SwiftOnRPGuild Member
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Generally I would prefer that you didn't.
Magic Magnum said
I was just thinking reading through that posts "You need to kill someone in the drop pod scene" just to get the feel across that this is ODST and even landing is dangerous. And then it happened and me as a player just went "Yes!" but me as a character just went "Fuck!". :P
I'm glad you approve. Nice IC post too.
696969 said
Ahhh fuck! Just as I got to over 4,000 chars, it fucking deleted! *sigh* I'll post tomorrow Swift and R.I.P. Ric- Er, I mean, uh, Truman </3
It's all good son; you've got some time.
Kalas said
Currently extremely hungover, will write a post later.
I understand those sentiments. ;)
So IC post is up, you've all dropped planet side now.
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BTW, Corporal Davis was chewed out by Sergeant Danforth, not Lance Corporal Croft. ;)
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Also, updates to character Dossiers have been made per your requests.
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BTW, Corporal Davis was chewed out by Sergeant Danforth, not Lance Corporal Croft. ;)
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Also, updates to character Dossiers have been made per your requests.
04:13 Hours
23 August, 2550
Marine Operations Staging Area
Private April just looked on in awe as Sergeant Jameson and Commander Aldridge almost had it out in front of the whole unit; and though they restrained themselves, the disdain they held for each other was clear even to him. He’d thought about voicing his observation to Truman and Crawley, but Corporal McCoy beat him to the punch. April was intimidated by the mohawked support man, and kept quiet as he dished the gossip concerning their ONI liaison; but felt somewhat more at ease as he dropped the subject, and the conversation got serious.
Private Truman nodded as he listened to the man who apparently bore the nickname ‘Gatling’, and he paid close attention. Truman was green, like his new teammates Crawley, April, and even the jokester Wiley. But Truman felt confident in himself, and his abilities. All twenty-five years of his life, he was confident in himself, and he’d always measured up. That confidence in himself was a big reason why Jameson had personally requested his assignment to Ghost, or so the Master Gunnery Sergeant had explained. He’d learned that of the six new members of Ghost, he was the only one Jameson had actually requested; the others had been forced on the Gunny. This only added to Truman’s confidence in himself, but he was smart enough to know not to boast about it.
Crawley on the other hand, though green like her fellows, felt like she had something to prove, not just to herself, but to others. She’d grown up in the lap of luxury, and when her parents had expressed their intent for her to follow in their footsteps, Crawley rebelled. To her, that rebellion meant enlisting with the UNSC Marine Corps. She took to it immediately, knowing she had to fight hard to prove that she wasn’t just some rich kid; it’s why she brokered a deal with one of her previous COs to be assigned to Ghost, despite the concern that she didn’t have the credentials.
“Thank you, sir!” replied April in an all too formal manner when McCoy offered the newbies a pseudo-welcoming to the Detachment. Both Truman and Crawley didn’t bother with a formal show of appreciation, simply nodding in acknowledgement to the Corporal.
“…and besides, if the big man here can’t look after ya, you’ve always got me .” Chimed in Private Wiley as he walked by McCoy and the three other Privates, a shit-eating grin clear across his face as he reveled in his smug confidence. Truman rolled his eyes at Wiley’s comment before slipping his ODST helmet over his head, and polarized his VISR, concealing his face underneath.
- - -
Nearby, Lance Corporal Croft took the last few drags of a cigarette before extinguishing it into a nearby ash-tray. He exhaled deeply as a puff of the tobacco smoke blew out from his lungs, gradually rising to the metal grated deck above. Croft, like Jameson was lucky to have been assigned to the Wanderer, as the old ship was one of a few that offered a non-pure oxygen atmosphere, meaning it was possible to smoke aboard; though it was really at the expressed permission of Captain Ramsey that he wasn’t still forbidden from lighting up. After slipping a fresh pack of Marlboro into one of his leg pouches, he grabbed his helmet and made for the drop pods.
- - -
Still to the aft of the staging area was Sergeant Leonid, who was recording a holo-message for his seven children. “…and I want you all to listen to your mothers, regardless of which ones they are, and uhh… remember that I love you all… mmh? Okay…” he stopped the recording, and set it to auto-send in three days. Immediately afterward, he sneezed loudly again, turning his head to the side just in time to avoid spraying the intercom.
Sergeant Danforth however, wasn’t so lucky as he caught the ejectant in his right leg as he went to walk by the mad Russian. Stopping in his tracks, he looked down at his thigh armor, and then to Leonid, who simply stared at him. “…you seriously need to stop doing that.” He explained in a clearly aggravated tone, which sounded as though this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.
“What? I explain already; to keep inside, is to keep sick…eh?” he replied before reaching for his nearby helmet, which bore the ancient symbol of a crossed hammer and sickle. Danforth gritted his teeth as he fought his instinct to try and hammer some sense into his friend, and instead kept moving right on by, slipping his own helmet over his head. A moment later Leonid followed suit, slipping his helmet over his head.
- - -
Jameson checked the action of his Battle Rifle as few times as he stood facing his locker, then turned his rifle over in his hands to check that his holo-sight, laser sight, and foregrip were still tightly attached to the picatinny railing. Once satisfied, he reached into one of his ammo pouches and pulled free a magazine, then rammed it up into the stock. Pulling the charging lever to chamber a round, he heard Mullan’s steps as she approached, and looked over his shoulder to her.
He chuckled slightly as he listened to her speak the concerns she had regarding the limited details their ONI liaison was willing to share. “She’s a spook… what’s to trust?” he admitted as he slung his rifle, and reached for his helmet, then closed shut his locker and faced her. Over her shoulder the rest of the team was gradually filing out of the staging area, headed for their drop pods.
Sighing a moment, he looked at the image of Solace City on the briefing holo-monitor, and then back to his second in command. “There’s no guarantee that any of us will drop anywhere even close to each other; hell, for all you and I know, we might not even make the drop… as if either of us are that fortunate.” He mused her a moment, laughing at the dark humor.
“Objectives are pretty simple once we’re planet side, fend of the Covenant, and make it to the rallying point. Once we’ve made it into the sewers, we’ll split up into two groups as we make for the ONI facility. You’ll take your usual Second Squaders, with the addition of Sanders, Donovan, and Wiley. I’ll take First Squad with Crawley, Truman, and April.” He stepped away from the wall of lockers, and motioned for her to walk with him as they made their way.
“I’m sure there’s more we’re not being told, but that’s just one of those undisclosed hazards of our job, hidden in the fine print when we sign on.” Stopping just before the hatchway leading out of the staging area, Jameson turned to look Mullan in the eyes. “You know your job, and you know how to go about getting your job done. Just keep your men focused, keep your head on straight, and keep at least one eye on our ONI friend.”
“I’ll meet up with you at City Hall.” He said simply as he slipped on his helmet, polarized his VISR, and headed for his drop pod.
- - - - -
04:18 Hours
23 August, 2550
Drop Bay of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer
Setting his M41 down into its locking position aboard his SOEIV Class Drop Pod, Lance Corporal unslung his M45D Tactical Shotgun, and gripped it tightly. He knew they were hot dropping, so he’d better be ready to fight when, or rather, if he landed. As he checked the weapon a moment, he overheard the chatter of Corporals Ross and Anders to his right, and listened in a moment before commenting.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s some AI, a grunt, jackal, or an elite. If Navy Intelligence wants someone or something dead, then we’re the ones they call on. We specialize in making things dead.” Looking at his drop pod a moment, then stepping inside and turning around to face out, Croft then addresses Corporal Tenjer. “…and all do respect Corporal, Spartans might be bigger, faster, and smarter; but they’re not Ghosts.”
Croft’s drop pod door closed tight, sealing the big demolitions man inside, and he waited.
“Bridge to Drop Bay, we are three mikes to drop zone. Stand by!” came the call from Captain Ramsey through the overhead comm, announcing that the Wayward Wanderer would be in position to being dropping Ghost in just under three minutes.
- - - - -
04:20 Hours
23 August, 2550
Bridge of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer
“Now entering high orbit around Omega Titanius III! Drop window in three mikes!” called out Ensign Andrews, the chief helm officer aboard the UNSC Wayward Wanderer.
“Understood. Steady as she goes Andrews.” Ordered Captain Ramsey as he brought a cup of coffee to his lips, taking a sip of the frothing hot black liquid, stinging his tongue and lips. “Bridge to Drop Bay, we are three mikes to drop zone. Stand by!”
“Ensign Alonso, any movement from the Covenant planet side? Have they detected us?” asked Commander Campbell as she strode away from the Captain’s side, and approached the sensor station at the port side of the bridge.
“No ma’am! Zero movement from the Covenant, they haven’t seen us yet!” called out Alonso, who looked over his shoulder to his executive officer.
- - - - -
04:22 Hours
23 August, 2550
Drop Bay of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer
Filing into the drop bay, Sergeant Danforth spots Corporal Davis, and nods to him. He might have criticized the man for his comments made to the newbies, but Danforth trusted the Corporal, and knew he meant nothing malicious by it. He knew the man was a good Marine, and genuinely hoped he’d make it through to the end of this nasty business that was their operation. Turning away, Sergeant Danforth stowed his own M41 Rocket Launcher, readied his MA5B, and closed his drop pod hatch.
One by one, the remaining members of the Detachment made their way to their SOEIV class drop pods, and one by one they entered, secured themselves, then locked the hatch tight. The last man to enter was Jameson as he checked the status’ of all his Ghost’s drop pods, ensuring they were all properly sealed, and read as green to go. Only one drop pod was still empty, that of the ONI Field Operative.
But before he could comm the Commander, she stepped into the drop bay, and without so much as a look to the Sergeant, she entered, stowed, secured, and locked her own drop pod. They were all green to go now. Jameson then turned away from the status board, and climbed into what he’d affectionately called his would-be coffin.
“Bridge to Drop Bay, Thirty Second count begins now!” came Ramsey’s warning.
After the hatch had sealed, Jameson checked the time read-out on his VISR, and activated the comm system in his helmet. He patched into the comms of the Ghosts. “Listen up.” He waited a moment until he had their attention, then continued. “Good luck Ghosts.” With that, the first chords of the ODST anthem began to play over their comm systems; a tradition that had been observed by every ODST unit for years; the music was strong in it’s tone, and conveyed the bravery of the helljumpers.
“Bridge to Drop Bay, T-Minus Five… Four… Three… Two…” called out the shipboard AI, Oberon, as he counted down the last few seconds. When the timer hit zero, there was a momentary sound of air depressurizing around the drop pods as the bay doors were opened, and for a split second, nothing but silence was beheld to each of the Ghosts.
“Feet first into hell, Marines! Oooh-rah!” exclaimed Jameson over the comms as that peaceful and calm silence was erased by the unmistakable sound of launch boosters firing. En masse, all twenty-five of the drop pods were jettisoned out from underneath of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer, the blackness of space filling the small transparent aluminum window on each of their pods. The intense G-Force of the launch drove each of the Marines against their harness as they speed downward toward the planet beneath.
It wasn’t long after, that the blackness of space gave way to the ambient light emitted from the planet below, and the negative G-Force that had all but lifted them out of their seats gave way to positive Gs that drove them back down into them. Their drop pods had hit the outer atmosphere, starting at 17,000 MPH, they began decelerating at an incredible rate. Outside of their transparent aluminum viewports the distress of atmospheric entry was evident, as the burning red hot gases outside flared with a fluorescent red glow.
As they descended, the red glow outside faded, and the rumbling strain of atmospheric entry quieted down. Reaching 20,000 feet, the radiant light of the nearby stars gave way to the thick black storm clouds that lingered over the planet. Outside of their viewports, the black clouds were occasionally illuminated by hundreds of flashes of lightning, refracted by the heavy rain droplets that fell from the skies.
At 3,000 feet, the familiar jolt of their drag chute deploying above their pods was followed by an alarm claxon sounding, signifying their imminent touchdown.
As the sounds of rushing air and rain pelting against the exterior of her drop pod intensified, Gunnery Sergeant Mullan could faintly see another drop pod through her viewport. A sudden flash illuminated the sky and the other drop pod just enough for her to see a lance of white lightning surge from the sky, and strike the drop pod directly. The struck drop pod’s chute broke away, and the pod began to tumble erratically.
“Oh god! I got hit by a bolt of lightning! My systems are fried! Mayday! Mayday!” called out Private First Class Truman as he felt his drop pod tumbling through the air, his world spinning about like a top as he plummeted from the sky out of control. “I’m going down! I repeat, I’m going down! Mayday! Mayday! Oh god n-…” his words were cut off, and the world went black for Truman as his pod smashed uncontrollably into the skeletal remains of a Solace City skyscraper.
Static poured into the comm link from Truman’s radio system for a moment, then went silent, and on Jameson’s screen his status indicator went red. A instant later, Jameson and the rest of the Ghost’s drop pods crashed down throughout the city, their locations varied and scattered.
- - - - -
04:27 Hours
23 August, 2550
Surface of Solace Colony
A moments disorientation would’ve befallen them as their pods came to a rest amongst the burned and charred remnants of the surface of Solace Colony. All around them were the sounds of the eternal storm that raged over the planet in wake of the great fires that had scorched it’s surface; thunder echoed in the skies above, and a torrential downpour raged without relent.
Jameson groaned a moment as his surgically repaired back ached horribly, but as the momentary daze of pain passed, he sat up and checked his status monitor, and to his dismay, Private Truman’s status was still red. “Damnit! Status check! Now!” he called out over his comm as he reached for his hatch release, which made an awkward mechanical sound as it failed to open. “Fuck!” he exclaimed aloud, not realizing his comm was still open. Reaching for the emergency blow system, he triggered it, and his hatch blew as a set of charges detonated. It launched about ten feet straight up into the air, then crashed back down onto Jameson’s pod before tumbling away.
“Ghosts! Status!” he hollered again, waiting for each of them to acknowledge their still living status by simply pinging their comm, which was the expected protocol when surrounded by enemies. As he clambered out of his drop pod, he realized that he’d landed in the center of a massive mound of burned debris. Looking up he saw a flash of lightning in the sky, and saw that the mound he’d landed on was actually half of a burnt and destroyed skyscraper that had collapsed during the covenant attack.
As he leveled his weapon, he looked about and saw in a small fire burning near the top of a far off building, no doubt where Truman’s pod had crashed uncontrollably. He shook his head, and looked about a moment to see if he’d landed near anyone else, and he saw rising smoke to the northeast, indicating another drop pod nearby.
Carefully he stepped down from his drop pod, and began climbing out of the mound he’d landed in, hoping his team would ping their comms, and confirm their still living status’.
23 August, 2550
Marine Operations Staging Area
Private April just looked on in awe as Sergeant Jameson and Commander Aldridge almost had it out in front of the whole unit; and though they restrained themselves, the disdain they held for each other was clear even to him. He’d thought about voicing his observation to Truman and Crawley, but Corporal McCoy beat him to the punch. April was intimidated by the mohawked support man, and kept quiet as he dished the gossip concerning their ONI liaison; but felt somewhat more at ease as he dropped the subject, and the conversation got serious.
Private Truman nodded as he listened to the man who apparently bore the nickname ‘Gatling’, and he paid close attention. Truman was green, like his new teammates Crawley, April, and even the jokester Wiley. But Truman felt confident in himself, and his abilities. All twenty-five years of his life, he was confident in himself, and he’d always measured up. That confidence in himself was a big reason why Jameson had personally requested his assignment to Ghost, or so the Master Gunnery Sergeant had explained. He’d learned that of the six new members of Ghost, he was the only one Jameson had actually requested; the others had been forced on the Gunny. This only added to Truman’s confidence in himself, but he was smart enough to know not to boast about it.
Crawley on the other hand, though green like her fellows, felt like she had something to prove, not just to herself, but to others. She’d grown up in the lap of luxury, and when her parents had expressed their intent for her to follow in their footsteps, Crawley rebelled. To her, that rebellion meant enlisting with the UNSC Marine Corps. She took to it immediately, knowing she had to fight hard to prove that she wasn’t just some rich kid; it’s why she brokered a deal with one of her previous COs to be assigned to Ghost, despite the concern that she didn’t have the credentials.
“Thank you, sir!” replied April in an all too formal manner when McCoy offered the newbies a pseudo-welcoming to the Detachment. Both Truman and Crawley didn’t bother with a formal show of appreciation, simply nodding in acknowledgement to the Corporal.
“…and besides, if the big man here can’t look after ya, you’ve always got me .” Chimed in Private Wiley as he walked by McCoy and the three other Privates, a shit-eating grin clear across his face as he reveled in his smug confidence. Truman rolled his eyes at Wiley’s comment before slipping his ODST helmet over his head, and polarized his VISR, concealing his face underneath.
- - -
Nearby, Lance Corporal Croft took the last few drags of a cigarette before extinguishing it into a nearby ash-tray. He exhaled deeply as a puff of the tobacco smoke blew out from his lungs, gradually rising to the metal grated deck above. Croft, like Jameson was lucky to have been assigned to the Wanderer, as the old ship was one of a few that offered a non-pure oxygen atmosphere, meaning it was possible to smoke aboard; though it was really at the expressed permission of Captain Ramsey that he wasn’t still forbidden from lighting up. After slipping a fresh pack of Marlboro into one of his leg pouches, he grabbed his helmet and made for the drop pods.
- - -
Still to the aft of the staging area was Sergeant Leonid, who was recording a holo-message for his seven children. “…and I want you all to listen to your mothers, regardless of which ones they are, and uhh… remember that I love you all… mmh? Okay…” he stopped the recording, and set it to auto-send in three days. Immediately afterward, he sneezed loudly again, turning his head to the side just in time to avoid spraying the intercom.
Sergeant Danforth however, wasn’t so lucky as he caught the ejectant in his right leg as he went to walk by the mad Russian. Stopping in his tracks, he looked down at his thigh armor, and then to Leonid, who simply stared at him. “…you seriously need to stop doing that.” He explained in a clearly aggravated tone, which sounded as though this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.
“What? I explain already; to keep inside, is to keep sick…eh?” he replied before reaching for his nearby helmet, which bore the ancient symbol of a crossed hammer and sickle. Danforth gritted his teeth as he fought his instinct to try and hammer some sense into his friend, and instead kept moving right on by, slipping his own helmet over his head. A moment later Leonid followed suit, slipping his helmet over his head.
- - -
Jameson checked the action of his Battle Rifle as few times as he stood facing his locker, then turned his rifle over in his hands to check that his holo-sight, laser sight, and foregrip were still tightly attached to the picatinny railing. Once satisfied, he reached into one of his ammo pouches and pulled free a magazine, then rammed it up into the stock. Pulling the charging lever to chamber a round, he heard Mullan’s steps as she approached, and looked over his shoulder to her.
He chuckled slightly as he listened to her speak the concerns she had regarding the limited details their ONI liaison was willing to share. “She’s a spook… what’s to trust?” he admitted as he slung his rifle, and reached for his helmet, then closed shut his locker and faced her. Over her shoulder the rest of the team was gradually filing out of the staging area, headed for their drop pods.
Sighing a moment, he looked at the image of Solace City on the briefing holo-monitor, and then back to his second in command. “There’s no guarantee that any of us will drop anywhere even close to each other; hell, for all you and I know, we might not even make the drop… as if either of us are that fortunate.” He mused her a moment, laughing at the dark humor.
“Objectives are pretty simple once we’re planet side, fend of the Covenant, and make it to the rallying point. Once we’ve made it into the sewers, we’ll split up into two groups as we make for the ONI facility. You’ll take your usual Second Squaders, with the addition of Sanders, Donovan, and Wiley. I’ll take First Squad with Crawley, Truman, and April.” He stepped away from the wall of lockers, and motioned for her to walk with him as they made their way.
“I’m sure there’s more we’re not being told, but that’s just one of those undisclosed hazards of our job, hidden in the fine print when we sign on.” Stopping just before the hatchway leading out of the staging area, Jameson turned to look Mullan in the eyes. “You know your job, and you know how to go about getting your job done. Just keep your men focused, keep your head on straight, and keep at least one eye on our ONI friend.”
“I’ll meet up with you at City Hall.” He said simply as he slipped on his helmet, polarized his VISR, and headed for his drop pod.
- - - - -
04:18 Hours
23 August, 2550
Drop Bay of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer
Setting his M41 down into its locking position aboard his SOEIV Class Drop Pod, Lance Corporal unslung his M45D Tactical Shotgun, and gripped it tightly. He knew they were hot dropping, so he’d better be ready to fight when, or rather, if he landed. As he checked the weapon a moment, he overheard the chatter of Corporals Ross and Anders to his right, and listened in a moment before commenting.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s some AI, a grunt, jackal, or an elite. If Navy Intelligence wants someone or something dead, then we’re the ones they call on. We specialize in making things dead.” Looking at his drop pod a moment, then stepping inside and turning around to face out, Croft then addresses Corporal Tenjer. “…and all do respect Corporal, Spartans might be bigger, faster, and smarter; but they’re not Ghosts.”
Croft’s drop pod door closed tight, sealing the big demolitions man inside, and he waited.
“Bridge to Drop Bay, we are three mikes to drop zone. Stand by!” came the call from Captain Ramsey through the overhead comm, announcing that the Wayward Wanderer would be in position to being dropping Ghost in just under three minutes.
- - - - -
04:20 Hours
23 August, 2550
Bridge of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer
“Now entering high orbit around Omega Titanius III! Drop window in three mikes!” called out Ensign Andrews, the chief helm officer aboard the UNSC Wayward Wanderer.
“Understood. Steady as she goes Andrews.” Ordered Captain Ramsey as he brought a cup of coffee to his lips, taking a sip of the frothing hot black liquid, stinging his tongue and lips. “Bridge to Drop Bay, we are three mikes to drop zone. Stand by!”
“Ensign Alonso, any movement from the Covenant planet side? Have they detected us?” asked Commander Campbell as she strode away from the Captain’s side, and approached the sensor station at the port side of the bridge.
“No ma’am! Zero movement from the Covenant, they haven’t seen us yet!” called out Alonso, who looked over his shoulder to his executive officer.
- - - - -
04:22 Hours
23 August, 2550
Drop Bay of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer
Filing into the drop bay, Sergeant Danforth spots Corporal Davis, and nods to him. He might have criticized the man for his comments made to the newbies, but Danforth trusted the Corporal, and knew he meant nothing malicious by it. He knew the man was a good Marine, and genuinely hoped he’d make it through to the end of this nasty business that was their operation. Turning away, Sergeant Danforth stowed his own M41 Rocket Launcher, readied his MA5B, and closed his drop pod hatch.
One by one, the remaining members of the Detachment made their way to their SOEIV class drop pods, and one by one they entered, secured themselves, then locked the hatch tight. The last man to enter was Jameson as he checked the status’ of all his Ghost’s drop pods, ensuring they were all properly sealed, and read as green to go. Only one drop pod was still empty, that of the ONI Field Operative.
But before he could comm the Commander, she stepped into the drop bay, and without so much as a look to the Sergeant, she entered, stowed, secured, and locked her own drop pod. They were all green to go now. Jameson then turned away from the status board, and climbed into what he’d affectionately called his would-be coffin.
“Bridge to Drop Bay, Thirty Second count begins now!” came Ramsey’s warning.
After the hatch had sealed, Jameson checked the time read-out on his VISR, and activated the comm system in his helmet. He patched into the comms of the Ghosts. “Listen up.” He waited a moment until he had their attention, then continued. “Good luck Ghosts.” With that, the first chords of the ODST anthem began to play over their comm systems; a tradition that had been observed by every ODST unit for years; the music was strong in it’s tone, and conveyed the bravery of the helljumpers.
“Bridge to Drop Bay, T-Minus Five… Four… Three… Two…” called out the shipboard AI, Oberon, as he counted down the last few seconds. When the timer hit zero, there was a momentary sound of air depressurizing around the drop pods as the bay doors were opened, and for a split second, nothing but silence was beheld to each of the Ghosts.
“Feet first into hell, Marines! Oooh-rah!” exclaimed Jameson over the comms as that peaceful and calm silence was erased by the unmistakable sound of launch boosters firing. En masse, all twenty-five of the drop pods were jettisoned out from underneath of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer, the blackness of space filling the small transparent aluminum window on each of their pods. The intense G-Force of the launch drove each of the Marines against their harness as they speed downward toward the planet beneath.
It wasn’t long after, that the blackness of space gave way to the ambient light emitted from the planet below, and the negative G-Force that had all but lifted them out of their seats gave way to positive Gs that drove them back down into them. Their drop pods had hit the outer atmosphere, starting at 17,000 MPH, they began decelerating at an incredible rate. Outside of their transparent aluminum viewports the distress of atmospheric entry was evident, as the burning red hot gases outside flared with a fluorescent red glow.
As they descended, the red glow outside faded, and the rumbling strain of atmospheric entry quieted down. Reaching 20,000 feet, the radiant light of the nearby stars gave way to the thick black storm clouds that lingered over the planet. Outside of their viewports, the black clouds were occasionally illuminated by hundreds of flashes of lightning, refracted by the heavy rain droplets that fell from the skies.
At 3,000 feet, the familiar jolt of their drag chute deploying above their pods was followed by an alarm claxon sounding, signifying their imminent touchdown.
As the sounds of rushing air and rain pelting against the exterior of her drop pod intensified, Gunnery Sergeant Mullan could faintly see another drop pod through her viewport. A sudden flash illuminated the sky and the other drop pod just enough for her to see a lance of white lightning surge from the sky, and strike the drop pod directly. The struck drop pod’s chute broke away, and the pod began to tumble erratically.
“Oh god! I got hit by a bolt of lightning! My systems are fried! Mayday! Mayday!” called out Private First Class Truman as he felt his drop pod tumbling through the air, his world spinning about like a top as he plummeted from the sky out of control. “I’m going down! I repeat, I’m going down! Mayday! Mayday! Oh god n-…” his words were cut off, and the world went black for Truman as his pod smashed uncontrollably into the skeletal remains of a Solace City skyscraper.
Static poured into the comm link from Truman’s radio system for a moment, then went silent, and on Jameson’s screen his status indicator went red. A instant later, Jameson and the rest of the Ghost’s drop pods crashed down throughout the city, their locations varied and scattered.
- - - - -
04:27 Hours
23 August, 2550
Surface of Solace Colony
A moments disorientation would’ve befallen them as their pods came to a rest amongst the burned and charred remnants of the surface of Solace Colony. All around them were the sounds of the eternal storm that raged over the planet in wake of the great fires that had scorched it’s surface; thunder echoed in the skies above, and a torrential downpour raged without relent.
Jameson groaned a moment as his surgically repaired back ached horribly, but as the momentary daze of pain passed, he sat up and checked his status monitor, and to his dismay, Private Truman’s status was still red. “Damnit! Status check! Now!” he called out over his comm as he reached for his hatch release, which made an awkward mechanical sound as it failed to open. “Fuck!” he exclaimed aloud, not realizing his comm was still open. Reaching for the emergency blow system, he triggered it, and his hatch blew as a set of charges detonated. It launched about ten feet straight up into the air, then crashed back down onto Jameson’s pod before tumbling away.
“Ghosts! Status!” he hollered again, waiting for each of them to acknowledge their still living status by simply pinging their comm, which was the expected protocol when surrounded by enemies. As he clambered out of his drop pod, he realized that he’d landed in the center of a massive mound of burned debris. Looking up he saw a flash of lightning in the sky, and saw that the mound he’d landed on was actually half of a burnt and destroyed skyscraper that had collapsed during the covenant attack.
As he leveled his weapon, he looked about and saw in a small fire burning near the top of a far off building, no doubt where Truman’s pod had crashed uncontrollably. He shook his head, and looked about a moment to see if he’d landed near anyone else, and he saw rising smoke to the northeast, indicating another drop pod nearby.
Carefully he stepped down from his drop pod, and began climbing out of the mound he’d landed in, hoping his team would ping their comms, and confirm their still living status’.
Yep. Ended up a little drunker than I'd intended last night, so posting was a little out of question; would've posted earlier today, but work ran long as a co-worker called out, and I had to cover.
New IC post is incoming.
Next post will come at some point on the 4th, I worked a long shift today, and am attending a party tomorrow so it'll probably be late at night. It'll have the locations of your characters drops in the city, and outline the Covenant resistance a little better.
At the conclusion of the Henrik’s succession to the throne, Jarl Koval and his contingent left the Pale and began the long and arduous journey north to their frozen province. Though it was not the harshness of the bitter cold, nor the treachery of the Hold Mountain pass, that concerned Koval the Greater. Instead, it was the reception his countrymen would have for him upon his return. He had known that some of the other clans of Arda’Njor were expecting a declaration of war against the Kingdom of Gothra, and failing that an open revolt.
Koval had secured neither of those expectations, and had in fact offered his and his people’s loyalty to the new King, Henrik of Havarr. But Koval would not tear the country apart in a civil war that would only serve to strengthen the enemies of Norsia. He would rather face down the wrath of his countrymen, than see what he considered the sacred lands of his ancestors desecrated by the boots of foreign enemies.
However, Koval was confident that he could maintain the cooperation of his people, so long as his close friend and advisor, Toral, remained as so. For as long as the Brute-Blade and Stone-Fist clans remained allies, the other clans would fall in line; and Toral had reassured Koval of his support on the journey North, happy with the manner in which Koval conducted himself at the moot. He understood the need for the country to remain together, and put aside his own desire for vengeance against the Kingdom of Gothra.
Still, upon his return to the ever frozen city of Frostmourne, Koval issued a call to heads of the clans of Arda'Njor to meet, and discuss the position they would take in wake of the succession.
So it was that on the second week of the first month following the Jarlmoot, a conference was held in Frostmourne at the Castle of Unyielding Winter. It was during this conference that the Gray-Mane, Storm-Sword, and Rock-Back clans withdrew their open support of Koval as Jarl. They would continue to serve him as their leader, but when the time came for an heir to be named, they would not support the continuation of the Brute-Blade clan’s dominance. The Stone-Fists and Broad-Trunks remained faithful to Koval’s clan, but the Black-Bloods declared indifference; which meant that the right of Kord could be invoked.
If invoked, the right of Kord made it impossible for the current Jarl to name his own successor to the Jarldom. This meant that Koval couldn’t name either Koval the Lesser, or Toral Stone-Fist; instead the clans would meet, and decide their successor much the same way the Jarls chose their king. However, it carried with it the ominous threat that Arda’Njor could be plunged into it’s own civil war. The Jarl’s right to name his successor had kept the Province united, but now that unity was threatened.
Angered by what he considered a betrayal, Koval the Greater sought the guidance of the Ancient Tombs of Arda’Njor, hoping to find peace. Instead, he was found by the summons of the new High King of Norsia, Henrik, to take the position of Marshal of Norsia. The surprise that Koval felt was genuine when he read the scroll, then read it as second time to ensure that his eyes hadn’t deceived him.
However unsure of Henrik’s motivations he was, Koval was positive that the offer of being named Marshall would be enough to reassure the clans of Arda’Njor, and prevent the right of Kord from being invoked. He presented the scroll before the conference, and the loyalty of all the clans was reaffirmed. The right of Kord would not be invoked. King Henrik had inadvertently prevented a civil war in Arda’Njor, and Koval knew that he at least owed it to the King to accept his offer, and assume the title of Marshall of Norsia.
Correspondence was dispatched immediately from Frostmourne with Koval’s endorsement to accept the title. He would serve King Henrik.
- - -
As the summer sun thawed the southern Provinces, it did little to warm the inescapable cold of Arda’Njor. Only the white plains region would know the immediate benefit, as the longer days would serve to sun the sturdy crops that somehow managed to grow in the frigid north. The crops that supplied a good portion of sustenance to the hardy people.
Yet as the summer drew on, the next Jarlmoot approached, and Koval that his need to attend was far greater now that he held the title of Marshall. Leaving from his frozen city in the north, Koval and his contingent made their way back to the Pale. However, whereas all previous treks made from the north were plagued with trouble, this journey was without issue. In fact, it was made in three shorter days than had ever been previously done. Something Koval and his men took as a sign of good will by the Gods.
Prior to the beginning of the Jarlmoot, Koval paid his due respects to the Monk Otrygg, whom he respected greatly, and even to the new King, whom he wondered if he had misjudged at the previous moot. It took a particular man to offer a position of power to a rival, and Henrik had done just that. Regardless, Koval was committed to give the new King his best advice, and to serve him as best as he could. However, he remembered his solemn promise, and knew he would still keep it, but Koval was feeling better that he wouldn’t have to.
Taking his seat at the far end of the table, Koval looked over the Spy Master, and the Steward. The both wore some form of wardrobe to signify their new position, and Koval was amused. He had refused to wear anything that made him stand apart from his fellow Jarls, just as he refused to wear anything that made him stand apart from his countrymen in Arda’Njor. He would let his actions speak to his merit, not a piece of cloth, or fine jewelry.
Koval watched with interest as the slender Elf Therayn addressed the King and the Jarlmoot, listening to the soft spoken words with careful reproach. He knew that the Elves desired peace in Norsia, not because of a devotion to it as an ideal, but rather as a means to prevent the Nordic people from ever truly being powerful. The Elves hoped that the scraps of food they tossed at the Nords would keep them in check, and prevent them from securing their safety. He saw through their ruse, and knew that they wanted a weak Norsia, because they feared a strong Norsia.
Next was the Dwarf envoy from the High Kingdom of Highathar, as stout a dwarf as any that Koval had seen in the past. He admired the strong and sturdy people for the harsh conditions they endured above and under their mountains; a sort of kinship with the people of Arda’Njor, given the harsh living conditions of the province. But as the Dwarf spoke of tribute in exchange for friendship, Koval wasn’t impressed. He viewed bribes as disingenuous, and the sign of future betrayal.
As the Dwarf left, Koval sighed heavily at the disappointment he felt at the presentations of the two envoys. He had hoped one of the two great Kingdoms would show signs of honor, and be worthy of the friendship of the people of Norsia, but they both had obvious ulterior motives. The Elves sought to stymie the growth of power in Norsia, while the Dwarves sought to grow it in exchange for support against the Elves.
Koval listened to the words of Eyildr, and wasn’t surprised to hear her offer support in favor of the Elves, whom her province bordered with. The trade that travelled through her province was a great source of her people’s influence on the rest of Norsia. But he wasn’t impressed with her attempts to quell the concerns that might have arisen regarding the Elves offers. However, he echoed the sentiments she made in terms of the Dwarves gold tribute.
Our history, contemplated Koval as he listened to Otrygg speak of raiding parties. He knew that the old ways of Norsia were gone, and needed to stay gone. If the country were to ever truly grow strong, they would need to a people of honor, not a people of pillagers and plunderers. No, he would not support this, and he would let that be known.
Though, as Bertil, the Steward spoke drunkenly about the matter of raiding parties, Koval found himself genuinely amused, as well as surprised by the man. He spoke words of wisdom, words that Koval hadn’t thought he knew. In fact, what Bertil offered in terms of how to deal with the Elves and Dwarves made a great deal of sense to Koval. He wondered if he too had misjudged the man, at least for a very short moment.
Then the Spy-Master spoke, and Koval listened with interest. He liked the signs of temperance from the young Jarl, the Elves and Dwarves weren’t enemies of Norsia, even if they were enemies of each other. To play one, was to play against the other, and Koval knew that would lead to calamity within the Kingdom, especially with the threat of the Gothra to the East. As well as the lingering issue of the pirate sails in the Shivering Sea.
Having heard enough, Koval waited for a moment, then stood to take the floor. He showed due respect to his fellow Jarls, to Otrygg, and even the King before speaking. ”The Elves only seek to bring peace to our land, as a means to prevent us from truly becoming great. The Dwarves only seek to bring gold to our land, as a means to see us become great allies in their struggles against the Elves. Both of them have their ulterior motives, and both fail to seek an honorable and genuine accord between our lands, and theirs.”
Taking a moment to wet his lips with a sip of ale, Koval then continues. ”To play one, is to play against the other; and with the lingering threat of the Gothran to the east, and the tales of these pirates in the Shivering Sea, we can ill afford an enemy in the form of the Dwarves of Highathar, or the Elves of Galadriel. Though I disfavor the intrusiveness of the Elves into matters of our security, I disfavor the bribes of the Dwarves. I recommend an equal approach to both Kingdoms.”
Koval had secured neither of those expectations, and had in fact offered his and his people’s loyalty to the new King, Henrik of Havarr. But Koval would not tear the country apart in a civil war that would only serve to strengthen the enemies of Norsia. He would rather face down the wrath of his countrymen, than see what he considered the sacred lands of his ancestors desecrated by the boots of foreign enemies.
However, Koval was confident that he could maintain the cooperation of his people, so long as his close friend and advisor, Toral, remained as so. For as long as the Brute-Blade and Stone-Fist clans remained allies, the other clans would fall in line; and Toral had reassured Koval of his support on the journey North, happy with the manner in which Koval conducted himself at the moot. He understood the need for the country to remain together, and put aside his own desire for vengeance against the Kingdom of Gothra.
Still, upon his return to the ever frozen city of Frostmourne, Koval issued a call to heads of the clans of Arda'Njor to meet, and discuss the position they would take in wake of the succession.
So it was that on the second week of the first month following the Jarlmoot, a conference was held in Frostmourne at the Castle of Unyielding Winter. It was during this conference that the Gray-Mane, Storm-Sword, and Rock-Back clans withdrew their open support of Koval as Jarl. They would continue to serve him as their leader, but when the time came for an heir to be named, they would not support the continuation of the Brute-Blade clan’s dominance. The Stone-Fists and Broad-Trunks remained faithful to Koval’s clan, but the Black-Bloods declared indifference; which meant that the right of Kord could be invoked.
If invoked, the right of Kord made it impossible for the current Jarl to name his own successor to the Jarldom. This meant that Koval couldn’t name either Koval the Lesser, or Toral Stone-Fist; instead the clans would meet, and decide their successor much the same way the Jarls chose their king. However, it carried with it the ominous threat that Arda’Njor could be plunged into it’s own civil war. The Jarl’s right to name his successor had kept the Province united, but now that unity was threatened.
Angered by what he considered a betrayal, Koval the Greater sought the guidance of the Ancient Tombs of Arda’Njor, hoping to find peace. Instead, he was found by the summons of the new High King of Norsia, Henrik, to take the position of Marshal of Norsia. The surprise that Koval felt was genuine when he read the scroll, then read it as second time to ensure that his eyes hadn’t deceived him.
However unsure of Henrik’s motivations he was, Koval was positive that the offer of being named Marshall would be enough to reassure the clans of Arda’Njor, and prevent the right of Kord from being invoked. He presented the scroll before the conference, and the loyalty of all the clans was reaffirmed. The right of Kord would not be invoked. King Henrik had inadvertently prevented a civil war in Arda’Njor, and Koval knew that he at least owed it to the King to accept his offer, and assume the title of Marshall of Norsia.
Correspondence was dispatched immediately from Frostmourne with Koval’s endorsement to accept the title. He would serve King Henrik.
- - -
As the summer sun thawed the southern Provinces, it did little to warm the inescapable cold of Arda’Njor. Only the white plains region would know the immediate benefit, as the longer days would serve to sun the sturdy crops that somehow managed to grow in the frigid north. The crops that supplied a good portion of sustenance to the hardy people.
Yet as the summer drew on, the next Jarlmoot approached, and Koval that his need to attend was far greater now that he held the title of Marshall. Leaving from his frozen city in the north, Koval and his contingent made their way back to the Pale. However, whereas all previous treks made from the north were plagued with trouble, this journey was without issue. In fact, it was made in three shorter days than had ever been previously done. Something Koval and his men took as a sign of good will by the Gods.
Prior to the beginning of the Jarlmoot, Koval paid his due respects to the Monk Otrygg, whom he respected greatly, and even to the new King, whom he wondered if he had misjudged at the previous moot. It took a particular man to offer a position of power to a rival, and Henrik had done just that. Regardless, Koval was committed to give the new King his best advice, and to serve him as best as he could. However, he remembered his solemn promise, and knew he would still keep it, but Koval was feeling better that he wouldn’t have to.
Taking his seat at the far end of the table, Koval looked over the Spy Master, and the Steward. The both wore some form of wardrobe to signify their new position, and Koval was amused. He had refused to wear anything that made him stand apart from his fellow Jarls, just as he refused to wear anything that made him stand apart from his countrymen in Arda’Njor. He would let his actions speak to his merit, not a piece of cloth, or fine jewelry.
Koval watched with interest as the slender Elf Therayn addressed the King and the Jarlmoot, listening to the soft spoken words with careful reproach. He knew that the Elves desired peace in Norsia, not because of a devotion to it as an ideal, but rather as a means to prevent the Nordic people from ever truly being powerful. The Elves hoped that the scraps of food they tossed at the Nords would keep them in check, and prevent them from securing their safety. He saw through their ruse, and knew that they wanted a weak Norsia, because they feared a strong Norsia.
Next was the Dwarf envoy from the High Kingdom of Highathar, as stout a dwarf as any that Koval had seen in the past. He admired the strong and sturdy people for the harsh conditions they endured above and under their mountains; a sort of kinship with the people of Arda’Njor, given the harsh living conditions of the province. But as the Dwarf spoke of tribute in exchange for friendship, Koval wasn’t impressed. He viewed bribes as disingenuous, and the sign of future betrayal.
As the Dwarf left, Koval sighed heavily at the disappointment he felt at the presentations of the two envoys. He had hoped one of the two great Kingdoms would show signs of honor, and be worthy of the friendship of the people of Norsia, but they both had obvious ulterior motives. The Elves sought to stymie the growth of power in Norsia, while the Dwarves sought to grow it in exchange for support against the Elves.
Koval listened to the words of Eyildr, and wasn’t surprised to hear her offer support in favor of the Elves, whom her province bordered with. The trade that travelled through her province was a great source of her people’s influence on the rest of Norsia. But he wasn’t impressed with her attempts to quell the concerns that might have arisen regarding the Elves offers. However, he echoed the sentiments she made in terms of the Dwarves gold tribute.
Our history, contemplated Koval as he listened to Otrygg speak of raiding parties. He knew that the old ways of Norsia were gone, and needed to stay gone. If the country were to ever truly grow strong, they would need to a people of honor, not a people of pillagers and plunderers. No, he would not support this, and he would let that be known.
Though, as Bertil, the Steward spoke drunkenly about the matter of raiding parties, Koval found himself genuinely amused, as well as surprised by the man. He spoke words of wisdom, words that Koval hadn’t thought he knew. In fact, what Bertil offered in terms of how to deal with the Elves and Dwarves made a great deal of sense to Koval. He wondered if he too had misjudged the man, at least for a very short moment.
Then the Spy-Master spoke, and Koval listened with interest. He liked the signs of temperance from the young Jarl, the Elves and Dwarves weren’t enemies of Norsia, even if they were enemies of each other. To play one, was to play against the other, and Koval knew that would lead to calamity within the Kingdom, especially with the threat of the Gothra to the East. As well as the lingering issue of the pirate sails in the Shivering Sea.
Having heard enough, Koval waited for a moment, then stood to take the floor. He showed due respect to his fellow Jarls, to Otrygg, and even the King before speaking. ”The Elves only seek to bring peace to our land, as a means to prevent us from truly becoming great. The Dwarves only seek to bring gold to our land, as a means to see us become great allies in their struggles against the Elves. Both of them have their ulterior motives, and both fail to seek an honorable and genuine accord between our lands, and theirs.”
Taking a moment to wet his lips with a sip of ale, Koval then continues. ”To play one, is to play against the other; and with the lingering threat of the Gothran to the east, and the tales of these pirates in the Shivering Sea, we can ill afford an enemy in the form of the Dwarves of Highathar, or the Elves of Galadriel. Though I disfavor the intrusiveness of the Elves into matters of our security, I disfavor the bribes of the Dwarves. I recommend an equal approach to both Kingdoms.”
Next IC Post is up.
I actually really enjoyed HALO 4. I liked the story that was told, and appreciated the fact that they really brought more the EU into the mix. The gameplay, while a little stale, still offers enough to keep me entertained. Though, I do wish you could aim down sights. I can't speak for the Multi-Player though, as I haven't played it, nor really any Halo Multi-Player. I like Halo for the Single-Player.
I actually really enjoyed HALO 4. I liked the story that was told, and appreciated the fact that they really brought more the EU into the mix. The gameplay, while a little stale, still offers enough to keep me entertained. Though, I do wish you could aim down sights. I can't speak for the Multi-Player though, as I haven't played it, nor really any Halo Multi-Player. I like Halo for the Single-Player.
04:01 Hours
23 August, 2550
Marine Operations Staging Area
Having left behind the inquisitive and chatty replacements, Lance Corporal Croft began to make his way down to the other end of the staging area. Marine ODST armor was cumbersome, but not to the point of limited mobility, and even a man as big as Croft managed to nimble his way around his fellows as he moved. He kept his M45E slung over his shoulder, stopping a moment to give an impressed nod to Corporal McCoy in regards to the latest addition to his already impressive armament. “Nice.” He remarked as he slipped past.
At the other end of the staging area, Sergeant Danforth hefted his old faithful MA5B Assault Rifle, taking a moment to admire each of the scars it’d gathered since he’d first been issued it. Molly he’d named it when he was a kid, something Sergeant Leonid had discovered, and hadn’t let up on harassing him about since. Retrieving a thirty-two round box magazine from one of his ammunition pouches, he slid it into the receiver, pulled back the charging lever, and loaded a round into the chamber.
He then turned to leave his locker, headed over to join the mad Russian as he was again starting up some form of debate with one of the new recruits. But as he made a step, he overheard a comment made by Corporal Davis, and stopped in his tracks when it sent his blood boiling. Shaking his head, he made a hastened approach for the Corporal, grabbing him by his arm to lead him away from the others. When he was sure no one else could hear, he looked into the Corporal’s face.
“Drop that shit, right now!” he declared with an all too obvious fire in his tone. “Those kids might not be mustard yet, but at one point neither was I, and neither were you.” Taking a moment to look around again, Danforth took a deep calming breath. “Listen, those kids don’t need to hear that crap. None of us do for that matter. Cracking jokes like that a few moments before we drop is just stupid. Think, man! You’re better than that Wyatt. Act like it.” He punched him in the shoulder, then stepped away without another word.
Stepping into the staging area through the hatchway that lead into the attached hangar, Jameson stopped to take a moment and admire the state of his Detachment. He’d been a part of Ghost for a decade, and in that time he’d seen his fair share of Marines come and go. But he was certain that the core of this group was the best he’d had yet. Sure there were some new faces that hadn’t necessarily walked the walk just yet, but he was confident in all of them, even the newbies.
“Listen up!” he announced, getting everyone’s attention. When he was sure he had it, he stepped to the right of the hatchway and approached a six foot hole monitor. “I don’t know all of the specifics of our Op; we’ll have to wait for our esteemed ONI operative to fill those in, but I can at least give you a run down of what I do know.” He explained, pressing a key on the console attached to the monitor, which flickered to life.
“Omega Titanius III, or Solace Colony, if you prefer. About a year ago this place was blasted to shit by the Covenant.” He paused, looking at the monitor. “Underneath of Solace Colony was an Office of Naval Intelligence Research and Development Facility, codenamed Asgard Base. Now, this facility was believed to have been destroyed in the Covenant attack, but evidently it wasn’t.” He paused again, and looked to them.
“That’s where we come in. We’ll be going down to the planet in the new D-79 Pelican we’ve been allocated, where we’ll make our way into the facility. Once inside, we’ll set a nuke, then exfiltrate back to the surface, and return to the Wanderer before it detonates. Expected resistance, if any, is to be light, but as we’re technically in Covenant controlled space, we’re not taking any chances. We lost six people in our last operation, and I…”
Jameson struggled as he tried to find the right words to express his frustrations regarding their last operation, but instead he shook his head, and returned his attention to the monitor. “To destroy the facility, we’ll be making use of a HAVOK Class Tactical Nuclear Weapon… Sergeant Leonid is on said detail.”
“Da.” Commented the mad Russian, who proceeded to sneeze loudly, and without even attempting to cover his nostrils, resulting in his sputum being launched carelessly off into the recesses of their staging area. After snorting loudly, he noticed the glares of everyone, and shook his head. “Keep inside, is keep sick!” he explained defensively before shaking his head in an aggravated manner, cursing under his breath in his native tongue.
“Now, we have some new people with us; they’re not green, but they’re not yet Ghosts either. I don’t give a shit what your feelings are about them, look after them, and guide them. We were all newbies once, and we all had someone to look out for us at the beginning. So I expect the same.” Jameson glanced confidently at all of the more senior members of the Detachment. It was clear he had no desire to see another six of his Marines KIA, and he trusted that his people would do their best.
“To you new people, just keep your wits about you, and keep your weapon level. You’ve been trained for this; trust in that training, and trust in your fellow Ghosts. You’ll do fine.” His attention went to them this time, but he didn’t feel the same confidence in them as he did the others. Only one of them had the mettle that Jameson looked for when he had to find replacements, the rest were forced on him by MARSOC. He believed in their bravery, just not their experience.
“Alright, now that we’ve got our objectives…” he said, checking the time on the monitor. It was obvious to the Ghosts that he was aggravated that Commander Aldridge still hadn’t arrived to give them the details she’d promised. He thought about comming her, but before he could activate the system, the hatchway opened, and she stepped through, along with Captain Ramsey and XO Campbell.
Aldridge was suited in a new ONI Infiltrator variant of ODST armor, which meant she was as well as, if not more heavily armored than the rest of the Ghosts. “Change of plans!” she announced in a defiant tone of voice. She gave the Ghosts a cold gaze, before pushing right past Jameson. She all but shoved him out of the way as she took over the console attached to the hole monitor. “We’re dropping in now.” she explained, changing the image on the monitor to display a birds eye view summary of the situation.
“As you can see, one of the Wayward Wanderer’s Clarion Reconnaissance Probes has detected a Covenant patrol. This patrol has already fanned out from their Type-52 troop carrier, and are actively searching the area for an entrance into the Asgard facility.” She looked to the Master Gunnery Sergeant with a cold authority, then back to the others.
“Why would the Covenant be interested in an abandoned ONI Research Facility?” asked Sergeant Danforth as he stepped forward to examine the display.
“I’d say that’s a damn good question. Commander, care to elaborate?” Jameson was pressing, and his own tone was equally as cold as the one she afforded him. He wanted the details of their mission, now. He’d been pressing the spook ever since she’d come aboard the Wanderer, and had almost crossed the line of insubordination in doing so. But as she glared at him with her piercing blue eyes, he didn’t back down, offering his own glare back.
Finally relenting, Commander Aldridge rolled her eyes dismissively. “Fine.” She said simply, looking to the Detachment. “Two years ago, Allure Colony was attacked and obliterated by the Covenant in such a surprise manner that the Office of Naval Intelligence launched an investigation into the attack. They discovered that the Colony’s location had been revealed to the Covenant by an inside source.”
Raising his attention from the deck plating, Lance Corporal Croft pushed off from against the wall he’d been leant up against, and stepped forward to offer up his full attention.
“This inside source was believed to be a rogue AI, named Loki, operating from within the ONI Research and Development facility on Solace Colony. However, before ONI operatives could move on Asgard Base and destroy Loki, he again contacted the Covenant, who came to Solace, and obliterated it. It was believed at the time, that Loki had been destroyed along with the rest of Solace Colony in the attack, so the matter was declared closed.”
“But…” Jameson offered up as an attempt to keep the details coming.
Grinning sarcastically in response to Jameson’s verbal jab, Aldridge resumed. “But our assumption that Loki had been destroyed, appears to have been in error. Two weeks ago, ONI deep space communications buoys intercepted a message that was sent from Solace, directed to the Covenant. That message, once decrypted and translated, read simply; come and get me. We now believe that it was Loki that sent this message, and that he is offering to defect to the Covenant.”
“Now, are your curiosities satiated? Can we drop before the Covenant discover the entrance to the facility, and take up Loki’s offer? Or shall we continue this little pow-wow?” her snide remarks were directed to Sergeant Jameson, whom obviously gotten under her skin over the last few days. When Jameson simply returned an equally shit-eating grin, Aldridge’s own grin disappeared, and she pushed past him again. She left the staging area, and the Marines behind.
Shaking his head in amusement, Captain Ramsey waited until the hatchway had closed behind Aldridge to speak. “Right; you’ll be drop podding into Solace City, the epicenter of the Colony, and due to high atmospheric wind, we can’t guarantee the position of your drops. You’ll have to re-group once you’ve landed. Your rallying point will be the burned out ruins of the City Hall.”
Stepping forward Commander Campbell gracefully approached the monitor, pointing out the location of the City Hall on the map. “Now, you’re going to have to fight your way there. The Covenant Phantom has already deployed a number of Covenant troops in the area. From what we can tell, they’re made up mostly of standard Grunts, supported in the form of Jackals, and are lead by a small number of Elites.”
“The Wanderer will remain in high orbit to provide cover, as well as jam any communications from the Phantom. Now, in the event of a full scale Covenant incursion, your standing orders are to evac immediately; but failing that, dig in deep, and wait for rescue.” Though meant to reassure Ghost, they all knew that if a full scale Covenant incursion happened, there was no way they were making it back to the Wanderer. That was the life of an ODST, never any guarantee that they’d make it back from hell, after they plunge feet first into it.
Commander Campbell looked at the timer on the screen, then continued. “Once you’ve secured the area, and eliminated the Covenant patrols, we’ll send down a Pelican dropship to serve as your exfiltration vehicle. Any questions?”
“No ma’am.” acknowledged Sergeant Jameson as he nodded to Commander Campbell, who returned the simple gesture and bowed out of the staging area.
“Good hunting!” Captain Ramsey offered his token good graces before he followed suit, making his way to the bridge of the Wanderer. It was getting close to time to commence operations.
“Alright, we have our orders. Make sure you uploaded the layout of the City to your personal data lace before heading to your drop pods. Remember what I said, trust your fellow Marine, and we’ll get this done. Move out!” he instructed, effectively dismissing his men as he went over to his locker, and retrieved his customized BR55HB SR Battle Rifle, lingering about the staging area in case anyone had any concerns they needed addressed before heading to their drop pods.
23 August, 2550
Marine Operations Staging Area
Having left behind the inquisitive and chatty replacements, Lance Corporal Croft began to make his way down to the other end of the staging area. Marine ODST armor was cumbersome, but not to the point of limited mobility, and even a man as big as Croft managed to nimble his way around his fellows as he moved. He kept his M45E slung over his shoulder, stopping a moment to give an impressed nod to Corporal McCoy in regards to the latest addition to his already impressive armament. “Nice.” He remarked as he slipped past.
At the other end of the staging area, Sergeant Danforth hefted his old faithful MA5B Assault Rifle, taking a moment to admire each of the scars it’d gathered since he’d first been issued it. Molly he’d named it when he was a kid, something Sergeant Leonid had discovered, and hadn’t let up on harassing him about since. Retrieving a thirty-two round box magazine from one of his ammunition pouches, he slid it into the receiver, pulled back the charging lever, and loaded a round into the chamber.
He then turned to leave his locker, headed over to join the mad Russian as he was again starting up some form of debate with one of the new recruits. But as he made a step, he overheard a comment made by Corporal Davis, and stopped in his tracks when it sent his blood boiling. Shaking his head, he made a hastened approach for the Corporal, grabbing him by his arm to lead him away from the others. When he was sure no one else could hear, he looked into the Corporal’s face.
“Drop that shit, right now!” he declared with an all too obvious fire in his tone. “Those kids might not be mustard yet, but at one point neither was I, and neither were you.” Taking a moment to look around again, Danforth took a deep calming breath. “Listen, those kids don’t need to hear that crap. None of us do for that matter. Cracking jokes like that a few moments before we drop is just stupid. Think, man! You’re better than that Wyatt. Act like it.” He punched him in the shoulder, then stepped away without another word.
Stepping into the staging area through the hatchway that lead into the attached hangar, Jameson stopped to take a moment and admire the state of his Detachment. He’d been a part of Ghost for a decade, and in that time he’d seen his fair share of Marines come and go. But he was certain that the core of this group was the best he’d had yet. Sure there were some new faces that hadn’t necessarily walked the walk just yet, but he was confident in all of them, even the newbies.
“Listen up!” he announced, getting everyone’s attention. When he was sure he had it, he stepped to the right of the hatchway and approached a six foot hole monitor. “I don’t know all of the specifics of our Op; we’ll have to wait for our esteemed ONI operative to fill those in, but I can at least give you a run down of what I do know.” He explained, pressing a key on the console attached to the monitor, which flickered to life.
“Omega Titanius III, or Solace Colony, if you prefer. About a year ago this place was blasted to shit by the Covenant.” He paused, looking at the monitor. “Underneath of Solace Colony was an Office of Naval Intelligence Research and Development Facility, codenamed Asgard Base. Now, this facility was believed to have been destroyed in the Covenant attack, but evidently it wasn’t.” He paused again, and looked to them.
“That’s where we come in. We’ll be going down to the planet in the new D-79 Pelican we’ve been allocated, where we’ll make our way into the facility. Once inside, we’ll set a nuke, then exfiltrate back to the surface, and return to the Wanderer before it detonates. Expected resistance, if any, is to be light, but as we’re technically in Covenant controlled space, we’re not taking any chances. We lost six people in our last operation, and I…”
Jameson struggled as he tried to find the right words to express his frustrations regarding their last operation, but instead he shook his head, and returned his attention to the monitor. “To destroy the facility, we’ll be making use of a HAVOK Class Tactical Nuclear Weapon… Sergeant Leonid is on said detail.”
“Da.” Commented the mad Russian, who proceeded to sneeze loudly, and without even attempting to cover his nostrils, resulting in his sputum being launched carelessly off into the recesses of their staging area. After snorting loudly, he noticed the glares of everyone, and shook his head. “Keep inside, is keep sick!” he explained defensively before shaking his head in an aggravated manner, cursing under his breath in his native tongue.
“Now, we have some new people with us; they’re not green, but they’re not yet Ghosts either. I don’t give a shit what your feelings are about them, look after them, and guide them. We were all newbies once, and we all had someone to look out for us at the beginning. So I expect the same.” Jameson glanced confidently at all of the more senior members of the Detachment. It was clear he had no desire to see another six of his Marines KIA, and he trusted that his people would do their best.
“To you new people, just keep your wits about you, and keep your weapon level. You’ve been trained for this; trust in that training, and trust in your fellow Ghosts. You’ll do fine.” His attention went to them this time, but he didn’t feel the same confidence in them as he did the others. Only one of them had the mettle that Jameson looked for when he had to find replacements, the rest were forced on him by MARSOC. He believed in their bravery, just not their experience.
“Alright, now that we’ve got our objectives…” he said, checking the time on the monitor. It was obvious to the Ghosts that he was aggravated that Commander Aldridge still hadn’t arrived to give them the details she’d promised. He thought about comming her, but before he could activate the system, the hatchway opened, and she stepped through, along with Captain Ramsey and XO Campbell.
Aldridge was suited in a new ONI Infiltrator variant of ODST armor, which meant she was as well as, if not more heavily armored than the rest of the Ghosts. “Change of plans!” she announced in a defiant tone of voice. She gave the Ghosts a cold gaze, before pushing right past Jameson. She all but shoved him out of the way as she took over the console attached to the hole monitor. “We’re dropping in now.” she explained, changing the image on the monitor to display a birds eye view summary of the situation.
“As you can see, one of the Wayward Wanderer’s Clarion Reconnaissance Probes has detected a Covenant patrol. This patrol has already fanned out from their Type-52 troop carrier, and are actively searching the area for an entrance into the Asgard facility.” She looked to the Master Gunnery Sergeant with a cold authority, then back to the others.
“Why would the Covenant be interested in an abandoned ONI Research Facility?” asked Sergeant Danforth as he stepped forward to examine the display.
“I’d say that’s a damn good question. Commander, care to elaborate?” Jameson was pressing, and his own tone was equally as cold as the one she afforded him. He wanted the details of their mission, now. He’d been pressing the spook ever since she’d come aboard the Wanderer, and had almost crossed the line of insubordination in doing so. But as she glared at him with her piercing blue eyes, he didn’t back down, offering his own glare back.
Finally relenting, Commander Aldridge rolled her eyes dismissively. “Fine.” She said simply, looking to the Detachment. “Two years ago, Allure Colony was attacked and obliterated by the Covenant in such a surprise manner that the Office of Naval Intelligence launched an investigation into the attack. They discovered that the Colony’s location had been revealed to the Covenant by an inside source.”
Raising his attention from the deck plating, Lance Corporal Croft pushed off from against the wall he’d been leant up against, and stepped forward to offer up his full attention.
“This inside source was believed to be a rogue AI, named Loki, operating from within the ONI Research and Development facility on Solace Colony. However, before ONI operatives could move on Asgard Base and destroy Loki, he again contacted the Covenant, who came to Solace, and obliterated it. It was believed at the time, that Loki had been destroyed along with the rest of Solace Colony in the attack, so the matter was declared closed.”
“But…” Jameson offered up as an attempt to keep the details coming.
Grinning sarcastically in response to Jameson’s verbal jab, Aldridge resumed. “But our assumption that Loki had been destroyed, appears to have been in error. Two weeks ago, ONI deep space communications buoys intercepted a message that was sent from Solace, directed to the Covenant. That message, once decrypted and translated, read simply; come and get me. We now believe that it was Loki that sent this message, and that he is offering to defect to the Covenant.”
“Now, are your curiosities satiated? Can we drop before the Covenant discover the entrance to the facility, and take up Loki’s offer? Or shall we continue this little pow-wow?” her snide remarks were directed to Sergeant Jameson, whom obviously gotten under her skin over the last few days. When Jameson simply returned an equally shit-eating grin, Aldridge’s own grin disappeared, and she pushed past him again. She left the staging area, and the Marines behind.
Shaking his head in amusement, Captain Ramsey waited until the hatchway had closed behind Aldridge to speak. “Right; you’ll be drop podding into Solace City, the epicenter of the Colony, and due to high atmospheric wind, we can’t guarantee the position of your drops. You’ll have to re-group once you’ve landed. Your rallying point will be the burned out ruins of the City Hall.”
Stepping forward Commander Campbell gracefully approached the monitor, pointing out the location of the City Hall on the map. “Now, you’re going to have to fight your way there. The Covenant Phantom has already deployed a number of Covenant troops in the area. From what we can tell, they’re made up mostly of standard Grunts, supported in the form of Jackals, and are lead by a small number of Elites.”
“The Wanderer will remain in high orbit to provide cover, as well as jam any communications from the Phantom. Now, in the event of a full scale Covenant incursion, your standing orders are to evac immediately; but failing that, dig in deep, and wait for rescue.” Though meant to reassure Ghost, they all knew that if a full scale Covenant incursion happened, there was no way they were making it back to the Wanderer. That was the life of an ODST, never any guarantee that they’d make it back from hell, after they plunge feet first into it.
Commander Campbell looked at the timer on the screen, then continued. “Once you’ve secured the area, and eliminated the Covenant patrols, we’ll send down a Pelican dropship to serve as your exfiltration vehicle. Any questions?”
“No ma’am.” acknowledged Sergeant Jameson as he nodded to Commander Campbell, who returned the simple gesture and bowed out of the staging area.
“Good hunting!” Captain Ramsey offered his token good graces before he followed suit, making his way to the bridge of the Wanderer. It was getting close to time to commence operations.
“Alright, we have our orders. Make sure you uploaded the layout of the City to your personal data lace before heading to your drop pods. Remember what I said, trust your fellow Marine, and we’ll get this done. Move out!” he instructed, effectively dismissing his men as he went over to his locker, and retrieved his customized BR55HB SR Battle Rifle, lingering about the staging area in case anyone had any concerns they needed addressed before heading to their drop pods.
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