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 Posted: Sun Sep 20, 2009 1:16 am
::: Corporal Formoe, Cole T.
::: UNSC Iron Sunrise
::: Drop Deck 7.
The Corporal was definately startled by being approached by his First Shirt so suddenly, but after taking just a second to recollect himself, he pulled away from his work and turned fully to face Mitchell. "Sir, I've been feeling a bit... distant, like I don't belong here. I haven't even had the chance to report to our CO yet, and this is my first duty station, I feel so out of place." He said, almost pathetically as he almost lost his entire bearing but managed to keep a hold on his composure for just a moment longer. He knew his training and he could at least keep himself alive, but he did have to admit his inexperience at some point and now may as well have been the best time. "Sir, I regret everything that happened on Reach, I was there, but not as a soldier. I was just PCSing there from Earth and I have only just finished my training a few weeks ago." He said, almost upset that he was still so new to being a Helljumper- hell, the term itself was hard for him to get used to saying because he didn't see himself as anything of the sort.
Formoe wasn't groomed for this duty, nor was he forced into it, he was just unlucky enough to get chosen by the training superintendant of the ODST training course after showing that being another regular old ground-pounder was far too easy to be a labor to him. Standing at a staggering six and one half feet tall, he had to arch his neck slightly to look Mitchell in the eyes and was just barely lucky that he could even fit in the SOEIV pods. His physique alone was enough to qaulify him for the training program, although it was his determination and fortitude which kept him alive and in the UNSC so far, so he didn't have too many doubts about himself, but was just worried about what to expect in a live-fire situation since all of the simulations he had been trained in were just that, pre-calculated simulations that didn't think, adapt, or change algorithms. If someone took the time, they could master the ODST course just by studying the timing of when targets appear at the firing range. Fighting real, breathing, opponents with a mandate to survive just as he has was a whole different scenario and he had never in his life considered killing anyone- despite that being the UNSC's job description. "We're in the business of killin' people!" He had heard that screamed in his ear so many times that it almost took precedence over the Warrior's Creed and Oath of Enlistment.
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Posted: Sun Sep 20, 2009 5:58 am
Kumar, Whitney // E-5
> UNSC Iron Sunrise
>> Checking over her gear and a little socializing.
"Sorry Sergeant, didn't mean to offend you. I have been in quite the self loathing mood. Getting stabbed in the chest by the Elite, causing me to be out of action long enough to not even being there to see--" She stopped there. She just couldn't carry one talking about, knowing that the greatest tragedy happened while she was in cryo. It pissed of off. She walked over to her armory locker had her baby, her partner, her rocket launcher named Caesar. If she lost this, she wouldn't know what to do with herself. She gave it a quick clean with some rag, and looked at the word "CAESAR" on the side. It seemed to of faded, but she always had a little pot of white paint to touch it up. Now, she heard what Formoe say, and just wanted to comfort the little rookie with some kind words. But she also knew, that would be a mistake. She walked over to him, quite certain she knew exactly what to say.
"We all have our "we don't belong" moments. But you are O-D-S-T. You wouldn't be here if you didn't belong." She pat the rookie on the shoulder, and nodded her head remembering that once upon a time, her old CO said that once said it, when she was a rookie. Though they sounded way more mystical back then. He probably said a lot more too. But she knew that should of been enough. She went back to her business, letting Mitchell do his leading duties.
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Posted: Sun Sep 20, 2009 8:53 am
-Private Kriston Pindros
-UNSC Iron Sunrise
-Drop Deck Seven
Kriston was scared. He had absolutely no idea what was going on, for he hadn't payed any attention in the briefing. Kriston weaved his way through the masses of ODSTs until he found his locker. He had absolutely no clue what he was assigned with, since he tuned out the Supply Officer. Kriston popped it open to find, to his surprise, an M7 and a CAWS-M90. While taking out the M7, he noticed two small boxes. The first one was about six inches tall, eight inches wide, and four inches deep. The second was only about two inches tall, two inches deep, but was eight inches long. Upon opening the first box, Kriston was amazed to find a Smart Link Reflex Scope. The second held a supressor. Kriston attached both to his M7 and shut his locker. He looked at the pods in disbelief that he would return, then quickly shut those thoughts out of his mind.
Kriston now sought out someone to help him find his squad assignment. "Hey, anyone have a squad roster handy?" He asked the people in his row. Mostly all he got were "Didn't you pay attention?" and "Nope, sure don't." Kriston moved towards the end of the lockers for the roster sheet, but didn't find it. He ran over to the other side of the locker area, the K's, and asked "Anyone have a squad roster or something?"
((Despite what some people might tell you, we do not have MA7K-T3 rifles in 2552. I'm giving you a sound Suppressed M7 SMG. It's accurate in short bursts, has a large clip, and is whisper-quiet. - The Hegemon))
((Thanks. -Schalton))
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Posted: Sun Sep 20, 2009 7:39 pm
<\\>UNSC OFFICE OF NAVAL INTELLIGENCE
<\\>PERSONNEL DATABASE [ONI.SEC.PRTCL-2C]
< PRIVATE LOG ACCESS REQUEST
< ENTERING PASSWORD...
< VERIFYING...
< ...
< ACCESS GRANTED
[AQNS.AI.0350091(C4)] >> OPEN PRIVATE FILE_Log1I.S./09/23/2552
Personal Log: Aquinas
Artificial Intelligence UNSC Iron Sunrise [IS.ACTUAL]
The hostility in the transferred ODSTs intrigues me, especially that which had been directed towards me from [10934-8579-SM]. Although I was simply trying to make [028561-35581-CF] feel more comfortable, I was scolded as if I was some sort of...child. The ODSTs originally from this ship do not seem to have the same sort of problem with me. At least not that I'm aware of. Perhaps they are just not used to an AI such as myself. In given time, I suppose, they'll warm up to me. The standard soldier emotional barrier's are hard to knock down.
However, this matter isn't exactly top priority. What worries me more, is the location of where I calculated the UNSC Iron Sunrise would exit Slipspace. The coordinates I had chosen were completely blind, but I had no idea it would lead us out of human controlled space. A part of me has a bad feeling about what I have done here. Another, seems to be welcoming the adventure. Who knows what we might find?
Status update will be logged as exit from slipspace approaches.
[END FILE]
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Posted: Mon Sep 21, 2009 6:27 am
»»»Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Continual Light; Naun 'Var Nnaolee
»»Flagship; Exalted Deliverance, Assault Carrier
»Bridge
Pitiful humans.
It had taken little time for the Covenant to track down the first ship. Did they think scattering increased their odds? They were on the defensive, their homeworld a piece of molten glass in space save what was spared due to the relics upon it's surface. The Fleet of Continual Light was tasked, along with serveral other fleets, with destroying any who survived, and hunt those that escaped. Not hard to do.
Thanks to the gifts left by the Forerunners, their ships were stronger, more powerful and most importantly, faster. This was key, as it often allowed them to prepare for when the humans exited Sacred Space. That last planet, where they were regrouping, was a fluke. However, the sangheili at the head of each fleet knew what to do. As the ships escaped into their crude holes into Scared Space, they traced where the exit point would be. The coordinates meant nothing, really. The adversary was good at leading them on wild gravoi chases.
Whoever their leader was, he was cunning. Naun applauded him. Had times of been different, and the Gods had not dictated the humans destruction, perhaps the two could had been comrades. Doubtful. The sangheili thought wryly, their version of a smile crossing his manibles at the idea. "Navigator, how long until we reach the exit point?" he barked in their native tongue. He would not sully his tongue with the humans language if he didn't have to.
The navigator, a fine sangheili, straightened at attention, but did not look away from the holographic display in front of him. "A few more hours, Supreme Commander."
"Good. Continue upon this heading. We will cut them down once they appear." Looking down at his own display, the commander surveyed numerous things. The status of all one hundred and two ships was displayed, their current compliments, along with logistics information on the human ship provided by the Associated Intellegence that aided the ship. It was kept powerless, of course, as such things were greatly dangerous when not watched closely. There was also the fact that it was obviously insane. At least the information was good. It's opinion meant nothing.
"Continue on." With that, the reptilian biped turned, his ceremonial cloak moving lazily behind him as he left. He was closely trailed by a Mgalekgolo pair. His guards. This sangheili was not stupid. If it came to physical combat with one of the Demons that aided the humans, doubtful as it was now that their planet was gone, he would require the aid. The creatures had no honour that he could find, willing to do anything to win. Barbaric beasts clad in armour, they are.
Other than being destined to fall, apparently, that was the only flaw he saw with the humans force wise. Sure, their technology was no match for the Covenant, but not much other than the divine Gods themselves were. How else do you think they managed to assimilate or brush aside all enemies? But, the humans were strong-willed and tenacious. Traits that allowed them to earn the occasional success. They were not brash like the jiralhanae nor cowardly like the unggoy. Worthy advesaries for a sangheili.
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Posted: Mon Sep 21, 2009 1:50 pm
: razz FC Kyle Svetly-Berg
::UNSC Iron Sunrise
::A Deck, Medical Clinic
Kyle twitched a little as the robotic arm stitched his wound up. He had it cartorized with a distress flare and then waited to get ship side, fighting on the ground of Reach for two pain-staking hours. Being ship-side and healed up felt very good to him.
The arms released the clamps on his wrist and shoulder, letting his left arm go. "You may now step off the medical table, Patient 0965-3445. Thank-you for your cooperation."
Hopping off the table, Kyle walked out into the hallway and headed for the locker room. He stepped inside to find his name not on any roster posted on the clipboard inside. Instead of worrying, he headed to his locker and grabbed his armor, slipping into it and suiting up for action, until the updates on the rosters came out.
He waded through Marines to look at the rosters. He found his name under a First Sergeant Rico. He walked back to his locker, taking off the vest and shoulder pads, leaving on the thigh guards and knee-to-shin pads as he headed to his location.
Once on the drop deck, he looked around at the Marines. They gave odd looks back. Kyle looked for the soldier wearing the bars and found him. He looked to who he thought was Rico, "Sir, I was assigned to you for artillery comms. I think there might of been a mix up..."
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Posted: Mon Sep 21, 2009 4:36 pm
>>Corporal King, Sebastian.
>> 1838 Hours, Day 2
[UNSC IRON SUNRISE]
:: Ship Mess
The tray of surprisingly appetizing goop lay untouched on the slate gray metallic table. Only one of about twenty five, which could hold comfortably about fifteen average sized personnel at a time. The tray was about one in a million, just out of estimation for the ratio of how many times meals were dished,and trays recycled through the kitchen.
Back to the goop. The goop was gray, like the table. Accompanied by a flash-cooked round of imitation meat, maybe it was real meat.Maybe not, no one could tell so far, and the cooks were no help in learning exactly what made up the greasy disk. "Pfft...nutritious my a**." The Corporal said, earning a chuckle from a few surrounding men. Beside his tray of goop and grease-meat was a matching gray cup, inside was filtered/recycled water. How quaint it was to remember that you were basically drinking everyone's piss, and probably 'other' bodily expulsions all at the same time. With a little biochemically created water..
But, Sebastian didn't think of that, what he thought of was what he was gonna use to wash the taste of the revival fluid and protien that he had to regurgitate upon waking from cryosleep, and how he was going to make this first meal since waking up enjoyable...
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Posted: Tue Sep 22, 2009 6:30 am
:/{ Hand of Perdition, Special Operations Officer; Zhar Vak 'Kuvamee
:/{ Flagship; Exalted Deliverance, Assault Carrier
:/{ Cargo Bay Zeta 2-12, Fleet of Continual Light SpecOps control nest
An airborne plasma rifle flew across the expanse of the cargo bay, narrowing missing a rather occupied and determined sangheili and smashing against a supply crate. The oblong boxes had been stacked much similarly to what human's commonly call 'pillboxes'. The supply crate which had been struck by the flying rifle was simultaneously accompanied with the enraged yells of a sangheili soldier. "Curse that filthy little unggoy! It swore to me that it could repair my weapon - It does not function at all!" Layer upon layer of less than savory sangheili curses spewed forth to fill the cargo bay and shatter what little silence the other two sangheili were trying to enjoy. The sangheili that had nearly been struck by the plasma rifle craned its neck to look across the bay at its ill-tempered comrade.
"Kuz! That is enough. You are too often blinded by your anger, it will be your death one day."
"Is that a challenge you old draboid!?"
The senseless bickering was beginning to escalate and it was furstrating Zhar, who sat in total silence, replaying the last message from the Prophet of Mercy on a holographic disk placed on the floor. 'The Gods have foretold of a grand inquisitor and its two servants. It is time you realize your destiny, child. We, the council of Hierarchs, have decreed that you will accompany Supreme Commander Nnaolee to this human outpost. Observe the might of the Gods, and return with the wisdom of the Great Journey.' The message was recorded, by himself no less, and set on a loop so that it continued to repeat itself. Finally prying himself from the importance of the Prophet's words, still buzzing in his skull with a liking of confusion to their true meaning, he stood up from his seat on a supply crate which had been turned onto its side. Walking away from the plethora of equipment and tactical maps, he found himself in the presence of two sangheili children. "Enough!"
The force which the single command was spoken was all it took to silence the two sangheili who were now entangled on the floor, staring up at Zhar with embarrassment and shame. Finally able to pull away from his comrade and stand to speak, Vako bowed his head slightly, confirming to anyone who didn't yet know that Zhar was the commanding officer of the tiny SpecOps team on the flagship. "There is no excuse for this behavior, I know. It will not happen again." He said quickly, slamming a closed fist against his chestguard, a common gesture much similar to a salute to show respect to the officer in their presence. Kuz wasn't so quick to stand and show his respect before Zhar disappeared again into the little cubby he had crafted for himself.
"Forgive me, noble Hierarch. It seems my 'servants' still do not yet know their place. Be patient with me, I fear my chance to claim this wisdom is past with the decimation of the human stronghold." Zhar said with a bit of self-conviction on his voice, although it didn't stop him from packing away the hologram disk and briskly walking toward the hallways connecting to the bow of the carrier, his next destination was the bridge to find Nnaolee and find out their current course of action. As he passed his two comrades, he saw from the edge of his vision, one of them- most likely Vako -hit the other in the back of the neck as the bickering and fighting began again. Desite his earlier frustration with the two sangheili, he carried a semblance of amusement as he left the cargo bay.
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Posted: Wed Sep 23, 2009 12:48 am
»»»Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Continual Light; Naun 'Var Nnaolee
»»Flagship; Exalted Deliverance, Assault Carrier
»Hall to the Bridge
Naun had, since becoming Supreme Commander, made it a habit to patrol his ship. The military had very lax rules on how a commander commanded his warriors so long as the methods were efficient. For this Supreme Commander, it was making sure that the crew knew that he was, at least, competent and knew his subordinates strengths. Their last commander, after all, had been a failure placed at the helm either on purpose, or by sheer luck. The Hierarchs had amazing foresight, so perhaps it had been step up this way as a test. Then again, the commander could have just failed to hold up to their judgment.
Anyway, at the moment, however, he was merely enjoying the relative quiet of the halls compared to the bridge. The chaos that normally came from the chase was annoying, and sometimes, even a calm sangheili such as himself needed a chance to think in peace. He had to think of battle formations to place his ships in that would keep the agricultural ships out of the line of fire and away from the human ship should if try to flee again. There were two lesser Prophets were also currently attached to his fleet which he had to take into consideration. Aggression and Supposition. Neither of which seemed all that pleased the other was there.
Head down in thought, the indigo clad sangheili didn't notice that someone was approaching him until one of his guards rumbled. I say rumbled, because when a mgalekgolo spoke, it was more felt than heard. "Zhar Vak 'Kuvamee." The creatures had always failed to use ranks, as they had no ranks of their own, however they always addressed sangheili with respect. Anyway, it was this statement that caused Supreme Commander Naun 'Var Nnaolee to raise his head. The two warriors' armour contrasted with each other sharply, and the black skinned male nodded in recognition.
Naun actually knew very little about the sangheili approaching him. It had been rather a last minute addition, the Hand of Perdition. They had always been spoken of in whispers by the warriors. And, for only the second time, he was about to meet the head of the small group. "Special Operations Officer Zhar Vak 'Kuvamee." he said, as both a second recognition and a sign of respect. Names and titles were very important to the sangheili. They had to be earned, the titles like Var or Vak and the ranks like SpecOps officer. Ranks were important, as well, but formalities at best.
Not using one's full name and title, however was like a blow to their honour. Very few were allowed to get away with such a thing, and most of those were san 'shyuum.
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Posted: Wed Sep 23, 2009 2:46 am
:/{ Hand of Perdition, Special Operations Officer; Zhar Vak 'Kuvamee
:/{ Flagship; Exalted Deliverance, Assault Carrier
:/{ Hall to the Bridge
Pulled from his temporary peace of mind Zhar had since he left the cargo bay, he found himself nearing the Supreme Commander. It wasn't until the mgalekgolo made its guttural sound in reference to him being close to Naun and the Commander's own recognition as they approached each other that he realized it was too late to show his own respect. It was customary for an underling to announce himself and speak to their commander before the higher ranking officer would even dare respond- Naun 'Var Nnaolee seemed to be a very one-of-a-kind officer, not showing much care to formal courtesies, so long as the respect was present between the two warriors. Despite being a lower rank than the fleet master approaching him, he knew already that the two sangheili had very much in common. Due to his immense value and recognition, at least among the ranks of the Hierarchs, he had endless resources left at his disposal and had learned as much as he possibly could about his commander, which left his commander in the dark about himself, unbeknownst to him.
If anything, Zhar had suspected the Prophets to council the Supreme Commander of his team and their endeavors as a personal assault team and assassination squad for any Prophet or Councilor who called upon them. That no longer mattered in his thoughts as he came within a good distance to voice his own response to the commander of the fleet. "Supreme Commander Naun 'Var Nnoalee, an honor to be in your presence. I was just on my way to the bridge to speak with you. My team has become restless of the constant journeying through Sacred Space to hunt down the survivors of your latest victory over the humans at their homeworld. I am inquiring as to our next course of action, whether my team will be needed, or if the humans will suffer another defeat at the hands of the Cov- of your fleet, Supreme Commander." He said, correcting himself quickly and bowing his head slightly to show his shame in disrespecting Naun.
Despite the immense age difference between the two sangheili, Zhar spoke to the commander with distinction and the pride and valor befitting another fleet master or zealot. It was the respectful tone that had shocked many comrades and time and time again, he would be mistaken for an older veteran of war when he was still young but justified by his immense experience and the favor of the Hierarchs. Those san 'shyuum held him by their side firmly as one of their favorite instruments to be unleashed whenever they pleased. From quelling rebellions, to silencing an uprising Prophet looking to become a Hierarch and replace one of the current ones, he and his team performed countless assignments, all kept from the light of the Covenant so they could keep their followers in line; yet another task he had taken care of, once by himself completely. Now he stood before the might of a Supreme Commander and his trials and tribulations; to what extent was he out of his league amongst officers? He would always have the word of the Prophets to compel him and to use as justification, but even he was no match for the wits of a tried and true veteran.
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Posted: Thu Sep 24, 2009 1:08 pm
Corporal Meika Faust
>1840 Hours
>>Mess Hall
The buzz of the mess hall was a little...louder than usual. With the addition of more marines, ODSTs, and even civilians, the tables were cramped--to say the least. At a handful of the tables, the soldiers seated at them were almost shoulder to shoulder, and extremely uncomfortable. Most complained about the tight fit, others shoved at those around them to try and get more room, and some even threw food at each other. Extremely...mature...
But at least the civilians didn't have to suffer like the men and women that were here to protect them were. They had much more room in their section of the mess, and better food too. How rude.
Among the crowd of soldiers, sat a fiery haired female, pressed between two larger marines. Despite all of the protesting and shoving she had done, she was still stuck right smack between the two men. As she tried to block out most of the noise around her, Meika picked at her food, elegant face scrunched in a less than elegant display of disgust. The fork clanked softly against the metal food tray as she stirred around a blob of an unknown substance in one of the tray's little sections.
"The nerve they have, to call this food!" She cried out in her slightly hard to understand german accent. "I used to feed my dog better than this!" Dropping the fork onto the steel tray, she pushed it a few inches away from her and pouted slightly. This was getting ridiculous. Why did the soldiers have to suffer? They were the ones doing the heavy lifting. Not the civilians.
"Amen to that!" One of the marines next to her exclaimed suddenly, nearly scaring her out of her skin. "I say we sneak over to one of the civilian tables and 'make 'em share' if you know what I mean."
"Yeah! Let's do it!" The other agreed without giving it a second thought. And apparently they weren't going to let her give it any thought, because in a matter of seconds, the first marine nearly dragged her out of her seat by her arm.
The three approached one of the civilian tables, and the first marine didn't waste any time harassing a man in his late 50s. Pushing him aside, he grabbed his tray and examined it quickly.
"Steak...corn...mashed potatoes?! Well aren't you a lucky sonuva b***h?" He growled loudly. Taking the man's fork, he shoveled some corn in his mouth and smirked while he chewed. "Y'all got it pretty good here. I don't see why, though. We're the ones that are here to protect your sorry asses."
The older man didn't say anything, just ignored the marine completely, which made him furious. But before he got a chance to do anything, Meika shoved the marine out of the way, throwing her entire body weight against him. The metal tray fell to the ground loudly, and food scattered across the floor.
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Posted: Thu Sep 24, 2009 3:25 pm
::: Corporal Formoe, Cole T.
::: UNSC Iron Sunrise
::: Mess Hall. Hours after events on Drop Deck 7
On a normal basis, Corporal Formoe was rarely seen in the mess hall, not because he didn't want to be, but because the food was at such low standards for marines anyway that he knew he'd rather stomach going another day without a meal then try to hold down the mysterious contents from regurgitation. Regulation required him to have three steady meals every day but he was satisfied with one if it meant dealing with the muck in the mess hall. Sitting at a table near the center of the hall, he was slowly mixing some of the food together to try to get a better taste out of it, but everything was the same; bland, and dry. Suddenly, a commotion across the mess hall brought about a temporary silence before an angry yell split the air and dozens of marines rushed over to see what was happening, hoping to see a fight.
Knocked back and forth on the bench he sat on, Formoe was about ready to smack someone when the small cup of filtered water spilled across his black shirt and black cargo pants. The cold water mixed with the cool atmosphere in the hall made it very uncomfortable as he quickly stood up. With the intent and determination that a real marine should have displayed even off-duty, he literally pushed himself through the crowd and caught a glimpse of a marine almost as big as he, now glaring down at another smaller female marine while the uncrowded table of civilians had become almost completely unoccupied with only one or two remaining to finish their meals. Food from the galley was plastered across the larger marine and he had a feeling he knew why as the marine began to advance on the female.
Breaking through the crowd with a scowl and a forceful shoulder, some marines protested but then shut their mouths when Formoe gave them a regular ODST look. Half-crazed and half-pissed off, the expression on his face was anything but welcoming by the marines in the mess hall when he finally broke out in front of them and just as the large marine pulled his arm back, he jumped the man, one hand gripping the man's wrist and the other slipped under his other arm, across his chest, and finally around his neck. Holding the marine back wasn't as easy as he had hoped as the man seemed a bit stronger than he first appeared and was struggling fiercely. He didn't even register the second marine who was now comng in from behind him with hopes of pulling him off the marine's comrade. Silence dominated his figure, but every other marine in the mess hall broke out wth excitement, this being the first fight they had seen in days and needing something to break the tension.
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Posted: Thu Sep 24, 2009 3:46 pm
Lance Corporal Desmund Cain
UNSC Iron Sunrise
Napping in a Corner
A man kicked Desmund right in the shin as he slept. Desmund woke up immediately, and looked around. He wiped the drool from his cheek, and stood.
"What gives?" Desmund asked, half-asleep.
"You need to suit up, marine. CO's are getting antzy." The marine replied, and turned to leave.
Desmund sighed heavily. He scratched an itch on the back of his neck, and remembered seeing the armory down the hall somewhere. He turned and walked in that general direction, following the flow of armored soldiers.
Eventually, he reached the Armory. The thick steel double doors slid out of the way, and revealed the nearly endless lockers and gun racks.
He approached the locker that had been assigned to him. "Desmund A. Cain" was printed in bold black letters across the top of the locker. He opened the latch, and pulled it open. His armor had been patched from plasma burns, shrapnel hits, and the stab wound form the plasma sword to his right arm. Not exactly an aesthetic patchwork. Paint had been neglected, and dark Battleplate had been welded over the holes.
He sighed again "It will have to do, I guess."
He quickly stripped, and put on the dark jumpsuit that his armor would fit over. He fitted the armor plates around his body and closed the latches, securing it to himself.
He picked up the supply backpack that he usually carried. Into it, he put boxes of extra ammunition in first, then an extra supply of fresh water, and then a box of MRE's, that would last him a week.
He swung the backpack over his shoulders, and secured the clamps that would hold it in place. He jumped up and down, to check if his armor clicked at all. To his surprise, it did not.
He turned around, and found a M7 Caseless SMG, and loaded it. He hung it over his right shoulder by it's strap, and let it hang. He grabbed several magazines of ammo, and slipped them into their special pouches. He looked to the wall-mounted gun rack, and saw his favorite weapon hanging there. He picked up an empty M19 SSM Rocket Launcher, and loaded it. He picked up an aluminum case with two extra rockets, and secured them to his backpack with clamps. He did the same for his rocket launcher, and he was finally ready.
Finally, he picked up his helmet. He had cut several lines in the paint, each signifying a dead elite. He remembered, and felt for his knife. It still sat housed in a fixed plastic scabbard on his chest. He slipped the helmet on, and the HUD flickered to life. He slipped the partial helmet visor, to check that it had been replaced. Indeed, the cracks from a close encounter with an elite were gone. He pushed the tinted glass back into the helmet, and stepped back in front of his locker. He felt heavy after not wearing armor. He noticed a piece of paper, signifying who his CO was.
He smiled "Looks like this should be some fun."
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Posted: Thu Sep 24, 2009 5:30 pm
-Private Kriston Pindros
-UNSC Iron Sunrise
-Drop Deck Seven
"Hey, check your helmet! Your assignment should be in the HUD!" yelled out an ODST in the K row. Kriston double timed it back to his locker, jerked it open, and threw his helmet on.
>>/accessing file: Pindros, Kriston. Private...
>>/access granted. Welcome, Private Pindros. Your assignment is as follows
>>/You are assigned under: Mitchell, Scott. First Sergeant.
>>/Please see your newly assigned Commanding Officer for next instructions.
>>/Current location of your newly assigned Commanding Officer: Drop Deck 7
>>/file exited
>>TRANSMITION: TERMINATED<< The green capital letters flashed a few times before Kriston took off his helmet. 'First Sergeant Mitchell? Never heard of him. Then again, I haven't heard of anyone...' Kriston thought to himself before looking around. Mitchell wasn't in the P's, or the K's. The next logical place to be would be the M's. To Kriston's dismay, the First Sergeant wasn't there. 'Must be checkin up on his pod...' Kriston thought, then dashed for the pods, running up and down the row. As soon as the illusive CO was spotted, Kriston bolted over to him. "First Sergeant, Private Pindros reporting for duty, First Sergeant!" Kriston said in a voice that was between standard talking level and yelling.
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Posted: Thu Sep 24, 2009 6:13 pm
1stSgt Mitchell, Scott P.
> 1841 Hours
>> UNSC Iron Sunrise
>> Slipspace
The roster for Echo team had been posted on the local B-net. After spending a good deal of time reading the files for each man or woman, Mitchell had made several adjustments to the final roster.
29th Shock Batt. 105th ODST Division
Combat Team E
First Sergeant - Mitchell, Scott – MTCH - ASSAULT
First Sergeant - Compton, Nathaniel - CMTN - MARKSMAN
Sergeant - Kumar, Whitney – KMAR - DEMOLITIONS
Corporal - Formoe, Cole – FRMO – HEAVY WEAPONS
Lance Corporal - Liengod, Kio – LNGD - ASSAULT
Private - Pindros, Kriston – PDRS – CLOSE QUARTERS
After having finished his administrative duties for the moment, Mitchell had tossed his gear in the cleaner and donned fatigue pants and a regulation black ODST t-shirt. While everyone aboard the Sunrise was ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice, Mitchell was going to enjoy what down-time he could. The First Sergeant decided that it would be best to inspect his SOEIV one last time before leaving Drop Deck Seven. Everything checked out fine, as it had the last seven times. The initial squad briefing would be at 2100 hours, assuming that the ship didn’t leave Slipspace before then. For the moment, Mitchell intended to down some chow and grab what little sack time he could. On his way to the hatch, he was approached by a man he recognized from his CSV. Private Kriston Pindros. The Private introduced himself with a little more vigor than Mitchell had expected.
”Calm down Private. Briefing is at 2100. Get your gear stowed in your assigned locker and be on deck by then.”
After dismissing himself, the First Sergeant made his way to the first lift and rode it up to Deck 14. The doors chimed open and he entered the Mess Hall just as a fight broke out. His faint smile faded into a stern frown.
”TROOPER! STAND DOWN!” He announced.
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