at the Captain's radio transmission, pulling on his ear for emphasis. The opening to Sorelson's novel that they had just heard loud and clear through their COMs had basically told them to get off their asses and move out, all whilst following SOP. To further mock the order, the Scottish Lance Corporal pressed his eye against the ammo-counter of his MA5.

"Yeah, I think it's working. Is that massive blue thirty-two hostile?"

"Quit dicking around, McPherson," Corporal Warren put in, sliding a magazine into the recently cleaned MA5 in his hands as he stood up. "We gotta get moving or Shields---"

"Sarge wants you down here, ready." interrupted PFC Irfan Ahmadi, poking his head around the roof access door. Jock, who had been in the process of standing up, turned his head from Warren's rifle to the recently arrived member of Fireteam Bravo. Twisting his body around further to see Ahmadi, Jock stepped back to stabilise himself. Unluckily, his foot caught one of the straps of his rucksack.

The Lance Corporal lost his footing, falling backward over the big bag. He did a backwards roll somehow, coming out of it as he fell off the edge of school. The rucksack around his ankle swung underneath him at the last minute, breaking his three-storey fall. With a pained grunt, Jock rolled off of the bag, face first into a clump of dead flowers.

Though muffled, the loudest string of explicit Scottish words echoed throughout the town. As if to shut him up, his rifle and the M247's tripod landed on his stomach. Louder expletives followed.