UNSC Night Of Lunar Reckoning (IC Shipside) REBOOT!

[Aquesta]

O'Donnell groaned and clutched his head in pain as he regained his consciousness. Uhh what the hell happened...that's right! We were hit and i whacked my head off my bloody seat. That explains why my head is bloody killing me. O'Donnell let out a sigh of relief when he realized he wasn't seriously injured, his helmet had taking most of the impact and fortuitously nowhere else had been hurt . He scanned the pelican to see if any of his comrades had been wounded but the dim light made it hard to see. Anyway it wasn't his responsibility it was that green medic lasses. He heard the pilot's voice come over on the intercom and after cursing ONI he pulled himself together,he had to be ready for the mission at hand. He surveyed the pelican for his BR55 rifle which he had managed to lose, he spotted the small lights on the rifle and surprisingly it hadn't gotten to far. Extending his leg he kicked the rifle back over to himself,he learned down and examined the rifle for any damage, it didn't seem to have any. Satisfied that his rifle was up to snuff, he sat back and anxiously waited for the pelican to land.

O'Donnell clutched his seat harness as the pelican crashed to the ground and skidded across the ground until finally it ground to a halt.
He quickly unbuckled the harness and clutching his rifle stood up.

"Come on lads,we gotta move." He then noticed Koski. "Hey sleep times over let's go." After noticing that Koski had bit his tongue he adds with a mischievous glint to his eyes."And watch your tongue,no need for that kinda language lad."

[Beiarusia]

LCp Aiko Akiyama

Ai sat near the Pelican’s rear hatch, starboard side, the large rifle resting between her legs with its barrel pointed upwards. Her hand had found its way to the rifle’s scope, a finger tracing a lazy path around the rim while her mind wandered elsewhere. Anticipation had wormed its way into the ODST. A trepidation for the coming mission. ONI was notorious for withholding information, something for which Ai knew all too well, but the tension she felt was more than simply her dislike of ONI policies. This was her first deployment since the Atlas Moons, and she was worried.

She glanced to the others in the blood tray, the polarization of her visor hiding the movement of her eyes. These men and women were strangers to Ai. Soldiers. Brothers in arms. A shared kinship of the battlefield and nothing more. She did not lead them; she was not one of them. And yet she felt responsible for their lives all the same. Ai had watched her team die because of her mistakes. She was not about to let that happen again.

“Hang on!”

Ai had only just taken notice of the pilot’s warning when the Pelican jerked violently, entering an aggressive maneuver and leaving its occupants at the mercy of the stacking G-forces. Ai’s head slammed into the rifle, stars dancing wildly as her vision slowly ebbed into incoherence. Despite the blow she still managed to cling tight to the rifle, holding it close to her body so as to not endanger the others.

It was over as soon as it began. Ai slumped down into her seat, a hand raised to her head in an attempt to steady the world around her. She was thankful for her visor which had absorbed much of the vicious blow, though her head still rung with a pain building up into a potential migraine. She did her best to push the discomfort aside. Focus was the most important thing right now. Something was very wrong and Ai needed to be at 100%.

She didn’t dwell on what awaited them on station.

[Violante]

I feel... unbalanced as my trademark perturbed nerves mixed with a sensation of excitement as take off approached, making me fairly overwrought, the gear I adorned fitted decently, though it felt as though it were meant for someone maybe a tad larger in body stature then I, causing it to bunch up as I rested on the mixture of uncomfortable material which made up the seats within the troop cage. Following the 'Tinman' into a Pelican, I immediately lost him in the restrained and claustrophobic area of the tightly packed soldier transport, I'm not certain as to how I would lose someone as... noticeable as him, though his dulled green attire blended in well with the horde of marines, morphing into a blob of gear, and unrecognisable or covered faces, or perhaps I just have tunnel vision and I'm completely incompetent, no matter. I felt my teeth biting into my lower lip, digging down with impressive strength, as the bird took off, it worsened, my hands clutched onto my trouser leggings, as if that would somehow protect me from anything that could cause harm, hyperventilating is the next in the van, as I could barely control the terror which struck me. My eyes darted around the enclosed area as emergency systems engaged, warning us of a potential threat, but what?

Before I even had a nanosecond to use my cognitive functions and try to decipher what was about to annihilate us, something bludgeoned me... or the ship? I'm not entirely certain, though my state of consciousness fluctuated somewhere between aware and Comatose-like, I no longer cared about the now immediate threat which lurked somewhere beyond the hull of the ship, my focus and energy went towards remaining awake, so I could get a perception of the situation.

It seemed as though it was all over once the spacecraft touched down somewhere, I took some needed breaths, before releasing my seat's safety guard, causing me to collapse and crumple on the probably unsanitary and filthy floor of the transport, getting my bearings, I shakily arose from my previous position, my knees felt weak, as they tried to buckle beneath me. I stared gaped mouth at the new set of conditions around me, I feel somewhat nauseous, as though my stomach demands to release vile, however I restrained the urge to add to the growing vomit puddle on the floor, as chaos dissipated the orders of who I could only assume to be high ranking NCOs filled the air. I feel terrible inside, I don't want to be here anymore, I would rather pick up my clean and proper uniform, and take up the sterile and polished environment of the sick-bay back on the ship.

[Ubaria]

Only the low hum of the Pelicans interior systems were to be heard as all the black armored figures sat in two rows facing eachother, idly bobbing around as the Pelican made its way across the short expanse between the Night of Lunar Reckoning and the gloomy 'vacant' ONI station. Marco scoffed to himself and polarized the visor on his combat helmet, ONI knew damn well what was on that station and they just didn't have the nerve to tell anybody, lest anybody had any objections. It could be rouge ONI personnel, covenant or something far worse. Either way it was their mission and they had to do it, whatever odds may have been stacked against them.

The journey was relatively calm for the most part, only when the elevated chatting of the pilots managed to become audiable over the Pelican noise that Marco decided to perk his head up, and when he did, he got more than he bargained for.

"Brace! Brace!" Came the panicked shouting from the cockpit as Marco's head was wrenched back with enough force to slam it into the seat behind him, his helmet managed to absorb the brunt of the impact but not without leaving him somewhat dazed, eyes rolling in their sockets he barely had time to recover from that as it was then again forced forwards almost to the point of breaking, the G-Forces however were something most ODST's were accustomed too, it didn't make it all the more easier to deal with however.

"What in the hell was that?" Marco exclaimed, checking over the others before turning his attention to the cockpit. What caused for such a sudden maneuver? Covenant Banshees? Briefing had said no covenant contacts in the area. Either way, Marco had an uneasy feeling in his stomach, and it wasn't because of the ride.

[Ancian]

Sergeant Smith had got into the pelican right before it lifted off.
He had listened to the speech before the mission. His thoughts had stayed right in target thorough out the entire thing. He and his battle rifle were still here and on board the pelican.

A rather rough pelican ride for that matter. His thoughts were on the mission till the jerks and such came in. Now it's getting slightly harder to keep his mind focused. But on the bright side iced coffee and hot coffee both kept pooping up in his head while he struggled to stay steady in his seat. Hell jumping was fun. Riding in a bouncing pelican, however, was not.

[SaintB]

Sigma Pertonus III Hangar Bay
Ensign Francis "Limbo" Walker

A tickle in the back of his throat forced Francis to cough involuntarily and to his surprise/horror the visor of his helmet was spattered in hot, foul smelling, blood and the metallic taste of it started to fill his mouth. He struggled to pull his helmet off and nearly panicked at the thought that he might be bleeding internally into his lungs from some as yet unknown trauma to his chest; when it wouldn't come off he clenched his teeth and pulled and the pain in his mouth made him realize all that had happened was he had managed somehow despite the helmet to knock a tooth out after the missile hit his aerospace craft. With a relieved sigh he broke the airtight seal between his helmet and the exothermic pilot suit then pulled it off then hacked and spit the remaining blood and saliva in his mouth onto the floor.

After a few more moments spent taking a few deeps breathes he opened the door to the troop pod attached to the Pelican. He managed to get all of Charlie-090 into the base despite all that had happened so there would plenty of breathable atmo for the marines on board. Then he opened the canopy of the crew cabin; the sound of air rushing out or in accompanied an increase in pressure and a popping in his ears as the pressure inside the Pelican equalized with the pressure inside the hangar. Hopefully most or all of the marines were still alive though Francis had no way of knowing that right now but the fact of the matter was he would likely have to arm up and try not to get into the way of the marines while they did their job. There was a weapon locker in the crew cabin for just such a situation and Ensign Walker found himself entering the code to open the locker (it was 3090 which would be the the numeric version of C-090 very original huh?).

When the lock released he pulled it open to reveal its contents of two M5B assault rifles with five magazines a piece, two M6 pistols with three magazines, two medical kits, and... that was it actually. Francis picked out one of the medical kits and popped it open, it contained the standard biogel, polysuedomorphine, stitch kit, adhesive combat dressings, etc etc but he was only interested in the gauze right now and when he found it he nabbed two of the sterile foil packets and closed the case again. The contents of the first packet he used to wipe the inside of the helmet's visor to mop up as much of the blood as he could manage so he could see when he put it on again and the second he cut a strip off of and balled it up to shove in the socket of his missing tooth as a means to stop the bleeding. Then he helped himself to a rifle, a pistol, and all of the ammunition since the wizzo would have no need for it (the poor guy).

Before he exited the craft for probably the last time he paused to take a look at the dead man. Francis felt bad now that he didn't even know the man's name so he looked for identification - his name was Ensign Wiggins and went by the callsign Thumbtack which was a strange one but he was sure there must have been a story behind it. He'd need to find out what it was but right now he couldn't continue to be near 'Thumbtack's' corpse because he couldn't help but imagine the man's cold dead eyes staring at him from behind the polarized visor of the helmet. Putting his own helmet back on he then started to climb out of the cabin so he could make his way too the back of the Pelican's remains and hopefully find some real live marines preparing to do real live marine things.

[Felkesjud]

ONI Asteroid Facility, Hangars
2nd Lieutenant Wilhelm Winter

After having made double-sure that everyone in the pelican C-090 had been buckled in nice an' tight, Wilhelm, himself, sat down again in the seat closest to the troop bay's hatch. The ODSTs had a tradition of the highest ranking officers always landing first and leading their troops into battle. But, while Lieutenant Winter was not an ODST, himself--partially because he felt he had to look over his younger brother--the ritualistic practice had been adopted by the young marine. But, when that was all done, and Wilhelm had given the 'all-ready' signal to the pilot, the pelican carrying its precious cargo took off into the deep void of space. And, for the most part, their trip was simple and uneventful. Most of the soldiers sat in silence, since the loud roar of the engines inside the blood tray caused chit-chat to be more of an inconvenience than it was worth. That all changed with a rapid warning from the pilot as the pelican violently maneuvered this way and that. The fact that gravity was negligent in the deep emptiness of space did not seem to help the situation. As the intensiveness of the evasive actions put an extreme pressure on the occupants, Wilhelm not excluded, it felt as though he was being torn apart from the sheer force. And, when the missile struck them, he blacked out.

A pitch dark troop bay greeted Wilhelm's eyes as he slowly and painfully gained consciousness of his surroundings. A groan escaped his lips, followed by a small trickle of blood. This was supposed to be a simple op--the Covenant had up and left the system, already. What in the hell had attacked them? No, there was no time to dwell on that now. The fact that he was conscious meant at least some of them were alive. He was slumped in his seat: there was gravity--they had landed. Shaking off the fear, Wilhelm quickly unrestrained himself from the seat and stood up . . . and immediately crumpled over onto all fours from nausea. His left hand landed in the middle of something rank-smelling. He could only assume it was vomit. Steadying himself, he waited a few seconds for the feeling to subside, and then rose up a second time. This try, however, he managed to stay upright as he shouted orders. "We've been hit. Check your left and right to make sure your comrades are okay. We've landed, so start filing out" Wilhelm looked over the squad of marines. of the fourteen other occupants, most of them seemed to be stirring by now. There were, however, a couple soldiers that were not moving. Their bodies lay slack in their harnesses. One had apparently been an idiot and taken off the safety belt mid-flight. His broken corpse lay strew across the floor of the pelican. There was no pulse. 'That's two. Looks like they're both from Fireteam Charlie.' Glancing into the corner, he saw his brother's body still limp and not moving. "Friedhelm? Friedhelm!" Rushing to his sibling, he quickly shook the younger marine, frantically trying to awake him. Because, while their adoptive father clearly favoured Wilhelm, he had made a promise to their adoptive mother that he would bring Friedhelm home safe and alive. She was one of the very few people that cared for him.

ONI Asteroid Facility, Hangars
PFC Friedhelm Winter

Friedhelm remained tied down in his harness. He had already been conscious for a full minute, though his head still ached with a raging inferno from knocking it against the bulkhead during the concussive blast of the explosion. He smelled something burning. Maybe choosing the very back hadn't been the best idea, after all? Especially since during the beginning of the flight, he was seated next to the big, hulking man-bear that was Kaliso while one of the NCO's was staring him down. It was an all-together very awkward and unwelcomed experience. The part where they were attacked on a mission that was supposed to be peaceful (or about as close to during a massive war of genocide)? Even more so. But, even though he had gained his bearings very soon after the incident, he stayed exactly where he sat. He didn't move, and gave no indication of being awake. All he really wanted to do was sit there and hope that he wouldn't be disturbed if everyone else thought he was unconscious or dead. But, of course, he had forgotten that his brother would not allow that. And, he supposed it wasn't to be helped. After all, if they all left him there, Friedhelm would be trapped on the ONI station without a way back to the ship. That could end only one way.

Knocking his brother's hands aside, he replied, if a little indignantly. "I'm fine. Get off me." Which earned him a berating eye from Wilhelm. But, the young private didn't care much. Ignoring it, Friedhelm leaned forward and was stopped after a few centimeters by the harness keeping him in place. He looked down for a brief moment and undid the buckles, before reaching over and yanking his gun from its position in the wall-holster. He thanked whoever designed these death traps to at least include them so that rifles wouldn't bounce about during a rough fly. It wouldn't exactly be fun to have a stray bullet explode one's skull all over the drab-green compartment, simply because it was a bumpy ride. After standing up, he looked down the narrow isle of the pelican and finally noticed the dead body laying in the middle. 'What kind of idiot would take off their harness, mid-flight? It's like the retard wanted to die.' Light was now streaming into the troop bay as the hatch opened up to reveal the ONI station and other landed pelicans. Friedhelm heard his brother issue orders to the squad to regroup out in the asteroid-base's hangar. He had no qualms with the order. It smelled awful from all the vomit, and the crumpled, lifeless bodies made him uncomfortable. It was odd, because he didn't even know their names, yet. But, in truth, he was happy it had been them, and not him.

When Private Winter stepped out into the ONI station's bird hangar, he caught the last words as his brother told someone to go check on the pilots to see if they needed any help with injuries. Right after he sent them off, Wilhelm signaled the NoLR's bridge to report the condition. "Command, this is Lt. Winters. Pelican C-090 is out of commission and we have two confirmed KIAs: LCpl. Anders and Pvt. Jones. How copy?" He heard from the other side a voice repeating the words he stated with an air of empathy or sadness--some emotion they were probably half-assing from their chair on-board the safety of the ship. "Can you continue the mission?" They ended their words with. Winters almost wanted to scoff. Their minds were so one-tracked. But, he couldn't exactly blame them. That was the treatment one got when in the military. The mission was to be placed above all. And, was it like he even stopped to try and save them? No. He just checked their bodies for a pulse, found one to be in their last seconds of life, and exited the downed bird as if nothing was wrong. The mission was everything, after all. "Yes, it's just two soldiers. Everyone else just has some fractures, bruises, and concussions. No broken bones from what I can tell, and no crippled." The person on the other side stated their satisfaction.

Wilhelm stepped in front of all the gathered marines. "3rd Squad," Friedhelm heard Wilhelm issue out commands to the respective squad leaders, "you'll search levels one and two. 2nd Squad, you're tasked with three and four. 1st Squad, SSgt. Warren, and myself will take five through seven. And, 1st Squad," Wilhelm said, his attention now fixed solely on Friedhelm's own unit, "make sure not to get in the way of the ODSTs as they preform their duties." Friedhelm looked around for his fireteam leader. He had found out later the first day aboard the UNSC Night of Lunar Reckoning that the Tin Man junkie was one of the NCO's in his platoon--specifically, the one he would be reporting to most often. Life, it seems, was never without its cruel humour.

[Dernland]

Connor slowly regained consciousness inside the pitch black troop bay. His mouth had the faint taste of blood and there was something wet running down his face. Connor checked his vitals in his HUD. Nothing serious just bruises, minor lacerations and a headwound. No concussion or internal bleeding though, that was good. There were marines running around and shouting orders. One man was laying on the floor of the pelican, his head bent at an odd angle. Dead. He thought to himself. In the seat next to him there was a man slumped in his seat. His helmet was lying on the floor and there was blood dripping from his mouth and running down the back of his head. Connor plugged his datapad into the man's armor. His vitals came up in the red. The man had a severe concussion and an intracranial hemorrhage. Connor stood and called out, straining to be heard over the commotion.

"Chief Köster! Chief Köster! I need a Doctor here now!"

Without waiting for the Chief to show up Connor pulled out his med-kit and began searching for something to help the dying man.

[Violante]

Connor slowly regained consciousness inside the pitch black troop bay. His mouth had the faint taste of blood and there was something wet running down his face. Connor checked his vitals in his HUD. Nothing serious just bruises, minor lacerations and a headwound. No concussion or internal bleeding though, that was good. There were marines running around and shouting orders. One man was laying on the floor of the pelican, his head bent at an odd angle. Dead. He thought to himself. In the seat next to him there was a man slumped in his seat. His helmet was lying on the floor and there was blood dripping from his mouth and running down the back of his head. Connor plugged his datapad into the man's armor. His vitals came up in the red. The man had a severe concussion and an intracranial hemorrhage. Connor stood and called out, straining to be heard over the commotion.

"Chief Köster! Chief Köster! I need a Doctor here now!"

Without waiting for the Chief to show up Connor pulled out his med-kit and began searching for something to help the dying man.

A slight daze lingered with me as seemingly multiple voices began a symphony of barking instructions, followed by a mob of quick moving leathernecks, rushing off of the transport, the pure concentrated density of the jarheads forced me to follow the horde or be trampled, until there was enough room to branch off from the congealed blob of moving bodies. Standing on the sideline, I gazed at the marines as they separated and divided into sections and slimmer strengthened units, unsure whether I should just join a squad at random, or be given a specific detachment of devil dogs to accompany. Either way my contemplation didn't last long as someone already began shouting my name, though the hectic and quite loud environment I'm placed in made it rather difficult to pinpoint the source of the disembodied voice, until I realised it's coming straight from the now apparent damaged craft I just recently departed from. Beginning a light jog I reboarded the downed Pelican, this time however, my eyes stuck on the few slumped corpses, some remaining jarheads visibly filled with life, only a tad fucked, and some, well, pretty deceased.

Becoming slack jawed I couldn't believe on how I missed the carackasses the first time around, fuck me, I must be a shitastic medic. Taking in the horror of death is a bit tougher than I initially imagined, my panoramic stare, ceased, as I looked upon a downed marine who is clearly ADR, along with the origins of the voice calling my name, quickly moving forward, I kneeled down next to marine, pulling my ballistic medical case from my back, with an unlock, and a sound of the case's bindings releasing, it opened to show me a colourful variety of medicinal tablets, bottles and syringes filled to the brim with biomedical remedies, and so on. Shit, this guy is pretty fucked alright, If I had access to a Neutral-buoyancy gel tank, I could bring anyone back up to health, though I'm stuck with a case of goodies that probably won't be enough. Alright, time to stop this ass from dying... or just dying painfully. Unintentionally ignoring the marine who's also trying to offer some form of help, I got straight to work, with my hands slightly quivering, I selected two different liquid sedatives, an opioid known as Methadone, and of course the well known analgesic, Polypseudomorphine, the morphine came prepackaged in a syringe of five millilitres, though with the fairly large bottle of methadone, I had to take a sterile empty syringe and pull eight millilitres, once that was finished I found and proceeded to pick up his left thigh, rolling up his bdu trouser pant legging, I dabbed the skin on top of his vastus lateralis muscle with a sanitation wipe, before injecting him with the morphine at his lateral circumflex femoral artery, though before I could follow it up with the methadone, it occurred to me.

Turning to the marine, I asked in a rhetorical fashion, "Wait, what's wrong with this guy?" My tone of voice carried a slightly shakened vibe with it. The adrenaline boost that this situation gave me, wasn't helping.

Curious, and noticing that his visor-information cord was already using the plug-in spot on the downed man's armour, I began to thoroughly examine him, I immediately detected a problem with his eyes first, one was constricted, almost pin-point, while the other seemed dilated, a clear indication of extreme head trauma. Unleashing a somewhat disappointed sigh, I turned to the jarhead. Looking at the marine who attempted to save this man's life with a... standard medical kit, I gave a blank stare.

"Sorry, but Yeah... uh, unless you're a neurosurgeon, this guy is probably going to die, I should have checked earlier before I wasted the drugs." I feel a little sick, not that this guy is dying... well maybe some of my internal grief stems from his upcoming death, though I feel a tad scorned that my time was wasted by a guy trying to save his presumably passing friend who is clearly suffering from damaged brain arterioles with a fucking medkit. Wiping my hands on the dying soldier's trouser leggings, I stood up. "This guy is going to pass, not much either of us can accomplish in this current setting. We should probably exit the Pelican." I pointed towards the off-ramp with my index finger, while keeping eye contact with the soldier.

Bending down on a knee, I left the empty morphine syringe on the muck encrusted floor of the transport, while emptying the methadone filled one back into its container, once that was complete, I placed the bottle and emptied syringe I didn't use back into the medical case, before resealing it, and picking it up by a polymer carrying handle. I feel a tad bit like an asshole, though my time was wasted on someone who had absolutely no chance of being saved on the field. What a way to start of my combat experience with my first patient being unsaveable. As it seems the other disabled marines still onboard barely suffering from an injury didn't need my help, at least in my opinion. Tightening my grip on the synthetic material handle of the ballistic medical case, I looked around me again, before plodding off of the downed craft once more.

[Orvius]

"Come on lads,we gotta move." He then noticed Koski. "Hey sleep times over let's go." After noticing that Koski had bit his tongue he adds with a mischievous glint to his eyes."And watch your tongue,no need for that kinda language lad."

Walter was unsure what it was exactly that the young man had said, the voice sounding quite muffled and distorted by his daze. However, the tone of O’Donnell’s thick Irish brogue still portrayed a condescending kind of emphasis that assured Walter subconsciously that he had said something of the smart-aleck persuasion. O’Donnell hadn't done anything prior to make Walter dislike him, but he now had made a mental note to look out for the red-headed one as a designated wise-ass, even in his clouded mental state. Now he just had to figure out what it was exactly that he had said.

When he started to attempt his sluggish rise from the seat, he felt a sudden and uncompromising resistance. It seemed that the seat-belt that kept him to the wall’s rig was still attached, and refused to become undone. The buckle strapping his chest down to the seat’s frame groaned and clacked as Walter pried at it in his half-stupor. It was crushed in on itself due to the impact, and the latch plate flattened into base of his armor breastplate. With much of fumbling and frustrating grappling, Walter had managed to jam the robotic fingers of his right hand into the base of the buckle to tear apart the top connecting piece of the mechanism, the sound of grinding metal accompanying the initial motion. An instant gust of chilled relieving air filled his lungs as he freed his chest from the pressure of the damaged rig, an audible gasp subconsciously escaping his lips. Along with his new large gulp of air, came the smoke rising from the front compartment of the Pelican, catching in his throat and choking him. Tears watered his eyes as he coughed up the smoke and realized the pain of being crushed under the stress of the belt-rig caused his respiratory system. He’s lucky, he thought, that he was wearing his armor. If he wasn't, he’s sure that it would have broken more than a few ribs, or just crushed his rib-cage all together. Wiping the tears from his eyes with one stroke, he rose unsteadily from the seat and stumbled into the center of the Pelican’s ‘blood tray’, bumping his head slightly on the ceiling.

Voices lofted from outside the ship, the bright light that flooded the exit blinding Walter’s eyes as he turned to match the voices with the Marines speaking them. Now unrestrained from the seat, his vision started to clear, and the cloud of confusion that obscured his thoughts slowly faded. More alert, he understood that most of his comrades must of already left the pelican, as he scanned the seemingly empty dark bay, and found it to be void of motion. Smoke still caught in his throat, Walter staggered towards the exit of the Pelican. Without being even slightly aware of it, he had caught his foot on something, throwing him off his balance and nearly causing him to fall face first onto the floor of the bird. Luckily, he had managed to reach out and grasp a loose bit of netting which was hanging freely from the mangled roof of the Pelican, and kept himself up on his feet. After steadying himself, he spun around to see what he had tripped over.

It was a corpse. A bloodied, maimed corpse of a Marine who looked like he had been thrown against the walls of the ship several times over, his bones splintered and twisted to agonizingly painful looking positions, positions that couldn't possibly look natural to the eye. His eyes were still open, mouth agape with teeth badly crushed against his own jaw, but he was most definitely dead regardless of the shock and pain that was still apparent on his face. The poor bastard must of panicked and unhooked his seat-belts buckle when the Pelican started crashing. Looking deep into the face of the cadaver, he came to the discovery that he recognized him. It was the kid he had talked to in the halls of the Luna, prior to disembarking on the mission. He had just been speaking to this fresh-faced Marine not three hours ago, and now he lay destroyed and desecrated with boot-prints on the floor of the Pelican. Staring down on the miserable broken body, Walter had found himself… Unmoved. Where he felt like a normal healthy person would have felt disgust, compassion, or any sort of pity for the young boy, he felt nothing. Mild interest, perhaps, but nothing that could resemble empathy. He had seen things like this before. Same dislocated and torn shoulders, same bloodied eyes, same look of misery and terror stretched across the face. Though it’s not that he’s used to it, or seen too much death that is the cause of his apathy. He’s been told that the first time you see someone you know that has died, the grief can nearly kill you; but for his first time, there was only indifference. He was never quite sure why, but the death of these people never phased him, even if he might have been in some way responsible.

Was he cold? Callous?

If he was, did he care?

Walter shook himself from his locked gaze. He’d spent far too long pondering useless speculation, and the mission was still at hand. The metal hand rising to block the bright glare as his eyes adjusted to the outside, he stepped off the slightly tilted base of the Pelican and onto the cold floor of the hangar, the treads of his robotic foot landing with a satisfying clank. The crisp air of the outside refreshed his mind and his throat. Surveying the scene outside, the Marines scattered and disorganized, Walter waited patiently for them to get their shit together and start assigning fireteams.

Back in the saddle. He spit out the blood that pooled in his mouth onto the grey steel and concrete of the hangar floor, and was ready to give his damnedest. This was the moment to prove that he could still do what he does best, and no one was going to get in his way this time.

[Beiarusia]

LCp Aiko Akiyama

Ai stumbled, righted herself, and nearly toppled once more. Her head was still swimming from the jarring blow that she had received on the short journey from the Luna, leaving the first few steps aboard the station uneasy and likely to fail should she push herself. By good fortune the ODST were alone, the hangar bay having been empty upon Alpha Squad’s arrival. Ai took the brief moment of respite to compose herself, moving only after the dizziness had subsided to a tolerable degree.

Darkness had overtaken the ONI hangar. An omnipresent blackness broken only by a scattering of emergency lamps that did poorly in illuminating the vastness of their surroundings. A non issue given the VISR integrated with near all ODST helmet designs. Ai scanned the hangar, finding the entire room to be in disarray as if the previous inhabitants had stopped midway through whatever tasks they were meant to accomplish. She took note of the absence of any craft but saw nothing else which could point to what exactly had occurred here. Not that it mattered much to the ODST anyway. The other Pelicans were making their entrance; the marines would handle the landing deck.

Not that it helped to ease Ai’s mind in any way, shape, or form. ONI obviously knew something and, like standing policy, had neglected to share any information that may well be useful on this op. Ai was accustomed to dealing with the crap handed her way by the spooks, but she hated it no less. Despite the monotonic air she pushed about her, this place unnerved her ever so slightly. Something had gone wrong, was still going wrong, and they were about to step right into the middle of it. Ai wasn’t afraid by any means, just certain that this op would not be the cakewalk it had seemed on paper. The better they secured their objective the better.

Ai was turning to rejoin her fellow ODST when the air split open in monstrous thunder. C-030 had arrived, crashing into the hangar and skidding along the steel floor in a show of sparks and fire. By sheer chance the downed Pelican had avoided colliding with the other dropships, grinding to a halt near the back wall. Ai watched, as did many others, as C-030 smoldered, the Pelican remaining still for what felt like a very long time. Finally the rear hatch hissed open, slowly and almost brokenly. A few marines moved to offer aid. Ai did the same, jaunting over and away from her squad.

Several marines had clambered from the wrecked Pelican: shaken, battered, and bruised, but alive. Ai, slinging the rifle strap around her shoulder so that the weapon was “holstered” on her back, approached the whiplashed marines. Ai didn’t know what she had planned on doing but felt she should offer her assistance at any rate. They were her shipmates, and it was the least she could do.

[Aquesta]

O'Donnell stood at the back of the pelican and waited for the last of the marines to clear out, helping a few green marines out of their harnesses. After Koski manged to untangle himself, O'Donnell followed him out. After seeing Koski trip, he scanned the floor for what had caused him to trip. For anyone with passable eyesight it should have been easy to see, O'Donnell figured that blow to the head must have disorientated him more than he thought. It was the only way he could explain how he hadn't noticed a mangled corpse laying on the floor of the blood tray until now.

O'Donnell crouched down beside the corpse and with two gloved fingers closed the lifeless eyes of the marine which still showed terror and fear. O'Donnell sighed heavily, he had not known the man, didn't even know his name but still he coudn't help but think that this could have happened to him or someone he cared about. After saying a quick prayer for the mans soul, he grabbed the marine by the shoulders, hauled him over to an empthy seat and deposited him there. O'Donnell didn't want anyone else to be tripping over him after all.

Figuring that he had wasted enough time, O'Donnell swiftly exited the pelican and after blinking in quick succession to adapt to the brighter hanger. He surveyed that hanger and noticed two members of his squad, Koski and Winters, he made his way over to them and stood rigid waiting for the rest of the squad.

[Cymrea]

Zeta Company Commander Owainn Archer
UNSC Night of Lunar Reckoning

Captain (brevet) Owainn Archer sat on his bunk in his black fatigues, polishing his boots. A tune from home played quietly on the console in the corner. Stringed instruments and pipes resonated strongly with Arcadians, the emotive sounds spoke directly to their souls – and the artist, Lorna Castor, was a favourite of Owainn’s.

At three metres by three, his new quarters were relatively spacious. Aside from his bunk, there was a desk, a console, and even a small closet. He had only just gotten used to a platoon commander’s billet and after less than the first day in transit, he decided it was more space than he needed. Even growing up on the family farm, he had made do with a modest bedroom, sharing it with one of his two older brothers.

Zeta Company was understrength at the moment, and even as the Corps had assigned him to his current position in haste, there had yet to be an XO designated. In his orders, he was given the discretion of making one of the two platoon leaders his second-in-command – possibly temporarily, but these kinds of field promotions had a way of sticking. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it was a core belief of the Marines. Whomever Owainn chose, they would likely stay as senior lieutenant.

At least until they were killed by Covies - a distinct occupational hazard for UNSC marines.

His first option was commander of the first platoon, 2LT Wilhelm Winter. A good man and a good marine, and - if proper protocols were followed – heir apparent to the XO position. But protocols had been frequently blown all to hell thanks to the Covenant. The other option was Charlotte Friedrich, a first lieutenant and a helljumper besides. She would probably get the nod, but Owainn had a couple of weeks to decide and he wanted to get to know his ell-tees better, in person rather than just from what he could read in their dossiers.

In the meantime, there would be the usual shitstorms and pissing contests, inevitable whenever marines and sailors comingled. That would alleviate some of the boredom and keep him busy until the Luna arrived at their destination. A small chirrup on his console sounded, reminding him of his appointment in sickbay. Like everyone else, he had to be cleared for active deployment.


Two days later

Urgent klaxons sounded General Quarters.

Owainn jumped into his armoured boots, threw on his BDU and sidearm, attached the armour plates and ammo pouches, grabbed his MA5B and assault pack, tucked his very expensive and valuable helmet under his arm, and rushed out of his billet at a dead run. He nearly took a left to head to the ODST pods - he was used to being sent “feet first into hell” - but this deployment had his marines assembling in the hangar bay with the Pelicans. Even if the helljumpers were going to be dropped instead of shuttled, it would only be under a special circumstance that he would get to drop with them. Company commanders with regular marines in the mix simply didn’t get shot at planets like human ammunition.

This mission had his men and women securing some spook stronghold. The details were thin and the whole bloody thing reeked of ONI jiggery-pokery. Owainn decided that he didn’t care to know the cloak and dagger shit, just what he needed to keep his people alive and to win the mission. With that in mind, he entered the hangar bay in full stride, donned his helmet, checked his metrics with the ease of long experience, noted all greens, picked up the system links from his platoon leaders, and took charge of his company. The assembly wasn’t as crisp as he would have liked, but that could be addressed after briefing.

“Officer on deck!” someone hollered. Apparently that was all that was needed. Professional marines to a unit, they tightened up right quick, snapping to attention in clean ranks and files. Only one needed a full three seconds to get right.

“Zeta Company,” Owainn said. “I haven’t had a chance to meet all of you in person just yet, but we’re about to get the opportunity to snuggle up. For those of you too slow to breathe without help, I’m Captain Archer. You can call me that, or you can call me God – because as far as you’re concerned, we are one and the same. Oorah?”

“Oorah!” they replied in unison.

“Toon Leaders, you’ll get your orders uploaded from me when I get them from upstairs, but the first word is that we’re here to rescue some folks from the Covies. Sounds simple, but if it was easy, they wouldn’t get marines to do it, so be ready for shit to go sideways. Prepare for CQB and I want BDUs on matte black for this one; we are shadows that kill today, ladies and gentlemen.

“You all know your jobs, and you’re the best at them. Be ready to mount when they call all-aboard. That is all.”

Soon after, Owainn received his orders. “Aw, balls,” he muttered.

* * * * *

Shit indeed went sideways, but even sooner than expected, before they had even set foot on Sigma Pertonus III. With no warning, lights and sirens inside the Pelican went off, and over the comm came the urgent voice of their pilot.

"Brace for impact and maneuvers!"

As one, gauntleted hands reached for braces and the timeless quality of combat smothered the Pelican’s troop compartment like a sodden blanket. Life or death was out of the hands of the marines, carried in those of the pilots and Lady Fate herself. At times like this, when there was nothing to be done, Owainn thought of Arcadia and the family farm. The entire planet was glass now, thanks to the murderous Covenant, but in his mind lived the endless golden prairies verdant with crops. He remembered sunsets and lemonade after a hard day’s work of providing food for the planet’s inhabitants and those on other, more distant worlds; his mother’s famous cornbread steaming in the middle of a long dinner table, his family holding hands and bowing heads while Dad said Grace.

Eternity ended; the Pelican jolted harder than the last time, if that was possible without disintegrating. Owainn's head smacked hard into the headbrace of the seat behind him with concussive force. His helmet saved him from a fractured skull, but not from semi-consciousness. The world flashed white and then faded to grey. With a supreme effort, Owainn opened his eyes. The world had stilled and it wasn't quite so loud anymore. The pilot spoke again, his voice remarkably steady.

“We’re struts-down, kids. Everyone not fully dead, get the fuck off my boat.”

Owainn’s command squad got the fuck off the boat.

[Krazakistan]

Warren woke up with a sudden jolt, and quickly scanned the bay of the Pelican, observing the mess the crash had caused. He sighed at the sight of corpses and the dying on the floor. After his many years of experience he learned that people are gonna die when a bird goes down and there wasn't much anyone could do about it. It's better to just keep whatever thoughts you have at the back of your mind and move forwards, one step at a time.
After getting out of the seat, he checked his weapons, a BR55 rifle and M45 shotgun, for any damages. Finding none, he slung the M90 on his back and proceeded to walk out of the hangar, rifle in hand. He stopped before exiting the craft, and carefully looked around for Winters in the blob of green and silver in front of him. After a few seconds of squinting his eyes and internally debating whether he should just call out to him, he found Winter with a few other members of alpha squad. Warren looked back into the Pelican bay once more, and noticed Micheals crouching above a dying Marine.

He called out to him, "Private! Get the fuck out the bird, if the doc can't fix him you can't either! You ain't Jesus." He saw Köster passing by him and he tipped his helmet at her, "Doc." Having been wounded a few times himself, and having Marines serving under him be wounded in action, he, among so many others, had a deep appreciation for the medical personnel in the UNSC. He then quickly jogged over to Lieutenant Winter, "Happy to report I'm alive and well L.T. Been in too long to die in a Pelican crash," he said with an accompanying grin.

[Cymrea]

Captain Owainn Archer
ONI Facility - Sigma Pertonus III
Hangars

A strong smell of scorched metal filled his nostrils, even through the helmet’s filters. The acrid stink brought him fully awake and cleared his head. His comms specialist – Turcotte, wasn’t it? – touched him on the shoulder and peered at him. Owainn could see his own helmeted head reflected in the man’s visor.

“How’s your nugget, Cap?”

Owainn made a conscious effort at self-assessment. There was a taste of blood in his mouth and he was pretty sure he’d chipped a tooth. "Unbroken," he replied.

Turcotte nodded. "Glad to see you made it. Have a good nap?"

Owainn replied with a groan and a deep breath as he slapped the release on his harness. With stiff limbs, he opened the overhead hatch and climbed out. The lights in the compartment were dark, but a long rent in the starboard hull let in station light and scrubbed air. He checked the status indicators in his heads-up display. There were a few dead, and a lot of marines and pilots injured with varying degrees of severity. He activated his comm as he headed to the cargo ramp. The Pelican was only slightly canted to port.

"Zeta Company! Nap time is over! Get your asses up and report in!"

He blink-clicked Koster's comm frequency. "Except for you, Mr. Koster," Owainn said more quietly. "Pick your helpers and establish our beachhead here. And police our dead; we'll make sure they get a proper send-off."

For seventeen seconds, he was met with silence. He repeated his order and activated the ramp. For a wonder, it opened. Then his comms channel clicked.

[SaintB]

Sigma Pertonus III Hangar Bay
Ensign Francis "Limbo" Walker

Smoke billowed from somewhere aboard the Pelican as the ensign touched boots too the deck of the hangar and began to make his way toward the back. He was glad too see that there were marines filing out of the troop bay in various states of still alive and approached at a faster clip but when he reached where the marines started to assembled he got a look into the rear of the Pelican he had crash landed and saw that there were some dead and wounded men. It made his heart sink and the depolarized visor of his helmet allowed all to see the emotion on his face as he took in the sight of them. Three were dead if he included his WSO and the two marines and it was Francis's job and responsibility to bring them safely to their LZ, a task he hadn't done too good of a job at finishing. The knowledge that he had been the cause of those men's deaths when he failed to avoid the missile made him feel guilt and horror.

[Ubaria]

Charlie-090 floated in at excessive speed on the final approach to the station, the already landed Pelicans shuffled to one side leaving a central strip open as the wounded Pelican and her occupants finally finished their journey, slamming to the ground in a flurry of sparks and the piercing screeching of metal on metal. It had finally come to rest on the far side of the hangar, slightly tipped nose forward and lolled to one side like some sort of injured animal. As the ramp popped the Marines came piling out in various states of injury and consciousness, and for those laying on the blood tray floor, well it wasn't named that for nothing, one could only hope their deaths were quick and painless, however by the gaunt look on some of their faces this wasn't the case.

"Poor bastards" Marco mumbled to himself, eyeing over the rest of the injured Marines as some were only just coming around and Ai, who had made her way over to aid some of the wounded. Marco followed suit and wandered over, pulling a few to their feet and dragging them to a safer position, away from the spluttering engines and leaking coolant. One occupant, the pilot had made it out alive, a pale and troubled look covered his face when he cast eyes on the half dead or dead passengers.

"Don't worry. You did your job. Fate did the rest" Were the only words Marco extended to his fellow comrade as he looked defeated onward. There was little time for dwelling however as the task of securing the station was still at hand. Marco located his ODST squadron and awaited the word to move out.

[Beiarusia]

LCp Aiko Akiyama

Ai stood at the wreckage of C-030. The Pelican was little more than a pile of twisted metal: its hull had been crushed to near uselessness and the rear engines were missing altogether. Surprisingly the marine occupants had fared better than expected, with most only suffering from minor injuries if any at all. Though the crash had not been without casualties. There was a gloom about the group despite the efforts made to focus solely on the mission at hand. There was no time to tend to the dead much less mourn their passing. Ai knew as much, and so did the marines.

The ODST had did her best to offer what aid she could but there had been little for her to offer. A medic was on hand as it was. Ai was glad, however, to see that a fellow ODST, Petrovich, had come along as well. She was glad still to see First Lieutenant Friedrich, who had ridden along with C-030, not among those injured. As Petrovich spoke to the pilot, and Friedrich the marines, Ai stepped up to peer into the ruins of the blood tray. A body lay on the floor, mangled and obviously expired. A second was still strapped to his seat, watched over by a fellow marine. Ai stepped into the ruined Pelican, her foot catching a dropped AR near the body of the dead marine. She retrieved the weapon with little thought before turning to look upon the last living occupant of C-030. She did not know this man, nor did she know his and the dead (dying?) marine’s relationship, but she felt pity for him having to witness such a tragic outcome. It was never easy, watching your brothers and sister die before your eyes. Ai felt compelled to say something, anything, to ease the torment that this soldier no doubt felt, but the words wouldn’t come and so she left in silence to find Petrovic and the First Lieutenant, AR in hand.

[Noahmerica]

(Couldn't delete)

[Galdius]

Charlotte eased back into the world of the living. Her eyes slowly opened, showing the darkened roof of the inside of the pelican. Her entire body ached over so slightly as the the smell of scorched electronics and smoldering hot metal filled her nostrils, which was nothing more than overwhelming. She blinked for a eyes seconds, confused out of her mind why she was lying on the floor of the drop ship, and why she was in pain, it didn't take long for the gravity of the situation to hit her like a bag of hammers. The ship had come under fire and crash-landed. The last thing she remembered was barreling through space as the pelican as it pulled what could only be described as several G's trying not to get hit by something, likely covenant, although the lack of the distinctive plasma burn smell, it suggested something different. On site defensive systems perhaps? It hadn't been the first occasion were friendly fire had happened to her. "Scheiße!" Charlotte spat, blinking a twice as she padded around for her rifle, Grabbing it, or at-least what she thought was hers, once her fingers felt the familiar feel of an MA5B. Raising her rife into a low ready position, she stumbled towards the exit of Charlie-090, weaving past the various other soldiers who were suffering from the same problem, climbing out with her weapon ready to fire.

She quickly lowered it at the sight of marines and ODST's, realizing that the darkened hanger was clear of any hostiles for the moment, although if there was any on-board, they would likely be barreling towards them in-order to put a stop to them before they could get any further. So securing the area would be vital. Charlotte made her way towards her the remnants of 2nd Platoon. She could make out the what looked like one tall, monstrous figure of what appeared Corporal Petrovic, along with lance corporal Akiyama, who was easily dwarfed by his size and stature. It seemed like everyone else was missing or still in the pelican. "Everyone here alright?" She asked, genuinely hoping that everyone hadn't got hurt, as she rubbed the back of her neck. She was going to hate the fucking whiplash she was going to get in the next few hours. "We got to get the general area secured, if there's any hostiles on this station they'll be rushing down here considering the entrance we just made." She noted, sitting on there ass waiting for everyone to get their shit together might not be the best option. so taking the initiative seemed like the best strategy. "This is 2-1 Actual, requesting permission to set up a perimeter outside the hanger until we get our shit sorted." She asked over the comms, hoping get get the ball rolling.

[Dernland]

Connor sat with the marine for a while. People bustled in and out of the compartment. They gathered weapons, medical supplies, oxygen, and other important items. Chief Köster arrived after a few seconds and began administering morphine to the man. She told Connor what he feared, that this man was going to die. Köster left him after that. A female ODST stopped by him as if to say something as well, but she quickly left. You couldn't tell what went on behind those face-plates. Several minutes passed, with fewer and fewer people passing by. The blood tray was nearly empty now, leaving Connor alone with the wounded man. The man's eyes were half opened, but Connor was sure he couldn't tell what was going on. His mind was at war. He couldn't leave this man to die in slow agony alone, could he? Connor sighed, resigning himself to what he was about to do.

"It's going to be okay bud, help is coming. It'll all be over soon." Connor told the marine as he stood and stretched. It didn't feel right to lie but what else could he say. I'm sorry, but you are going to die soon and there's not a thing anyone can do about it. He slid his combat knife out of it's sheath with a shaking hand. Connor bent the marine forward, exposing the back of the man's neck. "I'm sorry." Connor said as he slammed the knife into the base of the man's skull. He lifted the man up and slid his hand across the man's eyes, closing them. Connor cleaned and sheathed his knife. He turned to leave the pelican but doubled over, emptying his stomach onto the floor of the pelican.

[Beiarusia]

LCp Aiko Akiyama // Sigma Pertonus III, ONI Hangar Bay

Ai stepped down from the Pelican. Few noticed her presence there amongst them and those who did were as curt as possible, rushing about on business that did not concern the ODST. Ai spotted the First Lieutenant not too far from the crash site and made her way to her current superior.

“This is 2-1 Actual, requesting permission to set up a perimeter outside the hangar until we get our shit sorted.” First Lieutenant Friedrich was on the comm system, no doubt trying to get the ball rolling. Ai was in agreement that a perimeter should be established. The Luna had failed to detect any life signs upon approach, but this was an ONI space station. It didn't matter what the sensors saw, anything related to ONI in any way, shape, or form was not to be trusted. That was the first thing Ai had learned when working under the spooks. It was the most important thing.

Ai approached the First Lieutenant. “Ma’am, requesting permission to gather intel. Sensors say nothing alive is on station, but this is ONI we're dealing with. I know how they operate; I know to take their word with a grain of salt. Scouting ahead would prove vital to both us and to the regulars.” Ai motioned her head towards the marines milling about nearby. She continued. “I've run ops for ONI in the past. I can get around without drawing attention to myself. Maybe we are alone, but if we're not.... An ambush” – she’s a bit uneasy with this word, as if dredging back old memories – “is the last thing we need.”

[Fantrum]

Lyra listened with a grim look on her face, the station was killing her sailors and marines, and there wasnt a damn thing she could do about it. It seemed like an eternity, but Smith finally chirped, "Its done Captain, Ive breached their firewall and shut down the system. Curious though, to shut down the defenses, I had to cut power to everything except the life support systems." He looked rather concerned as he went on, "I did some poking around as well, and I found that the station's internal security feeds are cut and have been wiped clean. The station's AI has gone into some kind of fail safe mode, I suppose its to keep it from falling into the covenant's hands." Lyra nodded and straightened up from where she leaned into his podium, clearly interested but allowing the AI to finish, "It wont reactivate until a living breathing human is standing in front of the core. The marines shouldn't have a hard time of getting the AI's memory core though, as they are indeed living and breathing humans."

His morbid suggestion nagged at Lyra, she hated sending men somewhere she wouldn't go personally, but that was the mantle of leadership, sending others to go into the unknown while you got to sit back and wait for a status report. The landing had gone rather well, with only the lead pelican being hit, the ATO had tried to talk to the pilot but was cut off. Most of the marines were safe and sound, barring a few examples, but the same couldn't be said about the Luna's Longsword compliment, 6 of them had been hit, and the other interceptors were pulling search and rescue, but it wasn't looking good. So far, survivors had been extracted from only two of the downed craft, and another was being investigated, but it was pretty much a lost cause from that point on.

The marines on the station were gathering up their barrings to set out when what lights were left flickered out and died, with the only light coming from helmet lights, rifle flashlights, and the pelicans' landing lights. The ODSTs would have it easier, as their helmets had built in nightvision of the sort that Lyra had no clue how it worked.

Smith again appeared on his perch, addressing the captain directly, "Ma'am, I think you might want to know something. It seems our previous scans of the station were inaccurate, a glitch in the sensor banks gave us a negative reading on any heat signatures on the rock." He displayed a map of the huge base on the holo projector, it was teeming with red and yellow readings, the most concentrated being around deck 5, "I purged the system and took a new reading, this is what Im seeing now. Its still unconfirmed, I need to reboot the entire sensor grid in order to be entirely sure of what we are seeing, but as of right now, you need to make a call, captain."

Lyra turned away from the map, contemplating the choice that was laid out before her. On one hand, she could keep the grunts out there and complete the mission, on the other, she pull the troops back and proceed more cautiously or not at all. Then she realized that it wasnt in her power to tell the grunts what to do outside of her ship, only to advise the situation. Disheartened, she once again walked up to Smith's podium and spoke carefully to him, "Tell the Captain of the company what you're seeing and to exercise caution, as of right now, we have no idea what could be in that station." Smith simply nodded and winked out.

Aboard the station, Cpt. Archer had landed and was busy directing his under strength company when his comms channel buzzed and Smith's voice flowed over the airwaves, "Captain Archer, the Captain has ordered me to alert you that our previous scans of the station have proven false, I wont bother you with the explanation, but as of right now, we have no idea what might be on that rock with you. You are advised to proceed with caution, Smith out."

[Violante]

Captain Owainn Archer
ONI Facility - Sigma Pertonus III
Hangars

He blink-clicked Koster's comm frequency. "Except for you, Mr. Koster," Owainn said more quietly. "Pick your helpers and establish our beachhead here. And police our dead; we'll make sure they get a proper send-off."

For seventeen seconds, he was met with silence. He repeated his order and activated the ramp. For a wonder, it opened. Then his comms channel clicked.

Traipsing off of the downed Pelican, I couldn't help but notice some jarhead screeching at the marine probably still sulking onboard the liquidated remains of the annihilated craft. My stroll didn't carry me much of a distance though, as radio chatter bursted to life from some unknown presence, presumably the head honcho of the leathernecks, deciding that his voice is a tad graining, I lowered the volume on my radio unit, though it didn't seem to help much, honestly the only true way to solve this issue of irritation would be to completely mute my device, which is obviously a terrible idea. I would have tuned him out completely if it weren't for the mention of my family name... was he referring to me? Terminating my movement, I glanced around, slightly confused, before replying.

"Uh... unless you're speaking to someone else with the same surname, MISS Köster reporting sir." My voice conveyed an unintentional aurora of mockery, as I spoke to him. His orders seemed a tad odd, does he understand our situation, or at least my current involvement with the marines? "Also that's a no can do sir, I'm not under the marine chain of command, have a problem? Take it up with my superiors. Besides, I'm the only active duty medic on this station as far as I know, I really believe that my medical training would be put to better use accompanying a marine section, sir." With my opinion said, I picked up the pace once more, not trying to sound condescending, though if I stay here, and a marine hypothetically gets incapacitated, they would either have to run all the way back, or leave him to his injuries. Either way, I feel that without me, they'll be shit out of luck, so it's imperative that I venture out with the marines, besides I want to see some combat, if there is any to be had on this station. And if this bag of dicks says otherwise, he can go fuck himself.

As I continued my trek towards a grouping of marines, the hangar's light system just so happened to flicker out... fucking fantastic. Stopping once more, I had to try and figure out the button to activate my helmet's attached torch, slowly being consumed by exasperation, I finally found the damn thing, pressing abnormally hard on the button, because it pissed me off that much, I activating it, the bright illumination from the LED light consumed quite a bit of the surroundings within my peripheral vision. Finally reaching them, I swivelled my neck around, beaming my light across everyone, I'm not entirely sure which team this is, though hopefully it's one that sees action, alas knowing my horrendous luck, I'm partnering up with a a squad on guard duty.

"If it doesn't bother any of you, I'm going to be following you guys around, hope you don't mind chaperoning." I said in a raised voice, trying to be heard over the commotion being created by the marines, my focus remained peering into the visor of who I believed to be the druggie cyborg. If my assumption is correct, I'm looking at someone I rather dislike, though lugging around a case filled to the brim with medical remedies, I doubt he'll reject my request to join him, even if he also despises me.

I'm curious if anyone else who I treated is also here; doubtful, though it's challenging to differentiate visor from visor, at least the medication commando is a cripple and adorns some robotic features, easy to spot. A feeling of anticipation filled me, with a hint of anxiety, my old foe.

[Cymrea]

Captain Owainn Archer
ONI Facility - Sigma Pertonus III
Hangars

Owainn sighed slightly. "Miss Köster. I realise you're not in the direct chain of command, but you are here and, as the ranking officer in this particular postal code, I need someone to assess our injured and police our dead while establishing a beachhead and securing our Pelicans before we go leaping off into the unknown. If you could see your way to lending a medical hand here before we roll out, that would be peachy-goddamned-keen. If not, give me the name of someone else willing to do your job and you can sit this out on the Pelican."

Without waiting for Köster's reply, he tuned into an incoming send from Friedrich. "That's an affirm, but standby one."

Right on her heels came a send from Luna's AI. "Captain Archer, the Captain has ordered me to alert you that our previous scans of the station have proven false, I wont bother you with the explanation, but as of right now, we have no idea what might be on that rock with you. You are advised to proceed with caution, Smith out."

Well, that's just grand, thought Owainn. Then he commed his platoon leaders. "Winter, Friedrich. Turns out our intel is fucked and we don't know what we're facing as of now. So get your boys and girls set up around the Pelicans and ready push out. I want this LZ secured in case we need to bug out quick." He looked to the two big hatches at either end of the hangar bays; he pointed at one and blink-clicked an icon into the HUD that he shared with his officers. "Let's call that north and the other one south. Winter, you cover north and also designate two fire teams to guard the birds; I don't like reducing our numbers but I'd like losing these rides much less. Friedrich, south side, and see if you can gather some intel about what's around the next corner. Let me know what you find. We're Oscar Mike in ten."