ATTENTION: Master Gunnery Sergeant Robert Jameson, Detachment Leader, Marine Special Operations Detachment Ghost
CONTENTS: Response from MARSOC Requisitions &Assignments Department
PRIORITY LEVEL: 2-Non Priority-No Special Instructions
DATED: 09:15-20-08-2550


- - -

ATTENTION: Captain Markus Ramsey, Commanding Officer, UNSC Wayward Wander
CONTENTS: Mission Briefing
PRIORITY LEVEL: 1-Eyes Only-Destroy After Reading
DATED: 08:00-21-08-2550


- - -

ATTENTION: Master Gunnery Sergeant Robert Jameson, Detachment Leader, Marine Special Operations Detachment Ghost
CONTENTS: Mission Briefing
PRIORITY LEVEL: 1-Eyes Only-Destroy After Reading
DATED: 08:00-21-08-2550


- - - - -

UNSC Wayward Wanderer



- - -

23:20 Hours
22 August, 2550
Personal bunk room of Master Gunnery Sergeant Jameson

Sitting quietly in his bunk with his back against the wall, Jameson looked up to the grated steel ceiling above him, a datapad resting beside him with the contents of a message from MARSOC still open. His requests for additional Marines with experience was declined, and he was stuck with the replacements MARSOC had assigned him after Ghost’s last operation. With a deep sigh he reached down to grasp a short steel tumbler that had been placed carefully at the foot of his bunk. He brought the tumbler to his lips and took a deep sip of the old Irish Whiskey that he’d poured himself.

“Assholes.” He said to himself in reference to the message, shaking his head.

Jameson’s bunk room was one of only four solo units that had been afforded to Ghost Detachment when they came aboard the Wayward Wanderer some six or so years earlier. Of the other three solo bunk rooms, one was afforded to Gunnery Sergeant Mullan, one to Staff Sergeant Archer, and the last to Sergeant Hendry. The rest of the Detachment shared one large common bunk room, that while spacious, offered little in terms of privacy. The only thing his bunk room offered was a place to sleep, and privacy.

Though this small closet space of a room was his, you’d have been hard pressed to notice, save for a single old photo of him and his father. He had no intention of finding comfort in this small room; to him, home was Reach, and that would be the only place he’d ever truly find comfortable. He missed his home, the old wooden cabin his father had built attached to a small lake, where he would spend long summer day’s fishing. He missed his father even. Taking another sip of his whiskey, he pushed the thoughts of home from his mind. Now wasn’t the time to reminisce.

He set the tumbler back down, and picked the small data pad up again, switching to the after action report of Ghost’s last operation. They’d been ordered to secure a remote comm relay station located on a barren world near the edge of UNSC space, and though the insertion was smooth, the rest of the operation was one big clusterfuck. The relay station was badly out of sorts, and the engineers that ONI had sent to repair it were woefully under prepared. What was supposed to be a quick two day baby sitting job, turned into a two week long ordeal that saw a dozen or so Covenant attempts to take control of the facility. In the end, ONI decided to abandon the relay station, and pulled Ghost out.

“But what the hell, right? We only lost six men.” He blurted out aloud as he read the report.

In his mind he went over the names of the six that had died; Corporal Jacob Yeager, Corporal Adam Faulk, Lance Corporal Joseph Reid, Lance Corporal Regina Watts, and Private First Class Thomas Ryan. He remembered each of their faces, their voices, and who they were. Shaking his head, he scrolled down to see the names that MARSOC had assigned as their replacements. Only Lance Corporals Sanders and Donovan had seen any real combat, the other four were all still green. They’d seen some action, but nothing like what Ghost dealt with regularly.

As he returned to the message from MARSOC, he scoffed dismissively and threw the pad against the wall in anger. He then laid down against his bunk, trying desperately to convince himself to forget his life for just a moment.

- - -

03:25 Hours
23 August, 2550
Bridge of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer

Permeating the small bridge of the UNSC Wayward Wander was ever present light hum of electricity running through the consoles that were littered about. The small twenty six year-old Mako-Class Corvette was in mid-slipspace travel, and beyond the large viewport windows was nothing but blackness. Standing atop his podium like holo-emitter was the green glowing visage of Oberon, the ship’s AI, his image displayed atop a holo emitter just to the starboard of the Captain’s perch that overlooked the fore control stations.

“Captain, the time is 03:25. We will be dropping out of slipspace in approximately thirty minutes.” Spoke the AI as he turned about on his podium to address Captain Markus Ramsey, the commanding officer of the Wayward Wanderer, who’d just stepped onto the Bridge from the aft access corridor. “Should I raise the crew to alert status?” he continued, his ethereal voice was soft, though the trace tone of it’s digital origin was clear.

Approaching the Captain’s perch, Ramsey stopped a moment as he stared into the darkness of slipspace, then nodded firmly. “Do it.” A moment later, the alarm claxons of the ship began to sound, alerting the crew to be ready for their re-entry into normal space, and to man their stations.

The journey from the Indus Corus System to the Omega Titanius System was long, but not long enough; Solace Colony, which had been located on Omega Titanius III was an inner colony, and it’s obliteration by Covenant a year earlier had warranted the concern of everyone. It had been attacked so suddenly, that no one had managed to escape from the destruction wrought by the Covenant.

“Captain.” Announced Commander Alyssa Campbell as she entered the Bridge from the aft access corridor, fighting off the urge to yawn as she’d only just awaken from her slumber by the obnoxious sound of claxons. She stopped beside Captain Ramsey looking off into the dark void beyond the viewports as she blinked any lingering desires to sleep. She then turned her attention Oberon’s holo image. “ETA?” she asked.

“Twenty-six minutes, twelve seconds.” He replied instantaneously, his attention now entirely focused on the task of coordinating the Wayward Wanderer’s exit from slipspace. As a few crewmen began to enter from the aft of the bridge, moving about to take their stations, Oberon spoke again. “I’ve raised both Commander Aldridge and Master Gunnery Sergeant Jameson, they should be here momentarily.”

Ramsey nodded curtly to the AI.

- - -

03:29 Hours
23 August, 2550
Marine Operations Staging Area

“No! You hev’to listen to me, mmmh?” declared the resident mad Russian of Ghost Detachment, Sergeant Mikhail Leonid. He barely spoke English, but oh how he loved to debate the finer points of Russian culture with his English speaking squad mates. He pointed accusingly at Sergeant Terry Danforth, who simply shook his head in amusement. “Vodka is as vital to sanity, as rifle is to Marine, yes?” he held out his hands, waiting for a reply.

“Sure thing Mick, whatever you say!” Danforth laughed as he reached for his combat knife, and sheathed it just over the left side of his chest plate.

The members of Ghost Detachment were all gathered in the cramped staging area that connected to the hangar bay of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer. About an hour earlier, they were roused from their slumber to begin preparations for insertion, and now as the claxons rang overhead, warning of their imminent re-entry into normal space, it was almost go time. Yet despite how quickly deployment approached, Master Gunner Sergeant still hadn’t met with them for briefing.

The still as yet to be revealed reason for this assignment was a popular subject among the Marines as they suited up. In the far corner of the staging area, Lance Corporal Croft began loading a few buckshot shells into his M45E, as a few of the new replacements tried to chat him up. “I just don’t get it.” Announced Private First Class Joseph April as he looked to Private First Class Thomas Truman. “Where is here? Why are we here?” he poised the questions, his attention turning to Croft, who didn’t say a word, instead he pumped his Shotgun once to load a shell into the chamber.

“Hey, relax. When we’re supposed to know, we’ll know. It’s that simple.” Replied Private First Class Wiley as he approached, his MA5C slung over his shoulder, and his helmet in his gloved hand. “Besides, it’s not like it really makes any difference. Go here, kill this group of Covies. Go there, kill that group.” He grinned a toothy grin, and looked to Croft, patting him on his shoulder. “You know what I’m talking about!”

Croft again didn’t speak, he glanced at his shoulder, then back to Wiley. Wiley’s grin disappeared, and he swallowed audibly as Croft brushed past him, leaving the replacements to themselves. He had no desire to entertain the concerns of some new guy that he neither knew, nor wanted to get to know.

“What, is there something in my teeth?” Wiley joked as he looked back to Truman and April with a grin. “So, anyway… you guys heard the one about the Priest, the Rabbi, and the Prophet?”

- - -

03:50 Hours
23 August, 2550
Bridge of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer

At the aft end of the bridge of the Wayward Wanderer, a small hatchway opened to the sound of a loud metallic thud through which the slender form of Commander Samantha Aldridge stepped through. She bore a of suspicion, doubt, and arrogance; all staple traits of ONI Section-III Field Operatives. Her untrusting blue eyes scanned the small bridge a moment as if she were looking for an ambush of some kind. She then carefully made her way forward, approaching Captain Ramsey and Commander Campbell as they discussed something.

“Commander.” Captain Ramsey greeted her as she approached. Commander Campbell though, simply nodded.

“Where’s Sergeant Jameson?” Aldridge asked simply, foregoing any form of repaid pleasantries.

A few strides behind the Commander was Master Gunner Sergeant Jameson, already suited into his ODST armor, save for his helmet. He knew many of the crewmembers of the UNSC Wayward Wanderer, and had grown to be somewhat friendly with them over the last six years. As he approached Ramsey, Campbell, and Aldridge, he nodded to a few of the crewmen that looked in his direction.

“Sergeant.” Captain Ramsey greeted him in a similar fashion as Aldridge, though his misdemeanor was far more pleasant for the Ghost Detachment leader. The two had shared quite a few bottles of whiskey over the last two years that he’d been assigned as commanding officer of the Wanderer. “We’re ju-“

“We’re dropping out of slipspace, are your men ready?” interrupted Aldridge.

Jameson already didn’t trust the ONI spook, and the way she showed little to no regard to Captain Ramsey only served to turn that mistrust into a dislike. He examined her a moment before answering with an amused though exhausted tone of voice “Ghost is readying as we speak, Commander.”

“Good. We brief in five minutes. That will be all.” Aldridge turned her attention back to the darkness of the viewports, noting a countdown clock on one of the monitors that read ‘ETA 0:00:35’.

To that Jameson raised an eyebrow, looking to Captain Ramsey who could only shrug. “Right…” he said simply, turning about to walk back toward the aft of the Bridge. As he climbed through the hatchway, he made for the gangway, and began climbing down the five decks that lead to the staging area, where Ghost was gearing up.

“Ten seconds.” Announced Oberon, alerting everyone aboard the bridge that normal space re-entry was just ten seconds away. The bridge crew looked on in concerned anticipation while Captain Ramsey, Commander Campbell, and Commander Aldridge all stepped over to peer down from the Captain’s perch. Everyone was wondering if the Covenant were still active in the region, despite having obliterated all of the UEG Colonies within it.

“Four… Three… Two…” counted Oberon as the ship suddenly decelerated from slipspace speeds, the universe red-shifting back into the visible spectrum beyond the view ports. In the distance, the giant twin glowing white stars of the Omega Titanius System swirled around each other in an infinite dance. At this range the stars were each roughly the size of a golf ball, but they shined with an incredible brilliance that blotted out everything else of relevance in the system. In fact, the Bridge that had been rather dimly lit was now a blaze with bright sunlight. To combat this however, Oberon polarized the viewports to their maximum setting.

Captain Ramsey squinted his eyes as he looked into the distant space of the System through the viewport, hoping there wasn’t some form of Covenant armada out there waiting for them. Commander Campbell turned about on her heel, and approached a control station, checking the shipboard LIDAR and Spectroscopes herself. “Are we clear?” Ramsey asked, turning to look to Campbell.

“It appears so, Sir.” Campbell answered, feeling her own sense of relief that the Covenant weren’t in the system.

“Good. Take us into High Orbit around Omega Titanius III.” ordered Commander Aldridge before the Captain could reply. Without so much as another sound, the ONI officer strode back toward the aft hatchway of the Bridge. She exited, then made her way down the five decks, headed for the staging area, where she would brief Ghost Detachment.

Marine operations staging area, 03:29

The Staff Sergeant scanned the replacements slowly, as if sizing them up. He'd read their files; they weren't exactly experienced enough to be dealing with this. He certainly wouldn't have expected them to be with GHOST and suspected they weren't the replacements Jameson had his eyes on. How could command be concerned when people died if they were going to give them people who weren't ready for GHOSTs work?

And was there some rule that there has to be one wisecracking private with every group? If Wiley was going to keep this up, he might as well forget about the Covenant because he's shoot the private himself to get some quiet. He shook his head slowly, and loaded his rifle, checking it's sights before slinging it over his shoulders. He glanced around the room, checking for Jameson again. No where to be found. He frowned as he took his submachine gun from the crate. This was odd, he had expected at least some form of briefing by now, they were running out of time considering they were all ready to go. To say it was unnerving would be to go too far, but it wasn't comforting. What god forsaken op had they been roped into now?

As harsh as he was being on him, PFC Wiley did have a point. They would be told when they needed to be told... but still, he would have prefered some information over silence, even if it was just confirming what they were here for and nothing more. It didn't sit right that they were not going to get any information on this, what could possibly be taking Jameson so long?
"Privates, you'll learn when the time comes. Wiley, Shut up." He said bluntly, loading his submachine gun before slinging it. He pulled his helmet on over his head, and the visor changed to its opaque variation. He glanced around the room... Still no Jameson. He proceeded away from the replacements, seeing little reason in hanging around if Wiley was going to spout jokes about Rabbi's, priests and prophets. He didn't want his intelligence to be insulted by whatever Wiley considered humour

He took out his tac pad and turned it on, tapping a few commands and getting their location. So they had arrived... But what could be out here? The colony had been destroyed a year ago, and surely there was nothing left worth coming back for?
This didn't sit right, there was certainly more to it than met the eye, and considering that most of it was covered in a black sheet right now, he wondered how big this would actually get. Hopefully they wouldn't see too much trouble out here, he couldn't see why the covies would stay around a destroyed human planet, that wouldn't be their usual behavior. Maybe it was insurrectionists? They might have made a base among the ruins, but why the secrecy in that case?
He guessed it would all come out in the briefing, but he smelled trouble all over this. It seemed too strange there not to be

Marine Operations Staging Area, 03:29

The 1st squad supports-man looked over at the recruits, chuckling when he sees their fearful expressions turned toward the staff sergeant of his squad goes over to them, putting them in line. Sometimes he wondered if his own father would be intimidated by Archer, daddy was one mean son of a bitch they'll tell you. Right before the closed coffin they had to put his pieces in, he left quite the bit of scars on that Guta, the bowie knife having dried blood on it along with a couple pieces of flesh when given to the eight year old McCoy.

He frowned at that thought, quickly shaking his head to pull his head out of his ass as he looked down at his helmet that he held in his hands with his father's old knife sheathed in the holster on the right side of his chest, along with the newest attachment his wife sent him in his boot, a short blade machete to get him out of a malfunctioning jet pack. Thing had a square shape, the blade a titanium carbide ten-inch chopper style. Apparently some new recruits into the special ops were doing a training excise, one of them getting cocky and flying into some tree line, where a stray branch got into one of the thrusters, the trooper panicking and leaving behind a nice size crater.

Gatling smiled slightly at the paranoia his wife had for him, making mental note to send his wife something in return, lord knows the woman deserved it other than their usual video call, along with the occasional nudity pic he would send her through tac pad, with him doing the same. He shook his head of such thoughts immediately, blue balls the very last thing he needed right now. To preoccupy himself he slung his M738 and M319 over his shoulders, his helmet being held in his arm as he walked over to make sure he got his ammo and frags.

He quickly stood up to make his way to the loading bench, seeing Ready already making rounds to it as he walked beside him, the men exchanging nods in a silent greeting before going back to collecting their clips, Gatling having set his helmet on the bench as he loaded up is clips for his SAW and grenade launcher. He took a peak over at Ready's hair, furrowing his eyebrows as he has been secretly wondering if the two had the same hairstyle and beard/mustache combo, with Ready's being thicker.

Mark lied on his bed, with his leg's kicked up he supported his data-pad. Looking through old messages from back home, mainly from his brother and sister who were currently living with their Aunt. He missed being back home, he wished this war could of never started. Everyone would still be alive, he'd still be waking up in the morning excited for what was next, not terrified of dying or losing friends in the next mission. He knew the next mission wasn't going to be nice either, he hadn't really paid much attention to the briefings but he did know Ghost had gained a number of new recruits, those who had barely seen combat and would more than likely be dead within the first few hours of the mission. You could tell they were new to the fighting, especially with one who was constantly trying to crack jokes with the others. They'd be more serious if they had truly been exposed to what the war shown them.

This was a war where many Spartans had already been lost, what chance do fresh recruits have? Or even Professional ODSTs for that matter? He though back to the old saying of "A Spartan never dies, they just go missing in action". If he only ODSTs worked that way, then at least he could rest a bit more easy knowing most of his friends were going simply being sent to their deaths sooner or later. As his was lying there he felt his stomach growl a bit, with a grin he decided it was probably time to eat something and went to see what food would be left lying around at the cafe. Ultimately he just ended up getting a standard ham and cheese sand which and took it back to his room to eat, he didn't much care to see anyone else at the moment. It seemed odd though that Mark was the one who was so worried about the price of war, and the recruits dying considering he is the youngest member of Ghost. Perhaps he was just shaken by having been present in a invasion back when he was a civilian. But surely, most ODSTs should relate? Many would of joined for similar reasons, or maybe they did relate. Mark wouldn't of known, he has barely gotten to know his squad members in his time being here.

The Wanderer didn't have many spaces where an ODST could come and just be alone. Only a few of the officers had their own rooms, the rest had to make do with a cramped and smelly dorm which reminded Taliga Laurent more of boarding school than elite shock troop accommodation. She hadn't had real chances to get acquainted with any of the other soldiers either so she decided to entertain herself instead. She took her holopad to the Wanderer's little armory and grabbing her own personal weapon, settled down on a box outside it to check up on news from home and clean her sniper rifle. Sitting the fine weapon on her lap, she pulled a tiny automaton out of her pocket. Spherical in shape, it had an array of minuscule brushes and other instruments which it had been programmed to use with surgical precision. Opening her rifle's breech, Tali popped it inside and slowly took the rifle to pieces with it inside; allowing it access to all areas. Tali heard the satisfying whir as it cleaned and inspected all the components, matching it to the 100% efficiency model in it's memory banks.

While her bot went about its business, Tali turned her holo-pad on. It gave a cheerful ping and led her to the Hub, which showed her all the content she could ever need. News, lectures by eminent scholars and tacticians as they analyzed the war's progress, correspondence from friends and family. A video recording from her family on Reach popped up; Tali activated it immediately, looking around her surreptitiously before turning the volume up. The pad was taken up by a crystal clear picture of her Mother and Father. Tali loved their weekly offerings, they were usually a montage of them bickering in the most amusing way. They helped to keep her sane on the long spells of travel and garrison which kept them apart nowadays and Tali had often told them so. After imparting several tidbits of gossip and news from their hometown, they instructed her (as they always did) to message back right away. Seeing as she hadn't sent them a reply for over a month, Tali decided to turn on the camera and issue a message of her own.

As the red light blinked on, she smiled her brightest smile and tucked a curl of browny blond hair behind her ear. "Hey mom, hey dad. I hope you're okay. You do make me laugh, never stop making these videos but be aware i'm recording all of them." She smiled again and wondered what to say. "Something is happening. We've been deployed somewhere and we haven't been told what's going on. It scares me but at the same time, i'm ready y'know? It's this waiting that kills me." Tali found she had nothing more to say so she ended the recording and sent it whizzing on its way back to Reach. She read a few articles of news but they weren't sinking in so she turned her Pad off and focused on her rifle. After a few contemplative moments of silence she was brought back to reality when her bot flew out her gun and back into her hand. In a surprisingly clear voice it chimed. "Cleaning and inspection complete. 99.4% efficiency. Do you want my suggestions for improvement?" Tali shook her head no before kissing the tiny machine and tucking it back in her pocket.

Ghost Bunk Hall 0329 hours

Lance Brewer sat there in his bunk taking in his surroundings looking at the other fresh faced recruits to ghost detachment wondering if he's going to bite it in this squad, he would often smile at the recruits as they passed by a small courtesy considering these are about to be his brothers and sisters in arms he thought about getting in contact with his sister but there was absolutely no privacy in this place so he settled for wandering around the hallways.

UNSC Wayward Wanderer Hallways.
330 hours
Brewer hopped out of his bunk and tried to angle his landing properly so a loud thud didn't register throughout the room he opened the door and walked out into the quiet hallways, taking in all the crew members scurrying back and forth and the cliques that were set into place "Just like school." He mumbled to himself and moved on taking in all the locations on the ship first he located where the marines would be meeting he took in the room and quietly in his mind marked places where he could be alone, after all of that he turned and walked out of the room. back into the hallways.

UNSC Wayward Wanderer Hallways.
342 hours
Brewer was lost he hated ships everything looked the same there were no landmarks nothing that stood out and they were all claustrophobic inducing death traps after what seems to be an eternity of asking where he was and not getting answers he gave up and leaned against the wall and took in all the events feeling naked without his Data Pad he just gave up. "We've gone a long way to rely on technology so much." he said to himself and chuckled a joke that only he had heard and made the crew members scurry past him "Just another crazy ODST" they'd say to each other and he laughed at them too.

//Play saved Voice Message A0138? *click* loading…

E. Golovkin said

“Hey, dad… You haven’t messaged me in a while. I hope everything’s ok…Friggin thanks for the present, dad! It’s the best birthday gift ever! I did like you said and (imitates Robert’s gruff voice) ‘intercept the package before mom gets home.’ *He laughs* When I opened it, one of the arrow tips were already broken, but I think I can fix it.”

*There is a moment of silence. The sound of two arguing adults can be heard in the background. Elijah speaks more softly now…*

“Gotta send this soon…Hey, we haven’t gone camping in a long time. Maybe when you get back? I heard they’re opening the reserve again. Don’t worry. When I’m a pro master with this bow, I’ll teach you how to use it! *Elijah laughs mischievously*. And dad… thanks for the letter. Your handwriting is really cruddy, but I read it…Miss you. There’s something I gotta tell you-“

*Sound of knocking on a door is heard followed by ‘Elijah?! Who are you talking to?’*

“What? Nobody is talking, mom. I think you’re hearing ghosts in your head again.”

*‘You think that’s funny, Elijah? Let me in right this instant you little shit!’*

“Gotta go dad! Love ya!”

//Message Ended.

---

Robert Golovkin was already up before the wakeup call, and the first one at the staging area when the alarm claxons went off. By the time his squad mates trickled into the small enclosure, he was already suited up, leaning next to the passageway door of the hangar bay. This isn’t a rare occurrence for the Sergeant, whose knack for preparation comes second nature. Since his marine days in Charlie Company, Golovkin was always the first one out the gate, locked and loaded. The nickname he was given, Ready, stuck with him ever since. The Sergeant doesn’t mind it, rather, he sees the title as a form of motivation. The day Robert stops living up to that name is the day they scoop up his tags from his corpse, and he’s not looking to let that happen anytime soon.

For the duration of Ghost Detachment’s arrival and prep, Ready said nothing. His body language suggested an indifference that matched that of a blue collar worker waiting to start his shift. No snide remark for the greenhorns. No chest puffing rouser to boost comradery. Robert didn’t feel obliged to do any of those things. As many of his squad mates quickly learned, the Sergeant wasn’t one for gloating; he preferred to let his actions speak for himself - out there on the field, where it mattered. He’d say the romanticism about glory and honor on the battlefield was pillow talk for civies and armchair militiamen. A way to get free drinks and a quick screw. But who was he to talk about theatricality with a sanghelli skull attached to his shoulder, and a necklace of jackal beaks tied around his neck?

He’d say that he doesn’t wear them for kicks, or for sport like game trophies to try and impress you. He’d say they aren't for you at all. Those dead covie bones serve as a message to those that glass planets and mows down innocent people, and that message is simple: We’ve killed some too, and we're coming for the rest of you.

The names and faces of the six ODSTs that were KIA came to mind, and the weight of those covenant bones suddenly felt heavier.

23:45 Hours
22 August, 2550
Private bunk room of Gunnery Sargent Amber Mullan.

Amber laid on the small bed of her private bunk, she was glad to have a room to herself though she liked to socialize with the rest of GHOST this mission made her nervous however not knowing where they were going. The woman looked through the small viewport and saw nothing but the blackness of slipspace Amber started to think of her home Arcadia trying to wonder what her family was like, all she remembered was being taken from her home as a child and took into the SPARTAN II Program and spent years being trained to be a soldier. Then going through the augmentation which caused her to washout, and spent a long time in recovery and physical therapy she was told never to mention it to anyone and most of the other Spartans thought she had died, then the claxons started to go off.

They were going to be jumping out of slipspace soon, Amber grabbed her armor that was neatly set on the trunk of her bed Amber started to put on each piece on until she was completely covered in her combat armor. Amber made one last check on her tactical pad strapped to her forearm running a diagnostic to make sure that it was in working order, she left her bunk carrying her helmet under her arm. On her way to the Staging area the blonde spotted Brewer standing in the middle of the hallway looking like he was a deer caught in headlights. "Lost corporal?" Amber stopped looking at him for a moment and motioned for him to follow her. "Follow me, the staging area isn't to far off." She had the schematic of the Wayward Wanderer in her datapad and knew where to go and brought it up on the small holo projector a 3D image of the ship appeared showing where they were.

"It's just down here." Amber announced there was a ladder leading down four decks to the marine staging area, she strapped her helmet to a small strap on her armor and made the climb down. She looked to the members of GHOST in the large room watching some of the greenhorns talking to one another and looked to the new fancy pelican in the middle of the large room. She then headed towards the armory grabbing her personal MA5C and grabbed three clips of ammo stuffing them into her pocket, along with her M7S SMG along with a silencer and threaded it over the barrel of the gun grabbing more ammo for it as well as a few grenades, and her Master Systems Special Operations Communications Interface Computer Systems Technician Field Kit which all were fitted into her packpack strapping it over her shoulder holding the heavy equipment over her back.

03:45 Hours, Ghost Staging Area

Lance Brewer was in for a fright when the gunny came out of her room he jumped up and was only able to stammer out a "yes ma'am." Before following her like a duckling after a mother duck repeating everything she did going to the armory and grabbing his personalized gear running a comms check checked his optics on both his rifle and his helmet then went into an attentive stance awaiting orders from his superior officer.

03:29 Hours
23 August, 2550
Marine Operations Staging Area

Jace waited in his usual spot, head down, eyes closed, trying to grab as much shut-eye as the universe could offer him. All the while his hands were running over his BR55HB SR Battle Rifle, which rested in his lap, making the necessary checks that he'd done hundreds, if not thousands, of times over. It was during this state of light sleeping that his thoughts plagued him the most. Memories mostly, of his parent's death, of his brother's choice to join up with the people who had caused his parents to be killed, of his later mission track down and abduct his brother, only to then torture him to comply with ONI's demands. He could see his mother and father's faces now, disappointed. But they no longer disturbed him as much as they used to. As the years slowly crept by, the once familiar pictures of their faces began to fade. Their heavily distinguished expressions gradually blurring together until they became just another set of dead people. Another pair to add to the countless others he'd seen.

The murmurs of ignorant privates roused him from his dosing state. Goddamn scrubs. It was the same wherever he went. Good, battle-tested troopers died and the brass saw fit to send in the most inexperienced and incompetent. Although he'd only been assigned to the GHOST Detachment for a nearly a year and a half, it still made him a long serving member. Despite ONI's attempts to portray GHOST as the most badass sons of bitches of the ODST, members still died just like anyone else fighting in the war. During their most recent mission to another asshole of the universe, six members had died. The largest amount of recorded deaths in a single mission for the detachment. One of them happened to be a good friend too. Corporal Jacob Yeager had transferred from the 37th Tactical Unit alongside him. Where the standard ODST Force was purely voluntary, the GHOST Detachment was selection based. This meant that these 'newbies' had either scored incredibly high during training exercises or they had genuinely seen some real combat. Jace preferred not to guess which.

Standing up, he laughed as Archer, his Staff Sergeant, silenced the new arrival, PFC Wiley. "You've got some boots to fill, Scrub." He chimed in. "Those weren't just any Troopers who stood where you are now. Probably best you learn that sooner rather than later." Jace then strode over to the weapons rack and grabbed his favorite sidearm, the M6C/SOCOM, complete with a built-in silencer. He'd used it on many of his previous missions as a GHOST and during his entire tenure on Victoria some years ago. It complemented his silenced Battle Rifle perfectly, both of which fit exactly into his role within the Detachment. Which, as a Specialist, could end up being a broad range of things. Jace's role, however, was simple. Based purely on his combat experience, the Corporal's role consisted of Forward Reconnaissance, usually behind enemy lines, Tracking & Field Craft, which came in handy more times than you'd imagine, and Information Gathering, often by less desirable means.

Jace ran through his check of the weapon quickly, then slotted it in its holster at his hip. The Gunny Sergeant would be here soon to brief them, accompanied by, if the rumors from the bridge officers were true, an ONI Spook. A female Field Operative who had supposedly made her position well known to Captain Ramsey, despite the ship being under his command. During his time in the 37th, Jason had met his fair share of Operatives. They didn't differ very much whether they were male or females, except the ladies tended to be a little worse. Each of them had cold glares that could send a shiver down the spine of even the stoutest marine and didn't seem to trust anyone but themselves. In their eyes, they were the elite not the ground troops who did the jobs they commanded them to. Jace wasn't really that bothered anyway, his orders had to come from someone and if that person just so happened to be the most stuck-up bitch of an ONI Spook the UNSC had to offer, then so be it.

He walked back over to his spot and waited, more sleep wouldn't hurt at all.

03:59
29 August, 2550
Marine Operations Staging Area

Victoria had been up way before the rest of her team had been summoned to the area. However, it was only to move to the staging area, only to find that it was going to be a long while before briefing was going to begin. Since they were going to be in for a situation where rest was going to be scarce, she decided to grab some more rest. She was already suited up and readily, her MA5C ICWS hanging in her lap in a rather similar fashion as the other gentleman in the room seemingly doing the same thing she was doing. Her head was perched low, trying to slip into a state of rest before briefing commenced. She was well aware of her role in her squad, that was to treat the wounded and do as best as she could to save lives. However, unlike the rest of her squad, Victoria hoped she didn't have to put her skills to use, knowing they came in when things went awry and towards the unfavorable side.

Unfortunately, she was roused awake as she heard footsteps get louder and louder, looking up as she saw the unforgettable armor pattern of their leader, Mullan. Since the room was getting more packed, she figured the idea of sleep was long gone as she groaned and got up off her seat and began to roam around, sizing up all the other members of the GHOST detachment, especially the newbies. These people were to replace the other six soldiers that died in the previous operation, which was quite the bit unfortunate. One of Victoria's closest friends, LCpl. Regina Watts had died in the operation, and Victoria was devastated once she saw her name on the casualties list, but got over it with time.

Victoria walked into the Armory, to commence the process of double checking all of her equipment. She had noticed she had a similar loadout to her squad's leader, carrying both a MA5C Assault Rifle and an M7S SMG. It was uncanny, but it wouldn't really affect the both of them either way, hopefully. Since she was in her presence anyway, she would decide to strike up a conversation with her leader, and do some speculation on the new members of their squad. She walked up next to her, removing her helmet and smiling as she approached Mullan and greeted her. "Sergeant, have you had any contact with the new recruits yet?" She asked, "You think they're deserving of their position here in GHOST?"

Mark Tenjer lying on his bed eventually got bored just lying there and not doing anything, he needed something to occupy his mind before the next mission. So he got up and began to put on his ODST armour, knowing he'd need to have it on soon anyways because of the upcoming briefing. After taking the time to put on his armor he grabbed his Assault Rifle & DMR which he kept on him. He walked out of his room and headed towards the shooting range, maybe practicing his aim would help keep him distracted and hopefully sharpen his skills as well. Once he got to the shooting range he pulled out his DMR, and opened out the shooting range's computer. He set it to be a timed 90 second trial with moving targets, bonus points for hitting a target's vitals.

One coded in he aimed his DMR and quickly slammed the start button, a loud buzzer sound and the targets began to slide across. Alien noises, gun fire and human screams being imitated through the speakers. He quickly pulled the trigger, hitting almost every target in the head. "One, two, three. One, two, three he counted in his head for how many times to pull the trigger on a single target. Swiftly and instinctually pulling out the magazine and reloading the moment he fired 15 rounds knowing that's when the magazine was empty. Once all his magazines were out he swiftly dropped his DMR and switch to his Assault Rifle. Now changing his focus from the head to the heart of the target he kept controlled bursts of 8 shots per target, also swiftly changing Magazines at the maximum. In this weapons case that would be 32 rounds, and before he knew it the buzzer sounded again indicating the end. He looked at the score which said 95% accuracy.

"Shoot, that 5% is gonna kill me out there" Mark said to the computer in response. He went to grab some more ammo from the small ammo storage in the firing range and then after reloading his weapons hit the buzzer to go at it again.

- Staging Area -

Corporal Ross whistled, propped up against a nearby railing as he gazed down at their Pelican.

Now this was a dropship.

Certainly didn't look standard issue. Although considering the circumstances and the detachment, a regular Pelican might have raised a few eyebrows. They were ODST! If they weren't hurtling planet-side in drop pods, they were cruising to the battlefield in the most tricked-out vehicle imaginable.
...
I wonder if they'd let me fly it?

No, the jar-heads up top would never give control of a ship like that to a marine like himself. He hadn't even picked up his flight certifications yet.
Patrick let out a sigh and looked away from the dropship, letting his eyes wander around the large room.
Ghost detachment was slowly filtering in. After the last six deaths they'd been rushed a few new recruits. The majority of them were greenhorns, and some of the senior members seemed a bit unhappy about it.
Everybody had to start somewhere. If trail by combat wasn't the best way to soldier up, he didn't know what else was. He certainly wasn't the longest serving member of the detachment, but at least he had a few battles under his belt.
Patrick reached down and scooped his M45E off of the floor, checking to make sure it was loaded. He had changed into his armour before they'd entered the sector.

Anxiety, mostly.
Plus, he wanted an early look at the craft they'd be traveling in.

Corporal Ross looked up from the shotgun as he heard a new set of voices entered the room. It was the Gunnery Sergeant, followed by one of the Corporals from first squad. The Corporal looked nervous... Maybe he wasn't used to directly speaking to a superior.
Well, now was the time to learn. The man was still ODST, he just might need an attitude adjustment.
Patrick chuckled to himself, leaning forward onto the railing as another member of second squad approached the Gunnery Sergeant.
The same could be said about him. By some miracle he'd managed to go a few months without stuttering. With any luck it was on the back of everyone else's minds by now.
Speech therapy was helping, but he still tripped during periods of stress. If this happened in combat...
...
Not again, it couldn't happen again.

Patrick shook the thought away, looking back down to the Pelican.
I really need to get my pelican certs...

Amber made sure that her MA5C was loaded sliding a clip into the rifle, and made sure that the ammo counter was working properly, and started to clean it making sure that it was in proper working condition. When she was finished Amber spotted Victoria approaching her and watched the corpsman taking off her helmet and smiled having become friends since their last mission since Regina was killed in their last op, she strapped her assault rifle over onto her back.

"I've met them a few times since we've been here but haven't got to know them personally yet. And read their files." Amber answered her eyes going towards her Squad Specialist Mikhail talking with Private First Class Crawley arguing over something stupid by the Pelican.

"That i'm not sure, I know they are still rookies and they have a lot to learn. Command selected them for some reason like we all have, or Jameson's request to get more experienced recruits failed. Some have combat experience but not to much real action. But I trust that they will do fine." Amber leaned herself up against the wall crossing her arms over her chest. "Though I don't really trust the ONI spook on this mission, I've dealt with them a lot over the years and never trusted them." Amber looked back to Victoria. "What do you think of the new rookies here?"

Victoria was grateful that her friend responded to her. Since she held the position she did, it was a bit difficult to manage relationships with her subordinates, but this was a pleasant surprise. They had bonded over the death of Regina, the relationship hopefully keeping Victoria extra motivated to save the lives of her comrades and treat their wounds to the best of her ability. She hoped that incident in the last mission would be the last for a long, long time. An injury would be treated as it if were a severe one, no matter the degree of severity.

She nodded carefully as Amber expressed her thoughts on the new recruits. She turned around to see where exactly she was looking, only to see a couple of new recruits bicker about something incredibly pointless. She turned back around to further listen to Amber, tracking her with her eyes as she relocated herself. She nodded slowly, as she realized that there was an ONI presence on this mission. That usually didn't bode well, especially if Amber said that she didn't trust them. Victoria was then presented with a question, prompting her to turn around and take one quick look at the clueless looking rookies looking confused as they roamed the ship.

"Well, I haven't seen them in action, and like you said, they are rookies." She kicked at the ground with her boot, "But if command has picked them, then they've definitely got a lot of potential. At least in command's eyes."

03:29 Hours
23 August, 2550
Marine Operations Staging Area

Corporal Acosta sat in full kit watching the new guys squabble and dick dance around. She was already annoyed and the noise wasn't making her situation more tolerable. The corpsman felt tired from last night. She had a few drinks with the supply sergeant who she ran into at the cantina, she ended up staying the night in his room. Acosta reached in her leg pouch and grabbed a can of dip, she had picked up the habit in the field with the Marines and preferred its edge over smoking though she was a social smoker. Disgusting habit, but she didn't give a shit, she knew the causes of cancer. Acosta is a medical professional. After packing the can she pinched some of the product and stuck it under her lip. It was time for work.

Acosta went around the room regardless of rank and checked their aid kits making sure none of them were short on medical supplies as well as checking their water sources were full. The experienced marines were squared away, but some of the new dicks were low on supplies and water.

She told one of the new guys, PFC Truman, to fill up on water. "C'mon Doc," he argued. "Fill it up with fucking water, goddamn it!" she ordered him. Next she had PFC Crawley stock her aid kit properly. "This will save your life, I'm sure you know how to use this properly," she went off about the combat action tourniquet as she handed her a new one. Doc made sure all of them were squared away answering a few questions about nasopharyngeal airways and pressure dressings. They all needed a refresher on a combat lifesaver's course. She would make sure they knew how to save lives when push comes to shove, if she wasn't around of course.

Acosta rolled her eyes as she approached her friend and fellow corpsman, Corporal Silva who was hanging out with Gunnery Sergeant Mullan. "These new dicks, I tell you.."

03:29 hours
Marine Staging Area

Brewer walked into the room after the Gunny to the eyes of his fellow soldiers, "Great" he thought "I Probably look like a child." he walked over to sit new recruits and sat down with them taking apart his battle rifle cleaning it checking the sights putting rounds into the mag putting it into the rifle rinse and repeat meanwhile watching the corpsmen go off on the newbies "they got some big shoes to fill." he said to himself "but ehh someone needs to put them ringer and it should probably be her." he chuckled to himself out loud and continued on with his ritual with his SMG.

03:29 Hours 23 August, 2550 Marine Operations Staging Area

He woke up from another bad dream of his death, those dreams became worse and at the end he saw his lover overlooking his body. He couldn't keep thinking about it and got out of his bed. He changed into his outfit and saw a picture of his family, the picture was taken in Utah's mountains and it was sent to Wyatt for his mate, Andrew. Wyatt walked out of his room and into the Marine Operations Staging Area. He didn't realize that today was the day that the new guys would replace the dead, he would miss the six people that died but life must go on. He walked near a wall and leans on it and looked at the confused group of people.

He remembered when PFC Ryan's name came up on the KIA list, he couldn't believe it. He was a private sure, but Wyatt tried to become his friend and it worked. But, that's life, people die everyday and that doesn't stop people. It's going to be a different day. His thoughts then took over him as he looked at the newcomers.

” Those new guys better have what it takes to replace them" Wyatt's thoughts said that as he looked at the new guys, walking around like birds. He knew that they were the replacement for the six lives that were lost on that day, but they were going to try no matter what to do their best. He laughed at them as he left the room and headed to the Armory to get his things and go to the shooting range. He walked into the Armory and waved at the people within the room and walked to his locker and opened it. He grabbed his helmet and set it beside him and finally said something to the group of people, "I believe that these newcomers are going to die on the first mission to impress us." and he laughed after that.

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.

McCoy bit his lip to keep from laugh when the sergeant and Abridge got into another stand off, knowing of their hatred for each other is probably worse than that of the Covies for humanity. The mission explained and all, he was quite shocked, but he always loved the 'soap ophera' of Abridge's and Jameson's 'love'. He sat by the new recruits, trying to keep as professional as possible with the feud began, his lips aching to have his ever so amused smirk on his lips as he sucked in a deep breathe, thanking God that is was finally over. He stood up, walking with Crawley, Truman, and April as he whispered to them, "As you see that was the first fight you witnessed of them two, or as I call them, 'Mommy and Daddy fight.'" He smirked wider hearing there chuckles, glad he relieved some stress of the mission, and taunts from the other squad as he continued, "Make a lovely couple don't they? You know, the Wanderer isn't the only ship that I ship on." He winked suggestively, making them smile a little at his jokes. Thank God for Brewer and Gatling's playful arguments during lunch for this wit. Still they were about to go out on a mission, and his drill sergeant mode was kicking in, like father like son he supposed.

His face turned serious as they needed to hear this, "Now I know you're in ODST and you're feeling invincible, but remember. We're not Spartans here, we're just marines with extra training. And even if we were Spartans they aren't invincible, don't believe any of that Spartan M.I.A. bullshit, just ONI being spooks as usual. Don't get cocky, look out for each other, and the squad. Don't worry, we get surrounded, squad's looking out for you as well." They nodded, making McCoy smile a little, saying, "Now then." He slipped on his helmet, making sure the greenhorns saw his visor, and with a point he welcomed, "Welcome to Ghost."

He turned on his heel, after they saluted and confirmed his claims with a, "Sir, yes sir." He made his way to the drop pods, planning on betting Ready this time in being....well ready for this mission.