UNSC Intermission - POST M5

[David]

UNSC INTERMISSION - POST M5

After going through hell on the planet and narrowly escaping a brutal fight with a huge Covenant fleet, the UNSC has regrouped at Reach. All Personal are on leave as of this moment and will be able to RP freely on the planet and on the ships as wanted. Now may be a good chance to do some training, get caught up with other characters... or what have you.

[Deleted]

Captain Brad McCauley
No posting
UNSC Reach Headquarters

After the battle, which they lost, the UNSC fleet retreated back to Reach. Though Brad and the Kong weren't in the battle, they did see it from their place by the Iowa, and it didn't look too well.  After getting back, he was required to report in with command, who promoted the lieutenant-commander he had as his XO to commander. Then they gave the new commander command of the Kong, which left him without an actualy posting. He tried to inquire about this, but they wouldn't say a thing. After a while, he gave up, and decided to spend his time in the mess, going over some reports, catching up with mail and the like, and maybe even get something to eat.

[HollowSaber]

: Corporal Jake Furrow :

: Planet Reach. Base 75-Alpha. Rifle Range :
: Nova Squad :

Boom…
Clang…
Tink.
Click..
Boom...

    The rifle bucked against Jake’s shoulder as the trigger he squeezed ignited a chain reaction within the weapon he held. The round, which exploded from the end of the barrel in a bright yellow flash, sailed down the range at a deadly velocity. Two seconds later and the furthest target that sat at nearly a mile away from the range feel over. It took another split second for the noise of the connection to reach where Jake was laying. It was a solid hit.

    Pulling back on the bolt, Jake manually fed in another round into the rifle he held. It ended the chamber with a satisfying metallic ping and then was pushed into the barrel as he slid the bolt forward. The man narrowed his eyes on the multiple targets which poked up out of the distance, scanned the horizon for his next victim, and selected one that was marked at three thousand and five hundred feet. He took in a long breath, steadied his rifle, and relaxed.

    A long gust blew over the range, and Jake turned into it. A second wind, much lighter, hit him from the other direction. Jake adjusted. He looked down the scope, noticed the unevenness of the ground, and adjusted his shot. From the range, the gravitational pull of Reach would pull the bullet down, forcing him to lift the barrel even more. Another wind whisked by from Jake’s right, causing him to turn slightly into it once more. Then he exhaled. His rifle shuddered but was silent. He focused on a distant tree that stood nearly the same distance as his target. A breeze shoved the tree to the right. Jake felt the same breeze a split second later. He adjusted.

    Taking in a breath, the rifle was steadied. The doctor-like-steadiness took over and the shooter turned into a still rock. As if he was carved out of the ground he lay on; Jake was frozen. Several seconds of silence hung over the range like a veil. It seemed that life itself had been sucked into Jake’s lungs when he took that breath.

    The tree in the distance shook...The rifle flashed…

    Crack was the loud sound which shattered the glass pane of silence. Dust kicked up all around the rifle and into Jake’s face, blinding him slightly as he tried to see the event he had just set in motion. Just as the cloud lightened, the black silhouette of the metal humanoid target in the distance vanished. The sound of a ping rang through the range swiftly after.
The shot was successful.

    Jake yanked back the bolt, releasing the empty casing from inside the gun. He caught it as it popped out. The shooter wasted no time in placing another round into the chamber and shoved the bolt forward once more. Before he lined up the next shot, he placed the empty casing down on his right. Jake placed the casing at the end of a long row of thirty six other empty casings. Just beside them was another row of six casings as well as a box which contained only eight more rounds. There were fifty in total. It had taken Jake nearly three hours to empty the box beside him but it was well worth it; he needed the practice.

    After the skirmish he was in at Abonza, Jake had been taken off the front line and returned to deal with Insurrectionists. If he was going to be fighting in the rough with the Covenant, he needed his shooting skills again. The ability to peg a penny from a thousand yards, the steady hand of a surgeon, and the steel mind of a killer. Shooting other humans was easier for Jake than killing aliens. He knew where and how to hit a person to get them on the ground or in a body bag. The Covenant were different. Their anatomies were much more complex, more sturdy. As a sniper, he had a much more difficult time putting a round where it needed to be and when.

    Even with two listed engagements under his belt and three others unlisted, it has been nearly impossible for Jake to achieve a one-hundred percent, one-shot kill rate with each and every species of the Covenant. The Elites and their shielding make using one round difficult. Jackals and their nimble, jerking movements make them hard to track. While the Brutes have a thick, strong hide, protecting them from those critical shots unless Jake uses either an explosive round or an armor-piercer. The Grunts are simply walking explosive tanks for Jake, so he rarely wastes ammunition on them unless they are to close for comfort.

    Practice makes perfect, and Jake knows it. If it wasn’t for the empty feeling that was starting to creep into his stomach, he’d be laying at the range for the rest of the day. He considered it, considered ignoring his hunger. Yet a hunger for blood and screams wasn’t going to keep him alive. It wasn’t just him that had to eat either. His spotter would be heading to the mess hall shortly as well. Jake figured it would be best to make sure the Private at least made it to the place in one piece before leaving him.

    “Eight more…” He thought, pushing in another round into the barrel of his weapon. The shooter pushed the bolt forward and selected his next target.

[David]

Corporal David Kabruski
Planet Reach, Base-45 Obstacle Course
Tearing shit up

"MOVE FASTER MARINE!" shouted the D.I as David worked his way through the obstacle course, his arms and legs burning as it was his 10th time through. He was admittedly reaching the limits of his endurance. He had decided to take the time to tone up after being in the freezer. Always left him stiff and he hated that feeling.

"SIR YES SIR" shouted David a little hoarsely as he hustled his way through tire rings, his feet only re-acting sluggishly. He was more tired than he thought.

"Kabruski! MOVE THAT ASS" shouted the D.I, flecks of spittle flying from the D.I's mouth as he screamed at Kabruski.

Falling flat on his ass, Kabruski panted as he struggled to get up. The D.I was already on his way over. and this was one tongue thrashing he would be happy to avoid. But the D.I didn't stop at David, He marched past and was screaming at some raw recruits. Deciding he had had enough, David painfully got up, dusted himself off and exited the course. He was in the locker room by the time the screaming had commenced again.

"Corporal Kabruski!" shouted a god-like voice.

"YES SIR!" replied Kabruski, who stood up ram-rod straight.

"Mail for you." replied the man, Who handed him a data pad.

[AlphaWolf]

Hospital Corpsman Second Class Mark Phillips
Planet Reach, New Alexandria, New Alexandria School of Paramedicine
Room 22

Mark stood in the classroom, chatting with a few civilian medics about his time in the service while he waited for the instructor to arrive.  Mark was wearing his standard Navy blue-and-black digital camouflage uniform, and his cover was stuffed into a cargo pocket.  He had heard about this class from a friend of his that taught elsewhere in the school, and Mark had decided that even if he didn't take the class, he might as well post flyers on the notice boards in sickbay and crew quarters aboard the ship before it had arrived at Reach.  The class was on burns and focused on treatment and potential dangers caused by burns that are not caused by other traumatic injuries.  Seeing as the Covenant used plasma-based weapon nearly exclusively, Mark had decided to take the class, figuring that at the least, it'd be a refresher of things he already knew.  It couldn't hurt, he figured.

Checking his chrono, Mark sighed.  Another fifteen minutes before the instructor arrived.  And, no one else from the ship had come down either.  Perhaps some would come down in those fifteen minutes.

[Jakob]

Private First Class Wen Cuu

The man yelped as Cuu pushed the needle into his skin, a black stain being left behind on his naked back. He pushed around, slowly drawing the skull the man had paid him an arm and a leg to give him. Glancing up, he saw the line of thirty or so people who were waiting for their own chance to be stabbed by an ink pen until some stupid picture showed up on their back. Their eagerness made Cuu laugh, and he wondered what it would be like if he 'slipped' and drew a line all over the mans back. The urge was resisted however, and he carefully continued drawing.

His 'payment' to some desk jockey's on the military base had pulled off, letting him open a shop which had already doubled the money he spent on the bribe. Word had gotten around as well, and the line continued to swell as he tattooed the marine. The marines were a proud beast, and would demand markings for the various battles and such they took part it, and although Reach had its parlors, they were far off into the cities and almost exclusively terrible. Cuu may have overcharged, but he knew his way around the needle.

"This skull is going to look scary, sure as sure," he said, drawing in the eyes. It was going to be a long... and profitable, day.

(OOC: Cuu's tattoo parlor is now open for business! Come down and get your tattoos and have a jolly good time!)

[MrKill]

Admiral Eric Sierra Klix
UNSCS Iowa
Marathon II Super-Heavy Guided Missile Cruiser

"We've got permission to dock, Admiral." The Navigation officer informed. The Admiral sighed. It had been a long trip from practically unknown space, and most of that time wasn't spent in cyro-genetic storage. Only non-essential personnel got the 'ice-nap' when traversing slip-space. Instead, the Admiral used the time wisely to catch up on some long overdue paper work.

"Take us in, Lieutenant." The Admiral said calmly. In reality his ship would need some consuming repairs in an orbital dry dock... but it would be ready for the next battle. If not, then it wasn't. The Admiral wanted every inch of his vessel repaired at the highest rate.

"Yessir," The Lieutenant replied. "Orbital Shipyard A-31 is ready for repairs." The Lieutenant added, easily gliding the massive Marathon II Cruiser into the orbital drydock. It wasn't that hard, really. The large space in the middle allowed for even a Trafalgar Class Carrier to easily fit. From there mechanics and repairmen would board and the armor, weapons and external hull structure would be repaired by automated hands. Everything internally, however, was manual work. Sometimes automated, but usually manually.

The Iowa shuddered as the engines stopped, allowing the ship to smoothly inch towards its rest. It stopped aggressively as the docking clamps, thick mental objects that held a ship in place, extended to keep the warship suspended in the zero gravity vacuum that was space. A green light winked on at the navigation chair. "Okay, sir. We have docked successfully."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." The Admiral responded. "Give me a location of the Kilimanjaro." The main tactical display updated, and the Kilimanjaro was actually pretty close. "I want a shuttle prepped and ready by the time I get to the hanger with a flight plan filed that takes me towards the Kilimanjaro." The Admiral said.

The Navigator nodded. "Understood, sir."

[David]

Admiral David Vardy
Bridge - UNSCS KILLIMANJARO
Docked at Orbital Station

Sitting in his command chair, David had a few seconds to think about the past few weeks. It had been a whirl-wind adventure that had ended, in his seasoned opinion, badly. He lost a lot of good ships and a lot of good crewman. It had tested his resolve and resourcefulness to the stretching point. He was still sore over the retreat from the planet and the loss of a HVT, but knew enough that sometimes, a retreat was better than death, and that he now lived to fight another day.

Looking at Janeway, David offered a tired smile. "Home." was all he said. Janeway nodded her agreement and answered his silent question with a smile. She was still there, and knew while she had ordered people to their death, She understood the ugly necessity of the act.

"Admiral, Admiral Klix has requested docking in shuttle bay Zulu." reported Kim, as he received telemetry from the shuttle.

"Tell the Admiral he is cleared for docking, and to meet me in my office. Also, tell him not to bring the cheap stuff." David replied, grinning a little at the private joke Klix and he shared. It was well known the Admiral enjoyed Sweet Williams and that nothing else would do. He looked forward to having an opportunity to sit with the Admiral and exchange stories. Lord knows there was a lot to catch up on.

[Cabel]

[Inner Colonies: Epsilon Eridani System: Planet Reach: Viery Territory: Utkozet Province: Alfold: Manassas City: Marine Corps Base Camp Manassas: Manassas Military Hospital: First Lieutenant Mark “Spade” Seamus Sorelson: Year 2547]

The screams of marines, of his brothers and sisters that had worn the uniform carried through the halls unnerving very few on the hospital grounds more from the fact civilians hadn‘t exactly been allowed, not that they could have handled hearing the one-sided media view of the war had been a fallacy. There hadn‘t been heroes, only men and women that had known their duties and attempted to carry those out in the best manner possible. He‘d been one of those marines that had attempted to do their best, in a fetid jungle plagued by high humidity and ungodly heat on a planet very few if any outside the UNSC military and the ever reclusive ONI branch would loose sleep over. The War had been taking a deadly toll for years now, and despite the efforts of the men and women that had spent the majority of their lives at least for the survivors in meeting the genocidal alien threat in the bloody trenches to the heat of orbital salvos had witnessed with their own eyes the ocean of blood. The Draft had been in full swing for a number of years since the late twenty-five thirties and early twenty-five forties, but even with the Draft in full effect they were loosing too many in the fight. While the Draft had produced a patriotic emotion throughout the Earth’s territories including on the ancestral homeworld, the Draft had riled opposition groups, advocacy groups and those objectionists which in this War had most likely been garnered a new label as Species Objectionists. Unlike in the War against the Insurrectionists, the ranks of the Species Objectionists and Advocacy groups had been small to begin with. Patriotism…more like survival had spurred many a young man and woman to enlist in order to stave off a genocide they hadn’t known about a few years earlier. Even veterans both Insurrectionists or at least some, and vets that had fought in the War against the Insurrectionists had signed their re-enlistment papers even before the ink had dried though even their numbers had dwindled.

Hearing the screams of his fellow marines, his brothers and sisters in the Corps, he had to remind himself the myth of the media for centuries had been that when a marine or trooper or sailor went off to war they fought for Mom, Apple-Pie and the flag. The harsh reality, the thing the media or the folks that had never worn the uniform had never been able to understand had been when one went off to a bloody trench or the heat of orbit everything back home had become a distant memory. They fought for the brothers and sisters that shared the foxhole, that stood sentry on those nights of intense cold and unbearable heat and for themselves. The fallacy of fighting for Apple-Pie had been repeated through the centuries perhaps even back to the Dark Ages or even earlier to the Romans and the Greeks in the Hellenistic and Helladonic Ages. He knew what he‘d fought for, to unify the species and for the kids on that schoolbus being chased by zealous Insurrectionists those many years ago. He’d fought for the marine next to him regardless of race, religion, creed or even what colony they’d sprouted from, on many worlds from rocky heights to dunes running with sand so fine it fouled up any electronic device and ended up in places you didn’t even tell your physician about to a fetid jungle where he’d become airborne on the back of a giant grasshopper.

The trip back to Reach had been a blur, a void in his memory that he’d been particularly pleased to have done without since according to the Navy medical officers the whack to the noggin combined with the amount of injuries he’d sustained had been enough to have kept anyone else out of the fight. He’d been placed in cryo prior to the Iowa having jumped from that obscure planet where so many of his siblings hadn’t returned from. He’d managed to pay Big Bird, or Spike, a visit after talking with his old friend and commanding officer Col. John Killinger that the Jackal had helped save their lives his included. He’d managed to stop by at least to give the bipedal avian a meal of liver and onions,…who knew aliens actually loved the stuff? It had surprised him. While Mark had been unable to stave off or prevent what had inevitably befallen Spike in the hands of ONI as much as the First Lieutenant had wanted to mess with ONI’s tendency of clandestine operations, he’d at least promised Big Bird or Spike that he’d put in a good word for the young alien with the man upstairs or woman. Unaware of the creature’s theology, that of the Covenant he’d belonged to, the best Mark had been able to do had been to follow up on his promise. He’d waited in the cell with Spike after he‘d finished his mean after providing seconds and thirds for young avian. While there had probably been a few mutterings among the younger marines and crewmen about treating an alien with medical care, Mark had probably been the only friend at least in his species the alien had managed to make and he’d somehow managed to figure out a little of the Jackal’s anatomy. He’d tended to Spike’s injuries, cleaning up the torn ear to the ribs along with having tended to his other injuries. If times had been different and if perceptions had been different, perhaps Spike might have found a way into Mark’s biological family. The thought made him smile a little more from how instead of the vicious boogeyman most thought of the Covenant, as far as the Jackals went Spike had been more afraid of him than he had of the bipedal avian. While the majority of the Covenant had been hell-bent on wiping the entire human species out for whatever theological reason, Mark knew in a fight it had been either his death or theirs though maybe the Jackals had been more or less drafted into service against their own ambitions.

Pushing off the plastic bench so common in military hospitals, the First Lieutenant in fatigues crossed the sitting room to the snack room with a coffee machine some soda vending machines and sandwiches for those that ended up waiting in the hospital for days on end for brothers or family members. Finding a selection of rootbeer he‘d wanted on one of the soda vending machines, he‘d submit his service number into the machine‘s number pad.

[David]

Admiral David Vardy
Bridge - UNSCS KILLIMANJARO
Docked at Orbital Station


Standing up, David stretched his back by rotating from side to side. He had been sitting in the chair for a good 6 hours solid doing paperwork and ensuring transfers were approved. Something his OPs or XO would do, but he was wanting to help out. The busy work helped sooth his frayed nerves. Lord knows they could all use some normal routine every now and then.

Looking to Janeway, He nodded at his chair and offered it with a sweep of his weathered hands. "Bridge is yours for the next cycle Commander, then your on leave." said David.

"Aye sir and if I may. Make sure you get some time as well." replied Janeway as she walked over to the proferred seat. It was becoming second nature to her. David could tell by the way she smoothly went over, and sat down with a casual ease.

Grinning, David turned and headed off the bridge and onto the lift. Punching the number for his office, David looked around. The lift had been damaged by the fight with the super carrier, but now you couldn't tell that there had even been a battle. His crew was operating in tip top shape. This pleased David, knowing his crew operated at such a high standard. It showed their confidence and pride in him and the ship.

As the lift descended, David thought about some of the crewman he had lost over the years. There were many that had died, executing his orders. It stung everytime, But he knew they were lives spent. Not wasted. Fortunately, he knew the difference.

As the lift stopped, the door opened and two crewman were at the door. They saw David and immediately saluted, their eyes wide. One shouted "ADMIRAL ON THE DECK." This caused David to swell with pride, and a little amusement. Returning their salute, He ordered "At ease Crewmen. Carry on." He then walked on to his office.

As he entered the door, He glanced at the desk and saw all the padds on his desk waiting for his purusal. He scowled. He was off duty and damnit, This could wait. Sitting down at his desk, David hung his hat on the side of his chair and leaned back.

[MrKill]

Admiral Eric Sierra Klix
UNSCS Kilimanjaro - Small ship
Marathon Heavy Guided Missile Cruiser

"I like my ship more," Klix commented smugly to the shuttle pilot, who chuckled. "We've been through a lot. When your assigned to a ship, you get attached to her." Klix added, smiling. He was wearing his standard fatigue uniform he often wore on the bridge of a naval ship, not the dress whites for special occasions.

The Kilimanjaro came into view and the pilot of the shuttle expertly guided the small, nimble passenger craft into the Marathon's hanger bays, throttled down and pressurized the passenger compartment. The door popped open, revealing the grey-ish floor panels below, which were actually coated with artificial gravity panels somewhere as well.

Most non-military ships required a rotating section to maintain artificial gravity, but with the technological improvements all military warships, including the Halcyon Cruisers - which used to have the rotating sections - at the anti-gravity panels installed now.

The Admiral quietly left the shuttle and stretched his neck out. The hanger bay was busy restocking. Marines and crew members were boarding pelicans and shuttles to ferry to the surface, while dock hands were replenishing the Kilimanjaro's stock. Boxes of food, ammunition and general supplies were ferried off a pelican and wheeled away, but what caught Klix's attention was the detail to a specific package.

These specific creates were being carried on a heavier, more dense cart. They were the Marathon Cruisers SSAK-79 rounds for its two Magnetic Accelerator Cannons, or often called the MAC. Normally they would be reloaded directly into a magazine meant for those specific weapons, but on occasion they had to be manually reloaded too. Sometimes there just wasn't enough room for a fleet tender to reload the magazines, and the Kilimanjaro was docked at an orbital station, meaning there wasn't much room to operate.

Klix took his fatigue jacket off. He was off duty now and didn't feel like returning the salute of every single crew member he came across. However, within the hour Klix found himself at Vardy's office. (OOC: Love the time skip, woooowoooo!) Klix slowly opened the door, took a step in and cleared his throat. "Did you prepare the fridge, Admiral, for my arrival?"

[MrKill]

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

"Well aren't you a lucky one," Killinger muttered. Axle, his German Shepherd resting on his bed, perked up and examined John - who's tone of voice was a little harsh. The Colonel had just finished reading a report from a fire-team of Marines that had come across a wounded Private First Class and literally saved the mans life. He was minutes away from bleeding out when they picked him up, used the last of their bio-foam and took them to the field hospital that was set up. "But so many more were not as fortunate." Killinger added.

Two hundred and seventy nine Marines had given their lives in an attempt to get the Imperial Admiral, but what pained the Colonel more was that over one hundred bodies were still missing in action on the planet, probably decaying by now or devoured by the planets natural wild-life. All those letters he had to write to the families those men had come from. Fortunately, however, he had finished writing one hundred and sixty letters of sincere apology, but he couldn't explain to the families why they'd never see their daughters, sons, mothers, fathers... ever again.

"Axle, tell me something I want to know." Killinger said in a depressed tone. Axle barked once and curled his head back down onto the pillow. John chuckled and picked up the last report he had to read before it was time to go on leave, let Axle run around perhaps for a bit on the planet. He wanted to go back to Earth, see his family, but that just wasn't an option.

Shockingly, the report was from his son - forwarded by a General Tiberius Charles - about his first deployment. Intrigued the Colonel dug into the two page report about a single fire-fight his son, who had just graduated OCS, had participated on. As he read he was pleasantly surprised that Kyle had registered his first confirmed kill. He was now a man in the Marine Corps. At the same time his platoon suffered four casualties. John hovered and stopped over a specific section of the report.

Kyle was doubting his abilities.

He was about to start reading again when someone knocked on his office door. He dropped the report on his desk and cleared his throat, he had a pretty good idea of who it was. "Axle, I want to see how well I've trained you so far." John said. "Open the door."

The German Shepherd stood up lazily, jumped off the bed and trotted towards the key-pad located on the right hand side of the sliding door. The canine stretched just before the door and pushed himself onto the wall with his front paws, using his snout to press the green button that allowed the door to open. The door slid open silently, cracking at the middle as the two sections of the doors disappeared into the wall.

Axle retreated back to his resting place.

"It's open," Killinger said, recognizing the Lieutenant Commander. He has requested her time for a moment so they could talk about a specific medical pelican that performed a dangerous action during the last battle. "Take a seat, please."

[Cabel]

[Inner Colonies: Epsilon Eridani System: Planet Reach: Viery Territory: Utkozet Province: Alfold: Manassas City: Manassas City Concourse: Skywalk Café: First Lieutenant Mark “Spade” Seamus Sorelson: Year 2547]

Overlooking the pedestrian thoroughfares and verdant public parks of the city of Manassas, Mark had to admit the table he’d been seated to at the Skywalk Café had provided a great panoramic view. The Skywalk Café had at least a dozen stores in each of the cities on Reach, almost as bad as the coffee shops on Earth one found on each corner though at least with the Skywalk Café’s the owners had managed to keep them exclusive to the Concourses. He’d left the hospital located on the Marine Camp of Manassas after finishing a bottle of rootbeer more from the notion he hadn’t wanted to have had the fare typically served in hospitals. The sounds of his fellow Marines had never bothered him or the notion of being in a hospital since he’d effectively spent his childhood in the halls of Seattle’s Harborview Medical Center from his mother having been the Chief Surgeon at that particular hospital had left Mark with feeling the opposite everyone else felt. Rather than being nervous or anxious or dreading the sterile environment, Mark had felt complete. He’d felt at ease, calm and collected where he’d been able to think on the matters at hand. The doctors and nurses had probably grown tired of him being there, but a hospital reminded him of home. The sterile environment, the tiled to carpeted floors with the constant white-noises produced by grades of medical machines had been among the only places he’d felt truly calm out of the entire galaxy. He hadn’t harbored doubts some marines probably considered him crazy or even suffering from depression, but the fifty-one year old marine had been of sound mind and body. The rigors before the dawn to the first salvo or that shifting of cloth against the mud hadn’t jaded him and hadn’t changed him in his nearly three decades in the Corps, something that had affected more combat veterans than seemed humanly possible. He hadn’t thought of himself as being an elite or in being magically imbued, but as being only lucky in that his number hadn’t been drawn in a rocky crevice or a pit on some indistinguishable ball of mud.

Navigating through the labyrinthine corridors to concourses of the city of Manassas fabricated for pedestrians rather than vehicle-traffic as had been common with cities on colonial worlds spread throughout the Earth’s territory, he’d noticed the myriad amounts of UNSC personnel in fatigues to dress uniforms congregating at one point or another in the vast cities on the UNSC fortress world. The myriad uniforms present among the civilian population had been only natural with the most recent operation that for all intents and purposes had been a disgrace to the uniform, among other things in which the civilians lacked the right to even be aware of.

“Sir, have you made a decision on what you want to order?” a server, a young blond woman asked having stopped by his table.

“Huh? Oh, yes. I‘d like the corned-beef Reuben with the trimmings, no tomatoes, swiss cheese with Russian dressing on rye bread. Could I get a side of sauerkraut with that?” Mark asked having been snapped out from his self-reflection by the server.

“Of course. What would you care to drink?” the server asked, jotting down his order on a small pad.

“A bottle of rootbeer, I suppose?” he asked.

“That‘ll work. It shouldn‘t take long to prepare. Sir, if it‘s not imposing I‘d like to thank you for what you‘re doing out there for us,” she said with a smile.

“I appreciate that, more than you know. Thank you,” Spade replied. “You honor my fellow marines, and those men and women whom take up arms in the other services. Thank you,”

“I’ll tell you what. Since we can't do anything to help you when you're out there, I think we can arrange something. I’ll put your meal on the house. You don’t have to pay anything. It’s the least I can do,” the server said.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I haven’t done anything to warrant special treatment, Ma’am,” he began.

“It’s the least I can do, and the Owner will back me on it,” she smiled before heading away from his table towards the back of the café.

“Thank you…Ma’am,” he said, before noticing she’d already left.

“You’re something else? You know that? You come in here expecting special treatment from doing something a regular Joe like us could do after a few brewskies. You finish a hard day's work on another planet out there, and come back here expecting everyone to treat you differently,” a civilian said, a rather built fellow from the looks of him. Turning around in his seat, Mark came to face the man in question. The man had arms showing he’d spent a life of tilling fields, with a tan to match and obviously calloused hands while behind him three of his compatriots flanked him. If Mark had to take a guess, the man’s compatriots as the man in question had had quite a few beers or worse already.

“Sir, I haven’t done anything to you. I even explained to her I haven’t done anything to warrant special treatment. I’m like you, in that I’m defending what I love. I’m doing what I’ve trained to do, but I would appreciate it if you would quiet down to let these kind folk enjoy their meals. If you would simply go back to your table and let me order you and your friends a round of whatever you were drinking then maybe we can let this slide? I’m not looking for a fight, and only came in to enjoy a nice drink with some lunch,” Mark began.

“You look like you’re from the Inner Colonies. This is our planet, soldier boy! You and your pals had best leave this place,” the large man said, interrupting the fifty-one year old First Lieutenant.

“I don’t know where you learned your facts, but my fellow marines are fighting for this planet and every planet that flies the flag of humanity…” Mark began.

“Take your righteousness somewhere else. You’re too weak, with thin arms to know what it’s like working for a living,” the large man chimed in.

“Weak? That’s fine. You say I’m weak. I will not lift a fist in anger to you, since that would be betraying the reason I took up this uniform. You call me weak, and that’s your right. You may call me bad names to my face, or behind my back, and that’s your right. I won’t force you to stop. I won’t tell you to stop, but the next time…” Mark began before sliding from the stool he’d sat on to stand at his full five feet ten inches appearing to have been dwarfed by the large man whom stood a few inches above six foot. He’d taken the old DI tone he’d developed, that hoarse direct voice that recruits feared which he’d developed during a span of nine years of being a DI to a Senior DI at Ft. Lewis on Earth. “…you call a marine weak you had better double-time your ass out to the nearest recruitment office and sign those papers. Do not give them lip. Do not talk back to them. Do not argue with them. I, with my fellow marines, fellow sailors, fellow airmen are out there fighting to let you keep those rights to say what you want. You will see first hand when the DI strikes a garbage-lid with his baton at oh-four-thirty what weakness is. You will feel pain. I’m sure. They all do. You will wish you were back at your farm tilling those fields or under the hood of your warthog twisting that wrench compared to the misery you’ll face. We are not weak, Sir. We wring weakness from you. I know the local DI’s, so when you decide to become sober and find yourself standing inside the doors of the local recruitment office wondering who knocked some common sense into you those DI’s will be waiting. That goes for your friends too. You will find out what the term Weakness truly means, and you will learn to be disgusted by it. The concept of weakness will be a foreign one to you. Do I make myself clear?” The aging marine appeared far more intimidating, and appeared to have forced the four farmers to shrink in their steps when he’d stood to face them.

For the civilians, finding the marine officer hadn’t raised a fist in anger or even pointed a finger in the farmer’s chest had been a surprise. For the UNSC personnel present and those civilians that had members in the service, the kind of restraint Mark had displayed had been instilled in everyone that had taken up the uniform. Rounds of applause broke the awkward silence following Mark’s monologue, from the patrons dining in that Skywalk Café to the employees while the four farmers embarrassed by the outcome turned and ran.

[MrKill]

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

Either this woman had nerves of steel or internal balls somewhere to believe she had insurmountable odds against him, but that was not the case. While technically John was a Marine, he was still Navy, as the Marines were a subcategory unit of the Naval Forces of the UNSCN. John, technically, still had authority over her at any rate, regardless of branch, since the United Nations Space Command still operated with the 'General Military Authority', or GMA.

"I did." John replied.

Axle, from his peripheral vision, jumped back onto the bed.

"I'd also wipe that unyielding internal grin off your face, Commander." The Colonel said sternly. John was old fashioned. He liked to read reports from files and folders rather then displayed on a tactical pad, for this purpose however he had no choice. He'd done this routine a dozen times. He picked up a datapad, inserted his personal password and waited for the pre-loaded document to appear, all without breaking his return graze that showed the experience as a front line commander that had served since the UNSC started fighting the Covenant.

He handed the datapad over with the pre-loaded report. He expected the commander since he summoned the lady two hours ago, but understood the delay as she was a Frigate CO, so had created a report - as well as visual evidence about CASEVAC 3's 'daring' stunt they pulled with a priority extraction.

A small line of text explaining the event, and then videos from two different personnel cameras was present within the document, both from the Marine Sergeant that had accompanied the Jackal onto the pelican and Colonel Killinger's video, which had him dragging himself into the pelican to avoid the nose of the diving CASEVAC Pelican.

"Your pelican, CASEVAC 3, nearly hit a priority one evacuation. The pilot claims that he didn't hear the priority evacuation but he most certainly was explained the situation by another pilot. In this case, despite CASEVAC 3's pelican pilot, now knowing it was a priority one pick-up, put the lives of a Jackal Prisoner, a Marine senior officer, wounded troops and in total, about fifteen peoples lives at risk of death for a parking spot." The Colonel said, his tone sour at the end. He was still displeased about that specific event, and that's exactly how it felt. The video would show that the CASEVAC pelican came within inches of hitting the evac pelicans rear engine pylons.

John leaned back and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger and thumb. "I'll give you a moment to read the report, and then I want to know what you are doing for disciplinary action."

[MrKill]

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

John sighed. The Commander clearly didn't realize the significance of the situation. "Commander," Killinger said. "There is a point to a certain extent someone can take a risk, and if someone takes a risk that could get people killed unnecessarily it needs to be dealt with." Killinger added. He cleared his throat and noticed the gaze of the Commander look away, towards his dog.

"It's a German Shepherd. Very rare outside of Earth and a few other colonies. His name is Axle, and he is my dog. Eleven months old. He keeps the morale up on the ship from time to time. He's pretty silly when it's energetic." Killinger said, staring towards Axle, who shifted and rolled into his back before flopping down on the other side. He made a strange nose, almost like a comfortable sigh.

"Anyways. If this pilot isn't good with dead or wounded people, I have to ask a clearly obvious question." Killinger said, almost grinning. "Why in the hell is he flying a CASEVAC pelican? Honestly, Commander, I'd re-assign him towards a pelican equipped with aerial support specifics. He's got the attitude and clearly the impatience of one." Killinger added.

He leaned forward and retrieved his datapad, turned it off and stuffed it back into his desk drawer before leaning back in his chair again, waiting the Commanders respond.

[MrKill]

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

"Five hundred years ago he would have, yes. Technology has improved and this breed type of the German Shepherd doesn't shed as bad as they used too, and besides modern medical technology has eliminated allergies." The Colonel replied. He had a feeling that the Commander was asking more along the lines of how the dog used the restroom. "For all intensive purposes he is 'ship trained' - He does his 'business' across the hall in my personal hygiene room directly across from my office, which I've converted into a small commons room. Real grass, dirt and a tree. You can take a look for yourself. I just pick up after the dog every day before I head to bed. Beneath the grass is a large dip-trey, which I empty into the toilet. He's not all that messy, and naturally only sheds badly once a year. Given, I also have to groom him daily because no one wants hair all over the ship." Killinger added.

Killinger frowned slightly. Killinger didn't want to demote the man. He may have said so in the video, but his concern was disciplining the soldier so that mistake would never be met again. His original plan was disciplinary action, so the Commander was along the lines of what he was thinking.

"I never wanted to demote him," Killinger said in a lower tone. "But he made a critical mistake that could have killed many more people than a pelican full, including wounded. Yes, nothing happened but if something did he would have been dishonorably discharged from the UNSC and likely given a life sentence... and you know that, Commander. By the way, while I don't personally care, I know a lot of people who would chew you out for this. Technically I am a paygrade higher then you and I have earned the honorary 'sir', but I'm willing to let it go because I'm nice..." Killinger added, half grinning.

"Look, Commander. All I am asking is keep your eye out. My by records you haven't been the commanding officer of this vessel for long, and this specific Sergeant has just graduated from the co-pilot position. If he's reckless and impatience as a primary pilot he can't do his job. The lack of communication was also a concern. We are a unified military, communication is key and it failed." Killinger said. "At the same time I understand they were trying to get a Staff Sergeant to the field hospital before she died, in which she unfortunately did. I don't know the time of death, but that's what I assumed after learning what had happened."

[MrKill]

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

"Don't base your facts off of pure potential, Commander!" The Colonel snapped, slamming his fist on his desk. A cup that was near the edge lazily leaped into the air, arched to the left and shattered on the floor. Axle stood up almost defensively and started to growl slightly, before stopping and laying back down. He was simply startled. Killinger, however, was furious. The Commander had, yet again, missed the entire point.

"I've seen tens and thousands of UNSC Personnel burned to a cinder when a planet is glassed because a potential was 'there' to be victorious. The fact is this pilot made a mistake that could have, though it didn't, claimed many lives! The fact is this pilot has only shown the UNSC that he's impatient and makes hasty decisions." Killinger said with an iron tone. "But I'm willing to accept an official warning. You're dismissed... Commander." Killinger added, narrowing his eyes slightly. He just put a period on the sentence.

There was nothing more to say, nor could she. The Colonel had dismissed the Commander, which did put a stop to their conversation. Killinger, internally, wanted the pilot off the flight lines and back into the co-pilot seat for more flight experience, but there was nothing he could do. The man was a member of a different vessels complement. All he could do was recommend it, or talk to the Admiral, who could order it but the man had given Killinger a cold shoulder on the topic, leaving him to deal with it himself during the debriefing.

Killinger closed the door once the Commander had left and picked up the broken glass, followed by tossing it in the garbage. Today was going to be a different day. For a month straight he had been continuously on the field of battle, either getting shot at or taking shots at someone... or by proximity near the action. It felt... almost awkward to actually rest.

The Colonel kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the bed, one hand over Axle, who started licking John on the side of the face.

[David]

Admiral David Vardy
Bridge - UNSCS KILLIMANJARO
Docked at Orbital Station


"Did you prepare the fridge, Admiral, for my arrival?" said Klix as he walked through the door. David knew the Admiral could drink him under the table and he was secretly glad that his requisition for "Re-Supply" was met so promptly. He had depleted his supply of Scotch and Whiskey in the wee hours between sleepless nights and tense moments on the bridge.

Smiling, David offered the Admiral his chair and promptly poured the Admiral a drink. Normally he'd pour maybe 3 fingers, but this was a special moment. A moment when two old friends got together and could relax after a hard fought fight. David, at one point wasn't sure he'd see his former mentor again, but was glad the fate had spared him for the moment so that they could share this moment together. It showed just how much the two men meant to each other. This was friendship at its finest and something that David treasured quite a bit. Not many shared David's ideals, and most officers were intimidated by his rank and demeanor. Not Klix. He was genuine and honest. Something that David not only responded to, but also respected and liked.

"Hell, Admiral, I don't think I have a fridge big enough for you." David replied sarcastically, the smile growing wider on his face. "I did tell them you were coming though, so they gave me a quick stock."

Then, grabbing a cigar out of his pocket, David bit the end off one side and popped the cigar in his mouth and lighted it, Watching as the smoke wafted around the room. The aroma that was wafting was heavenly, mixed with the odor of expensive scotch made the mood that much better. It was a smell that he missed. It was the smell of friendship and good times.

"Cigar, My friend?" David asked.

[MrKill]

Admiral Eric Sierra Klix
UNSCS Killimanjaro - Small ship
Marathon Heavy Guided Missile Cruiser

"Ouch," Klix said with a chuckle, producing his own pack of Sweet William Cigars. "I actually take that as a complement." Klix added, happy with himself. His lips curled down but his eyebrows went up, the 'not bad' facial expression. He had already started smoking one of the cigars, so all he had to do was light the thing. He quickly downed the drink Vardy had given him.

It felt nice to sit back and relax for a moment. Vardy and Klix were always busy, and though most of there time was either here at Reach or in slip-space, there was always time for them to visit with each other... on duty or not. The last trip in slip-space was brutally boring, and since Admiral's were a essential part to the crew they never got a 'ice-nap' during the transition. But now it was brandy and cigars, a tradition that could never be broken.

"Hows your family, Dave?" Klix asked, wondering how the Admiral's personal life had been. This wasn't a time to talk about politics, military or anything that started with the 'UNSC' - they were here to relax and enjoy what little time they actually had. Being flag-officers in the UNSCN meant a life of extreme business, but even they needed a little R&R. "Oh, I also had a reservation for this." Klix added, pulling out a ticket stamp for a movie that was about to air in holographic theaters. "I'll be on duty when it airs so there's no use for this ticket. Give it to someone you know that want to go." Klix finished.

He sighed explosively and rubbed his temple. "I'm getting old."

[Doc the Mother of Dragons]

New Haven Park
Outskirts of New Alexandria
Reach
Cprl. Cortez

It had been a while since she had actually been in a park for a leisurely walk, instead of running to avoid enemies. Felicia could not help but smile as she tilted her head up and enjoyed the warm sunlight as she and Deker walked along. It had been a pleasant morning, they had slept in and enjoyed each others....company among other things. Now the two where out and about, having walked through the city they now at a local park. She looped her arm through Dekers and rested her head on his arm/shoulder, "Told you this would be a nice change of pace.."

[David]

Admiral David Vardy
Bridge - UNSCS KILLIMANJARO
Docked at Orbital Station

Nodding, David clapped a hand on the Admirals shoulder. He knew what the Admiral was talking about. The posting of Admiral seemed to age men unnaturally fast. David himself was feeling old. He hated the feeling but he wouldn't trade where he was for anything in the galaxy. Here he could make a difference. 

"I know how you feel Admiral." David said, pouring himself another drink. "I don't think I've felt young for a long time."

Then, as he grasped his tumbler, he clinked it to Klix's. 

"To old friends then."

[TinCanHitman]

New Haven Park

Outskirts of New Alexandria

Reach

Pvt. Deker Mulquin

Deker walked along the quiet park with his usual sort of confidence. Wearing simple jeans and a T-shirt he couldn't help but be relaxed. He had made it back in one piece, was well fed, shaved, enjoyed the unprofessional company of his lovely Sniper, and now they were walking through a still park. "Told you this would be a nice change of pace.." Deker looked down at the darker woman at his side, a smirk coming to his face. "Oh yeah? Well, not having plasma flying at yer' head does make for a peaceful evening." He said as they walked. He lead her towards a near by bench and sat, looking out around him at the trees shaking slightly in the soft wind.

"Ya know, it's times like this that remind me of Balia. Oh, the life of a soldier is a hard one." he said jokingly as he put his arm around her. 
 

[Doc the Mother of Dragons]

New Haven Park
Outskirts of New Alexandria
Cprl. Felicia Cortez

"All nice and quiet?" She asked watching a flock of pigeons flutter around on the ground a few feet away. "What type of farm is your parents again?"

[TinCanHitman]

New Haven Park

Outskirts of New Alexandria

Reach

Pvt. Deker Mulquin

Deker looked over at her and laughed "My family isn't a farm. They OWN a potato farm." he said, poking her forehead in the playful way he did to annoy her. "You never remember any thing! Uh, you never listen!" he said mockingly, sticking his tongue out at her. He had learned that she was the only person who's company he truly enjoyed. Sure his other friends and comrades were alright, but they weren't like her. He stretched out and slid her a bit closer, pulling her taught to him. "I am interested to go to that club we got vouchers for."  They had gotten some vouchers from a local vendor for one of the grandiose sky towers that were high above the ground.

He gave her a sideways glance and a smile "Remember when I asked you to 'marry' me?"

[Martial Virtue]

Lieutenant Colonel Adrienne Jackson, UNSC Marines

UNSCS Iowa

Jackson walked with purpose down the corridors of the ship, still getting used to the feeling of being onboard. It'd been a while since she'd been on a cruiser - or a ship of any kind for that matter. She sighed to herself as she strode towards the office. She would've much rather have been down on the surface of Reach visiting her family right now than being here. She'd only had a few days at home with her husband Sam and their five-year-old twins, Evan and Erin, before she'd been ordered to report to the Iowa for her new assignment. Both of her children had cried when she'd left, and it'd been all she could do not to tear up with them.

But this was the life she'd chosen, and she wouldn't trade it for anything else.


For now, though, she was already late for her meeting with her new CO, Colonel Johnathon Killinger. The lieutenant colonel glanced down at her datapad as she rushed to her objective.


"Costigan, you're sure the directions you gave me are correct?" Adrienne said into the device, reopening the link with her aide, who'd also come aboard.


Sergeant David Costigan nodded his head firmly in the live video feed. "Yes, ma'am. One more left and you're there."


"All right. Thank you, Sergeant."


"No problem, Colonel."


Lieutenant Colonel Jackson hastily cut off the connection once more, touched the bun in the back of her head one last time to make sure her black hair was still in place despite her pace, and then tapped lightly on the door to Colonel Killinger's office.


"Sir, it's Lieutenant Colonel Adrienne Jackson," she said from the other side as she clasped her hands behind her back. "I received orders to report to your office as your new XO."

[HollowSaber]

: Corporal Jake Furrow :
: Planet Reach. Base 75-Alpha. Rifle-Range to Mess Hall :
: Nova Squad :

    The final round in Jake’s small box was ejected with a ferocity that was mirrored only by the noise the bullet made as it tore through a target down range. The round, specifically aimed at a target which stood five-hundred meters ahead of the shooter, as well as on the same plane, ripped through the vital point in the fake body. The round tore a small hole in the neck of the target, blasting the metal backwards from the impact. Due to the force caused by said impact, the round actually shattered, the metal fragments scattering into the dirt and grass just beyond the standing figure.

    The man on the other end of the rifle sucked his teeth while slowly lifting up onto his knee. He pulled back the bolt of his rifle, exposing the chamber and caused the empty shell of the fired round to pop out. He caught the bullet casing and placed it among the others on his left. The number of rounds he had fired were the most he had ever done in one sitting and by far, the most strenuous. Fatigue had set in nearly a half hour ago, wearing on his body and almost causing him to fall asleep where he lay. It was a tough thing to ignore and fight against but he was successful in the end.

    Taking a quick moment to check the clock, Jake noticed it was time for the mess hall to open up. Around now, all of the others would be waking up or being made to wake up by their commanding officers. Furrow was lucky. His arriving at the shooting range spared him the embarrassing act of being forced to wake up. Even when they were on leave, sometimes the Sergeants or other Officers made their men wake up bright and early for some exercise. He had never paid much attention to such things. Jake just wanted to practice and become better with his rifle. Exercise would come on the battlefield.

    Still, he figured it would be nice to get some sort of workout done. Maybe after he ate, he’d go on a light jog around the base. Yea, that’s what he would do. Jake picked up his rifle, returned the empty casings to the soldier at the ammunition’s post, and headed for the mess hall with his rifle strapped to his back. He wouldn’t waste too much time eating. In fact, he wouldn’t take more than ten minutes to shovel down enough food for the day. After that, he wouldn’t have to come within three feet of another person. That was what he looked forward to.

    Remaining around other soldiers was something Jake detested. In combat, he was mostly alone, separated or just alone due to his objective. As the type of sniper he was, Jake hardly dealt with other soldiers except when he joined them just to cross a stretch of space. For the most part, Jake was on his own. Just him and his rifle. Of course, due to some regulations, he now also had a spotter with him. The only reason he dealt with the other man was because it reminded Jake of his training days. Back then, Jake was the spotter and kept an eye out for enemies while the others took their shots. Now he didn’t need a spotter. He had enough skill and practice to drop a target without pause. All he needed was information on the location and the target itself.

    Although, if Jake spoke out too loudly against having a spotter, he knew that the brass would either give him another soldier to deal with or they’d take away his rifle. So, knowing this, he began to make his ‘spotter’ stay behind on missions or do something unnecessary. The guy didn’t mind it or complain, to Jake’s relief but he questioned the other soldier’s motive for the lack of complaints. The man seemed to believe in Jake, trusted him, and the soldier was a bit lazy so getting out of work sometimes was worth being left behind. Jake couldn’t disagree. He had slept about seventy-five of his time being in this military. Hearing that there was another lazy person came as no surprise.

    It was nice having an understanding partner. If he had been put with some regulation-reading-suck up, Jake probably would’ve shot him and left him to die. Regulations on the battlefield were useless. It was kill or be killed, you or me, and one verse the world. As a sniper, Jake was on his own from the moment he dropped, until the moment he stepped onto the returning ship. Somethings his mission still wasn’t over because of having to simply pick up ammunition and go after another target. It had happened before, multiple times, so he expected such things.

    The man sighed heavily and entered the mess hall he had been walking towards. He pulled an ODST black baseball cap onto his head and pulled a pair of sunglasses over his eyes. Once he entered, he was immediately struck by the explosive force that was conversation. People were already scattered with their teams in the hall, chowing down on their food. Jake didn’t exactly say anything to anyone and got in line for the food. When his plate was filled up, he moved to the corner away from the others at a completely empty table and began to eat. In between bites, he looked out the small window on his left. The view on Reach was beautiful. He couldn’t wait to go on a run through the surrounding area.

[MrKill]

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

John's eyes shot open as someone said something to him through his open door. All he heard was 'As your new XO.' and realized it was the meeting with Adrienne Jackson, who was his new regimental Executive Officer. Killinger cleared his throat and rolled off his bunk, stretching his back out from the fifteen minute power nap he had just experienced. Axle was no where in sight, probably roaming the deck somewhere or playing with another crew member, which explained the open door.

"Come on in, Jackson." Killinger said, picking his words carefully. He wanted a closer relationship with the officer then purely a 'I'm your superior officer' type of relationship. In order to be an effective team, Killinger believed having a friendship with his subordinates helped greatly. "You'll have to forgive me, you just woke me up from a nap. I had forgotten about our meeting, which makes my first impression look kinda bad."

Killinger sat down at his office desk before the Lieutenant Colonel walked in, allowing his bare feet to be concealed under the wooden, steel and glass frame of the rather artistic desk. It curled into a forty five degree angle along his wall, with the rest of the desk pointing outwards. John loved the desk, absolutely loved it. He picked up another file, a report from PERSONNEL COMMAND, about the Lieutenant Commander. He had read the file, as with all his officers in the Regiment, previously during the slip-space from the unknown planet to a predetermined destination as per Cole Protocol, and then back to Reach. Since he was a senior Marine officer now, he had the authorization to review, edit and maintain records on the UNSC PERSONNEL COMMAND. John placed the file on the desk and opened it up to the first page, the basic information.

"All this information on this page is irrelevant," John stated immediately. "I don't need to know five numbers, a dish, five more numbers and your initials. I don't need to know your name, height, weight and age. What I liked, however, were a few things other commanders had noted about you, but I didn't need to know it." John said. He turned the page, and summarized what he read. "You're a front line commander, much like me, who gets in trouble for not staying back. I can respect that. You've fought in many battles and are considered 'experienced' against the Covenant, I can also respect that. But I want you to tell me something about yourself. Who are you, what makes you tick? I want to know the person under the silver insignia." Killinger said.

He leaned back and waited. "I'll tell you about myself, too, don't worry."

[Frazer]

Captain Frazer York

UNSCS Preston

Virtue Attack Class Carrier

The small collection of ships came to a stand still just above reach as they were ready to begin there scouting mission. Frazer was trying to think of the ships in his scouting group, it then clicked in his mind. The three ships in his scouting group were the UNSCS Hibernian, a Charon Class light Frigate, the UNSCS Heavy Feather, a Stalwart Class Frigate and counting his own ship, the UNSCS Preston a Virtue Class Attack Carrier, that was three. Frazer looked around to his crew and then stood up from his captains chair to then move over to the comm officer on rotation. The Comm officer this time was Dean Wilson. "Wilson broadcast a message, fleet wide, asking the commanders of the Hibernian and the Heavy Feather to report in and to confirm they are ready to depart."

"Aye aye sir broadcasting message fleet wide now." Wilson Paused and then pressed the "speak." button on his console. "UNSCS Hibernian and UNSCS Heavy Feather, this is the UNSCS Preston. If you are ready to depart and ready to start the patrol reply back stating you are. We will be waiting until then. Preston out." Wilson then turned to Frazer. "Done sir." Frazer nodded and walked back over to his captains chair and sat down on it. "I have a response from the Heavy Feather sir, would you like me to play it bridge wide?"

"Yes bridge speakers Lieutenant." Wilson nodded and swung back round to then press a few buttons on his console to play the message.

"UNSCS Preston, this is the UNSCS Heavy Feather. We are ready to depart and are awaiting your go on the patrol. Feather out."

"Well thats one, now for the UNSCS Hibernian to respond." Frazer awaited the response from the Charon Light Frigate as once they were ready they could get the patrol started.

[Martial Virtue]

Lieutenant Colonel Adrienne Jackson, UNSC Marines

UNSCS Iowa

Adrienne stepped inside her superior officer's office, mildly surprised she'd happened upon him napping, though she didn't show it. In some ways she understood it. Jobs like theirs were taxing, and she'd come to learn in the last several years that the higher up the chain of command you went, the worse and more stressful it got. Hell, her being here aboard ship right now instead of planetside with her family was a prime example of the long hours and huge sacrifices Marines in senior command positions had to make for the job. Taking a nap was the least troublesome side-effect, so she mentally shrugged it off.

"I thought nothing of it, sir," Jackson said to reassure her commander that she hadn't formed a poor opinion of him as a leader for the small misstep. Though she always tried hard and worked harder - she wouldn't have the rank she did now if she hadn't - the lieutenant colonel wasn't devoid of a few errors here and there herself in her career.


She spent a moment waiting in silence as he looked over her personnel file, not particularly troubled by what he'd find. She'd had an unconventional upbringing thanks to her bumbling biological parents, but that was long past and shouldn't have any effect on what the colonel thought of her - she was thirty-eight years old now and had had enough of a life and accomplishments on her own to stand on her own merits, not the disappointment her real mother and father had been. It was something she hardly even thought about nowadays. She had enough on her plate with managing a battalion of Marines and dealing with her own family's affairs. On the homefront, Sam and the twins were always her immediate concern more than the rest.


Still, Adrienne was surprised when Killinger said, "All this information on this page is irrelevant. I don't need to know five numbers, a dish, five more numbers and your initials. I don't need to know your name, height, weight and age. What I liked, however, were a few things other commanders had noted about you, but I didn't need to know it. You're a front line commander, much like me, who gets in trouble for not staying back. I can respect that. You've fought in many battles and are considered 'experienced' against the Covenant, I can also respect that. But I want you to tell me something about yourself. Who are you, what makes you tick? I want to know the person under the silver insignia." The colonel paused then before adding, "I'll tell you about myself, too, don't worry."

With that, Jackson immediately decided that her new CO was unconventional as well...but in a good way. He hated the BS as much as she did and wanted to cut right to the point. And, above all, he seemed to respect her for the way she took her battlefield leadership seriously - and literally. Many of her previous commanders had chastised her for her "recklessness" in how she often chose to approach combat at her rank. Jackson had only thought it fair and just that she be there alongside the men and women she ordered, fighting with them when she could. She took in a deep breath.

"I guess I'm not sure what to say, sir. I knew coming out of college that I wanted a commission in the Marine Corps, and I worked damn hard for it. I suppose you can say I never stopped. I can be aggressive in combat and tend towards full-out assaults rather than careful maneuvering, but that's not to say I don't weigh the costs beforehand or act rashly. I can read a map or battle plans once or twice and have them in my head forever after that, down to every detail. I love the gym and my career, but also very much value my family life as well, when I'm allowed the time to indulge in it. I think most people are good unless they prove otherwise, and I also believe that revenge is a dish best served cold, sir, though I'm not especially easy to offend."

Lieutenant Colonel Jackson finally paused a moment to shrug - outwardly this time. She had a small smile on her face now. "I guess I'm a bit of a paradox, like nearly everyone in the universe. Anything else you want to know is in my file if you haven't already read it, Colonel."

[MrKill]

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

"I guess I'm not sure what to say, sir. I knew coming out of college that I wanted a commission in the Marine Corps, and I worked damn hard for it. I suppose you can say I never stopped. I can be aggressive in combat and tend towards full-out assaults rather than careful maneuvering, but that's not to say I don't weigh the costs beforehand or act rashly. I can read a map or battle plans once or twice and have them in my head forever after that, down to every detail. I love the gym and my career, but also very much value my family life as well, when I'm allowed the time to indulge in it. I think most people are good unless they prove otherwise, and I also believe that revenge is a dish best served cold, sir, though I'm not especially easy to offend." Jackson said, shrugging with a smile. "I guess I'm a bit of a paradox, like nearly everyone in the universe. Anything else you want to know is in my file if you haven't already read it, Colonel."

John nodded, "Oh I've read it twice, Jackson. I'm well aware of your accomplishments, pros and cons, abilities, skills and the magic stuff that tend to make senior Marine Officers judge a marine by the book... but I'm not one of those Marines. That's why I asked you about some personal information; who you are." Killnger replied. "Tell you what, Jackson. I've got the authority to authorize something special for you. In the meantime there is a purpose for this meeting. But first, a little about myself." Killinger added.

He cleared his throat and produced yet another folder, this time with a rather troublesome Marine as the topic subject, a private that had physically assaulted a Corporal during the last mission by flipping the superior NCO over his shoulder. He handed the file to the Lieutenant Colonel, the report from PERSONNEL COMMAND was about Wen Cuu. That was his next topic, and there was a video feed from 'Corporal Ward', the person who was flipped, loading on his datapad. Once it was loaded he paused the playback and placed it beside the folder.

"Well, I myself am an outgoing type of person. I don't have fancy words and I like to get to the point. I myself have a family. A son and a daughter, both joining the UNSC Marine Corps - which honestly makes me proud. But, at the same time, I can't help but feel worried... Anyways, I guess the biggest flaw about me is my zero tolerance policy for disrespect." Killinger said, taking a sip from the coffee that had been on his desk for nearly an hour. Ironic, really, because that's one of the points in the file they were about to read through. "I don't really have a social life outside of the Marine Corps - in which I fully admit - so their isn't much to tell you other than that. Now, on the contrary if you need to know more about me you can read my file. I have that here, too.... somewhere." Killinger said.

He leaned back as Axle announced his return to the Lieutenant Colonel by a simple bark and the playful wagging of his tail. He trotted up to the Lieutenant Colonel and sniffed curiously, before showing some discipline and retreating a few inches and looking at John. "Jackson, meet Axle. He is a German Shepherd and a reason why the morale around here isn't always so..." The Colonel said, pausing to think of the right word. "Gloomy, I guess."