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> Staff Sergeant Morre, Legix
>> UNSC Iron Sunrise
>>> Location: Unknown: Bogged Forest Path

Legix looked to his gun, softly patting the side of the plasma-brazed MA5C, rubbing it after making sure it was ready to fire. Turning his head to Rick, he saw the private raise his head, a signal the Brutes were in sight. Softly, he whispered over the com, "Here we go boys...wait for the call..." A few minutes passed, when finally, they could see and hear it.

Just mere inches from the marines, the soft, digging drill of the Prowler carried it slowly forward, the Brutes in the side positions sleeping, while the gunner and driver stayed alert. Without hesitation, he yelled, "Get'em boys!"

Turning to face the Prowler's driver seat, he drew his knife, rushing straight up, his fellow marines no doubt doing the same. But he was more worried about himself right now. The pilot was his target, the alien too stupid to run, yet too smart to fight, thinking of a way to spread themselves from the marines. Legix's tactic, in his position, worked. With a thick, harsh smack, his blade cracked through the bottom of the Brute's jaw, going deeper for only a second. After going so deep, the blade broke clean to make a shorter, slightly more dulled blade. The purpose served though, knocking the Brute from the Prowler and leaving it without a driver. Further down, Private Tyler and Rick were able to exterminate a lone two and now were mounting up, quickly making a dash through the brush for the open fields, none following them. One Prowler, at least, would be theres.

> Staff Sergeant Morre, Legix
>> UNSC Iron Sunrise
>>> Location: Unknown: Bogged Forest Path

Legix, quickly moving into the driver's seat, watched as a sidearm's rounds kicked a new hole in the Brute gunner's head. The only thing he was worried about doing was pulling further away from the trip wire. Thinking for a moment, he began backing the Prowler up, Moving carefully as the firefight was picking up between the dismounted, yet outflanked Brutes and the marines, who held little advantage with the ambush now well dragged. Suddenly, a Brute-controlled Prowler ripped past him, slamming one of the marines with the metal front as he and his gunner proceeded forward.

The trip wire didn't miss, blowing up the alien vehicle in a thick, smokey cloud. It was a bit comical to the Sergeant, but the matter was no laughing matter. Their only explosive weapon had gone off, and the Brutes still had two other Prowlers. Spinning the Prowler almost entirely in place, he slowed only to let a marine mount into the gunner seat. Then, without hesitation, the Prowler was knocked over, the Brutes speeding into the side and ramming them. This knocked Legix from the driver's spot, slamming him down into the dirt, his MA5C knocked loose from his person. Turning, he yelled, "s**t!!!" A Brute, enraged, picked him up like a ragdoll, tossing the marine almost ten feet before he hit a tree, his helmet flying free from his head. The Sarge made no move, his breathing harsh, the Brute turning its attention away from him and to the marine in the Prowler. Legix's vision was a bit fuzzy, mainly from the amount of pain he felt from slamming into a tree.

The battle around him was fairly quiet, a small ring hanging in his ears. It took him a minute before he moved his hand to his face, rubbing a smear of blood from his lips. Trying to get up, he felt a terrible pain in his left hip, looking down to see a blunt injury of at least decent damage, his entire hip bruised, while the center of it held a large gash. Dropping his head back, he tried holding back tears of pain, moving one hand to cover the wound, unable to call for help without his com. The only thing he could pray for was that someone saw him get hurled.

Corporal Romwell, Sebastian
>ERR.UEG_1707.TIMESTAMP ANOMALY
>> UNSC Iron Sunrise
>> Alien Construct. Sebastian stated as he motioned for his fire team to engage the enemy. The Brutes were surprised. He was sure they smelled humans, but they did not know where they were. "Get some!" he shouted as he sprayed a Brute in blue power armor, along with the joint fire from a support member, overloaded and exploded. Leaving the rounds to penetrate the fur and flesh that belonged to the covenant dog.

The Brute went down and he searched for another target, reloading the clip of his MA5B assault rifle as he did. The spent casing falling to the dusty dirt ground. "You two cover Anderson! You three keep those overgrow-" He was silenced as a Brute fired it's equipped spiker. The spikes narrowly missing his arm, but one caught his foot. And oh God did it hurt! "******** I'm hit!" He instantly crouched, well fell to one knee, spraying the enemy responsible for the wound, searing pain ripping its way up through his foot.

Staff Sergeant Richard Anderson
>UNSC Iron Sunrise
>>Location: Unknown, Dirt Road

He nodded his understanding, glad to see that Moore's injuries would not be fatal. He raised his shotgun, glad to see the marine's were keeping the Brute busy for the moment. It would only take one shot.

The Brute was giving one hell of a fight, but their sense of hearing was crap when they were enraged. He snuck up behind the creature, placing his barrel directly between the plates of it's armor.

"Say good night, princess!"

Before he uttered the last word, and gave the Brute enough time to figure out what the hell was going on, he had already pulled the trigger. The sound was muffled somewhat, but not the mess. The Brute only had a moment to peer down at the clean hole that had appeared through it's abdomen before Richard kicked it squarely behind the knees, dropping it like a sack of rocks. He kicked away it's weapon, looking around at the situation before him.

A few Marines were down, but he didn't know if any had died. He called through his comm so that he could get a better picture of where they stood.

"Alright pups, sound off like you got a pair! Any medics still standing, attend to the wounded."

He made his way back to Moore, taking a seat beside him for just a moment to catch his breath.

"I think this went about as well as we could have expected it too.."

> Staff Sergeant Morre, Legix
>> UNSC Iron Sunrise
>>> Location: Unknown: Bogged Forest Path

Legix sighed, hearing the corporal's voice over the com, responding to Richard, "At least it worked...grab me my helmet..."

"Here you go, sir."

Legix looked up, Corporal Yates holding his helmet to the Sergeant, a response from Legix coming off as a smartass response, "Why thank you, I only wish you had helped me when I got hurt."

"Don't worry, sir, you'll be fine. We got the radio pulled out of the pod...still works, too. We can get rolling out whenever you're ready."

"Yates, I could care less when we go...I just don't want to have to move around too much." Legix took his helmet, pulling it on and calling over the com, "Six boys out of nine of our attack group made it...we only need three of the Prowlers...injured ride on sidecars and the able drive and gun. Get moving boys..." With Yates helping, he slowly got up, walking slowly to the Prowler that Private Rick and Tyler had hi-jacked. With a soft grunt, he propped himself in the sidecar, grabbing a bar to ensure he didn't fall. Looking down, he moved the bandana, the flow of blood all but stopped now. Taking a quick breath, he moved to stretch the cloth, tieing it to his armor to pull tightly against the wound. If he could keep it like this, he might live a few days without much medical aid. They could patch him up later, when they stopped to eat.

SSgt Richard Anderson
>Iron Sunrise
>>Location: Unknown, en route to Pod Crash Site

After his men secured Moore into the sidecar of a Prowler, Richard had assumed temporary command until they could get Moore to a medic, and hopefully patch up his leg before infections set in. They had lost three good marine in the ambush, and he didn't fancy wanting to lose an officer as well.

"Come on boys, load up those wounded and mark the dead for later retrieval, we gotta get moving. I want marksmen on the cannons, can't take any chances around here."

He felt uncomfortable taking command of another company, but he knew that under the circumstances that it was necessary. With their CO injured, he wouldn't be able to effectively lead them in combat, and he was the next available CO in rank. Once Moore was back in fighting condition, he would gladly give command back to him.

As he supervised the convoy, he caught a faint transmission coming over the radio taken from the escape pod. He made his way over to it, calling for Yates.

"Yates, get over here. I think we're getting an incoming transmission."

He listened closely, and surely enough there it was. Fire Team Echo?

"Yates, give me some juice on this thing. Unless they're within range, they won't hear s**t from us if we respond."

::: 1stSgt Freeman, York
::: UNSC Iron Sunrise
::: Unknown location; open grassland

First Sergeant Freeman opened his eyes slowly. His lap was the first thing he saw. The First Sergeant was hunched over in his seat, so that his eyes were in line with his knees. His vision blurred from the crash, Freeman lifted his gloved hands and rubbed his eyes. Freeman lifted his sore, aching head. His head had been thrown around a bit and, to put it in layman's terms, hurt like a ********. The First Sergeant observed the Bumblebee Escape Pod.

The pod was no longer shaking, as it had been during its descent. There was a large hole in the wall opposite York's seat which must have been penetrated during the crash landing. The Marines within the pod were no longer chattering amongst themselves; in fact, they weren't moving at all. It appeared that First Sergeant Freeman was the only survivor. Five of the seven other available seats in the pod were occupied by bloody, lifeless Marines. The other two seats were empty, though the carcasses of the men who'd been sitting in the seats were accounted for. It seemed the two men hadn't strapped themselves in, and so they'd been thrown out of their seats into the wall. Freeman had been knocked out; his comrades hadn't been so lucky.

York tried to disengage the harness that had prevented him from acquiring the same fate as the two men who hadn't strapped into their seats. It was stuck. Freeman pulled harder, but the belt would not budge. He reached for his combat knife, took it from its sheath, and cut the strap, thus freeing himself. He returned the blade to its sheath and took a few deep breaths before standing up.

As he got to his feet, the First Sergeant felt a sharp pain in his left leg. He groaned and looked down. It seemed he had not gotten through the crash landing unscathed after all. There was a moderately sized gash in his left shin. A twisted piece of debris from the emergency wall of the evacuation vessel had met his leg and left a painful wound. Freeman knelt down and examined the wound briefly. It was not too bad, but he would need medical care sometime in the next few hours, lest the cut become badly infected.

Freeman got to his feet and grabbed his SRS99D-S2 AM, which was lying on the ground a few feet in front of his seat, and slung it over his shoulder. He took his helmet too and placed it on his head; it too had been lying on the floor before his seat. The skilled sniper's M6G was still secured in his holster. Freeman drew his sidearm, gripping it tightly as he walked toward the open hole in the side of the vessel. He saw a field, a grassland. He saw no other Bumblebee Escape Pods and no other UNSC troops. As he was about to step out of the craft, he heard a muffled, distant voice. Freeman limped into the cockpit. The windshield had been smashed in the crash landing, but the equipment remained mostly intact. Freeman pushed the pilot, whose neck had been broken due to the impact of the crash, out of his seat and so that he himself could sit down. Freeman listened to the transmission, which ordered UNSC personnel to report in. When it was over, he replied. Fortunately, despite the presumably large distance between Fire Team Echo and First Sergeant Freeman, the message came through somewhat clearly, and York did manage to make out the words that came through a bit muffled.

First Sergeant Freeman rubbed his aching head with one hand as he said, "Copy, Fire Team Echo. This is First Sergeant York Freeman broadcasting from Bumblebee Victor Whiskey Tango One-Three. I am the only Marine from my pod who survived the crash landing. Pilot and passengers have perished. Current location: some sort of grassland or field. Precise coordinates are unknown. I intend to try to make contact with surviving UNSC personnel on this planet. Have we established a rendezvous point, and if so where is it, Fire Team Echo?"